THE LITURGY
ONE of the regrettable symptoms of present-day Catholicity in London is the decay of liturgy. It is true that we have in our midst now the great Cathedral of Westminster where the full liturgy of the Church is carried out daily with a completeness unknown in modern times; but it seems as though its existence has become a sort of centre of specialisation in that line, while one after another the parish churches have put their Sunday high mass into a secondary place, or abolished it altogether.
This is a great change on past traditions. At the beginning of the last century, when the modifying of the Penal Laws first made it possible, a great effort was made to have high mass in all the churches of London—then about eight in number. The memories of Webbe at the Sardinian Chapel, and Novello at the Portuguese Chapel became part of Catholic London; and in later times, though the singing at the various churches was of a type which we should not now approve—notably at Warwick Street, which gained for itself the title of the Shilling Opera, for all the best singers of the Italian Opera were to be heard there on Sundays—nevertheless, this indicated much care and attention in the carrying out of the liturgy at high mass. Vespers were also common as an afternoon service on a Sunday, which was probably in great part due to the thousands of French émigrés priests and laymen who were in London in the early years of the century; for in France the singing of vesper psalms has always been popular. Even in the country churches it was the rule, not the exception, to have a sung mass on Sundays. Here again one recalls a stamp of music with which we should not now be content—such as Mozart XII sung in unison, already alluded to in a former Conference—but it evidences considerable trouble to be able to have a sung mass.
We may well enquire what has caused the London tradition to change. One reason may possibly be that the increase of population has led to the people being more evenly distributed between the various masses, so that no single mass is the principal one in the sense that it used to be, and that seems expected in the liturgical rubrics. At present in many places the ten o'clock mass draws the largest congregation, and since the introduction of a twelve o'clock low mass, the high mass has been further depleted, so that the sermon, is often put at the former instead of the latter.
Another reason may be the coming of the tradition from Ireland. There are no people on the face of the earth to equal the Irish in their devotion to low mass, or in the number of the mass-going population. Dublin may be compared with any city in Catholic Europe, and for the number of people who go to mass on a Sunday—and even on a weekday—could put that city in the shade. But since the suppression of the liturgy by the Penal Laws, the Irish have never recovered their taste for high mass or other functions. Even at the Pro-Cathedral in Marlborough Street, Dublin, though the singing is excellent, the people do not take to high mass: they prefer to hear a low mass which may be going on at a side altar at the same time, and at its conclusion the church empties, though the high mass is not half over. Here in England we have not got the Irish devotion to low mass, and to us therefore the decay of high mass is a greater loss.
But probably the reason that would be given is that the stress of modern life has made people unwilling to face long services. No doubt there is some truth in the contention that they would not tolerate the length of services current last century. The great Requiem for Pius VI in 1799 lasted, together with the Dirge, from ten in the morning till nearly four in the afternoon: people certainly would not sit through that to-day. In much later times, and within living memory, the ordinary Sunday high mass, with sermon, lasted the greater part of two hours. But that is not so now. With the present length of sermon, and with simple music, the high mass need not last more than an hour and a quarter, and it may well be questioned whether people would really find this too long. The plea about length is heard perhaps more often from the priest, professing to voice the mind of the people, than from the people themselves.
In more outlying parts, it would seem that the regulation issued by Pius X insisting on the singing of the "proper"—introit, gradual, etc.—in some cases has had the opposite effect to that intended, and has caused many to give up the sung mass altogether; for although it may be urged that the "proper" can always be sung either in psalm tone, or at least monotone, in practice people will not attempt it; and indeed often when it is attempted, the difficulty of reading Latin to laymen who are not accustomed to it in a country where the language is so different in sound and rhythm produces a result the reverse of devotional.
Then again restrictions on the class of music from a false reading of the well-known Motu Proprio of Pius X has had the same effect. There is no document more frequently misquoted than this Motu Proprio. The lover of Gregorian music speaks as though universal plain chant was prescribed; the admirers of Palestrina quote it in favour of polyphonic music; while those who are opposed to the masses of Mozart and Haydn, once so popular, appeal to the Motu Proprio as though it were a condemnation of this whole class of music. In point of fact if anyone will actually read the text, he will find it most broad in outlook. Undoubtedly the Pope extols plain chant as pre-eminently the music of the Church and calls for its restoration; but he also speaks highly of polyphonic music; and with respect to modern music, he only stipulates that it should not be theatrical in character. Those who are familiar with the very light and trumpery music in vogue in the Italian churches—which is the instance actually quoted by the Pope—will readily understand this restriction. That it condemns masses such as Haydn's Imperial may perhaps be fairly argued; but most of Mozart's masses would seem to come within the scope of what is allowed. A possible exception is the well-known No. XII, which many maintain to have been written not by Mozart at all, but by his pupils. At any rate it is of a distinctly more operatic character than the other Mozart masses. But even if Mozart and Haydn are excluded, there are plenty of simple masses often sung which are entirely within the line drawn. Indeed, on the important point emphasised by the Pope, of the words being sung so that the listeners can follow them, music of this kind is superior to polyphonic, in which the syllables in the different voices so overlap that it is often impossible to follow the words. It is true indeed that these masses sometimes include the "needless repetition" of the words of the liturgy which the Pope condemns; especially in the Kyrie, where the number of invocations is never the proper nine, and is simply adapted to the exigences of the music; and in the concluding phases of the Gloria and Credo, in which the Amen is often repeated many times; in the beginning of the Gloria also, or in the Sanctus or elsewhere some repetition is found; but as a general rule in the masses we have had in this country the repetitions have been less pronounced than is often implied, and a good many masses are practically free from them. The abuse current in Italy of having all the chief parts of the Gloria—the Gratias agimus, the Domine Deus, etc.—as separate pieces which is condemned by the Pope has never found its way into England. [1]
Then with respect to details, although the ideal put forward is for a choir of men and boys, it was apparently not intended to exclude women altogether: it was only meant to stipulate that they should not be "admitted to the choir," which according to the authorised explanation, is complied with provided that they are grouped apart and not mixed with the men. Indeed, solos are expressly allowed, provided that they do not monopolise the singing. The chief instrument is to be the organ or harmonium, but with leave of the Bishop other wind instruments may be added on special occasions. The only prohibition is against instrumenta percussionis, specified as pianoforte, drums, kettledrums, cymbals, triangles, etc.—a list which is in itself a sufficient commentary on the music which it is desired to exclude.
All this seems surely broad enough to bring the sung mass within the capability of most missions. Nevertheless, there is much in favour of a return to plain chant. The old idea which was involved in Bishop Douglass's description of a Requiem a century ago that "the Responses were in plain chant except the Libera, which was in music," calls for combating, for Gregorian Chant is in the highest sense music. The chief reason that people do not always take to it is that it requires a certain training to appreciate it. If plain chant is to be restored, the first step is to train not only the clergy, as is already being done, but more importantly still, the schoolmasters. Recently the writer heard a high mass in a country church sung in plain chant by the school children, who had been trained by their master, and not only was the effect most devotional, but the congregation was already beginning to join in the singing—a consummation devoutly to be wished. If this could be done regularly, we should perhaps see our way to the restoration of the liturgy in popular estimation, and an incidental advantage not to be lost sight of would be that it would limit the duration of the services. [2]