Latinists needed!

Dear friends, if any of you out there are very proficient Latinists, I could use some help with translations. I'd like to make some articles comparing not only the Sarum Mass, but also the Sarum forms of baptism, confirmation, marriage, and burial to their Tridentine counterparts. Regrettably, my own Latin isn't anywhere near good enough to translate entire pages of text. 

This will be a lot of work for no pay, but if you're interested, let me know and I can send you the relevant texts.

The Sarum High Mass: Mass of the Catechumens

A Sarum Missal, dated around 1418. A mention of the Pope in the far right column has been scratched out by order of Henry VIII.

 In case you've missed previous articles, please check those out first:

-The Use of Sarum: A Brief History, and Why It Matters
-The Sarum Low Mass: Mass of the Catechumens
-The Sarum Low Mass: Mass of the Faithful


If you've been following my series in the Sarum Use, we've so far covered its general history and what a spoken, or low Mass would have looked like in most of England before the Reformation. Low Mass is useful for seeing the substance of the liturgy, but the rubrics presume that high Mass is the norm. We saw how the Sarum low Mass appears to have been only a slight variation of the Roman Mass with a few medieval "accretions" here and there. The high Mass will show the pageantry of the medieval spirit in full.

High Mass is defined here as Mass sung with a deacon and subdeacon. In the Middle Ages, there was no such thing as a missa cantata with a priest and servers only. The rubrics as explained by Pearson's The Sarum Missal Done into English seem to have been intended for the cathedral of Salisbury itself; it presumes an abundance of canons and a very spacious church. I believe it's safe to say that the parishes modified these rubrics liberally to suit their resources.

The Sunday Procession and Aspersion

In our Tridentine form of the Mass, the "principal" Mass of a church on Sunday is supposed to be preceded by an aspersion: the priest, vested in cope, goes down the nave sprinkling the people with holy water as Asperges Me is sung. Its counterpart in Sarum is nearly a service in itself. (though unlike Trent, this rite in Sarum is omitted if a double feast falls on a Sunday.)

These directions are taken from the Sarum Processional. The priest, "after Prime and Chapter", is at the step of the quire (or, we could say, at the sanctuary gate) in alb and cope. The deacon and subdeacon are with him, holding his book. There are also a thurifer, crucifer, and acolytes, all wearing albs and amices (the Tridentine form prescribes only surplices for anyone not one of the three sacred ministers). Finally, there are "the boys with salt and water and the Book, who are in surplices". It's possible that these very junior positions of service were allowed to boys, while the higher serving positions had to be filled by men or older boys ordained to the minor orders.

Before starting with Asperges Me, Sarum has the celebrant bless the holy water. I believe these prayers are also in the Tridentine books. I'll provide only the English translation of this portion for now. He first exorcises the salt:

I exorcise thee, O creature of salt, by the living God, + by the true God, + by the holy God, + by the God Who commanded thee to be cast into the water by Elias the prophet, that the barrenness of the same might be healed, that thou become salt for the preservation of them that believe, and be to all who take thee salvation of soul and body; and from the place wherein thou shalt be sprinkled let every delusion and wickedness of the Devil and all unclean spirits, when adjured, fly and depart, by Him; Who shall come to judge the quick and the dead, and the world by fire. 

Amen.

Let us pray. We humbly implore Thy boundless loving-kindness, Almighty and everlasting God, that of Thy bounty Thou wouldst deign to ble+ss and sanc+tify this creature of salt, which Thou hast given for the use of mankind; let it be unto all who take it healthy of mind and body; that whatsoever shall be touched or sprinkled with it be freed from all manner of uncleanness, and from all assaults of spiritual wickedness. Through Christ our Lord. 

Amen.

Then the exorcism of water:

I exorcise thee, O creature of water, in the Name of God + the Father Almighty; and in the Name of Jesus Christ, + His son, our Lord; and in the power of the Holy + Ghost; that thou mayest become water exorcised for the chasing away of all the power of the enemy; that thou mayest have strength to cast out the enemy himself and his apostate angels, by the power of the same, our Lord Jesus Christ, Who shall come to judge the quick and the dead, and the world by fire. 

Amen.

Let us pray. O God, Who for the salvation of mankind hast hidden one of Thy greatest sacraments in the element of water, graciously give ear when we call upon Thee, and pour upon this element, prepared for divers purifications, the power of Thy blessing; let Thy creature serve in Thy Mysteries, by Divine grace be effectual for casting out devils and for driving away diseases, that on whatsoever in the houses or places of the faithful this water shall be sprinkled, it may be freed from all uncleanness, and delivered from hurt. Let not the blast of pestilence nor disease remain there; let every enemy that lieth in wait depart; if there be ought which hath ill-will to the safety and quietness of the inhabitants, let it flee away at the sprinkling of this water, that they being saved by the invocation of Thy Holy Name, may be defended from all that rise up against them. Through Christ our Lord. 

Amen.

The rubric then says "Here let the Priest cast salt into the water in the form of a Cross, saying":

Let this become a mixture of salt and water, in the Name of the Father, + and of the Son, + and of the Holy Ghost. + Amen.

V. The Lord be with you.
R. And with thy spirit.

And this last prayer before the sprinkling really caught my attention. Read it carefully:

Let us pray.
O God, Author of invincible might, King of a dominion which cannot be moved and ever a Conqueror, Who puttest down the strength of all that rise up against Thee, overcomest the rage of the adversary, and by Thy power dost cast down his wickedness; we, O Lord, with fear, humbly entreat and implore Thee mercifully to look upon this creature of salt and water; after Thy loving-kindness graciously illumine and sanctify + it, that wheresoever it shall be sprinkled, by the invocation of Thy holy Name all unclean spirits which lie in wait may be cast out, and the dread of the serpent be chased far away; and let the presence of the Holy Ghost vouchsafe to be with us who ask Thy mercy in every place. Through Christ our Lord. 

Amen.

I don't know if that prayer originated in Rome, Normandy, or England first, but it beautifully captures the best of the Gothic spirit. Here, God described as the God of Battles, as in the days of the Old Testament. War, plague, famine, and death were everyday realities for those who attended the Sarum Mass, just as they were for the ancient Israelites. Yet we also see here that, contrary to the stereotypes of medieval religion as being totally distant from the hearts of the everyday peasant, God has a direct, earthy presence in the lives of the people. The priest asks Him to empower the everyday substances of salt and water ("this creature", it says) with His love so that whoever uses that holy water may count upon the name of Jesus as a surefire ward against the defilement of evil spirits. Superstitious? The Protestant Reformers certainly thought so, but I see a spirituality that uses everyday items to bring faith to a people who had neither the ability nor the inclination to read a book. Furthermore, it reflects the spirit of the Gothic age, which achieved a perfect balance in emphasizing God as both warrior and peacemaker: not too mushy, and not too distant.

After that collect, the celebrant sprinkles the altar, then his assistants, then the choir: first the north side, then the south, while Asperges Me is sung (or Vidi Aquam from Easter to Trinity Sunday). He then exits the chancel in procession via the north entrance (remember, these rubrics assume sanctuaries are enclosed, elongated spaces with three points of entry), turns right, and begins sprinkling the side altars in all the chapels around the east end of the church. 

The procession according to Chambers in Divine Worship in England in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries, is arranged as such: first, a beadle, clearing the way with a mace or staff in hand. A beadle, by the way, is a lay official who acts as a bodyguard and keeper of the peace. (The name comes from an Anglo-Saxon word, bydel, meaning "to bid". The beadle does his master's bidding.) Our modern counterpart is the usher, though our ushers rarely have ceremonial significance now. The only time I've ever seen a beadle in modern Catholic practice is photos of ceremonies by the Institute of Christ the King in Europe, typically involving Cardinal Burke. Other Sarum sources call him a verger, which means nearly the same thing. He carries a rod called a virge, or virga.

Illustration from the Sarum Procession showing who stands where.

After the beadle/verger follow the asperger (boy in surplice carrying the holy water), the crucifer with the processional cross (only on double feasts or higher), two cerofers (candlebearers) side by side, thurifer, subdeacon, deacon, and celebrant. Interestingly, there's never any mention of a master of ceremonies, which leads me to wonder if that position is of more recent vintage. (It's possible to omit the MC in the Tridentine high Mass if everyone knows exactly what they're doing, but the MC is still a standard practice at every Tridentine high Mass I've ever been to.)

The procession, after sprinkling all the side altars, goes up the nave to sprinkle the people. I've also seen several sources state that the procession went to every side altar in the church to incense them, but I haven't seen a specific rubric for it, nor do I see how the priest could use the holy water and the incenser at the same time unless, perhaps, one or the other is delegated to the deacon. In any case, when the procession returns to the chancel, they stop underneath the rood, and the priest sings the versicle Ostende nobis, followed by the prayer Exaudi nos, Domine, just as in the 1962 Missal.

The rubrics next have the bidding prayers (like the intercessions of the faithful in the Novus Ordo Mass) are prayed in the common tongue, but for whatever reason, only in the cathedral. The practice for the parishes is to have the bidding prayers later in the Mass, so that's where I'll explain them.

The Beginning of Mass: the Office (Introit), Kyrie, Gloria

After the aspersion rite, the ministers retreat to the sacristy to vest for Mass "whilst the Choir is saying Terce". For the smaller parishes that didn't have sacristies in the first place, it's likely that the vesting and preparatory prayers were made before the altar. 

The Mass vestments are the same as we know them today, except that the acolyte who bears the processional cross is allowed to wear a "mantle", which is supposed to be like the subdeacon's tunicle, just shorter or less apparelled. The other servers, aside from the boys who are allowed to go in merely surplice, still wear alb and amice. Meanwhile, the two cantors of the choir, who were presumed to be priests and canons, also put on copes and bear staves symbolizing their office, thence becoming "rulers" of the choir. It's also said that in those days, the directors of choirs actually slammed the staves onto the floor to measure time in figured music; a practice which would no doubt be completely obnoxious to see and hear today. On double feasts, we would see four rulers! The rulers were certainly envisioned for cathedral practice and ignored in parishes that couldn't provide them.

The choir, already in place in the chancel, begins singing the Office, as Sarum calls the Introit, the rulers intoning the first words. On Sundays and feasts, the Office is supposed to be sung three times rather than just two: the antiphon, verse, antiphon, doxology, then antiphon again. At hearing the words Gloria Patri, the ministers line up to process back to the altar. The order, again according to Chambers, is: (crucifer), two cerofers, thurifer, subdeacon carrying the Gospel-book, deacon carrying the Missal, and celebrant.

These pictures are from an old publication by the Alcuin Club, an Anglo-Catholic organization. The man in black to the right is the beadle/verger. Bear in mind that these are actually photos of the Anglican Prayer-book Communion service, dressed to resemble the Sarum Mass as much as possible.

The ministers stop at the foot to recite the last words of the Lord's Prayer, then the veriscle Confitemini Domino and response, then the Confiteor.  After the absolution, the celebrant gives a kiss of peace to the deacon, then to the subdeacon. This peace is brief and given to no one else, but it's also prescribed for every day of the year, save for the three days before Easter.

The celebrant ascends the altar, prays Aufer a nobis, then kisses the altar and makes the sign of the cross with In Nomine Patris. He is then given the thurible by the deacon, who says:

Deacon. Benedicite. Celebrant. Dominus. Ab ipso benedicatur hoc incensum in cujus honore cremabitur. In Nomine Patris, etc.

D. Bid a blessing. C. The Lord, in Whose honour this incense shall be burnt, by Him be it blessed. In the Name of the Father, etc.

He incenses the right side, then the middle, then the left. He then returns the thurible to the deacon, who incenses him before returning it to the thurifer. The subdeacon presents the Gospel-book for the celebrant to kiss. Meanwhile, the cerofers have placed their candles at the foot of the altar; perhaps atop two tall stands on either side of the foot.

The thurifer hands the thurible to the deacon. It appears the subdeacon is removing the Missal from the altar, which is resting on a cushion rather than a stand.

While the celebrant goes on privately reciting the Office and Kyrie at the Epistle side of the altar, the choir has been singing the Office and probably gone on to chant the Kyrie by now. On many days, the Kyrie is "farced" or has tropes, so in these cases, it's likely that the ministers will have time to sit at the sedilia even before starting the Gloria. 

The cerofers, meanwhile, depart after the celebrant has read the Office. They go to the sacristy to fetch the gifts. One brings the cruets of wine and water, as well as the pyx with the bread; the other carries the ewer and towel for the hand-washing. Both return to the sanctuary and place these "on the shelf over the piscina". Medieval churches typically had these built into the wall, east of the celebrant's seat in the sedilia. In the absence of these, we can take it to mean the credence table, though Sarum assumes the presence of the credence as a distinct piece of furniture. The cerofers then take up their candles and meet the mantled/tunicled acolyte, who has brought the chalice, paten, and burse, all covered in a veil. The acolyte provides a further degree of protection by carrying them in the humeral veil. After setting the chalice down on the credence, he removes the two corporals from the burse (or corporal and pall) and lays them on the altar, kissing it afterward. He then returns to the credence. 

The shelf and piscina are to the left of the priest's seat in this sedilia by Augustus Pugin at Saint Giles, Cheadle.

This shows the mantled acolyte bringing the chalice in with a humeral veil, but the photo was intended to have this take place during the Offertory for the Prayer-book service, rather than during the Office/Kyrie as I described above.

When the celebrant starts the Gloria, the rubrics say that he's given the tone for the first words, which varies by the occasion, from the precentor or a cantor. The modern practice is usually for the organist to play the starting pitches, but in the old, old days, the cantor would actually sing the words first, which the celebrant would then imitate. As mentioned in my article on low Mass, there are a handful of occasions where even the Gloria is modified with additional phrases for the Virgin Mary.

Collect, Epistle, Gradual, Alleluia/Tract, Sequence

While the celebrant is singing the Collect, which on certain days there might be three, five, or even seven (the rubrics stipulate the number of collects must always be odd, as God likes an odd number), the subdeacon prepares to chant the Epistle. On Sundays and feasts with rulers of the choir, the subdeacon chants from the pulpit or ambo. If there are two, as some medieval churches had, he stood at the one on the south or Epistle side. On all other days and on days of penitence, he would read it at the chancel step. Something I failed to mention in the low Mass article, by the way, is that there are no responses for the Epistle or Gospel in Sarum (Deo gratias or Laus tibi, Christe). They seem to have been of later invention.

The subdeacon reading the Epistle from the chancel entrance.

Once finished, he goes to the piscina where the cerofers assist him in washing his hands. The mantled acolyte then gives the subdeacon the cruets so that he can mix the water and wine in the chalice. He pours the wine first, but before applying water, he goes before the celebrant to have the water cruet blessed. I'm having trouble finding the Latin text of the blessing, but in English, the subdeacon says Benedicite/"Bid a blessing". The celebrant replies, "The Lord. By Him be it blessed from Whose side came forth blood and water. In the Name of the Father, etc."

The subdeacon prepares the chalice before a mantled acolyte. In this photo, they're standing before a side altar arranged for this purpose, rather than a credence.

During this whole time the subdeacon has been preparing the chalice, the Gradual is sung. The Gradual got its name from this medieval practice still present in Sarum, which called for two boys in surplice to sing it from the step, or gradus, of the pulpit. It seems that when sung, they would repeat the first portion after finishing the verse except on doubles and days when there was a Tract. It's possible the choir joined in singing, and the boys only cantored the first words and the verse.

The Alleluia enjoyed a special solemnity which is gone in the Tridentine form. While the boys sing the Gradual, there are also two cantors, who are supposed to be canons in copes, who wait at a higher step in the pulpit. The Gradual finished, they sing the Alleluia. The rubrics have the choir and clergy all stand when the Alleluia begins. Only the celebrant and his two ministers may remain seated.

While Trent suppressed all the sequences save for the "five best" in the interest of shortening the liturgy, the Sarum Use had many more; somewhere in the range of 80 sequences, in fact. If there's a Sequence, the canons in copes begin it, and the choir join after. It's likely that the Sequence was sung in alternation. In the event of a sequence, the subdeacon waits until it begins to present the chalice to the celebrant.

If there's a Tract in place of the Alleluia, the Gradual is sung in the choir or at the chancel step. Then the Tract is sung by the rulers in the choir.

The Gospel, Creed, Homily

While the last chant is sung, the deacon goes to the piscina, where the cerofers assist him in washing his hands. Before he prepares the Gospel, he takes the thurible and incenses the altar: only the midst, for though there's no specific direction stating it, it seems the Gospel-book was placed at the north horn of the altar after the first incensing. Thus, by incensing only the middle of the altar, the deacon avoids incensing the Gospel-book before the proper time. (I wonder if this is also one of the reasons why the Missal rests on the south side of the altar up until this point: to allow the Gospel-book to rest on the opposite side.)

The deacon takes the Gospel-book and presents it to the celebrant for a blessing with the words Jube, domne, benedicere, just as in the Tridentine Missal. The procession goes out from the choir as such: thurifer, cerofers, (crucifer if on a double feast), subdeacon, deacon. If the Epistle has been read from the pulpit, the Gospel is read there too. The rubrics say that the deacon chants the Gospel facing north in the pulpit, while the subdeacon stands to his left holding the book in place on the lectern. The two cerofers are also there, standing on either side of the deacon and turned towards him. The crucifer also stands to the deacon's right. The problem is that in nearly every pulpit I've ever seen, it's impossible to fit so many people at once. Even having two would be a bit crowded for comfort. I suspect that in a modern celebration of Sarum, even if a parish had a pulpit, it would probably have to put the Gospel at the edge of the sanctuary (the normal Tridentine practice these days), or in the nave. 

The Gospel: one way to do it, at least.

Now, something that took me a while to figure out was determining the proper place of the homily, or sermon. The standard practice today is to preach the sermon immediately after the Gospel. The Sarum rubrics say absolutely nothing about the sermon whatsoever; neither does Trent, for that matter. It simply followed the custom of Rome that placed the sermon after the Gospel. The problem I saw was that the Sarum rubrics instruct the deacon to carry the Gospel-book in procession back to the altar for the celebrant to kiss after he intoned the Credo. The sense of that rubric would be broken if it were interrupted by the sermon, but after some research, I discovered that the custom in medieval England and France in the Middle Ages was to have the sermon after the Creed, at the halfway point between the Mass of the Catechumens and the Mass of the Faithful! I also see now that, at least until recently, having the sermon and announcements after the Creed was part of the rubric of the Book of Common Prayer since its first edition. Furthermore, I've also read that the sermon takes place after the Creed in the traditional Dominican Rite, which shares many customs with Sarum. I've also seen a practice in the Anglican Use bridging the two practices by having the sermon after the Gospel, and announcements or notices after the Creed.

The reason for the discrepancy in practice may result from the fact that the Creed was introduced into the liturgy much later than the other portions here, but adopted in other parts of Europe long before it came into use in Rome itself (1014). Another complication is in the Tridentine pontifical Mass, which has the deacon chant the Confiteor and the bishop grant an indulgence before the Creed. This practice may also have varied in history. I'll have to look into it later.

The Bidding Prayers

The bidding prayers, if they were not prayed in the procession before Mass, were done "after the Gospel or Offertory". It's difficult to imagine them being made at any point in the Offertory without breaking its order, so I've decided to simply describe them here. They were read either from the pulpit (a 1928 Book of Common Prayer mentions bidding prayers made with the announcements, notices, and/or banns of marriage before the sermon, though that would place them after the Creed, in the place where the Intercessions of the Faithful are now found in the Novus Ordo Mass) or at the chancel step. 

What made these bidding prayers peculiar in Sarum was that they were directed to be prayed in the vernacular, or "mother tongue". They vary a bit depending on which manuscript you find them. Here's one version:

Let us make our prayers to God, our Lord Jesus Christ, to our Lady S. Mary, and all the Company of Heaven, beseeching His Mercy for all Holy Church, that God keep it in good estate, especially the Church of England, our Mother Church, this Church, and all others in Christendom.
For our Lord the Pope, for the Patriarch of Jerusalem, for the Cardinals.
For the Archbishops and Bishops, and especially for our Bishop N., that God keep him in his holy service. For the Dean/Rector, or all other ministers, that serve this Church. (One variation of this: "For your ghostly father, and for Priests and Clerks that herein serve or have served, for all men and women of religion, for all other men of Holy Church.")
For the Holy Land and the Holy Cross, that God deliver it out of the hand of the heathen.
For the Peace of the Church and of the earth.
For our Sovereign Lord the King, and the Queen, and all their children.
For Dukes, Earls, and Barons, and for all that have the peace of this land to keep, all that have this land to govern.
For the welfare of N. and N., and all this Church's friends.
For all that live in deadly sin.
For our brethren and sisters, and all our Parishioners, and all that do any good to this Church or foundation. For yourselves, that God for His mercy grant you grace so to live as your soul to save, and for all true Christian people.

The priest then turns to the altar and the choir begins Psalm 66 (Deus misereatur) "without note". After the doxology, the choir continues:

Lord, have mercy.
(Priest) V. Christ, have mercy.
R. Lord, have mercy.
V. Our Father, etc... And lead us not into temptation.
R. But deliver us from evil.
V. O Lord, shew thy mercy upon us.
R. And grant us Thy salvation.
V. Let Thy priests be clothed with righteousness.
R. And let Thy Saints rejoice.
V. O Lord, save the King.
R. And hear us in the day we call upon Thee.
V. Give Salvation unto Thy people.
R. Govern them, and lift them up for ever.
V. Let there be peace in Thy strength, O Lord.
R. And plenteousness in Thy towers.
V. O Lord, hear my prayer.
R. And let my crying come unto Thee.
V. The Lord be with you.
R. And with thy spirit.

Let us pray.
God, Who with the Grace of Thy Holy Spirit dost pour the Gifts of Charity into the hearts of Thy faithful people, grant to Thy Servants and handmaidens, for whom we beseech Thy clemency, health both of mind and body, that they may love Thee with their whole strength, and with entire affection may perform those things which are pleasing unto Thee, and grant us Thy peace in our time, through Christ our Lord. 

Amen.

Then, turning to the people, the priest says:

Let us pray. (kneeling)
For the souls of N. And N., Archbishops, Bishops, Clergy, Benefactors, etc., who have served this Church, or done any good thereto, or to this foundation, and for all souls whose bones rest in this Church and Churchyard, and all those who have given to this Church or foundation, rents, vestments, or other goods, whereby God is better worshipped in this Church, and the minister thereof better sustained; for all our Fathers' and Mothers' souls, our Godfathers' and Godmothers' souls, Brethren and Sisters' souls, all our Parishioners' souls, and for all the souls that have done any good to this Church, and for all Christian souls.

The priest turns again to the altar and the choir begins Psalm 129 (De Profundis) without note. After the doxology and Our Father, etc.:

V. Grant them eternal rest, O Lord.
R. And may perpetual light shine upon them.
V. From the gate of Hell.
R. Deliver their souls, O Lord.
V. I believe to see the good things of the Lord.
R. In the land of the living.

Absolve, we beseech Thee, O Lord, the souls of Thy servants and handmaidens, our relations, our neighbours, our friends, our benefactors, as well as the souls of all the faithful departed, from all the chains of their sins, that in the glory of the Resurrection they may be raised up to life, and breathe again among Thy Saints and Elect: Through, etc. May they rest in peace.
Amen.

The series continues with the Sarum High Mass: Mass of the Faithful.

The Missal Stand

In my post just prior to this, I lamented the traditional community's overall lack of worthy lecterns and pulpits. There is one sort of lectern that's still ubiquitous among trad communities: the Missal stand. I just wanted to share a couple of amazing Missal stands I saw on the Met's website, but I felt they would just bloat the previous, already bloated article.

The first is a silver creation of the Gothic revival from late 19th-century France. It was made by Louis Marcy, who apparently made a living off of making medievalesque items and actually selling them as "antiquities".

This one is made of iron in the shape of a fortress, probably from Spain as it bears the arms of Castile and Leon. On the bookrest, it read In principio erat verbum ("In the beginning there was the Word") and along the base, et verbum caro factus est ("and the Word was made flesh").

That one is probably the most awesome Missal stand I've ever seen.

Two lost arts: singing from oversized books, and using lecterns

Add this to the list of medieval practices that ought to be restored: the art of chanting from oversized books. Today I revisit a pet subject of mine: medieval plainchant.

My schola's current practice is for everyone to have a copy of the Liber Usualis, a compendium of chants about the size of a brick, which conveniently has all the chants for the 1962 Mass and Office for the entire year. It's a wonderful little invention, but it's relatively new in the grand scope of sacred music history. The first edition of the Liber was published by the Abbey of Solesmes in 1896. Before then, chanters had the wearisome task of sorting through several books at once. Granted, it was still a better lot than that of the monks in the Church's much younger days, who had to simply memorize everything they had to sing. The further back in time you look, the harder it would have been for choirs to provide music books for every singer due to cost and technology. I believe the Middle Ages found a happy solution in between: to end the trouble of brute memorization, the monasteries first developed a system of notation (which would eventually grow into our modern sheet music)... and to save the trouble and expense of copying so many books for each individual monk, they would create a single, large book that could be read by the entire choir. 

A 16th-century Spanish antiphonal.

I was browsing through the website of Ensemble Organum, one of my favorite early music performance groups, and found this page for a project called Lectern International. They purport to have a network of locations where singers can chant from original medieval manuscripts grouped around a lectern. The page reads:

"An international network of locations where it is possible to sing from original documents (manuscripts or printed material of the era) grouped together around a lectern.

The venture consists of reliving medieval music by initiating singers to the practise of the lectern chant. Thus one of the essential aspects of the recreation of music prior to the XIX century is their context of execution. The size of the books, their position on the lectern, the spatial and acoustic conditions of the execution are fundamental elements which are lost when one sings using small-format modern transcriptions.

For close to eight centuries, the lectern was fundamental in the transmission of musical know-how for both voice and instrument. Yet the musical and pedagogical value of this object, its role in the conceptualisation and creation process of the music is widely ignored nowadays.

Singing polyphony or monody around a lectern radically transforms the musical interpretation, but singing from an medieval manuscript has an even greater significance. The tempi become slower, the listening of the other singers is totally modified, the memorisation processes are different as well.

Places where it is possible to do this are rare. More often than not the manuscripts are preserved in libraries where their use for their original purpose is met with disapproval. Lectern International federates places where this sort of practise is encouraged."

I emailed them over a week ago to ask about it but never got a response. I imagine there aren't any churches in the United States which have giant chant books in the first place, but I did have the pleasure of seeing one right here in Texas a few weeks ago. When I visited the Bowld Music Library in Fort Worth to look at their copy of Pugin's Earnest Appeal for the Revival of the Ancient Plain Song, they actually had a giant antiphonal from the 15th century or so behind a glass case. It's just a pity that these books will likely remain solely behind glass cases around the world for the rest of time, rather than be used for their original purpose.

In any case, Ensemble Organum's premise is that the style of plainchant will sound different when everyone is singing from one book. I can't say I've done it before, but I can imagine it: all the chanters, including the director, are facing the same direction. The director is presumably at the front, waving his hands right before the book so that all the chanters see the notes and his direction at the same time. More than any other method, it forces the choir to chant as a unit. This leaves one question, though: how does it work if the choir is divided in half facing each other in the traditional stalls? Are there two books and two lecterns?

This image from a 16th century Book of Hours has one choir lectern for each stall, plus an eagle lectern on the Gospel side.

This brings me to the second topic I wanted to write on: the proper use of reading desks, lecterns, ambos, and pulpits. The vast majority of churches in which I've attended the traditional Latin Mass are arranged in what we might call a "Tridentine style" that has, for some reason, completely eschewed the use of reading desks and platforms. They have a single speaking platform on the Gospel side of the sanctuary: a wooden box which more closely resembles a politician's podium in a press conference, rather than one of the glorious pulpits of the medieval age. This platform is used for everything, from sermons to mundane announcements: though rarely, if ever, for actually proclaiming Scripture or any other sort of liturgical usage. The contemporary trad practice at solemn Mass (on the few times it's to be had in the first place) is for the subdeacon to hold up the book with his own hands when singing the Epistle, and to hold the book as the deacon sings the Gospel.

The craftsmanship of the medieval masters in fashioning reading desks, lecterns, and pulpits should be a testament to our lack of imagination. This first example is of a lectern from the 15th century, repainted in the 1930's. It's housed in the church of Saint Edmund, a pre-Reformation church in Suffolk. Notice the popular double-desk style, which I suppose could have allowed for a cantor on either side (the Sarum Use's rubrics propose two cantors for the Graduals and Alleluias of Mass).

15th-century lectern at Saint Edmund, Southwold

The same repainting is featured on a pulpit in the same church:

In my book, a pulpit can't be properly called by that name unless you have to climb a set of stairs to speak from it.

A great many lecterns of the later Middle Ages, especially the ones used for reading the Gospels, were fashioned in the shape of eagles. The eagle was said to be the bird that flew the highest, and therefore the closest to heaven. The eagle was also supposed to have been able to gaze directly into the bright light of the sun without harm. The faithful Christian, likewise, could stare at the sight of the deacon proclaiming the Gospel from this eagle-shaped lectern without flinching.

16th century brass lectern at the church of Saint Mary, Redenhall.

The most splendid eagle lectern of all is this one fashioned by Aert van Tricht, also in the 16th century. It was bought by Pugin's wealthiest patron, John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, for Augustus Pugin's Cathedral of Saint Chad, Birmingham: the first Catholic cathedral built in England since the Reformation. The eagle holds a dragon under its talon.

It's decorated with figures of Christ, the three Magi, Saint Barbara, and the Old Testament prophets, among others.

 I believe it was Pugin and his brassmaker, John Hardman, who replaced the missing Saint Barbara figure.

Sadly, the lectern currently resides in a museum. I don't know how it got there, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was sold by the Vatican II vandals. At least it has the honor of being housed at the Met in New York City. 

Pugin, of course, proved that these lecterns could be made for in the modern age and be used in the modern liturgy (which, in his day, was the Tridentine Mass). Here's a drawing he made in his book, Designs for Iron and Brass in the Style of the 16th and 17th Centuries. 

I believe this page shows the same lectern in physical form, though the images are very small.

Another lectern by Pugin, in the eagle style.

An eagle lectern at Pugin's church of Saint Giles, Cheadle, on the Gospel side. I don't know if Pugin actually made it or not.

This is a very elaborate lectern by Pugin's son-in-law and pupil, John Hardman Powell, currently at the church of Saint Paul, Brighton.

The base depicts the angels of the Apocalypse.

Now we come to the pulpits, from which sermons are preached. The medievals favored high pulpits because they signified the scaling of a mountain to proclaim the Gospel truths from the highest heights. According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, Pope Innocent III's treatise on the Mass quoted Isaias in reference to the deacon's scaling of the ambo to read the Gospel: "Get thee up upon a high mountain, thou that bringest good tidings to Sion: lift up thy voice with strength".

England is fortunate to have many surviving examples of pulpits. They endured the Reformation, probably because the Protestant commissioners, for once, didn't find them objectionable. Ironically, the Counter-Reformation on the continent gradually saw these pulpits dismantled or de-emphasized in what I see as a misguided effort to direct all visual focus toward the altar.

A 15th-century pulpit (heavily restored by Victorians) at the church of the Holy Trinity, Long Sutton.

A massive stone pulpit, with eagle lectern within, at the Duomo in Pisa.

Perhaps the finest pulpit of all. This one is at Canterbury Cathedral. Though it currently rests in the chief church of Anglicanism, one of the carvings depict Pope Gregory the Great sending Saint Augustine of Canterbury in a mission to establish the church in England.

A fine modern example is the pulpit in the Washington National Cathedral, which was carved less than a century ago. It was given by the Archbishop of Canterbury to the new cathedral in D.C. as a gift, and was remarkably fashioned out of stone from Canterbury Cathedral itself.

The central relief depicts a medieval Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, urging King John to sign Magna Carta. Not a subject I would've chosen for a pulpit, but there it is.

Finally, here are some photos of yet another kind of platform that was in use in the Middle Ages: the jube. The jube was the name given to rood lofts in France. While it's unclear whether the Scriptures were read from the top of the English rood lofts (the staircases may have been only to allow acolytes to light the candles at the top), the French jubes were certainly used for readings: probably at the right for Lessons and Epistles, and the left for Gospels.

The jube of the church of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont.

The name "jube" comes from the Mass. Before the deacon sings the Gospel, he approaches the celebrant and asks for his blessing with the words jube, domne, benedicere ("pray, sir, a blessing").

The one pictured above is the last surviving jube in France. It was built in the mid-1500's, in what was perhaps the very last Gothic work of art in that country before the total onslaught of the Classical and Baroque. The church of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont, by the way, has a colorful history. In the French Revolution, it was temporarily closed and re-dedicated as "the Temple of Filial Piety". We have Napoleon Bonaparte to thank for its restoration as a church, due to the Concordat of 1801. Saint-Étienne was also the site of an assassination. In 1857, the Archbishop of Paris, Marie-Dominique-Auguste Sibour (who also witnessed the marriage of Napoleon's nephew, Napoleon III), was murdered by an excommunicated priest who, in the act, cried out "Down with the goddesses!". The priest, Jean-Louis Verger, killed the Archbishop for promulgating the dogma of the Immaculate Conception in Paris, which had been declared by the Pope just a few years before. I believe that would make Archbishop Sibour the only person ever to have been martyred specifically over a dogma declared ex cathedra by the Pope.

Saint Edward the Confessor: the death of a tradition

Two days and 849 years ago, the incorrupt body of Edward, last of the Anglo-Saxon kings of England [Update: penultimate if you count the brief reign of Harold Godwinson], was translated from its original tomb and re-interred at a special shrine in Westminster Abbey. The event was presided over by Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the presence of King Henry II. The occasion: earlier that year, Edward had been canonized in Rome as a saint, an act which (whether by coincidence or otherwise) strengthened Henry II's legitimacy to the throne by associating him with the Saxon monarchs, as well as greatly contributing to the Abbey's wealth and prestige.

On October 13, 1163, Edward was also officially granted the epithet of "the Confessor". He was given this title to distinguish him from his predecessor, King Edward the Martyr, while still recognizing his service and suffering on behalf of Christendom. He gave generously to the poor people of the realm and kept England out of war the entire length of his reign: no mean feat for the Middle Ages. Edward the Confessor's feast day also made me realize that we've lost the art of referring to our heads of state and other important figures by epithet. True, the first Norman king is known best as William "the Conqueror", or "the Bastard". A few English monarchs have since gained nicknames like "Edward Longshanks", "Bloody Mary", and "Good Queen Bess" for the sisters Mary I and Elizabeth I (though a second look at history might require a reversal of those monikers). But otherwise, the Norman Conquest imposed the ordinal system: an impersonal number beside a name.

The Saxon kings, to the contrary, all earned epithets based on their deeds, for good or ill. The Confessor's father was Aethelred the Unready, so-called for his stubborn refusal to heed his ministers' advice. Before him, there were Edward the Martyr, Edgar the Peaceful, Eadwig All-Fair, Eadred the Excellent, Edmund the Deed-doer, and Aethelstan the Glorious.

The shrine of Saint Edward the Confessor at Westminster Abbey, restored by Mary I during her brief reign

So today, I've decided to establish an epithet system for dead Presidents of the United States. Yes, I've come up with possibilities for all 38 of them; not counting Reagan, because his predecessor Carter isn't dead yet. [Update: since my first posting of this article, I was asked by several friends to finish the list, so I've come up with some epithets for the rest of them, too.]

1. George the Devourer. Washington is an obvious candidate for "the Great", "the Conqueror", "the Magnificent", but he already has a nickname given by history. Our first President was bestowed the title of Conotocaurious, or "Devourer of Villages", by the Iroquois Confederacy during the American Revolution. A Seneca religious figure by the name of Handsome Lake went so far as to declare that Washington was the only white man allowed to enter the Indians' heaven.

2. John the Fat. When Adams was Vice President under the Washington Administration, he was dubbed "His Rotundity" by his opponents, who mocked him for proposing that the President be addressed as "His Majesty" or even "His High Mightiness". Also known for his stubbornness, Adams could be called "the Unready" or "Redeless".

3. Thomas the Apostate, or perhaps Doubting Thomas, for his work on the Jefferson Bible, which attempts to excise the gospels of all miracles and "superstition". Also Thomas the Tinkerer for inventing the swivel chair and a cipher wheel, among many other devices.

4. James the Lawgiver. Madison is best-known for drafting the Constitution. Or, James the Short for being the shortest of all Presidents at 5 feet 4 inches.

5. James the Beloved; not for any of Monroe's actual deeds, but because he was lucky enough to be elected during the Era of Good Feelings. His rivals' party, the Federalists, completely disintegrated, making Monroe perhaps the last president to govern without a substantial opposition.

6. John the Abolitionist. Quincy Adams was as stubborn as his father and constantly brought up the subject of slavery on the floor of Congress, despite there being a gag rule against the topic. He's also famous for having defended the Africans of the Amistad case in the Supreme Court, notably after having served as President.

7. Andrew the Widowmaker. Known as Old Hickory in his own time for being so tough, Jackson fought as many as a dozen, or even more, duels in his life, killing at least one man. After surviving an attempt on his life, he beat the would-be assassin nearly to death with his cane. Then there's the whole Trail of Tears affair.

8. Martin the Wrymouth. Van Buren was remarkably courteous to his political opponents. He also engineered much of the New York political machine via power groups such as the Albany Regency and Tammany Hall. Still, considering he was a one-term president, it didn't seem to work out for him there. Martin Van Ruin, as his enemies called him, has the pleasantly contradictory distinction of being both the first President to have been born natively in the US (after the Declaration of Independence), yet also the only President whose native language was not English. His first tongue was Dutch.

9. William the Brief. W.H. Harrison had the shortest term of office of any President. He died of pneumonia 30 days after taking his oath. In attempting to treat him, Harrison's doctors applied leeches, showing that the practice lasted for centuries after the close of the Middle Ages.

10. John the Virile. Tyler had 15 children: 8 with his first wife, 7 with his second. His opponents had another nickname for him: "His Accidency" (a play on "His Excellency" which was used to address the President in that century), for being the first vice president to become president on account of the incumbent's death. What especially blows my mind is the fact that Tyler currently has two grandsons who are still alive.

11. James the Conqueror. Polk's lasting legacy is in annexing Texas to the Union, waging the Mexican-American War, and enlarging the country's landmass by a third. He was known to be even more zealous in the quest for manifest destiny than most. He achieved an incredible lot of work for only one term, promised to serve only one term, and actually abstained from seeking re-election when the time came. Alas, he died three months later of cholera, prompting Sam Houston to remark that he died "a victim of the use of water as a beverage".

12. Zachary the Bold. Taylor was a general of the Mexican-American War whose decisive victories against Santa Anna paved his way to become President. He never expressed political opinions until his presidential campaign, then died after 16 months in office, so he isn't remembered for much else.

13. Millard the..... hmm, I honestly can't think of an epithet for this guy. Last of the Whigs, maybe? Who names their son Millard? [Update: a reader suggested Milliard the Mediocre, which is as good an epithet as any.]

14. Franklin the Handsome. Pierce was actually called "Handsome Frank" during his term for his classical Roman face and dark, wavy hair.

15. James the Chaste. Buchanan was the only President to have never married. Before he moved to the White House, he shared his house with William Rufus King (Vice President under Pierce), for 15 years. Not an unusual arrangement for ordinary men today (including myself), but it does seem mighty bizarre for a grown man with a roommate to be elected to the highest office in the nation.... even today, not to mention the Victorian age.

16. Abraham the Martyr. Though I'm sure those of a more southern persuasion could think of alternate names for Lincoln, history is written by the victors. Lincoln, like King Charles I (also called "the Martyr" by some), has been effectively canonized by popular acclaim. But unlike Charles, people still care about Lincoln today.

17. Andrew the Tailor. Whatever Johnson's failures as President, I give him props for making it into the Oval Office from such humble origins. Johnson was raised in poverty, ran away from home at 16 to become a tailor, married at only 18, and was self-educated. His enemies called him "white trash" even back then.

18. Hiram the Drunkard. Who's Hiram, you say? The man we know as Ulysses S. Grant was born from a clerical error. When he was 17, Hiram Ulysses Grant was nominated by his Congressman to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point... but for whatever reason, his Congressman mistakenly entered his name as Ulysses S. Grant. Not to jeopardize this opportunity for advancement, Grant actually changed his name to match the mistake. The S. doesn't actually stand for anything! And here's another interesting fact: when Grant was born, his family couldn't decide on a name for him, so each member of the family wrote a name on a piece of paper and dropped it into a hat. The name drawn from said hat was Hiram Ulysses.

19. Rutherford the Usurper. The election of 1876 was perhaps the most contested in American history. Congress created an Electoral Commission to resolve it, and Hayes won by just one electoral vote. His enemies called him "His Fraudulency", and some simply refused to recognize his legitimacy.

20. James the Wise. Garfield was committed to battling illiteracy and providing education to the less fortunate, especially blacks. He had a 3,000-book library that would make any liberal arts major envious, and developed a trapezoid proof of the Pythagorean theorem. I've always thought his assassination at the hands of a complete madman was the most tragic of all Presidents'.

21. Chester the Walrus. "Walrus" was a nickname given by children for Arthur's peculiar choice of facial hair. His slick New York sense of fashion also earned him the nickname "Prince Arthur".

22 and 24. Stephen the Interrupted. Better known by his middle name, Grover Cleveland was the only president to serve nonconsecutive terms. He entered the presidency as a bachelor, and his sister served as First Lady for two years. Cleveland married a 21-year old girl by the name of Frances Folsom, becoming the only President to have ever married in the White House.

23. Benjamin the Frostbitten. Harrison, grandson of William Henry, was called a human iceberg for his chilly disposition when talking to individuals.

25. William the Merchant Prince. The McKinley Administration's policies on business, industry, and expansion can be credited for putting America on the track to becoming an economic and imperialist powerhouse.

26. Theodore the Lionheart. Teddy and King Richard I have a surprising lot in common. Both achieved lasting celebrity not so much for their political policies, but because, whether it's San Juan Hill or the Third Crusade, they lived larger-than-life in the eyes of their people.A hole in the wall of the Menger Bar in downtown San Antonio marks where Teddy fired his pistol while recruiting Rough Riders.

27. William the Merry. "Fat" is too mild a word for Taft, so let's use "Merry" as a euphemism for obese. Taft was so fat, he got stuck in the White House's bathtub and required his aides to use butter to dislodge him. He then famously ordered the current Presidential bathtub, which is large enough to fit four comfortably. It's said that Taft hated being President, but found fulfillment in his later career as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

28. Thomas the Professor. T. Woodrow Wilson was a professor and president of Princeton University prior to Washington. As President (of the US), he lectured visitors to the White House on history and other academic subjects. His academic background, unfortunately, displayed itself in a frightening commitment to "making the world safe for democracy" with no regard for the art of politics.

29. Warren the Unlucky. Harding kicked off the Roaring Twenties with a reputation for drinking, gambling, and adultery. I call him the Unlucky for having lost all the White House's china in one hand of poker, as well as dying suddenly in the middle of a conversation with his wife. I still think either his wife or one of the powerful mobs of the era poisoned him.

30. John the Silent. Dorothy Parker made a bet with J. Calvin Coolidge, saying: "Mr. Coolidge, I've made a bet against a fellow who said it was impossible to get more than two words out of you." Coolidge's response was, "You lose". Despite Coolidge's reputation for being a quiet man, he actually gave interviews with reporters more frequently than any other President in history, possibly including Obama.

31. Herbert the Builder. Hoover actually started quite a few building projects, including the famous Dam. Unfortunately, FDR would end up taking the credit for all the success Hoover started to recover from the Great Depression.

32. Franklin the Lame. If FDR were a medieval king, he'd inevitably be defined mainly by his inability to walk. In truth, he was extremely conscious of his disability and took care never to be seen in public while in a wheelchair.

33. Harry Four-eyes. Not Harold or Harrison; Truman's parents formally named him just Harry. Like Grant, his middle initial S. also doesn't stand for anything, but Truman's parents did so deliberately. Truman wasn't the first president to wear glasses, but I believe he was the first president to wear glasses every waking moment of the day, and from a young age. His childhood dream of going ot West Point was never realized on account of poor eyesight. He was only able to pass the eyesight exam and join the Missouri National Guard because he memorized the letters on the eye chart.

34. Dwight Martel. Martel, meaning "the hammer", for Eisenhower's role in planning the invasions of France and Germany during World War II. Though he was a warrior, I dare say Eisenhower could be called Dwight the Pacific. He ended the Korean War and kept America out of any other ears during his two terms.

35. John the Beloved. Kennedy's successful combination of charm, good looks, speeches, and his assassination have all ensured his place as most-loved president of the 20th century. Perhaps his enemies would have called him Jack the Papist or Johnny Foreigner on account of religion or Irishness.

36. Lyndon the Spacefarer. Of course LBJ didn't actually go to space; nor did Prince Henry the Navigator actually sail around the world. But for all Johnson's faults, he put a man on the moon, which is more than can be said of any of us in the 21st century, despite the fact that we all use computers that are far more advanced than the ones used on the Apollo missions.

37. Tricky Dick is the only presidential nickname I think really stands on par with the monikers of the medieval kings. I leave this one as is. It can't be topped.

38. Gerald the Affable. Pardoning Nixon really did a number on Ford's reputation, but he deserves the epithet "Affable" for maintaining a relatively nonpartisan image and even eventually overcoming the stigma of the Nixon years. Perhaps it was because he had the luxury of being the only President to not have to run for either President or Vice President. (Ford's birth name, by the way, was actually Leslie, but it was changed early on in his life.)

39. James the Farmer. Like "Farmer George" III, Carter was praised or mocked for his passion for agriculture. Alternately, James the Pious, as Carter was a Sunday school teacher and was known to pray multiple times a day even as President.

40. Ronald the Diviner. Reagan may be a favorite president of the so-called religious right in our times, but he also made frequent recourse to the advice of astrologers. Joan Quigley, who may perhaps be called our first Court Astrologer, said: "Not since the days of the Roman emperors—and never in the history of the United States Presidency—has an astrologer played such a significant role in the nation's affairs of State."

41. George the Spymaster. Bush the Elder, before becoming President, served for a short time as Director of the CIA. Espionage had never been so reviled as during the Middle Ages in Europe, so if Bush the Elder had ever been a medieval king, he would have forever been caricatured as a shifty, paranoid intriguer with a dagger hidden under his cloak.

42. William the Wanton. We remember Clinton's presidency mainly for his extramarital affairs, though they would've gone without notice, or even been accepted as normal, during medieval times. As we live in an age where even the highest members of society marry "for love" rather than political alliance, we are not so forgiving anymore.

43. George the Stutterer. Bush the Younger had no gift for oratory. In the past, kings and presidents could overcome this flaw by the use of heralds or the printing press to disseminate their ideas. In the era of radio, television, and the Internet, a poor public speaker is ripe for a media-induced beating.

44. Barack the Blackamoor. For an allegedly post-racial generation, our current president is still accounted, even or especially by his supporters, primarily for being black. With less than a month until the next election, time will tell how, or even if, he'll be remembered for anything else.