This page is not indexed.  If you've found it, congratulations!

It includes the text of all pages indexed on this site concerning Gregorian rhythm, my Corpus Christi Watershed Gregorian Rhythm Wars articles (without examples), and some forum comments.

To see/hear the examples, you will need to click the link in the section heading for each archived article or post.

On May 14, 2026, a colleague brought to my attention that all of my contributions to the Corpus Christi Watershed (approximately 70,000 words) had been deleted.  A few days later, the rest of the site was placed behind a paywall.  June 3, I spent several hours updating the links on my site to direct to archived versions of the CCWatershed pages.  April 26, 2025, Ostrowski wrote that one of his main goals was to ensure that the entire site would always remain free without requiring a login.  The last public listing of Corpus Christi Watershed board members appears to be from 2012, and nobody seems to know whether Ostrowski is accountable to anyone except himself—and perhaps his own aliases!

My writings have now been removed from CCWatershed, rejected from the Sacred Music journal, and censored from the MusicaSacra Forum.  I have already sufficiently brought Ostrowski's bizarre conduct to light.  As for the journal, my article on Vollaerts was rejected ostensibly because of the “pointedly negative tone" with which I criticize “the views of people of good will" who advocate demonstrable misinterpretations, according to the managing editor.  Does the article in question seem overwhelmingly negative in tone?  Is it accurate or fitting to describe those who lack a love of the truth, who refuse correction, and who deliberately deceive others as “people of good will"?  Regarding the forum, the moderator suggested that I defamed Ostrowski.  That comment of his was subsequently removed along with mine, but defamation by definition involves false statements.  Not only have I written the truth, but I can back up every bit of it with crystal-clear written evidence.  If someone thinks I'm guilty of defamation, then let him file a lawsuit so a judge can subpoena IP addresses for the pertinent e-mails, Facebook accounts, and forum posts to settle this once and for all!

In the meantime, I leave it up to my readers to form their own judgment.  Throughout the Gregorian Rhythm Wars series, I always encouraged readers to examine the sources for themselves and not to take my word on anything.  I haven't dealt dishonestly, disrespectfully, or uncharitably with anyone.  I am not by temperament a mean, nasty, hateful, vicious, or vindictive person, but I stand my ground, and I stand up for myself, because who else is going to?  I have no persecution complex, but I ask you: Does it appear that there have been various efforts to silence me or to suppress dissemination of my views?  Does it seem like I have brought this upon myself?  Truth does not fear investigation, and if truth weren't at stake, I would have simply “turned the other cheek" and moved on months ago.

Everything remains here for those who wish to examine it.  The most important task remains not to debate, accuse, or theorize, but to sing!  I aim to have a corrected and expanded hardcover edition available before the end of the year.  I have no proofreader, and very few corrections have been submitted by anyone after more than five years of publishing digitally and soliciting user feedback.

Fundamental principles: Short notes come in pairs.  Short and long notes are in 1:2 proportion.  There is a steady beat.

Preface to The Proper of the Mass: Sundays & Holy Days

This book comprises all volumes of seven seasonal booklets, organized as follows:

1. Advent through Epiphany

2. After Epiphany

3. Lent

4. Eastertide

5. Trinity through Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

6. Eighth through Fifteenth Sundays after Pentecost

7. Sixteenth through Last Sundays after Pentecost

The Nuptial and Requiem Masses are included in part 2, and corrections to parts 1 through 6 have been incoporated into this combined volume.

To eliminate any confusion, a table of note values is given on the following pages, followed by the introit for the First Sunday of Advent in modern notation. For a deep understanding of the correct interpretation, Jan van Biezen’s “Het ritme van het gregoriaans” (The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant), translated by Kevin M. Rooney in Rhythm, Meter and Tempo in Gregorian Chant (Glendale, CO: Andrewes, 2016), is heartily recommended along with Dom Gregory Murray’s Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts (London: Cary, 1963) and study of the Graduale Novum (Regensburg: ConBrio, 2011 & 2018). I recommend those texts even before Jan W. A. Vollaerts’s magisterial Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant (Leiden: Brill, 1960). Links to those books and articles and many additional resources can be found at my website, cantatorium.com.

Although I remain unconvinced about Van Biezen’s interpretation of the oriscus and no longer give those notes any special treatment, I have incorporated the wavy note form in this edition. Those who wish to adopt an ornamental interpretation of the oriscus will be able to recognize it at sight without consulting the adiastematic neumes. I wish to caution users of this edition against any kind of exaggeration or ostentation in the rendition of these chants. The music and sacred texts are entirely adequate to speak for themselves when sung without dramatic pauses, tempo changes, doubtful ornamentation, droning, organum, harmonization, or anything tending to make the chants sound more (or perhaps less) foreign or exotic.

My hope is that this edition preserves as much of the oldest extant manuscripts with as little evidence of editorial additions as possible. I appreciate and encourage user feedback regarding the placement of bar lines and puncta morae dots, inconsistencies, choices made between conflicting manuscript readings, divergences from the restored melodic text of the Graduale Novum, transposition, and other editorial decisions, as I expect to make further revisions before a comprehensive hardcover volume is published. You may contact me at organistAL@aol.com; please put Cantatorium, Proprium Missae, or Proper of the Mass in the subject line. Although I welcome suggestions and constructive criticism, understand that fidelity to the manuscripts included in the triplex editions is my primary objective and is nonnegotiable when considering any proposed changes.

Finally, I wish to express gratitude to John Greutman for helping me learn TeXworks well enough to produce this volume. If you have seen the printings of the first volume typeset in Microsoft Word, you will probably notice the differences immediately. Although some spacing problems remain, I find the TeXworks results altogether more elegant and attractive. I will have an expert user make adjustments before publishing the comprehensive hardcover volume. God willing, that self-published hardcover will be followed by a deluxe edition with a gold foil-stamped cover, reinforced binding, higher quality paper, red page edges, and ribbon bookmarks.

Liquescence and Rhythmic Proportions

Anyone unconvinced of the long value of the final note of the cursive porrectus and torculus would do well to study the triplex notation thoroughly. Comparison of the liquescent and non-liquescent forms is a great key that unlocks and reveals the correct rhythmic interpretation: each figure below has a duration of two beats. The adiastematic neumes of the second and third rows are identical; only the square notation differs. The hooked liquescent strokes themselves, by definition occurring only at the ends of neumes, are ambiguous, sometimes indicating a single unison note (which the Cardinian semiologists call augmentative liquescence), as seen in the second row, and other times indicating descending or ascending notes (diminutive liquescence), as seen in the third row. The first and fourth rows show the analogous non-liquescent forms, from which it becomes apparent that the three-note figures in the first row have a long final note. Notice also that the second and third figures in the first row are identical; the same non-liquescent torculus corresponds to two unison liquescent forms. Dom Cardine argued against Father Vollaerts that the normal cursive porrectus and torculus in the first row indicate three short notes, but that claim is untenable in light of comparative analysis—even if, like Cardine, one dismisses the consistent use of an episema in the Nonantola fragments as mere graphical convention without rhythmic significance. No convincing evidence from the oldest sources can be furnished in favor of a short interpretation of the third note of the porrectus or torculus.

Note Values

Note values in this edition are indicated by means of rhythmic markings or white/hollow noteheads. The square punctum, tailed virga, diamond/rhombus/lozenge punctum inclinatum, and wavy oriscus are used by convention but all have the same duration in and of themselves, modified by the addition of the horizonta episema, punctum mora augmentation dot, both, or a white/hollow notehead. The vertical episema is used to show beat placement before or after syncopation, and the virgula (comma) is used before a non-ictic (offbeat) entrance after a full or double bar line. According to Jan van Biezen’s interpretation, ornaments, i.e., weak beginning (initio debiles) notes, the white/hollow notes of this edition, the portamento indicated by the jagged quilisma, and, if observed, the upper auxiliary note of the oriscus, all come before the beat and take their value from the preceding note.

***

“When a large number of manuscripts of various epochs and from different countries agree in the version of a chant, it may be affirmed that those manuscripts undoubtedly give us the phrase of St. Gregory.” (Dom Guéranger, Institutions liturgiques)

“Never is there one result among many chances.  Error should have been varied . . . .  Whatever is found to be one and the same among many is not an error but a tradition.” (Tertullian)

***

Kevin M. Rooney on the Quilisma:

Commentary from Kevin M. Rooney on the Correct Rendition of the Quilisma (Abridged and Slightly Paraphrased, with Permission):

The mystery of the quilisma is solved.  The quilisma is a rising portamento, Schleifer, or slide, or alternatively a light passing note.  This is more or less the interpretation that Solesmes has always called for.

Performance: The note before the quilisma is always long, as Mocquereau observed.  The note after the quilisma can be short or long, depending on context.  If singing mensurally the early medieval way, the quilisma itself steals a sliver of time from the long note before it.

Fact #1: The note before and below the quilisma is always lengthened, never short.
Mocquereau gives three pages of demonstration, pp. 415-417 of his Le Nombre, English translation.

Fact #2: The quilisma itself never lands on a downbeat.
Mocquereau, p. 415: The rhythmic pulse always falls on the note before the quilisma, never on the quilisma itself.  Cardine, p. 201: The melody always “tends toward” the note that follows the quilisma, in that the paleography consistently places a rhythmic accent upon the upper note that follows the quilisma, but again never on the quilisma itself.

Fact #3: The quilisma itself is never long.
There is not a single instance in the repertory of first-class Gregorian chant manuscripts of a quilisma lengthened by a horizontal episema or by a Romanus letter t for ‘tenete’ = ‘hold’.  This suggests that the quilisma is never a long note.

Fact #4: The quilisma is interchangeable with a light passing note.
We see it sometimes replaced in Laon and Chartres by a breve (short) depicted as a dot.  It happens more often when the ascending interval is larger than a minor third.  In Old Roman notation, which doesn’t depict rhythm but does like to add Italianate decorations, the quilisma is never depicted as any fancy figure, but just an ordinary note on the semitone.

Fact #5: The quilisma is interchangeable with an ascending grace note.
The rising initial auxiliary note of an initio debilis sign found on the second of two syllables is interchangeable with a quilisma bridging the same interval over a single syllable.  Because the first note of an initio debilis sign is functionally a grace note or appoggiatura (per Cardine, Murray, and Van Biezen), it follows that the quilisma is performed similarly, if not the same.

Fact #6: The quilisma is omittable.
It often disappears in parallel places of some Gregorian chant figures (Cardine p. 205), as seen when the quilismatic long pes is replaced by an ordinary long pes and vice versa (Cardine, p. 204; Van Biezen 2016, p. 16).  This can also be seen in parallel passages throughout Old Roman Bodmer C74.  The quilisma is therefore an ornamental note not necessary to the structure of the melody.  Mocquereau, p. 417:

The history of the quilisma during the period of greatest decadence fully confirms this deduction.  One of the most significant and most common characteristics of this epoch was the total omission of the quilisma.  The loss would be inexplicable if a fundamental or lengthened note had been in question.  There are many instances of such omissions.  Where however the quilisma note itself has been retained, it appears as the middle note of the neum of which it formed part, though this again does not imply that it had been originally strong or long.

Thence we can determine from the paleographical evidence alone that the quilisma is never long, never structural, never on a downbeat, and never important; but rather always light, always ornamental, always functioning like a passing note, and perhaps always optional.  Vollaerts 1958/1960, p. 110, gives a list of chants for comparative analysis to confirm the above points.  I’d be glad to give my own as well.

Still, that’s not enough, and so here’s some more evidence, philological and testimonial:

Fact #7: The quilisma symbols of at least three medieval notations are medieval question marks customary in their respective regions.
Cardine’s first page on the quilisma chapter mentions this.  The medieval punctus interrogativus calls implicitly for a rising intonation of the voice.  Well, likewise, a rising portamento or slide is musically equivalent to, even acoustically the same vocal effect as, the rising of the voice at the end of a spoken question.

Fact #8: The German Baroque Schleifer is identical to the St. Gall quilisma.
I have yet to find whether there is a continuity here over five centuries, but, even if there weren’t, it’s a striking coincidence, given the equivalence between the performance of the Schleifer and the quilisma, as supported by all the evidence I just gave.

Fact #9: Aurelian of Réôme, circa 850, calls the quilisma ‘tremula,’ or “tremulous inflection.”
He points to the word “canticum” in the verse of Gradual “Exultabunt sancti,” which has a quilisma.  See also Treitler, p. 191.  Or, for Aurelian’s actual text, see the online Thesaurus Musicarum Latinarum.  He uses the Latin word “tremula” (“trembling”) more than twice in his writing, and that suggests the meaning was clear through the word itself.

Robert Fowells, Cardine’s translator, says the following (“Gregorian Semiology: The New Chant.  Part II,” in Sacred Music, vol. 114, no. 3 (1987), p. 9):

Because its appearance looks somewhat like a mordent and early manuscripts say it should be sung with a “tremulous” sound, many musicologists feel that it is a sign for a mordent or a shake, somewhat in the baroque sense.  However, “tremulous” not only means “shaking” but “timid.”  The Solesmes school has always held that the latter interpretation should prevail and that the note should be passed through lightly.

Fact #10: Guido of Arezzo, circa 1022, enumerates ‘tremula' with long and short as a separate category of duration.
Micrologus, chapter 15:

. . . and some notes compared to others have a duration twice as long, or twice as short, or trembling, i.e. a varying duration which, whenever long, is signified by a virgula plana assigned to the letters.

The virgula plana, which means a horizontal line, is the episema.  But the “trembling” or “tremula” note, i.e., the quilisma, is never long, because it is never furnished with an episema.  So it is obvious in Guido’s grammar here that he means the ‘trembling’ note is a third category of note duration that is not long and not exactly short either.

Fact #11: The ‘tremula’ is defined in the medieval theory as two or three small notes.
From the Quid Est Cantus and other medieval treatises, a ‘tremula’ note is:

ex tribus gradibus componitur, id est, ex duabus brevibus et acuto
composed of three pitches, i.e., of two short notes and a high note

The duabus brevibus here are together the single note that we call the quilisma itself.  Elsewhere in the testimony, it is described as “two or three” short notes.  When singing two or three short (enharmonic) notes compressed into the timespan of a single swift note, as the paleographical facts above require, the result is a slide.

Fact #12: Nonantola notation depicts the quilisma not as a question mark but as two rising dots.
So two rising dots in Nonantola are equivalent to the swift note implied by the paleographical facts.  The only resulting interpretation then is exactly what the medieval theorists’ definition calls for.

Conclusion: First note = long.  Second note = slide or swift passing note.  Third note = not restricted by the above evidence; its length depends on the melody.

The interpretation of the quilisma itself as a sliding transition requires the length of the note before it, and since the quilisma cannot be interpreted any other way according to the evidence, it follows that the note before it is required to be long.  If the note before it were short, it would merge into the quilisma and become part of the slide.  This is a more musicologically accurate way to say what Mocquereau always said: that the quilisma retroactively lengthens the note before it.

I don’t have Cardine with me, but I don’t recall him really disagreeing substantially with Mocquereau.  I think his observation that the first note is long on account of its sign is easier to reckon with than Mocquereau’s retroactivity, but that’s splitting hairs.  Mocquereau might have made mistakes in interpreting the data, but in my opinion when it came to data observation he was a fantastic paleographer.  Same with Cardine.

On the other hand, I admit showing the first note is long in and of itself would require good examples.  And showing it is never short is harder, since it would require all examples!

Too many scholars have contended that the quilisma has a vibrato or trill.  This is wrong because:

• There is no practical way to execute a vibrato or trill on a light passing note.  It cannot be done without giving the quilisma a long beat, and there is no evidence of that in the paleography.

• The misunderstanding of tremula as meaning “shaking,” as in shaking the voice up and down, is tied to the St. Gall quilisma wherein the pen undulates upward and downward two or three times.  But other notations do not depict the quilisma in this way.  The Laon/Metz/Messine/Lotharingian notation uses an upside-down question mark, and a question ends with a rising sliding voice, not with a vibration, as Cardine noted.  The standard modern notation for a glissando, also used for a portamento, has any number of serrations, yet no one misinterprets it as a tremolo.

• The misunderstanding of tremula as meaning “shaking” may also be due to a confusion in the High Middle Ages between the quilisma (a rising slide) and the salicus (interpreted by Van Biezen as a composite containing a rising mordent).  The first two notes of the three-note salicus are sometimes on the same pitch or one pitch apart, and some singers seem to have a natural tendency to put a mordent between them to keep them distinct.  Although many notations write the plain punctum of a scandicus instead, the symbol for the second note is generally considered to be a form of the oriscus, which in the notation of Laon is practically the same sign as a turn (gruppetto) in modern notation.  This may indeed indicate a “trembling,” i.e., a shaking, of the voice, but it cannot be said for certain.  The oriscus may be merely a melodic indication initiating upward or downward motion; it is never followed by a unison note unless a new phrase begins.  The confusion between trembling = timid and trembling = shaking is a result of the rising quilisma figure and rising oriscus/salicus figure being interchangeable in many circumstances because of their rhythmic time equivalence, two long beats when sung mensurally, the lack of notational differentiation between quilisma and oriscus in Chartres 47, and their status as ornaments—the quilisma certainly and the oriscus possibly.

Conclusion: The quilisma is either a rising passing note or a slide, between two beats.

The notion that chant was actually measured is demonstrable, and has been demonstrated before.  The reason so many honest God-fearing people doubt it is their trust in Solesmes’ repeated denial thereof ever since the Vatican edition.  The reasons for their denial are sundry but nonetheless unjustified.  If Solesmes admitted their interpretations were novel, we’d have no problem, since their music can still be lovely.  But, since they have claimed to have a (mostly) historically accurate interpretation, per Cardine, it behooves us, in my opinion, to correct that mistake in our understanding.

According to Guido of Arezzo’s Micrologus (c. 1022), chapter 15, paraphrased, says the duration of a note may be long or short or tremula (which refers to the quilisma), and whenever it’s long it is marked by a horizontal line that doubles the note.  The term measure is inherent in the medieval word for chant modulatio.  The theory for proportional concord between rhythmic units in cantus melodies reaches all the way back to Greco-Roman antiquity and is consistently held down to the Carolingian era, not vanishing till the second millennium.  The a priori supposition that chant should be free of rhythm is due to (1) the chant’s loss of rhythm in the 1000s, (2) Solesmes’ historical bias against fixed rhythm, and (3) the a priori assumption that all chant melody evolved from oratorical prosaic rhythm-free psalmody.  It’s a big topic, and I recommend another thread with a better title.  Still, to start somewhere, John Rayburn's Gregorian Chant: A History of the Controversy Concerning Its Rhythm, 1964, is required reading.

In Early Medieval performance practice, which Solesmes claims is its gold standard:

• quilisma’s first note is always lengthened, if it is present.  Paleography proves this.

• quilisma’s second note is never lengthened.  Paleography and theory both prove this.

• quilisma’s third note is sometimes lengthened.  Depends on the neum.

In my opinion, the reason people are against one interpretation or another is nowadays more due to unawareness than anything.

Tempo, according to the medieval theorists, is constant in Early Medieval performance practice, except at the last few notes.

Episema isn’t always doubled; that’s just the default meaning.  Most of the time it is.  But, if you follow the theory of Van Biezen, Gregorian chant also has a bit of notes inegales.  For example, the figure short-short-long-short-long-long is then  𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅘𝅥𝅮.𝅘𝅥𝅯 𝅘𝅥  𝅘𝅥  [8th, 8th, dotted 8th, 16th, quarter, quarter], which makes sense only if you keep the plausus (pulse) encoded by St. Augustine and enjoined by the Enchiriadis writings.  It’s a relatively new discovery that removes the chief obstacle that Cardine rejected mensuralism over in 1964, namely that mensural fixity is incompatible with the “looseness” (what does that even mean?) of the neums.  Fluidity and aesthetics are not compromised; quite the opposite rather.

Manuscripts

L = Laon Gradual, Codex Laudunensis 239, ca. 880; some sources inexplicably date it fifty years later.  See here for notes concerning the value of this manuscript.

C = St. Gall Cantatorium, Codex Sangallensis 359, end of 9th cent.; some sources date it to 922–926; contains only graduals, alleluias, and tracts

E = Einsiedeln Gradual, Codex Einsidlensis 121, 960–996

Bam = Bamberg 6, 966-1000

G 339 = St. Gall Gradual & Sacramentary, Codex Sangallensis 339, 980–1000

MR = Mont Renaud Gradual (second link here), 10th cent.

Ch = Chartres 47, 10th cent.; destroyed in 1944

Non = Nonantola Antiphonale Missarum, 10th cent.; fragments

H = Hartker Antiphoner, Codex Sangallensis 390/391, 986–1011; for the Divine Office, not the Mass

Ang = Angelica 123, 10th or early 11th cent.

Bv 33 = Benevento 33, 10th or early 11th cent.

Mp = Antiphonary or Tonary of St. Benigne, Montpellier H 159, 11th cent.; digraphic alphabetical notation

Bv 34 = Benevento 34, 11th or 12th cent.; diastematic

Troyes 522, a Missal from the 9th cent. notated in Messine (Lotharingian) neumes, is another MS of interest.

Paleographie musicale and an index

omnigreg.at is invaluable for comparative analysis; use the search (Suche) bar to find a particular chant.

I prepared the following article in response to Facebook comments from Corpus Christi Watershed challenging me to defend my ideas publicly, which I have already done on this website and my YouTube channel, as well as in various comments on Corpus Christi Watershed’s posts.  Their comments, with provocative and disrespectful language—for example, “indefensible,” “silly,” “absolutely bonkers,” “beyond far-fetched,” “fanciful”—can be read below the August 25 and 31, 2022, posts (assuming they haven't been removed by the time you see this).  See also the comments from July 5, 2022, and January 12, 2021.

At the Second Vatican Council, paragraph 117 of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy Sacrosanctum Concilium called for the preparation of “a more critical edition” of the chant books.  A little less than 60 years prior, Pope St. Pius X had ordered their thorough revision: “The melodies of the Church, so-called Gregorian, will be restored in their integrity and purity according to the testimony of the most ancient codices, in such a manner that due account is also taken of the legitimate tradition contained in the codices throughout the centuries, and of the practical usage of today’s liturgy” (Motu proprio Col nostro, April 25, 1904).  Although several revised, restored, or corrected editions have appeared, the more critical edition envisioned by Vatican II has yet to be promulgated nearly another 60 years later.  The Oxford Reference website furnishes a succinct definition of what constitutes a critical edition: “A scholarly edition that does not replicate the text of one document, but rather presents a corrected text, compiled from one or more source documents, and an apparatus recording editorial emendations and textual variants.”  My objective is not to explore the reasons why an official critical revision of the Roman Gradual is still not available, but rather to identify the most reliable sources for such a revision.

It is of vital importance to determine which manuscripts give rhythmic indications that accurately represent the authentic tradition.  I wish to reproduce a rather lengthy quotation from Fr. Jan Vollaerts, S.J., which explains the precise nature of the problem:

If it could be proved that the so-called rhythmic MSS were older than the non-rhythmic MSS, then it would be fairly obvious that the latter belonged to a place and time in which the rhythmic tradition had been lost.  Hence, without further proof, the non-rhythmic MSS would have less authority than the rhythmic MSS, and would certainly never be able to play a dominant part in the interpretation of those same rhythmic MSS.  However, there is no need for the argument of greater antiquity concerning the rhythmic MSS, for their superior value may be ascertained without establishing their greater antiquity.  The argument for this rests with the clear and unanimous pronouncements of the great medieval authors.  From the fifth to the twelfth centuries, it was their general teaching that rhythm was metrical, there being ‘breves’, ‘longae’ and ‘duplo longiores’.  Moreover, they tell us that the long and short durations of the sounds could be shown by the shape of the neums, and also that special letters indicated short and long sounds.  Hence it follows that the rhythmic MSS which have come down to us bear a truer representation of the melody than the non-rhythmic MSS.  Also, all the medieval rhythm theories agree only with the rhythmic MSS; indeed, the indications of ‘longa’ and ‘brevis’ fail in the non-rhythmic MSS.  The crumbling of the tradition [. . .] is clearly confirmed when we examine those neum-MSS which may show rhythmic indications but owing to increasing incompleteness and inaccuracy, have to be grouped in a secondary class.  These, in turn, run over into a third subsidiary grouping in which the original rhythmic indications (e.g. the episema) lose their significance and become pure graphic forms. [. . .] In these three classes of MSS it is possible to follow closely the gradual disappearance of the rhythmic tradition.  However, should one be tempted to rank the non-rhythmic MSS above the rhythmic MSS of the first and second classes above, a state of conflict will arise between the rules of the medieval theorists and the chant-books (neum-MSS).  In no way can this conflict be settled; the theorists prescribe metrical feet of ‘longae’ and ‘breves’ (2 : 1), while the non-rhythmic MSS omit the graphic indication of these different durations.  Nevertheless, there remains the possibility of the rhythmic MSS being related to the old non-rhythmic ones, in the same manner as a Hebrew text provided with vocal marks and accents is related to the same text lacking those marks and accents.  For centuries, the second text was by memory, read as the first.  Hence, both melody and rhythm may have been sung from the non-rhythmic MSS. (Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant, 2nd ed., 1960, pp. 3–4)

Lest anyone think I have included the above quote merely as anti-Vatican edition or anti-Solesmes propaganda, here is another in the same vein from Dom Mocquereau:

While it is true that the graphic form of the rhythmic signs varied according to the different schools of writing, as was the case with the melodic signs, yet, in spite of this freedom and variety of form, it is easy to discover a primitive and universal rhythmic tradition which affirms itself with a wealth of evidence and an authority equal to that which reveals the unity of the melodic tradition.  Nevertheless, we must admit that the primitive tradition as regards the figuration of rhythm was maintained with less constancy than the melodic tradition.  Already, the manuscripts of the tenth and eleventh centuries reveal inequalities in the manner of representing, with greater or less fidelity and with forms more or less perfect, the characteristics of the original rhythm. [. . .] The decline in the notation of rhythm becomes more evident and already foreshadows the approaching decadence of Gregorian chant, a decadence which was brought about principally by the neglect of the rhythmic signs, the understanding of which was slowly vanishing. [. . .] Other representatives of the same schools of writing [St. Gall and Metz] failed to cling with equal fidelity to the rhythmic tradition; far from it, indeed, for while they used the same signs, they wrote them in a haphazard way and with little understanding of their meaning.  Yet, even so, these precious fragments of a dying tradition bear witness to the existence and vitality of the tradition itself and bring valuable evidence to the work of restoration. [. . .] There are a great number of manuscripts which have preserved little of the rhythmic indications; others which have kept absolutely nothing.  But it would be an error to cite these manuscripts as bearing witness against the general rhythmic tradition, particularly in view of the positive testimony of the rhythmic manuscripts of the different categories.  In regard to the vital question of rhythm, they are silent, and these non-rhythmic codices can be considered—in relation to the rhythmic codices—exactly as we should consider a text lacking all punctuation and accents in contrast with a text carefully accentuated and punctuated.  Thus we have the primitive Hebrew texts of the Bible, for example, contrasted with the same texts adorned with dots to indicate the vowels or Massoretic accents which define and establish the punctuation, the accentuation, the expression and even the sense itself.  On the one hand we have precision, on the other uncertainty; here perfection, there imperfection; but nowhere is there a contradiction. (“Le nombre musical grégorien,” A Study of Gregorian Musical Rhythm, vol. 1, part 1, 1932, pp. 168–170)

Readers interested in learning more about the distinction between rhythmic and non-rhythmic manuscripts and the decline of the rhythmic tradition may wish to refer to The Rhythmic Tradition in the Manuscripts by Dom Mocquereau and Dom Gajard.

Several of the oldest extant manuscripts have long been considered a model group (to use the words of Fr. Vollaerts) for the restoration of Gregorian chant: for the Mass, the three manuscripts included in the triplex editions, known as C (St. Gall Cantatorium 359), L (Laon Gradual 239), and E (Einsiedeln Gradual 121), along with Chartres 47, Bamberg 6, and St. Gall 339; and H (Hartker Antiphoner, St. Gall 390/391) for the Divine Office.  Although St. Gall 339 is held in slightly lower esteem today than in previous decades, and Chartres shows evidence of stylized notational conventions that are less precise than the other manuscripts of the model group, the reliability of these sources is acknowledged by nearly all chant scholars over the last century.  Fr. Vollaerts remarked that “To plead their value would be akin to forcing open an unlocked door” (Rhythmic Proportions, p. 7).  No serious musicologist would dismiss codex C, L, E, or H’s importance, which is recognized by the foremost expositors of the Solesmes, mensuralist (measured or proportional rhythm), and semiological schools of interpretation.  Along with Chartres, Mont Renaud, and the few surviving fragments from Nonantola, they are unquestionably the oldest extant manuscripts from about A.D. 920 to 1000 and, as records of how chant was sung in the tenth century, have an inherent authority (here this word is used in the sense of the Latin auctoritas) that is not dependent upon the judgment of anyone—neither Pope, musicologist, choirmaster, nor cantor.

In the oldest manuscripts, short and long values are indicated by the shape of the notes themselves and whether they are connected (cursive) or separated (non-cursive).  Some of the length indications are indeed reproduced in later manuscripts with what Dom Cardine called the neumatic break or cut, where the punctum mora (augmentation dot) is typically added in the Solesmes editions, filling in the blank space of the Vatican edition, which Jeffrey Ostrowski has written about in “The Rhythm of the Vatican Edition.”  The Vatican edition and the diastematic manuscripts, however, are utterly irrelevant to the discussion of the original rhythm.  In most cases, it is impossible to notate chant sung in equalist or accentualist rhythm with adiastematic (staffless) neumes in a way that would agree with the oldest manuscripts.  The Solesmes editions reproduce a number the long markings of the ancient manuscripts by means of the horizontal episema, but they omit many others, treating the normal syllabic value as short and indivisible, and often marking only the first note of a group that ought to be entirely long.

The short and long note values are to be sung in 1:2 proportion according to the medieval writers.  Aribo, writing in the 1070s, laments the demise of proportional rhythm, and it should not surprise us to observe rhythmic alterations in the manuscripts of the eleventh century and later.  The same phenomenon is apparent in countless hymns, chorales, and metrical psalms of Protestant origin: an equalization of the note values, which is of course a corruption of the original rhythm, with a note of double value at the end of each phrase, sometimes followed by an additional beat of rest.  St. Anne (“O God, Our Help in Ages Past”), Nun danket alle Gott (“Now Thank We All Our God”), O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden/Passion Chorale (“O Sacred Head”), and Old Hundredth (“All People That on Earth Do Dwell”) are a few of these tunes that are generally known to English-speaking Catholics.  It would be preposterous to claim that the isometric version is the most authentic and that the original rhythmic version merely represents “nuances” of a particular congregation, yet similar if not identical claims are unashamedly made concerning the rhythm of chant!  The absurdity of such a proposition is easily demonstrated by having two or more voices attempt to sing both (or several) versions simultaneously.  Likewise, if we attempt to sing chant simultaneously in proportional, equalist, accentualist, Solesmes, and semiological rhythm, the resultant cacophony will dispel any notion that the rhythmic disparities among the various schools of interpretation are little more than a matter of an extra fermata or ornamental note here or there.

Despite the evidence for the loss of the authentic traditional rhythm, it would be a mistake to imagine that either the rhythm or its notation degenerated simultaneously and uniformly across Europe in the eleventh century.  As Fr. Vollaerts asserts, the age of a manuscript is not in and of itself a guarantee of accuracy.  In modern music, a newer edition may correct errors of previous editions.  It should not be unthinkable that later chant manuscripts sometimes corrected earlier ones, but it would also be unreasonable to assume that such was necessarily the case most of the time.  Bear in mind that Gregorian chant was written down for the use of people who already had the repertory memorized—a repertory that had probably been handed down as an oral tradition.  An alternative theory proposes that neumatic manuscripts from earlier centuries either disintegrated or were lost, discarded, or destroyed.  Who can say when a lost manuscript from the ninth century might be rediscovered?

I have compared the estimated dates for thirteen manuscripts in several scholarly works and editions.  Below are the ranges of probable dates.

C = St. Gall Cantatorium, Codex Sangallensis 359, 922–926; contains only graduals, alleluias, and tracts

L = Laon Gradual, Codex Laudunensis 239, ca. 930; the municipal library site still dates it to the 9th cent.

E = Einsiedeln Gradual, Codex Einsidlensis 121, 960–996

Bam = Bamberg 6, 966-1000

G 339 = St. Gall Gradual & Sacramentary, Codex Sangallensis 339, 980–1000

MR = Mont Renaud Gradual, 10th cent.

Ch = Chartres 47, 10th cent.; destroyed in 1944

Non = Nonantola Antiphonale Missarum, 10th cent.; fragments

H = Hartker Antiphoner, Codex Sangallensis 390/391, 986–1011; for the Divine Office, not the Mass

Ang = Angelica 123, 10th or early 11th cent.

Bv 33 = Benevento 33, 10th or early 11th cent.

Mp = Antiphonary or Tonary of St. Benigne, Montpellier H 159, 11th cent.; digraphic alphabetical notation

Bv 34 = Benevento 34, 11th or 12th cent.; diastematic

The normal and easiest way to determine an approximate date for liturgical books (codices) from the Middle Ages is to check which feast days are included; a text from 950 would not have a Mass for a saint who was not publicly venerated until 955, for example.  (Note that canonizations continued to be handled at the diocesan level in some places until as late as the mid-twelfth century.)

In closing, I challenge any reader to produce a single shred of evidence from the rhythmic manuscript era, roughly 920 through the early 11th century, in support of a non-proportional interpretation—“nuanced,” equalist, or otherwise—of the normal long values, i.e., notes indicated as long by their shape or by separation from the following notes.  In the words of Dom Gregory Murray, “As we have seen, Dom Mocquereau admits that there were mensuralists during the Gregorian centuries; it would be interesting if clear evidence could be cited to show that during the same period there were some who were not mensuralists” (“Gregorian Rhythm in the Gregorian Centuries: The Literary Evidence,” Downside Review, Summer 1957, p. 235).  Study the oldest sources for yourself to determine whether the normal syllabic value is long and divisible or short and indivisible, whether the chant moves primarily in long or short notes, and whether or not it has a steady beat.  You may be surprised at what you discover.

The Value of Laon 239

Rankin:

The famous Gradual Laon Bibliothèque municipale 239 may have been made within fifty years [ca. 880] of the German book [Augsburg Stadtsarchiv Kloster Holzen MüB Literalien 104, ca. 830].  Laon 239 is now the earliest extant fully notated and almost complete gradual: on palaeographical grounds both Bischoff and Contreni have dated it in the ninth century. (Susan Rankin, Writing Sounds in Carolingian Europe, p. 67; in a footnote on p. 86, she adds, “It is unclear from where or on what basis the dating to 930 emerged.”)

Vollaerts:

Notes on the value of Laon 239
  1. By distinguishing longs and shorts in syllabic passages, only Laon 239 has preserved intact a primitive tradition.  Only this MS has saved from mutilation what has been dispersed over several other MSS as incomplete fragments of a crumbling tradition.  Only in Laon 239 has this tradition remained intact.
  Since Laon as a whole, corresponds completely and positively with all the other MSS together, it would be patently absurd to suppose that this MS does not maintain the tradition.
  2. It is evident that for its ‘noting’ of syllabic passages, Laon is superior to the other complete documents (we possess only eight Nonantolian pages); Laon is accurate, and at the same time the only MS which is accurate.
  Shortly, it will be proved that this evaluation applies also to the manner in which the Laon MS clearly indicates a long sound by means of its virga, and in contrast, a short sound by its point. (Jan W. A. Vollaerts, Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant, 2nd ed., pp. 44–45)

Murray:

A comparison of the Metz notation with that of St Gall reveals important differences.  The St Gall notation, by employing symbols derived from the acute and grave accents, is mainly concerned to show the rise and fall of the melody by the shapes of the neums.  Thus its punctum or point (being derived from the grave accent) always indicates a relatively lower note (i.e., a note lower than either the previous note or the subsequent one).  The Metz notation, by way of contrast, reveals greater concern to differentiate between the lengths of the notes.  Consequently a Metz punctum is used quite as frequently for high notes as for low ones—provided they are short.  A similar contrast is found in the different uses of the virga in the two notations.  In St Gall the virga, being an acute accent, always represents a relatively higher note.  The Metz virga, on the other hand, is only used for higher notes when they are long.  There are some exceptions to this rule, but they are comparatively rare. (Gregory Murray, Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts, p. 13)

Van Biezen:

The main characteristics of the Laon style of neumes are the fundamental disjointedness between non-cursive neume elements and the conjoining where possible of cursive neume elements.  Our perception moreover has the tendency to imagine a short note or a series of short notes as being associated with or moving toward a subsequent long note.  The neumes of Laon are therefore especially adequate for rendering short versus long notes.  It is also striking that the last note in a series of connected neume elements can be either short or long. (Jan van Biezen, “The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant,” tr. Kevin M. Rooney in Rhythm, Meter and Tempo in Gregorian Chant, pp. 25–26)

Floros:

One must consider first of all that the codex Laon 239, the main representative of the Metz tradition, belongs among the oldest surviving sources and it has been proven to be an extremely correct and carefully written manuscript.  The assumption of errors on the part of the copyist is quite absurd. . . .  In conclusion it can be consequently stated that Dom Mocquereau’s thesis about the “corruption” of the Metz tradition is null and void.  The investigation of the surviving sources of Metz notation reveals on the contrary that the high regard that was accorded the “Metz chant school” in that 9th and 10th century is justified. (Constantin Floros, The Origins of Western Notation, tr. Neil Moran, pp. 291–2)

Cardine et al.:

Recent studies have established its particular value in the field of rhythm.  L is frequently compared here with the St. Gall MSS and it is this which has formed the principal basis of our semiological study. (Eugène Cardine, Godehard Joppich, and Rupert Fischer, Gregorian Semiology, tr. Robert M. Fowells, p. 10)

Heckenlively:

The value of the long neums is revealed to us by the comparison with the Saint-Gall manuscripts.  In fact the ordinary Messinian signs correspond exactly with the ordinary Sangallian signs.  There are thousands of examples of this concordance between the two schools. . . .  It was due primarily to the abandonment of the rhythmic signs, that the interpretation of the chant was lost.  But in spite of all this, the accordance between the two schools, Metz and Saint-Gall, in the matter of rhythm, is astonishing : A decisive proof that the same rhythmic laws, even to the finest details, were imposed from the beginning, on the entire Catholic world. (Lura Heckenlively, The Fundamentals of Gregorian Chant, pp. 159 & 288)

Blackley:

It was said that neumes or linear shapes marked above the texts in chant manuscripts of the late 9th–10th centuries were hand-signs, and this I trustingly accepted, though wanting for practical understanding.  While in the Christian Brothers I’d conducted equalist-rhythm chants for all Sundays and for major feasts using cheironomy, linear phrases the hand traces in air.  Later . . . it had dawned on me that cheironomy was out, that I had in fact only to conduct each of the very neume shapes themselves, [which] tell the conductor what to do with his or her hand.  Nothing could be more clear. . . .  When chant is sung carefully in equalist rhythm, it can be lovely.  But when it is sung correctly from the heart in proportional rhythm, it is shapely and beautiful.  Notations other than Metz, while in remarkable agreement with it, offer less clear visual directives for the conductor, and these help make Metz and Laon 239 so important. (R. John Blackley, Laon 239: Chant Transcriptions in Proportional Rhythm, English & Latin, p. 481)

Wagner:

The Metz song-school, the eldest daughter of the Roman Schola Cantorum in the kingdom of the Franks, remained, even after Charles' death, the most influential among her numerous sisters.  It was held in high esteem until the 12th century, and was always regarded as the faithful guardian of the Roman chant.  In the 9th century the Metz chant held this position, and had the reputation of being far superior to all the other Churches in France and Germany, as John the Deacon expressly intimates : ‘Denique usque hodie quantum Romano cantu Metensis cedit, tantum Metensi ecclesiae cedere Gallicanarum ecclesiarum Germanarumque cantus, ab his, qui meram veritatem diligunt, comprobatur' [“In short, to this day, as much as the Messine is inferior to the Roman chant, so much is the chant of the Gallican and German churches inferior to that of the church of Metz, which is acknowledged by those who love pure truth.”] (Patr. Lat. lxxv, 91).  This remark of Gregory's biographer has a polemical ring, and is directed against a tendency to belittle the merits of the Metz song-school in favour of another, which can only be S. Gall.  This view is confirmed by the anonymous biographer of Charles the Great, who also wrote towards the end of the 9th century; according to him, throughout the regions of France in which Latin was spoken, in place of the term Ecclesiastica Cantilena the term Cantilena Metensis was used (Patr. Lat. xcviij, 1378).  (Vita Carol. I, 11).  This evidence is all the more above suspicion as it comes from a monk of S. Gall.  It seems in fact that the activity of the Song-school of Metz has hitherto been greatly underrated. (Peter Wagner, Introduction to the Gregorian Melodies: A Handbook of Plainsong, part 1, tr. Agnes Orme & E. G. P. Wyatt, pp. 214–5)

The Laon municipal library website dates Codex Laudunensis 239 to the ninth century and includes an article by Marie-Noëlle Colette dating it to the late ninth or early tenth century.  Regardless of its antiquity, the value of Laon 239 cannot be overstated.

On April 25, 2024, Dominique Gatté announced that he had identified a fragment posted to the blog of the libraries of Northwestern University as a page of Laon 239, another fragment of which was published in vol. 10 of the Paléographie musicale in 1910.  The page shows seven alleluia verses, including those for the fourth Sunday after Easter and the last Sunday after Pentecost, plus parts of two others.

Written Evidence for the Decline and Loss of the Authentic Traditional Rhythm

All the longs must be equally long, all the shorts of equal brevity. . . .  In accordance with the length durations let there be formed short beats, so that they be neither more nor less, but one always twice as long as the other. (Commemoratio Brevis, early 10th cent.)

In the neumes it is necessary that you pay close attention where the proportional shorter duration is to be measured and where, on the contrary, the longer duration, lest you execute as quick and short what the authority of the masters has determined should be longer and more extended.  Nor should we heed those who say there is no reason whatsoever for our making now the quicker duration, now the more prolonged one, in a chant with a naturally disposed rhythm. (Berno of Reichenau, early 11th cent.)

In olden times great care was observed not only by the composers of the chant but also by the singers themselves to compose and sing proportionally.  But this idea has already been dead for a long time, even buried. (Aribo, late 11th cent.)

The original chant rhythm, intermingling variously long and short sounds, has yielded since the eleventh century to an equalistic execution that has robbed the rhythmic movement of much of its attractiveness and done away with numerous means of expression. (Peter Wagner, early 20th cent.)

Note: The following quotation concerning rhythmic nuances stands in stark contrast to the proportional rhythm described by the other authors.

The rhythmic value of the episema varies greatly, and lends itself to the expression of the most delicate nuances.  When it appears above a clivis, for instance, it may double the value of the first note, or again, it may indicate merely a delicate touch, or the least lingering of the voice.  This remark applies to all the rhythmic signs, whether they be modifications of the neume or additions to it, whether they be letters or other signs.  The reason is this: the sign, like the neume itself, is influenced by its position.  The character of the note to which it is attached, the place of the rhythmic sign in the neume, the relation of the neume to the text, the nature of the rhythm of which it forms a part, the movement and expression of the musical phrase as a whole—all these are the factors which either increase or diminish the value of the rhythmic sign. (Dom André Mocquereau, early 20th cent.)

As we have seen, Dom Mocquereau admits that there were mensuralists [i.e. advocates of measured or proportional rhythm] during the Gregorian centuries; it would be interesting if clear evidence could be cited to show that during the same period there were some who were not mensuralists. (Dom Gregory Murray, mid 20th cent.)

The interpretive particularities and the finesse of the notation gradually disappeared . . . .  Gregorian chant appeared to be, and in fact became, a “cantus planus,” that is, a chant free of all expressive values.  The term “plainchant,” which so often designates Gregorian chant today, should be discarded because it is based on a false premise. (Dom Eugène Cardine, mid 20th cent.)

The theory of nuances is not tenable . . . we are dealing with nuances of nuances, and that is of course nonsense.  Between the uncinus and the punctum different categories of note values must be intended.  The semiologists’ rejection of mensuralism must rest on a prejudice.  What is more, their theory is not very consistent. (Jan van Biezen, 21st cent.)

These Quotes in the Original Languages

Editorial Principles

Like so many of us, I studied the Solesmes method for years before taking any interest in semiology or other interpretations.  We memorized the rules for ictus placement and became familiar enough to apply them at sight.  In my experience with the Vatican edition, only two things have bothered me about the typography itself: 1. the quilisma scandicus can be difficult to distinguish from the ordinary scandicus; my solution was to pencil in an episema under the note preceding the quilisma; 2. flat signs are sometimes positioned excessively far from the affected notes.  In my opinion, any restored, reformed, or revised edition needs to rectify these problems—longstanding typographical conventions notwithstanding.  The quilisma scandicus should have its lower note positioned to the left of the jagged note, with the upper note printed as a virga, so that the form is punctum+quilisma+virga; the “stacked” form is thereby avoided, greatly improving legibility, and the revised form better corresponds to the oldest manuscripts.  Accidentals should be positioned close to the notes they affect.

I believe that several of the neographical forms, i.e. the so-called new Solesmes graphics, are helpful for a historically informed interpretation: the wavy oriscus, ascending and descending augmentative liquescent notes, and the tiny weak beginning (initio debilis) notes.  The strophicus provides no practical advantage over the plain punctum and is not used in the Laon Gradual (Laudunensis 239); therefore, I haven't used it in my editions.  I have used white or hollow notes to indicate upper auxiliaries or descending passing tones: the short-long or partially cursive clivis, when context suggests that the upper note is of more diminished value; the middle note of the long-short-long climacus, written with an inverse or descending quilisma in the Montpellier manuscript (Tonary of Saint-Bénigne of Dijon, H 159); the two puncta inclinata following Laon’s elongated virga in the scandicus subbipunctis resupinus; and, rarely, the upper note of a climacus.

I have retained the familiar added rhythmic markings of the Solesmes editions, namely, the dot and episema, but used them to indicate proportional note values rather than nuances: the horizontal episema indicating the long value, double the short, and the dot indicating a doubling of the long value, quadruple the short value.  Although Dom Mocquereau’s ictus theory has been discredited by more recent scholarship, his theory of rhythmic nuances inexplicably continues to be perpetuated by Gregorian semiologists.  When the discrete short and long values in 1:2 proportion described by the medieval writers are interpreted as nuances rather than more or less strict proportions, in the words of the late Jan van Biezen, “we are dealing with nuances of nuances, and that is of course nonsense.”  Anyone who considers this an overly harsh statement would do well to examine the testimony of the medieval writers such as Hucbald, Berno, or Aribo, as well as later mensuralists such as Vollaerts, Murray, Blackley [archive], or Van Biezen.  I challenge anyone to produce a single shred of evidence in support of a “nuanced” interpretation of the normal long values in any manuscript from before the year 1100.  On the contrary, evidence for measured (mensural) or proportional rhythm from the same period is not at all lacking.

I wish to share an observation about scribal errors based on personal experience.  When I prepare an offertory with one or two verses for my schola cantorum, I often spend five hours or more in addition to what was needed to prepare the first and second drafts.  My process involves recording myself singing from my edition, comparing my recording to the Graduale Novum, Offertoriale Triplex, and Offertoriale Restitutum, and listening to other recordings from the restored editions.  Despite my very best efforts, I typically make two or three editorial mistakes that are immediately apparent to my schola, and another three or four that I catch myself.  Were the medieval scribes so meticulous in their work, without recording and playback technology, without other editions to compare, and relying upon their own memory?  I don't have the answer, but I imagine there might be a considerable number of errors even in the very best manuscripts.  Comparative analysis is indispensable, especially when we encounter something that seems particularly counterintuitive—and unlikely to have been passed down as a strictly oral tradition for several generations—or extraordinarily difficult to sing as literally notated.

Whether our interpretation is semiological, accentualist/oratorical/rhetorical, or mensuralist/proportionalist, we are largely in agreement about the relatively long and short values of the manuscripts and the rhythmic errors of the Liber Usualis and other “old Solesmes” editions.  How can we work together to develop a performing edition that will achieve the widest possible circulation and influence the greatest number of singers?  Many of us seem more than willing to do our part.  Is collaboration impossible because of interpretive differences, or is there still hope for an edition that will satisfy all of us and be accessible to every singer?  I hope my contributions will prove to be a step in the right direction.

Finally, I wish to explain the rationale for some of my other editorial decisions.  As in the Vatican and Solesmes editions, the quarter bar (divisio minima) indicates an optional breath without added time, i.e. taken from the value of the preceding note, normally after a neume ending with a vowel or voiced liquid consonant, or with a consonant that is doubled at the beginning of the next word; the half bar (divisio minor), a breath without added time, normally after an unvoiced consonant or where the sense of the text suggests a pause; and the full (divisio major) or double bar (finalis), a breath with an added rest after a note held to its full value.  In my edition, the virgula (comma) has a different meaning than in the Solesmes editions: I have used it to indicate a breath that adds a rest worth half a beat after a note held to its full value.  (Note that the virgula, like the rhythmic signs, is an addition by the Solesmes monks, not found in the Vatican edition itself.)  The vertical episema is used as a precautionary indication of syncopation.  In addition to the horizontal episema indicating a note value worth a full beat, a dot (punctum morae) is added before some bar lines to indicate doubling, likewise in the scandicus subbipunctis resupinus figure to represent Laon’s elongated virga.  It cannot be emphasized enough that all ornamental notes—quilisma, initio debilis, white/hollow notes, and the upper auxiliary of the oriscus—come before the beat and take their value from the preceding note.  In rare instances, a note worth a beat and a half is notated with dot plus vertical but not horizontal episema.  Elsewhere, an isolated white/hollow punctum is used to indicate the equivalent of a dotted rhythm in modern notation.

Concessions to Modern Performance Practice

As in the Vatican edition, all bar lines and intonation asterisks are editorial.  Most augmentation dots (puncta morae) are also editorial.

At the mediant cadence of introit and communion psalm verses in all modes except III, IV, VI, and XII (VIc), the episemata attached to the pes or clivis are editorial.  The oldest sources invariably give cursive neumes here, i.e. two short notes.  My use of long notes at the cadence is a concession to the current rubrical practice of alternating between cantors and schola in the introit psalm verse and doxology and also to the use of the full bar line in all modern editions.  Murray, perhaps erroneously, presumed that a mora vocis (prolongation) was understood in this context.

When the gradual verse ends on a different note than the final of the mode, the authentic version is given for those who wish to repeat from the beginning.  Either practice is permitted by the rubrics, but ending after the verse seems to be far more prevalent; therefore the altered version is printed first, e.g., for the last Sunday after Pentecost.  I have retained the asterisk and repeat sign before the jubilus of the alleluia as a concession to the modern practice of prolonging the neume only on the repetitions, which appears to be required by the preconciliar rubrics.

Although they do not come into question in the printed editions, I wish to comment on two further editorial matters: first, the liturgical Latin pronunciation.  It is highly unlikely that the current Italianate Latin pronunciation was in use in the tenth century, either in Rome or elsewhere.  To cite but one well-known example, the widespread interchangeability of gracias and gratias in medieval manuscripts surely implies an identical pronunciation for both spellings, which is not the case for Latin pronounced like modern Italian.  My own retention of the Italianate Latin with my choirs is done in the interest of liturgical uniformity, not historical accuracy.

Finally, the matter of historical tuning must be mentioned.  Ross Duffin has documented that mathematically equal temperament of twelve truly identical half steps (semitones) was not realized until as late as 1917.  We know that not only the various modes, but also different keys, formerly had distinct “flavors," for lack of simpler description.  It seems probable that either Pythagorean tuning or what we now know as just intonation was the predominant tuning standard in the Middle Ages; which of the two systems is more historically appropriate for purely a cappella Gregorian chant is disputed, and it is possible that both were in use simultaneously (see this 2024 presentation and paper by Geert Maessen).  Relative to twelve-tone equal temperament, mi, la, and ti are slightly but noticeably higher in Pythagorean tuning and slightly but noticeably lower in just intonation (five-limit tuning).

Not to digress—but considering that solfege was not developed until the eleventh century, it might be better for us to use earlier terminology: A, B, E (and, respectively, H, I, M, and P, according to the digraphic notation of the Tonary of St. Benigne, Montpellier H 159; see here for an illustration in square notation).  As one also well-versed in the “four-shape" system of early American music, which traces its lineage to the system of solmization used in Elizabethan England (and referred to in Shakespeare's King Lear) and, ultimately, medieval music theory concerning tetrachords, I recognize that the relative pitches in question are those called la and mi in “fasola" singing, with two iterations of la in each octave.  If we wish to recover the original sound of Gregorian chant based on the evidence of the most reliable sources, it will be necessary to address not only the restoration of text, melody, and rhythm, but also pronunciation, tuning, breathing, and tone production.

The Received Historical Narrative

Apel:

All evidence points to the fact that the rhythmic performance of chant was an early practice which was lost after c. 1000.  One of the most eloquent testimonies comes from Aribo. (Willi Apel, Gregorian Chant, p. 132)

Bailey:

Most scholars who are not partisan would conclude that there is some historical authority for both positions, that in the earliest centuries the chant was sung proportionally, but in the later Middle Ages this practice was abandoned in favour of the smooth, so-called oratorical rhythm of the “plainchant.” (Terence Bailey, Commemoratio brevis de tonis et psalmis modulandis: Introduction, Critical Edition, Translation, p. 17)

Blackley:

The practice of proportional rhythm disappeared gradually during the eleventh century.  As liturgical offices proliferated, monks and cathedral canons glossed over the reciting-note longs in the ever-present psalm melodies, speeding them till there could be little differentiation between long and divided notes; the introduction of lines or staves on which to write the musical signs, as well as the use of chant melodies in part-singing, further weakened the tradition.  The gradual decline of proportional practice is evident in manuscripts of the period; the c. 1030 Ecternach Sacramentary, for example, differentiates between two longs and two shorts ascending, yet has only one sign for two notes descending.  But I believe that, as the practice of proportionality waned, some of its elements surely remained in the tradition and were put to good use. (R. John Blackley, Rhythm in Western Sacred Music before the Mid-Twelfth Century and the Historical Importance of Proportional-Rhythm Chant, pp. 15–16)

Cardine:

Although the first copyists of Gregorian chant were very imperfect in diastematic matters (the precise notation of melodic intervals), they very carefully notated the expressive part, the “musicality” in the melody.  The oldest symbols thus have a double signification—melodic and expressive.

As time went on copyists tried to represent the melodic intervals more exactly.  In this they succeeded but the interpretive particularities and the finesse of the notation gradually disappeared as a result and before long they came to write all the notes in an identical way.  Because of this simplified uniformity, Gregorian chant appeared to be, and in fact became, a “cantus planus”, that is, a chant free of all expressive values.  The term “plainchant”, which so often designates Gregorian chant today, should be discarded because it is based on a false premise. (Doms Eugène Cardine, Godehard Joppich, and Rupert Fischer, O.S.B., Gregorian Semiology, tr. Fowells, p. 8)

Gajard:

The rhythmic tradition, undisputed in the Xth century, by degrees became more and more dimmed, and was almost lost by the end of the XIth.  This too is odd.  The date which marks the arrival of the staff (fixing melody accurately upon lines) also marks the disappearance of the rhythmic tradition.  It comes to this: the invention of the staff, an undoubted blessing in certain ways, was at the same time the starting point of a definite decline.  So far there is no known manuscript with staff-notation which affords any rhythmic signs.  As to the MSS in neumatic notation of the XIIth and XIIIth centuries, these retain a few rare traces of the ancient tradition, but nothing of moment can be based upon them. (Dom Joseph Gajard, O.S.B., The Rhythmic Tradition in the Manuscripts, p. 17)

*Hiley:

There can be no doubt that rhythmic differentiation was an essential element in the practice of those choirs for whom the St Gall, Laon and other sources were written.  The fact that the Laon source is widely separate geographically from the others suggests that this way of singing chant was quite widespread.  How long it persisted is unclear. (David Hiley, Western Plainchant: A Handbook, p. 379)

Murray (and Mocquereau):

[The tenth] was the century during which the primitive oral tradition, especially as regards the rhythm, was rapidly being lost and forgotten, and less and less attention was being paid to the older manuscripts and their rhythmic indications.  Even when new manuscripts were compiled in the old notations, the scribes often reveal a misunderstanding of the old rhythmic symbols which they appear to use as merely graphic conventions.  In the musical treatises of the period, too, there are many complaints of the rhythmic decay of the Chant.  A typical example is to be found in the Commentary on Guido’s Micrologus by Aribo, written about twenty years after Guido’s death.  ‘A tenor,’ he says, ‘is the length of a note which is in equal proportion if two notes are made equal to four and their length is in inverse proportion to their number [i.e., two long notes are equal to four short ones].  So it is that in the old antiphonaries we often find the letters c, t, and m, indicating respectively celeritas, tarditas and mediocritas.  In olden times great care was observed, not only by composers of the Chant but also by the singers themselves, to compose and sing proportionally.  But this idea has already been dead for a long time — even buried.’

That the ‘proportional singing’ of which Aribo speaks was a question of proportional note-values is clear from the context.  That it had ceased to be the practice is equally clear.  In any case the four-line staff notation made no provision for rhythmic indications, and, by making it possible to sing at sight, destroyed ail ideas of depending on, still less preserving, an oral tradition.  But, as Aribo indicates, the old rhythmic tradition was already dead.  One of the chief causes of its extinction was undoubtedly the widespread practice of organum, in which the Chant was sung in parallel fourths and fifths.  This practice was already at least a hundred years old, and the tenth-century documents, Musica Enchiriadis and Scholia Enchiriadis, both explain that its characteristic feature was its slow pace (morositas).  Elsewhere we read that this slow pace made it practically impossible to maintain the proper rhythmic proportions between the short and the long notes of the Chant, even though these were still being indicated in the notation: ‘We still write down points and strokes in order to distinguish between the long and the short notes, although music of this kind [organum] has to be so solemn and slow that it is hardly possible to maintain rhythmic proportions in it.’

With the disappearance of rhythmic proportions between long and short notes, the original rhythmic tradition perished.  Henceforth the Chant was performed in notes of equal length, so that by the time the staff notation was introduced there seemed to be no need to do more than write down the precise notes and intervals.  The state of affairs is thus described by Dom Mocquereau: ‘Originally in the oldest neumatic notations it was the rhythmic tradition that was perhaps better expressed than the melodic intervals. . . .  But this tradition did not maintain itself for long, and the Guidonian notation only hastened its decline.  Everywhere it did away with the letters and signs which, in the primitive notations, indicated the rhythm, and, from this point of view, far from being an advance, it was a retrograde step.’ (Dom Gregory Murray, O.S.B., Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts, pp. 7–8)

Rayburn:

As early as the eleventh century, however, a rhythmic disintegration had begun, and theoretical writers of the period noted this decline of proportionalism with dismay. (John Rayburn, Gregorian Chant: A History of the Controversy Concerning Its Rhythm, p. 5)

Vollaerts:

The combination of causes such as; [sic] lack of understanding and interest, lack of education in singers, lack of copyists familiar with the true tradition and with the meanings of signs and letters, failure of the memory by which for a long time the chants were mainly sung, together added to the use of part-singing, accelerated the crumbling and ultimate disappearance of the original rhythmic tradition. (Fr. Jan W. A. Vollaerts, S.J., Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant, 2nd ed., p. 219)

Vos:

It is a fact that the fashion for organum [diaphonie] resulted, after a relatively short time, in universally and definitively distorting the primitive Gregorian music.  It then became a plainsong.  This fact emerges clearly from the comparison of the earlier books with the later Gregorian chant books. (Fr. Joseph Vos, “La notation neumatique et la tradition rythmique grégorienne” in Scriptorium, vol. 9, no. 2, p. 230)

Weaver:

Mocquereau, Cardine, and Vollaerts share the idea that there was a medieval rhythmic tradition that was already falling into decline at the time of the earliest notations. (Charles Weaver, André Mocquereau’s Theory of Rhythm, p. 99)

An Alternative Narrative

Hiley:

Early medieval writings on chant help but little in understanding how note-lengths were differentiated.  One group of related writings, which was discussed at length by Vollaerts (1960), among others, has little to do with the matter, for it refers to the final notes of chants, of their phrases and sub-phrases.  As Bower has explained (1989, ‘Model’), this is done by analogy with the grammatical structure of the text being sung: the musical delivery should reflect the grammatical structure, by making the hierarchy of text-units clear.  This group of writings includes the Scolica enchiriadis (ed. Hans Schmid 1981, pars 1, 86-7), Guido of Arezzo’s Micrologus (ch. 15), and the commentaries on the latter by Aribo (CSM 2. 48-50, 65-70) and in the Commentarius in Micrologum (ed. Smits van Waesberghe 1957).  Several of Guido’s comments refer also to proportional relationships between ‘neumes’, that is, between phrases of chants; some neumes will be of equal length, while the lengths of others will stand in a proportion of one to two, one to three, two to three, or three to four.  This does not refer to the durations of individual notes.

Two other passages have also been adduced in support of a metrical interpretation of the different note-lengths.  The Commemoratio brevis of the late ninth century contains a number of references to the different speeds of singing appropriate to different occasions or types of chant, to the maintainance of a steady tempo (except for controlled variations such as a ‘rallentando’), and also to long and short notes.  Towards the close of the passage it is said that these are in the proportion 2:1:

Breves must not be slower than is fitting for breves; nor may longs be distorted in erratic haste and made faster than is appropriate for longs.  But just as all breves are short so must all longs be uniformly long, except at the divisions, which must be sung with similar care.  All notes which are long must correspond rhythmically with those which are not long through their proper inherent durations, and any chant must be performed entirely, from one end to the other, according to this same rhythmic scheme.  In chant which is sung quickly this proportion is maintained even though the melody is slowed towards the end, or occasionally near the beginning (as in chant which is sung slowly and concluded in a quicker manner).  For the longer values consist of the shorter, and the shorter subsist in the longer, and in such a fashion that one has always twice the duration of the other, neither more or less.  While singing, one choir is always answered by the other in the same tempo, and neither may sing faster or slower. (Ed. Bailey 1979, 103.)

Since the Commemoratio brevis belongs to the same manuscript tradition as the Scolica enchiriadis, one naturally asks if the long notes referred to here are those at the ends of grammatical units, the ‘syllables’, ‘neumes’, and ‘periods’ of chant. . . .

It seems most unlikely that practice was uniform everywhere [six pages earlier he says that a rhythmically differentiated way of singing chant was quite widespread].  It is true that sources are in general surprisingly uniform in their grouping of notes and even in the placing of such special features as quilismas.  And the correspondences between Laon 239 and Eastern sources (and other early sources to varying degrees) in matters of rhythmic detail cannot be overlooked.  But the agreement is general, not exact.  Any claim to have identified an ‘authentic’ performance tradition should be treated with caution. (David Hiley, Western Plainchant: A Handbook, pp. 384–5)

Commentary:

Hiley’s claim of only “general” agreement between Laon and “Eastern” (St. Gall?) sources is shocking and causes me to question the extent of the preeminent scholar’s practical experience.  Those of us who have studied or sung from the triplex editions recognize more than a “general” agreement between L and E or C.  There are some chants where the agreement is 100 percent, many where it is 98 percent or better, and rather few where it is less than 90 percent.  Is it of no consequence that the manuscripts under consideration are the oldest extant and nearly complete Gradual, Laon 239, and the oldest St. Gall sources?  It may seem to Hiley “most unlikely that practice was uniform everywhere,” despite being “quite widespread,” but it seems most unlikely to me that the oldest reliable manuscripts, presumably written some 350 miles apart, represent local versions of rhythmic chant that only happen to agree by coincidence.  If, on the contrary, it is not a matter of local variants but rather a universal tradition, the uniformity in note grouping and “placing of special features” ought to be totally unsurprising.

Academia will eventually have to come to terms with the possibility that the oldest extant sources together transmit the first-millennial rhythm fairly reliably and that the alterations apparent in later sources are just that: alterations, not the authentic tradition.

The Restoration of Tradition

What many Catholics think of as the “traditional” style of Gregorian chant interpretation is anything but.  The monks of Solesmes Abbey embraced no fewer than half a dozen interpretations in just over a century.  Among these should be counted a sort of not-so-methodical accentualism (rhetorical/oratorical approach), followed by Pothier’s method, Moquereau’s so-called classic Solesmes method, a revision of that method under Gajard, Cardine’s semiology, and a more mature version of semiology by the early 1980s.  Some of their more recent publications have included few rhythmic markings or none whatsoever, which suggests a return to Pothier and pre-Pothier practice.  I’ve been unable to confirm rumors that the monks have returned to the classic Solesmes rhythmic editions for actual liturgical use.  Regardless, they seem to be cycling through interpretive approaches, and one that was in general use for only a few decades can hardly be considered a tradition!

What is the common thread uniting all of the Solesmes approaches as well as the strict equalism of the “pure” Vatican edition?  Let us name it: antimensuralism.  Free speech rhythm, nuanced rhythm, and equalism alike stand in opposition to the proportional rhythm of the first millennium.  Enough with compromises!  Let us return to the oldest extant sources.  They are trustworthy, and they reveal a chant composed of discrete long and short note values rather than a limitless range of agogic nuances open to a limitless range of interpretive rhythmic nuances.  Traditionalists, and many conservatives too, are zealous to defend the liturgical use of chant as a matter of principle, but how many of them actually appreciate it as music beyond a limited selection of Ordinaries, Marian chants, strophic hymns, litanies, and other repetitive melodies?  Many Catholics dislike chant or are indifferent to it, but how many Catholic musicians have even considered the possibility that the lukewarm reception of chant might have something to do neither with inadequate catechesis nor with poor or mediocre performance per se, but rather with a faulty interpretation, i.e., a wrong idea about its fundamental musical characteristics?

The first generation of Catholics who were subjected to the Solesmes method as schoolchildren were the very ones who later rejected Gregorian chant altogether.  That fact, of course, is no argument against the method in and of itself, but it should give us pause nonetheless.  Perhaps even with the most polished rendition possible, there was something amiss with the edition, which is tantamount to saying that there was something wrong with the chant itself rather than its performance or reception.  Even within the roughly six decades when the classic Solesmes method was widespread, there was Mocquereau’s method, then revisions by Gajard, then additions by Cardine and others that may be considered a type of proto-semiology.  A couple of examples of changes to the method include the counting of rests at full bar lines (“always a silent ictus at the full bar”) and neumatic disaggregation, where an initial punctum isolated from the following notes is lengthened, which is not exactly the same as the melismatic mora vocis of the Vatican edition.  Some colleagues are quick to point out that Cardine insisted he was not giving a new method, but that is beside the point, and I have been careful to refer to various interpretive approaches rather than methods at any rate.

The desire for the liturgy and everything connected to it to be always and everywhere the same is absolutely understandable, but the historical reality is otherwise.  We have incontrovertible evidence of significant changes to the way chant was sung over the centuries.  Anyone today can view the primary sources in high resolution with a few clicks.  The enemies of mensuralism love to claim that there is very little or even nothing at all about first-millennial performance practice that we can know with any degree of certainty.  That simply isn’t true.  There is a great deal that is crystal clear in the best manuscripts, and the contemporaneous writers reinforce all of it.  On the contrary, nobody can produce a shred of evidence in favor of a limitless range of agogic nuances, and all of the antimensuralists continue to accept and defend the theory of rhythmic nuances on the basis of the Solesmes “tradition,” whether they realize it themselves or not.  Do they wish for the Catholic Church to freeze this or that edition, so that outdated scholarship becomes permanently attached to the Roman liturgy?  It would be far better to remain open to current musicological scholarship just as much for chant as for the music of Palestrina or Handel.

It would make things much easier if we had a style of chant performance that had been passed down unchanged from the time of Charlemagne, but we know that isn’t the reality.  We do, however, have extant sources from the Carolingian era, only a few generations removed from the reign of Pope Adrian I, and those sources, not the theories of Pothier, Mocquereau, or Gajard, ought to be the starting point for our interpretation.  The ninth and tenth centuries have more of value to teach us about authentic performance practice than the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.  I have become convinced that the oft-repeated dating of Laon 239 to “around 930” is based on conjecture, if not outright fabrication, and that the codex in question dates to the ninth century.  It is possible that St. Gall 359 is also several decades older than the range of “between 922 and 926” commonly assumed.  Regardless, these manuscripts, probably from some 300+ miles apart, provide a reliable reading of the text, melodic contour, and rhythm alike.  If some confusion regarding the rhythm already crept in by the time they were written, it is negligible in comparison with the later alterations and mis-restorations.

When Jeff Ostrowski claims that “the Graduale Triplex was a blameworthy initiative because it superimposed adiastematic notation from a handful of manuscripts above the musical notation of the Editio Vaticana” and that “it is reprehensible to superimpose a particular manuscript above a cento,” he unwittingly underscores the need for the melodic restorations of the Graduale Novum.  Most regrettably, I can point to many examples of a professional ensemble ostensibly singing from the Graduale Triplex but making up their own arbitrary rhythm instead of following either set of adiastematic neumes, the Solesmes markings, or the Vatican edition pure and simple.  Perhaps they’ll prefer Mr. Ostrowski’s edition when it’s available in print.  Let them steer clear of mine until they’re ready to observe the rhythmic proportions more or less strictly.  We’ve had more than our fill of “free rhythm” so indefinite that the performers feel at liberty to hold any note they like, to add rests of five or six counts at bar lines, with or without punctuation in the text, and to disregard even the repercussions required by the Solesmes method.  It is impossible to transcribe the adiastematic neumes accurately from such renditions.  Again I say: Enough with compromises!  Let us return to the oldest extant sources.  They are trustworthy.

Antiquarianism

It is neither wise nor laudable to reduce everything to antiquity by every possible device.  Thus, to cite some instances, one would be straying from the straight path were he to wish the altar restored to its primitive table form; were he to want black excluded as a color for the liturgical vestments; were he to forbid the use of sacred images and statues in churches; were he to order the crucifix so designed that the divine Redeemer's body shows no trace of His cruel sufferings; and lastly were he to disdain and reject polyphonic music or singing in parts, even where it conforms to regulations issued by the Holy See. . . . obviously unwise and mistaken is the zeal of one who in matters liturgical would go back to the rites and usage of antiquity, discarding the new patterns introduced by disposition of divine Providence to meet the changes of circumstances and situation. (Pope Pius XII, Mediator Dei, 62–63)

The word tradition denotes something that is handed over or passed down.  Some readers may be surprised to learn that traitor and betrayal are cognates of tradition—again, a handing over.  St. Gregory the Great is often depicted with a dove perched atop his shoulder, signifying the inspiration of the Holy Ghost.  This portrayal is not entirely unknown even in the East.  (Among the Byzantines, he is better known as St. Gregory the Dialogist.)  We cannot say with certainty that the chants of the Proper of the Mass in their present form date back to St. Gregory (†604), despite bearing his name, but there is a scholarly consensus that they were in fairly widespread use at the time of Charlemagne, around 800.  Our oldest sources of musical notation for these chants are from the ninth* century—which is not to say that there were no musical manuscripts before that, only that they have not survived or yet been discovered.  On the other hand, it is possible that the oldest extant manuscripts were deliberately preserved precisely because they were the oldest (although a colleague of mine called this proposition preposterous).  The simple fact is that we do not know when the chants reached their present form or when they were first written down.  What we can say with certainty is that they were notated in at least two places by the first half of the tenth century, or probably the last quarter of the ninth century.* [*I have revised these dates in light of recent scholarship.  P.W., 2024]

It is well documented that the authentic traditional rhythm had been lost by the end of the eleventh century and that the tempo had slowed down with the introduction of parallel organum.  I have attempted parallel organum in proportional rhythm with my choir and must say that my men and I found it very difficult to sing well.  I can see the advantage to a slow equalist interpretation.  Slow equalist plainchant persisted up to the early twentieth century in some places, and it is reasonable to say that it is the historically correct rhythm for the beautifully illuminated manuscripts of the late Middle Ages.  By the Renaissance period, mensural editions—the so-called Medicean editions—were in use alongside plainchant.  Accompaniment books published in the nineteenth century give a clear idea of how the note values were interpreted.  We should note here that the Medicean editions also included melodic alterations, sometimes rather drastic ones, which were considered “corrections" according to the theorists of that era.

Serious study of the oldest extant manuscripts recommenced in the nineteenth century with the Jesuit Louis Lambillotte.  Various theories concerning the correct interpretation of the rhythm were advanced, which were summarized by Rayburn.  St. Pius X entrusted the Benedictines of Solesmes with the restoration of chant according to the oldest sources.  Much could be written about that project, but I only wish to mention three points: 1. it was rushed; the Holy Father wanted about 50 years of work compressed into only five; 2. from the outset, the monks did not have all of the manuscripts at their disposal that we now have, or that they themselves would have a couple of years into the project; unfortunately, their editorial principals had already been solidified; and 3. they similarly had only incomplete or defective copies of the medieval theoretical writings available to them.  The rhythmic theories of Dom Mocquereau, based mostly on a faulty interpretation of the St. Gall neumes, were incorporated into the Solesmes editions; the pure Vatican edition contains no rhythmic markings except for the bar lines, which are strictly editorial.  Although Dom Cardine's theories were in some ways very opposed to those of Fr. Vollaerts and Dom Murray, all three of them undertook painstaking study of the oldest sources.  Many of Cardine's disciples have published important works, most notably Fr. Agustoni and Dom Göschl.  With the brief but dense articles of the late Jan van Biezen in recent years, we finally have an interpretation that reconciles the contradictory approaches of the semiologists (e.g. Cardine, Agustoni, Göschl) and mensuralists (e.g. Vollaerts, Murray, Van Biezen) with the interpretation than I have used as the basis of my editions.

Given all of this history, how can we say what is really traditional?  Once something has been tampered with, it is an alteration and no longer truly representative of tradition in its fullness.  The Medicean editions are now generally recognized as an alteration or mutilation of the traditional Gregorian chant (which is not necessarily to say that the intentions of those responsible for them were wrong or misguided).  What are we to make of the still-official 1908 Vatican edition ordered by the Pope?  It is a restoration—imperfect, but a definite improvement.  The Graduale Novum and other restored editions, corrected according to the oldest sources, are also improvements, but a common criticism of Gregorian chant sung according to a semiological, rhetorical, oratorical, or accentualist interpretation is that “they all sound different," even though each of the ensembles may be singing from the same edition and claim to use the same style, based to a greater or lesser extent on the ideas of Dom Cardine.  Proportional rhythm offers less wiggle room for the idiosyncrasies of particular directors, singers, or ensembles.

Now to the topic!  I have given a history lesson in four paragraphs and reserved the actual point of this little essay for the beginning and end.  I opened with a quote from Pius XII's encyclical Mediator Dei.  Are we guilty of antiquarianism, i.e. discarding more recent and legitimate developments in favor of restoring a primitive usage?  I answer in the negative.  Although we are indeed attempting to restore a style of singing from at least eleven centuries ago, we are no more guilty of antiquarianism than St. Pius X or the Solesmes monks of the early twentieth century.  This edition is another step in restoring the chants “in their integrity and purity according to the testimony of the oldest manuscripts," according to the desire expressed by that same Pontiff.  Here and elsewhere, I use the phrase authentic traditional rhythm.  I am not unaware that I may appear to have contradicted myself!  No one would claim that the rhythm presented here is representative of how Gregorian chant has been sung for 900+ years.  Then how can it be called traditional?  It is traditional in the sense that it is a restoration of the authentic tradition, in light of the best scholarship.  And how does this differ from antiquarianism?  With chant, we are not dealing with a liturgical art form that more or less died out, but rather one that lost its original rhythmic vitality and was eventually altered intentionally.  We could trace many elements in Gregorian chant that were indeed handed down without interruption even in the Medicean editions, therefore we cannot say that the tradition as a whole was ever lost.  Let us do our part to sing “according to the testimony of the oldest manuscripts."  St. Gregory the Great, pray for us!  St. Pius X, pray for us!

May 9, 2024 Addendum: Unity with Whom?

The claims of less Catholic and less obedient chant scholarship are more than a bit over the top.  They are the refuge of petty, closed-minded Catholics who are incapable of making a serious effort toward correctly interpreting the oldest sources, or who are unwilling or uninterested.  We are told by Frederes that, in a liturgical context, daring to render the Gregorian melodies in the same manner in which they were artistically conceived at their first beginning is an affront to Church unity.  Unity with whom?  Although his position regarding the rhythm remains nebulous, Frederes is apparently a proponent of the pure Vatican edition without the Solesmes rhythmic markings.  Would he have us sing the Vatican edition according to the equalist rhythm of Ostrowski or the nuanced rhythm of Pothier?  Worldwide, approximately what percentage of Catholics follow those two rhythmic approaches in the singing of Gregorian chant?  How would we even go about finding out those statistics?  One thing is quite certain: neither is used for Papal Masses in the Vatican!  Again: Unity with whom?

I am left scratching my head when Frederes writes of “the melodies of Gregorian Chant . . . having provided solace and refuge to the faithful for well over 1,500 years.”  Besides the name “Gregorian,” we have no good reason to think that our current chant repertory is more than about 1,230 years old.  Its antecedents might have borne some resemblance, but it is doubtful that they would have been recognizable to us as the same melodies as the Vatican edition.  So, Frederes is off by “well over” 270 years, I’d say.  As for the rhythm, we have no good reason to think our current chant repertory was sung with equal note values until the eleventh century.  Here he’s off by “well over” 500 years.  I’m even more puzzled by his claim that “organic development of the art of singing the Mass had essentially been suspended . . .  around the same time as the Council of Trent” (1545–1563).

Frederes lumps together the work and objectives of both mensuralists and Cardinian semiologists alike as an “antiquarianist movement” and further claims that we follow, with striking uniformity, the same reasoning as the Protestant Reformers!  The cancer is widespread, don’t you know?  Frederes would liken an interpretation founded on the clear, unshakable evidence of ninth-century manuscripts to Guéranger’s critique of sectarian “formulas that date only beyond the night, which are undoubtedly human, since the one who wrote them is still alive.”  According to his narrative, the earliest extant melodies and rhythm are subjective matters of belief, not objective historical facts, and we give preference to the oldest sources not on account of their precision, but solely because of their antiquity.  If that weren’t bad enough already, he accuses the Gregorian “antiquarianists” of wanting to chart their own path instead of praying in song with the rest of the Church.  What is there to say in reply?  Well, for starters, again: Unity with whom?  A large segment (i.e., the majority) of “the rest of the Church” vehemently eschews Gregorian chant along with the Latin language.  Are Frederes, Ostrowski, and other Vatican edition purists singing the same song as the Sistine Choir, where the Solesmes rhythmic markings and then some are observed?  Give me a break!

What about the Italianate Roman Latin pronunciation of Pope St. Pius X?  I was able to find one recording of Pius X, but his voice was mostly unintelligible.  Do we have good reason to think that his Latin pronunciation differed considerably from his immediate predecessor’s?  Listen to Pope Leo XIII pray the Ave Maria.  Does his Latin pronunciation respect the relatively higher pitch of the tonic accent?  No, and in fact, I hear the exact opposite on the words gratia, benedicta, Sancta, and ora.  I am, however, pleased to see yet another acknowledgement that the Vatican edition is a cento.  A cento, literally, is patchwork and therefore a new version, which in this case was probably never sung anywhere before its publication.  To portray the Vatican edition as a developed, mature reading of the chant far superior to the puerile scribblings of the first millennium is not only disingenuous but a veritable inversion of reality.  Let’s call a spade a spade.

Sooner or later, Frederes, Ostrowski, and the died-in-the-wool “classic Solesmes” adherents will have to come to terms with the inconvenient fact that the whole hierarchy of the Catholic Church called for a more critical edition of the chant books published under Pius X.  A reorganization of the chant books without melodic, rhythmic, or textual corrections does not constitute a more critical edition, and fanatical attachment to an outdated edition strikes me as a sort of last-ditch attempt to stifle real scholarship in favor of “the fantasy of a higher purity, perfection, and idealism,” to use Frederes’s own words against him.  Whether we like it or not, just as it was the prerogative of St. Pius X to change course from the state of chant under Pope Leo XIII, it was also the prerogative of the Second Vatican Council Fathers to give a new impetus to Gregorian chant scholarship.  Unfortunately, we know all too well how poorly the musical directives of the conciliar documents have been implemented by and large.  In fact, it was precisely that generation of clergy, brought up with the Vatican and Solesmes editions, who rejected every interpretation of Gregorian chant in favor of more contemporary styles of music for the liturgy.  Again: Unity with whom?

Above, I rambled about history for four paragraphs before finally making my point in the final paragraph.  Here, I append more comments after already having made my conclusion in the preceding paragraph.  My primary interest and the whole point of this website is the interpretation of the oldest extant chant sources.  It may be apparent to the reader that I’m just not that interested in outdated theories or outdated ecclesiastical regulations (and I emphatically don’t mean the rubrics of the 1962 or “pre-55” liturgical books and related legislation).  But I’m curious as to why anyone would consider the Vatican edition of St. Pius X to be an “organic development.”  I’m also curious as to why anyone would consider the introduction of organum and polyphony, the resultant loss of the authentic traditional rhythm, or alterations to melody and modality to be organic developments.  As for those of us who desire to return to the oldest sources, what would it be fairest to say that we reject: organic development, progress in the liturgical arts, or tampering with tradition?  I believe that a sober, objective consideration of the music program I currently run will reveal the correct answer.

“King James Only" Catholics

I never had personal dealings with them, but in the South, I always heard of “King James-only fundamentalists.”  In contrast to conservative Anglicans or mainline Protestants with a strong preference for the King James Version of the Bible, some of these fundamentalists actually believe the KJV is divinely inspired in the same sense as the original Hebrew and Greek texts, or even more inspired or a correction of certain ambiguous passages.  The most extreme adherents insist that translations of the Protestant Bible into other languages must be based on the KJV, not the original languages.  This mentality would be slightly more understandable if we were dealing with a certain faction of Anglicans arguing a position along the lines of “This is the version of the Bible that was given to us by our church in the seventeenth century and no other edition has surpassed it in beauty, eloquence, or accuracy,” but the reality is that most of the King James onlyists are far removed from the Church of England of past or present in their doctrine, practices, and aesthetic sensibilities.

In my childhood, I also heard of “fire and brimstone” or “hellfire and damnation” preaching in other churches.  At times, I would like to have heard a little more of this style of preaching in my church, but I digress.  I read an article, the name of whose author escapes me, which expressed the opinion that such preaching was essentially lazy.  It takes far less effort to get in the pulpit and rant and rave for 40 minutes than to prepare a sermon that actually expounds on the spiritual meaning of the word of God.  And rather than calling sinners to true repentance, it often serves to bolster the congregation in their own self-righteousness.  Similarly, KJV onlyism is a lazy approach to the Bible.  If we have an English version of the Bible that is divinely inspired, inerrant, or infallible, why bother studying the Hebrew or Greek texts?  I am aware of a marginal group of traditionalists Catholics with similar views toward the Clementine Vulgate.  Whether the Catholic Church has declared that version alone to be inerrant, I neither know nor particularly care, but I can say with certainty that other versions are used in the chants of the Mass, which brings me to my point.

With regard to the Vatican edition of Gregorian chant, we must not become like King James only fundamentalists.  While it is true that the Church has promulgated the Vatican edition to be used liturgically, it is also true that it contains errors.  Furthermore, the Church is not infallible in matters of musicology.  There were other official editions before the Vaticana, and there will be others after it.  Let us never fall into a lazy mentality regarding our study of the chants.  The Liber Usualis is a truly remarkable book, but we now know with certainty that it contains errors and that the rhythmic theories upon which it is based are faulty.  Devotion to the Solesmes method of interpretation is no excuse for ignoring the ancient chant manuscripts and the testimony of the medieval writers.

Historically speaking, with the exception of religious sisters and schoolgirls, Gregorian chant is primarily men’s music.  Nowadays our churches tend to be full of effeminate men, who only want to do what is easy and pleasurable rather than applying themselves to challenging or rigorous pursuits.  Others veil their ignorance under the guise of piety with comments like, “But the Solesmes style is so prayerful!” or with a certain sort of progressive musical attitude: “Chant is a living musical language and not a museum piece.”  Still others insist that the Vatican or Solesmes style is the only “approved” interpretation, despite rather clear evidence to the contrary.  All four of these—the lazy, the pious, the musical elitists, and the misguidedly obedient—resent the very notion that they should relearn anything.  It is beyond question that the authority to regulate liturgical books belongs to the hierarchical Church, exercised by the Dicastery for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments; that point is not up for debate.  What I wish to stress is that the manuscripts have their own authority.  Is this not true in biblical studies as well, unless we’re King James onlyists?  And generally, an older source is judged to have greater authority than a later one.

Regarding the musical elitists, is it unfair to charge that the Solesmes defenders are actually the ones treating the chant like a museum piece?  As I have written elsewhere: Many of the rhythmic indications of the ancient manuscripts were misinterpreted by the monks that edited the Solesmes editions.  This is old news, now well known, and should no longer be a controversial statement in 2022, but here we are!  I have colleagues who are knowledgeable about what is called historically informed performance practice for the music of the 16th through 18th centuries, but who nevertheless prefer the style of performance in vogue in the late 19th or early to mid 2oth century.  That is a personal preference, a matter of opinion, but the evidence of the medieval manuscripts is factual.  Whether one regards this or that interpretation as prettier or more prayerful really isn’t the point.  One can make similar claims about Bible translations, but it tells us nothing about accuracy and fidelity to the most reliable sources.  Study the chant manuscripts copied in the triplex editions, compare my edition with Solesmes, then judge for yourself. 

Gregorian Rhythm Wars

For almost a year, from October 23, 2022, until October 9, 2023, I was a regular contributor to the Catholic website Corpus Christi Watershed, with some 40 contributions in 50 weeks' time: 24 posts to the “Gregorian Rhythm Wars" series (archived copy of my final post deleted 10/25/24; I cannot vouch that the other posts remain unaltered), thirteen posts on a range of other topics, plus a chant glossary, a translation requested by Jeff Ostrowski, and a special recording contribution.  At the time of my final CCW post, Ostrowski indicated to me that he intended to end the Gregorian Rhythm Wars exchange and wrote publicly, “it’s been decided to bring that particular series to a close.  As they say: All good things must come to an end," yet he has continued to create more posts with the Gregorian Rhythm Wars tag.  While he is welcome to have the proverbial last word on his website, I reserve the right to continue my response here on my own site, without posting restrictions (hinted at here) from him or anyone else.  One such response, titled The Restoration of Tradition (12/1/23), is now available on this site.  I will respond to other points below, as appropriate.  My 2021 article on Antiquarianism already addressed the objections raised by Matthew Frederes in 2024.

Among my contributions to Corpus Christi Watershed, these are the articles I most recommend, in this order:

Vollaerts Revisited

Offertory Verses and Why You Should Sing Them

Mocquereau on Trial

Liturgical Recitative

Vollaerts Revisited

THE ARCHIVES OF CAECILIA[1] reveal that the ideas of Fr. Jan Vollaerts, S.J. (1901–56), concerning the historical rhythm of Gregorian chant were widely discussed after the posthumous publication of his Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant.[2] Unfortunately, his contributions have been neglected by most chant scholars in recent decades, with some exceptions, most notably Jan van Biezen (1927–2021).[3] After Vollaerts’ early death, the task of responding to criticism of his work fell to Dom Gregory Murray, O.S.B. (1905–92), who appears to have been his chief disciple and apologist in the ensuing years. As a sad consequence of the general abandonment of Gregorian chant following the implementation of the liturgical reforms of the 1960s, Vollaerts’ work was largely forgotten. Perhaps the time is ripe to reconsider his contributions to Gregorian musicology.

Fr. Jan Vollaerts, S.J. (left) and Dom Gregory Murray, O.S.B.

Vollaerts presented and analyzed the evidence of the adiastematic (staffless) neumes as well as the testimony of medieval writers, who insisted on exact proportional durations; for example, the Commemoratio brevis de tonis et psalmis modulandis from the early tenth century: “All the longs must be equally long, all the shorts of equal brevity. . . . In accordance with the length durations let there be formed short beats, so that they be neither more nor less, but one always twice as long as the other.”[4] And Berno of Reichenau in the early eleventh century: “In the neumes it is necessary that you pay close attention where the proportional shorter duration is to be measured and where, on the contrary, the longer duration, lest you execute as quick and short what the authority of the masters has determined should be longer and more extended. Nor should we heed those who say there is no reason whatsoever for our making now the quicker duration, now the more prolonged one, in a chant with a naturally disposed rhythm.”[5] Among those whose writings about the rhythm of Gregorian chant have survived from the Middle Ages, not a single one of them favored non-proportional lengthening or shortening of note values. Murray states the case clearly: “As we have seen, Dom Mocquereau admits that there were mensuralists during the Gregorian centuries; it would be interesting if clear evidence could be cited to show that during the same period there were some who were not mensuralists.”[6] The burden of proof is upon the opponents of measured or proportional rhythm.

Vollaerts’ transcription of the mode five gradual Tribulationes for the second Sunday in Lent in the traditional Roman rite[7] includes modern notation with hand-copied neumes from eleven adiastematic sources. With the exception of the quilisma, which both he and Murray[8] transcribed as two notes based on the eleventh-century notation of Nonantola, Vollaerts’ interpretation is overwhelmingly vindicated by the ancient manuscripts. The quilisma merits further consideration, and it seems reasonable to begin with the interpretation that is likely familiar to most readers: in the Solesmes method, the quilisma itself is treated as a short note, preceded by a long note and usually followed by a short note. The preface to the Vatican edition, however, describes the quilisma as a trill, tremolo, or shaken note.[9] Dom André Mocquereau (1849–1930) thought that the quilisma represented a portamento: “The quilisma may be looked upon as a kind of ascending portamento. This is a plausible interpretation, for it agrees with the data furnished by the MSS.”[10] Van Biezen likewise advocates the portamento interpretation.[11] Dom Eugène Cardine (1905–88) notes the following: “The question mark was borrowed to represent a vocal phenomenon similar to the ascending modulation of an interrogative phrase: the quilisma.”[12] And elsewhere: “The symbol for the quilisma-pes undoubtedly has its origin in the question mark used by grammarians. The sign was used at the end of interrogative phrases at Corbie (a monastery near Amiens) in the second half of the eighth century. . . . In addition, at the same period, the question mark used in the region around Tours suggests the quilisma-pes from L [the Laon Gradual]. The quilisma-pes from both the St. Gall and Messine schools may thus have a common source.”[13]

In addition to the derivation of neumatic signs from punctuation marks and other grammatical signs, it is generally accepted that the neumes depict conducting gestures: “We have already affirmed and we must now once again emphasize that the St. Gall notation used chironomic signs—signs which fix the gestures of the conductor onto the parchment.”[14] Another theory has been posited that at least some of the Gregorian neumes were borrowed from Byzantine or other Eastern sources.[15] Whatever the historical facts may be, it is unnecessary to regard the three explanations of the origins of the neumes—grammatical signs, chironomic signs, and borrowings from the East—as contradictory or mutually exclusive. In the case of the quilisma, it is possible that the St. Gall notation depicts a gesture that came quite naturally to anyone seeing it. When people “talk with their hands,” they typically turn the palm upward when asking a question. Could the quilisma signify precisely such a manual gesture?

Most vocal ornaments involve one or several notes, but a portamento is a slide through several notes rather than a distinct note. If the portamento interpretation of the quilisma is indeed correct, then it might explain the Nonantola notation. Xaver Kainzbauer has argued that the quilisma is simply a cautionary sign before an ascending skip, neither a note nor a portamento indication.[16] In my transcription (figure 1), I have used the standard modern notation symbol for a portamento or glissando. It is worth noting that the jagged diagonal line bears more than a slight resemblance to the serrated note used in Gregorian notation.[17] I have set the chant at a suitable pitch for unison singing by an ensemble including both tenor and bass or soprano and alto voices, with a key signature of four flats and a one-octave range from and to D-flat; do is A-flat; the starting pitch, la, is F; and the final, fa, is D-flat. The letters M and R above the staff indicate melodic and rhythmic corrections of the Vollaerts transcription. I have retained the line breaks from his edition. Melodic corrections follow the AISCGre recommendations[18] and conform to the Graduale Novum.[19] The same chant in Gregorian notation with proportional rhythmic markings is available on the cantatorium.com website.

Figure 1. Cantatorium.com edition transcribed in modern notation with melodic and rhythmic corrections marked.

Performance note: All grace notes should be sung before the beat and take their value from the preceding note, or they may be omitted at the choirmaster or cantor’s discretion. Half notes are editorial and could be notated as quarter notes with a fermata instead.

Translation: The troubles of my heart are multiplied: rescue me from my necessities, O Lord. See my abjection and my labor: and forgive all my sins. (Ps. 24/25:17–18)

Besides the quilisma, of which there are six instances, the other rhythmic corrections are as follows: two instances of a subbipunctis resupinus figure at the end of “meis” and “Domine,” transcribed in the style of Van Biezen with a dotted quarter and two sixteenths, which he regards as analogous to an ornamental figure of Byzantine chant;[20] two initio debiles[21] figures at “laborem,” transcribed as grace notes;[22] the long pressus major at the end of “omnia”; and the tenth note from the end of the verse, marked with an episema in St. Gall 374. This last correction and the initio debiles notes prevent syncopation. The binary nature of the rhythm becomes apparent: as a rule, short notes occur in pairs.

The reader is reminded that from the point of view of musical-aesthetics, Gregorian rhythm is characterised by a balancing of ‘pairs’: two ‘shorts’ balancing two ‘shorts’, two ‘shorts’ alternating with one ‘long’. . . . This poise and balance is so outstanding that a short clivis ending with a short note before a new syllable is not surprising, the ordinary porrectus and torculus ending with a ‘long’. . . as a rule there are duplets and not triplets. . . . These duplets and quadruplets maintain a finely balanced equilibrium throughout a melody, but it is not the Author’s intention to contend that this balance be maintained so rigorously as to exclude any possibility of break caused by iambic or trochaic metre.[23]

With this fundamentally binary rhythm, the chant has a steady beat or tactus, contrary to what nearly everyone in our era has been taught.[24]

Among the melodic corrections, only the ornamental notes at “eripe” deserve special mention. Here it is most instructive to refer to the adiastematic neumes. The St. Gall manuscripts each give six notes for this word, where the other sources write only four. An ornamental beginning note, so weak that it was not universally notated, seems to be the most plausible explanation for this discrepancy.[25] It could reflect a mannerism of a particular cantor of the St. Gall school at a dramatic point in the text (“rescue me”). Although not labeled as melodic or rhythmic corrections, I have incorporated what I consider to be two additional improvements in the modern notation: an upper auxiliary grace note before the oriscus (cf. footnote 22) and a tied cue-size note for the augmentative cephalicus. Upon comparing my revision of the Vollaerts edition to the Solesmes edition,[26] note that the latter lacks many horizontal episemata and inserts a number of ictus marks that do not actually coincide with the correct placement of the beat. In both editions, bar lines and most augmentation dots (puncta morae) are editorial. Unfortunately, the Solesmes monks under the direction of Mocquereau had already solidified their editorial principles before the rediscovery of the Laon Gradual,[27] which is more precise than any of the St. Gall codices[28] and probably older than all but one of them.

For the gradual Tribulationes, if the horizontal episema is allowed not only to lengthen but actually to double the note value, then it can be said that the Solesmes monks interpreted 173 out of 266 note values correctly: 65%. In fact, the Solesmes method interprets the episema as a nuanced lengthening, not a proportional doubling.[29] Even when the notes marked with the horizontal episema are doubled in practice,[30] the theoretical conception of the rhythm remains gravely flawed. The Solesmes rhythm erroneously incorporates thirty ternary (three-note) rhythmic groupings. This chant has a total 197 beats, not including half-note (two-beat) values at the ends of phrases, which are purely editorial, or the silent beat at the quarter rest before the double bar line. In figure 2, I have marked the ictus at the beginning of every compound beat in the Solesmes edition and used white/hollow notes to indicate the rhythmic errors. The remaining black notes constitute 66 beats: only one-third of the chant—an unimpressive score.

Figure 2. Solesmes edition with every ictus marked and rhythmic errors indicated with white/hollow notes.

Besides the special case involving initio debiles notes at “eripe,” there are thirteen rhythmically ambiguous notes in this chant, all of them marked long in my revision of the Vollaerts edition, but where a short interpretation could be justified by one good manuscript or another. The notes in question are the third through sixth notes of the last syllable of “tribulationes,” the fourth through seventh notes of the last syllable of “mei,” the twelfth and thirteenth notes of the second syllable of “laborem,” the first two notes of the pressus major at the end of “omnia,” and the tenth note from the end of the verse. Taking into account these rhythmic ambiguities, the Solesmes monks may be given credit for interpreting 73 out of 191 beats correctly: 38%. Although their edition has only 134.5 beats, 73 out of 134.5 remains a failing grade of 54%.

Other than the examples at “tribulationes,” “mei,” and the thirteenth note of “-bo-,” all of the other notes of ambiguous value are short in the Vollaerts transcription, which is reproduced below (figure 4). Judging his edition by the same standards applied to Solesmes above and disregarding the ornamental interpretation of the two subbipunctis resupinus figures, he identified 192 of his own 201 beats correctly: 96%. Despite six redundant beats because of his faulty quilisma interpretation, Vollaerts actually identified 192 out of 196 beats[31] correctly: 98%, which is remarkably better than the most lenient evaluation of the Solesmes rhythm.

Although mainstream scholarship has mostly discredited Mocquereau’s ictus placement theory, the semiologists of Cardine’s school inexplicably retain Mocquereau’s theory of rhythmic nuances, in opposition to mensuralism or proportional rhythm. The outdated nuance theory needs to be reassessed and overhauled in light of subsequent scholarship based on the oldest extant sources and the clear testimony of the medieval writers. Vollaerts’ work is a key to a modern understanding of both early medieval music theory and the adiastematic neumes themselves, as demonstrated in his edition of this gradual chant. Tribulationes is a rather straightforward example. Many rhythmic difficulties and outright contradictions among the various manuscripts will be encountered over the course of the liturgical year, yet the diligent choirmaster, cantor, or scholar should not be discouraged from seeking the authentic rhythm.

Proportionalists (mensuralists) and semiologists generally agree upon which notes are long and short, and that the Solesmes editions neglect many of the long notes of the rhythmic manuscripts. The main point of contention is whether the long notes of the manuscripts represent actual doubling of the short note values or nuanced lengthening. All schools of interpretation acknowledge that some chants are intended for congregational singing, others for a schola cantorum or choir of trained singers, others for highly skilled soloists, and others for the clergy. All would agree that the latter category of chants, along with the psalmody of the Divine Office, are essentially liturgical recitative—a style of singing that follows the inherent rhythm of the Latin text. Those who identify as accentualists or adherents of the rhetorical or oratorical approach (many of whom also regard themselves as semiologists) apply the same understanding of “sung speech” to nearly all types of Gregorian chant and often prefer editions without any rhythmic markings whatsoever. And of course, Mocquereau’s Solesmes method still has many devoted followers.

With so many styles of interpretation, the question of “who’s right?” is unavoidable. Vollaerts was not the first to arrive at the conclusion of proportional rhythm, but he offered a more consistent and accurate interpretation than the earlier mensuralists of the modern era. Murray presented Vollaerts’ theories in a more systematic way. Meanwhile, Cardine steered the Solesmes monks away from Mocquereau’s ictus placement theory, with its frequently arbitrary binary and ternary groupings, toward greater fidelity to the oldest extant sources. Van Biezen contributed to a fruitful synthesis of the proportionalist and semiological approaches, which had previously seemed to be at odds with one another, especially through his interpretation of weak beginning (initio debiles) notes and his fair, well-articulated critique of certain aspects of the nuance theory. To answer the question: all of them are right to some extent, including Mocquereau, but the most exacting test of the accuracy of a given rendition is to work backward and attempt to reconstruct the adiastematic neumes from a recording of the performance itself.[32]

Gregorian chant was probably handed down as an oral tradition for more than a century before being notated[33] and was learned by ear and by rote, which is how people who do not read music still learn the congregational chants today. Rote learning, however, is not an efficient or practical way to master the propers. The cantors normally prepare five different chants for nearly every Sung Mass throughout the year, and they must be in agreement about the interpretation of the rhythm if they are to sing well together as an ensemble. Some choirmasters teach the rhythm by making their schola count twos and threes. Others tell them to watch carefully as they meticulously conduct every desired nuance. Some tell their singers to follow the rhythm of the text, even when a long melisma occurs on a weak syllable. Still others treat the rhythm of chant more like that of other types of music.

John Blackley (b. 1936) has made the bold claim that “the non-acceptance of proportional rhythm was the only thing that was keeping the entire corpus of chant from being used in the liturgy in every country, because of the perfect translatability of chant understood in this rhythm.”[34] While his statement is an oversimplification of a multifaceted problem, besides having a solid basis in the oldest manuscripts and theoretical writings, proportional rhythm liberates the chant from Mocquereau’s ictus and nuance theories, makes it less susceptible to the conductor’s idiosyncrasies, and simplifies the learning process. Gregorian chant is itself a liturgical offering to almighty God, capable of moving its hearers to deeper prayer and devotion when sung well. With the keys to historically informed performance practice now readily available, in the words of St. Paul, let us “sing with the spirit and also with the understanding.”[35]

Figure 3. Vollaerts’ edition transcribed in Gregorian notation, uncorrected.

Figure 4. Vollaerts’ edition.[36]

Patrick Williams maintains the cantatorium.com website and serves as organist and choirmaster at Mater Misericordiae Parish and St. Edward the Confessor Catholic Church in Phoenix, Arizona, apostolates of the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter. He previously held positions at the Cathedral of St. Paul in Birmingham, Alabama, and the Cathedral of St. John Berchmans in Shreveport, Louisiana.

[1]Caecilia was the predecessor to Sacred Music. See vol. 85, no. 2, through vol. 91, no. 1, available at musicasacra.com.

[2]Jan W. A. Vollaerts, Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1960). References are given according to the 1960 edition, not the first edition of 1958.

[3]Jan van Biezen, “Het ritme van het gregoriaans” (The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant), Tijdschrift voor Gregoriaans, vol. 30 (2005), tr. Kevin M. Rooney in Rhythm, Meter and Tempo in Gregorian Chant (Glendale, CO: Andrewes, 2016). See also Dirk van Kampen, “The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant: An Empirical Investigation,” Journal of Music Research Online, vol. 8 (2017), and R. John Blackley, Rhythm in Western Sacred Music before the Mid-Twelfth Century and the Historical Importance of Proportional-Rhythm Chant (Lexington, VA: Schola Antiqua, 2008).

[4]Martin Gerbert, Scriptores ecclesiastici de musica sacra potissimum (St. Blasien: St. Blaise, 1784), vol. 1, p. 227: “Verum omnia longa aequaliter longa, brevium sit par brevitas . . . & secundum moras longitudinis momenta formentur brevia, ut nec majore, nec minore, sed semper unum alterum duplo superet.” English translation from Gregory Murray, “Gregorian Rhythm in the Gregorian Centuries: The Literary Evidence,” Downside Review, vol. 75, no. 241 (1957), p. 247.

[5]Ibid., vol. 2, p. 77: “Etiam pervigili observandum est cura, uti attendas in neumis ubi ratae sonorum morulae breviores, ubi vero sint metiendae productiores, ne raptim & minime diu proferas, quod diutius & productius praecinere statuit magisterialis auctoritas. Neque audiendi sunt, qui dicunt sine ratione omnino consistere, quod in cantu aptae numerositatis moram nunc velociorem, nunc vero facimus productiorem.” English translation from Murray, ibid., pp. 248–49.

[6]Ibid., p. 235.

[7]In both the old and new rites, this chant is appointed for the preceding Wednesday, which is an ember day in the old rite.

[8]Gregory Murray, Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts (London: Cary, 1963), p. 38. Murray’s text arguably offers a more eloquent and accessible introduction to Gregorian paleography than the writings of either Vollaerts or Cardine.

[9]These three terms are used in the English edition of the Liber Usualis to translate the Latin nota tremulae vocis and nota volubilis. Timid is another possible translation; cf. the English adjective tremulous.

[10]André Mocquereau, “Le nombre musical grégorien,” A Study of Gregorian Musical Rhythm, vol. 1, part 1, tr. Aileen Tone (Paris: Desclée, 1932), p. 420.

[11]Op. cit., pp. 27–28 of the English edition.

[12]Eugène Cardine, Godehard Joppich, and Rupert Fischer, Gregorian Semiology, tr. Robert M. Fowells (Sablé-sur-Sarthe: Solesmes, 1982), p. 9.

[13]Ibid., p. 199.

[14]Ibid., p. 79. At least one scholar has called this view into question; see Helmut Hucke, “Toward a New Historical View of Gregorian Chant,” Journal of the American Musicological Society, vol. 33, no. 3 (1980), p. 449: “Fleischer’s theory concerning the origin of neumatic notation from ‘cheironomy’ is almost universally accepted today. But there is not a shred of evidence for any connection between the neumes and conducting movements.”

[15]Cf. Constantin Floros, Universale Neumenkunde (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1970), available in English as The Origins of Western Notation, tr. Neil Moran (Frankfurt: Lang, 2011).

[16]Xaver Kainzbauer, “Die Virga quilismata,” Psallite Sapienter. Festschrift zum 80. Geburtstag von Georg Béres (Budapest: Szent István, 2008).

[17]Furthermore, classically trained singers will not confuse it with a mordent or trill sign.

[18]Franco Ackermans et al., “Vorschläge zur Restitution von Melodien des Graduale Romanum,” Beiträge zur Gregorianik, vol. 54 (2012), p. 25. Beiträge zur Gregorianik (Contributions to Gregorian Chant) is the journal of the German-speaking section of the International Society for Studies of Gregorian Chant (AISCGre).

[19]Graduale Novum de Dominicis et Festis (Regensburg: ConBrio, 2011) and Graduale Novum de Feriis et Sanctis (ConBrio, 2018). The Graduale Novum is a response to the Second Vatican Council’s call for the preparation of a more critical edition of the chant books (cf. Sacrosanctum Concilium, ¶117).

[20]Ὑπορροή (hyporrho­ē or iporoi); op. cit., p. 39.

[21]Debiles is plural; the singular form is initio debilis.

[22]Auxiliary notes in Gregorian chant should take their value from the preceding note, not the following note. To suggest this rendition, a sixteenth-note acciaccatura is used for the transcription instead of an eighth-note appoggiatura. In order to avoid any ambiguity about the proposed interpretation, let it be stated another way: the ornamental upper auxiliary note comes before the beat or half beat, not on the beat or half beat. At the beginning of a neume, this approach involves anticipation of the syllable (anticipazione della sillaba); cf. Van Biezen, op. cit., p. 20.

[23]Vollaerts, op. cit., p. 89.

[24]Here and elsewhere in this article, I repeat or paraphrase some of my own wording from the analysis of the introit Dominus Dixit on my website.

[25]See the section on the special torculus in Cardine, op. cit., pp. 50–58, and note 10, p. 232; Murray (1963), op. cit., pp. 71 and 79; and pp. 17 and 20 of Murray’s musical supplement.

[26]1961 Liber Usualis, p. 546; 1961 Graduale Romanum, p. 112; 1974 Graduale Romanum/1979 Graduale Triplex, p. 81.

[27]Mocquereau dates “the discovery of the rhythmic notation of Metz” to 1906—at least two years into the preparation of the Vatican edition—even though Pothier had copied part of the manuscript in 1869; cf. André Mocquereau and Joseph Gajard, The Rhythmic Tradition in the Manuscripts, tr. Laurence Bevenot (Paris: Desclée, 1952), p. 21, and Mocquereau, Paléographie musicale, vol. 10 (Tournai: Desclée et Cie., 1909), p. 18.

[28]This is not merely the expression of a personal opinion; cf. Van Biezen, op. cit., p. 26; Cardine, op. cit., p. 10; Murray (1963), op. cit., p. 13; and Vollaerts, op. cit., pp. 10 and 44–45.

[29]Moreover, many of the foremost proponents of the Solesmes method disregard some of the horizontal episemata of the Solesmes editions, e.g., the third and even the second notes of the torculus and the pes subtripunctis resupinus, which is actually a torculus subbipunctis resupinus in many of the adiastematic manuscripts.

[30]Vollaerts, op. cit., p. 229: “These sounds of longer duration have become, everywhere in the world (in all monasteries, churches, and even on gramophone records of perfect performances) sounds of absolute double duration collated with the ordinary short sounds of the cantus planus. (Footnote: An exception may be made for the long torculus and some other neum of four shaded sounds.) On the other hand, these same prolongations are often neglected altogether, resulting in the hearing of either longae of double duration, or of breves of single duration. . . . The singers, when adding some duration-nuance, immediately fall into a duration equalling two short sounds. Many choirs have been heard to treat these shaded tones often as sounds of even three short durations.”

[31]If there are 197 beats in the corrected edition and six redundant beats in that of Vollaerts, it would be reasonable to expect 203 beats in the latter edition, but the count is reduced by two because of his short interpretation of the first two notes of the pressus major and the tenth note from the end of the verse.

[32]I am grateful to Prof. Luca Ricossa for this insight.

[33]Cf. Murray (1963), op. cit., pp. 5–6.

[34]Op. cit., p. 98.

[35]1 Cor. 14:15.

[36]Vollaerts, op. cit., plate III, pp. 147–50.

“Offertory Verses and Why You Should Sing Them” (Includes PDF Download) · June 4, 2023

THE 1960s EDITIONS OF THE GRADUALE ROMANUM AND LIBER USUALIS incorporate the following sentence into the rubrics for the chant of the Mass: “After the Offertory Antiphon the choir may sing to the ancient Gregorian chants those Verses which it was once customary to sing at this place,” which is taken verbatim from ¶27b of the 1958 instruction De musica sacra et sacra liturgia. Other than the verse Hostias et preces for the Requiem Mass, I am unaware of any official Vatican edition for the offertory verses, or any printed edition of the offertory verses that includes the Solesmes rhythmic signs. The editions of the offertory verses currently and formerly distributed by Solesmes have no official status and lack the familiar rhythmic markings. My colleagues have stressed the great importance they attach to a 1910 letter from Cardinal Roche’s predecessor, which stated that music directors do not have the right to apply to the chant any rhythm they deem most appropriate.

A Rhythmic Conundrum • Lacking any official edition for the offertory verses, we are left either to consult the manuscripts ourselves or to use someone else’s edition more or less uncritically. Either way, we have no option but to apply the rhythm we deem most appropriate. Shall we observe the rhythmic indications of the manuscripts for the verses and ignore them for the antiphons or responds? Shall we attempt to apply the Solesmes rhythm to the verses? Shall we guess where a nonexistent official Vatican edition of the verses might place the bar lines and the melismatic morae vocis? This was my dilemma when I began employing the ancient chants for the offertory verses. Before embracing proportional rhythm, or mensuralism, I was dissatisfied with mixing and matching the Solesmes method and semiology. I was equally dissatisfied with attempting to sing verses in the Solesmes style, which is based on anachronistic theories concerning rhythmic nuances and the importance of the tonic accent,* along with Dom Mocquereau’s obsolete ictus placement theory, and which so often disregards the rhythmic indications of the ancient manuscripts. It was also apparent from the manuscripts themselves that an equalist rendition wasn’t historically appropriate for these chants. Only singing the entire chants according to the rhythm of the oldest sources made real sense.

Preferred but Neglected • Why bother with singing the offertory verses at all? If you are a serious Catholic church musician, you need to be aware that the ancient chants for the offertory verses are the first option for supplementary music after the required text has been sung. The second option is to sing verses to a psalm tone. The third option is to sing a motet or some other Latin hymn or chant. These are the options given in De musica sacra et sacra liturgia and repeated in the rubrics of the official chant books from the early 1960s. For most Masses throughout the year, it is lawful for an organ solo or other instrumental music to be played after the offertory chant. It is equally lawful for there to be silence after the required text has been sung (although many priests dislike this when incense is used!), for all or part of the chant to be repeated, or even for the offertory chant to be sung slowly enough that it covers the incensation. I have it on the authority of a trustworthy canon lawyer that unless wording indicating the contrary is used, the first option listed in an ecclesiastical document is to be understood as the preferred option. If you’re not singing the offertory verses at least occasionally, the more fitting question is, “Why not?” (The other apt question regards why, in 65 years, the Church has not given us an official edition of what she proposes as the preferred liturgical option. To this I have no definite answer and will refrain from public speculation.)

Tradition, Authority, Obedience, and Unity • St. Pius V’s 1570 Missal includes the famous bull Quo primum at the front, which guarantees that, “for the singing or reading of Mass in any church whatsoever, this Missal may be followed absolutely, without any scruple of conscience or fear of incurring any penalty, judgment or censure, and may be freely and lawfully used. [. . .] We likewise order and declare that no one whosoever shall be forced or coerced into altering this Missal and that this present Constitution can never be revoked or modified, but shall for ever remain valid and have the force of law.” See what versions of the chants are notated in that Missal:

How many follow this version “absolutely” for the singing of Mass? Nearly everyone disregards it because they accept (and probably prefer) the restored chants published under St. Pius X. The Catholic Encyclopedia notes the following:

Clement VIII (1604), Urban VIII (1634), and Leo XIII (1884) revised the book slightly in the rubrics and the texts of Scripture. Pius X has revised the chant (1908.) But these revisions leave it still the Missal of Pius V. There has been since the early Middle Ages unceasing change in the sense of additions of masses for new feasts, the Missal now has a number of supplements that still grow, but liturgically these additions represent no real change. The new Masses are all built up exactly on the lines of the older ones.

We know that the Vatican chant books weren’t enthusiastically embraced everywhere. Many people were greatly attached to the former editions. I detect the same conservatism with my interlocutors, who invoke “obedience” and “unity” to justify their rejection of the rhythmic approach that I’ve demonstrated to be more faithful to the oldest sources. But if we were genuinely that concerned about unity in liturgical chant, why would we not wholeheartedly embrace the version of Gregorian chant actually sung nowadays in the Vatican? It is a strange sort of “unity” that clings to a particular interpretation of an edition that is only 115 years old—namely, the equalism of the “pure” Vatican edition—as “tradition” in opposition to what is actually used for papal liturgy, namely, semiology; in opposition to what is still actually used for the vast majority of Latin liturgies in English- and French-speaking countries, namely, the Solesmes method; and in opposition to what is actually based on the oldest known performance practice, namely, proportional rhythm. Let me be perfectly clear: I don’t think this stubbornness has anything at all to do with tradition. It is shallow anti-intellectualism, lack of critical thinking, and aesthetic preference masquerading as obedience. The editors of the Graduale Novum are no guiltier of “antiquarianism” than the Vatican commission of 120 years ago, St. Pius X, the French Benedictines of the nineteenth century, or Canon Gontier. When phrases such as “ghettos of theory with self-made scores” are bandied about (parroting the phraseology of a well-known Catholic blogger and former CCWatershed contributor), it is pathetically obvious that neither the oldest sources nor the writings of the medieval theorists are being taken seriously or accorded the respect they deserve. The inhabitants of the true intellectual “ghetto” are the die-hard defenders of the nuance and ictus theories, and I will be among the first to praise whoever is finally able to break the Solesmes spell for good—even if that should turn out to be Jeff Ostrowski or some other equally misguided proponent of equalism!

Replication as Reconstruction • It has occurred to me that some readers and other contributors might have misunderstood or read too much into my use of the term reconstruct (for example, here and here), by which I mean the replication of something that still exists, not the remaking of something long lost or destroyed (and possibly based on flimsy evidence and fantastic theories). They might be thinking of something like rebuilding King Solomon’s temple or the lighthouse of Alexandria, whereas I mean something along the lines of back-translating a Hebrew or Greek scripture text or a Latin hymn from an English version. Consider the following example:

Metrical paraphrase:

Holy God, we praise Thy Name;
Lord of all, we bow before Thee!
All on earth Thy scepter claim,
All in Heav’n above adore Thee;
Infinite Thy vast domain,
Everlasting is Thy reign. (Fr. Clarence Walworth)

Dynamic/functional equivalence translation:

You are God: we praise you;
You are the Lord: we acclaim you.
You are the eternal Father:
All creation worships you. (ICEL)

Formal equivalence translation:

We praise thee, O God : we acknowledge thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth worship thee : the Father everlasting. (Book of Common Prayer)

If we translate it literally from English to Latin, “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name” isn’t going to get us very close to the actual Te Deum text. It’s a paraphrase and makes no pretensions of being a word-for-word translation. The ICEL version, on the other hand, is presented as a translation, not a paraphrase, but it confuses the grammatical cases, among other problems. In the first line, you and God are both nominative in English; likewise for you and Lord in the second line and you and Father in the third. Confitemur is hardly the most obvious translation of acclaim, nor is terra a likely choice for creation. We cannot reconstruct the Latin Te Deum from the ICEL version alone. The Anglican prayer book text, in contrast, is much more literal, and there is a reasonable possibility of producing the exact Latin text by translation—although veneratur might not be the first choice of most translators for doth worship. The Latin text is available in thousands of reliable sources; the reconstruction of which I speak is obviously not a matter of remaking something from scratch, but rather using a later source to arrive at something that overwhelmingly agrees with an earlier source. I hope these examples resolve any confusion regarding my choice of terminology. I’m no more interested in attempting to reconstruct any melody or rhythm predating the oldest extant manuscripts than attempting to reconstruct the so-called Proto-Indo-European language. We have solid evidence of how chant was sung in the Early Middle Ages, but most modern interpreters—liturgical or otherwise—either remain unaware of it or have made a choice to ignore it. It’s time for that to change!

Improvement, Degeneration, or Restoration? • The three English versions each preserve the meaning or sense of the first lines of the Latin Te Deum. For now, I will leave it to others to debate whether the ICEL version, as the product of a particular era of Church history, can be considered under the umbrella of organic liturgical development. I have no doubt that Walworth’s paraphrase of the German “Großer Gott, wir loben dich” can be considered as such. That does not, however, mean that we have the right to reject the Latin Te Deum or a literal translation of it on the grounds that “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name” is beautiful, well loved, enthusiastically sung, and now part of our “tradition.” To the extent that the Latin Te Deum is not equally beloved among the faithful, could we not formulate a compelling argument that the vernacular paraphrase is really an improvement? It seems to me that precisely that kind of argument is made by the stalwart defenders of the equalist chant tradition and the Solesmes method alike. They see that rhythm (or lack thereof!) as an improvement over the rhythmic differentiation notated in the oldest extant manuscripts, where I see degeneration. In the proportional rhythm chants, they hear a performance that they don’t regard as conducive to prayer (by which they invariably mean private devotional prayer rather than communal liturgical prayer), where I hear musical and spiritual vitality. They perceive antiquarianism, where I perceive restoration. If I am to sympathize with their perspective, it will require rational and objective arguments that haven’t been provided yet. I don’t want the Vatican or Solesmes editions confined to the dustbin, only to be appreciated honestly in their historical contexts rather than exalted as the incontestable musicological gold standard and last word in liturgical propriety.

Thirteen Offertory Chants • I offer here and simultaneously on CPDL my revised edition of Thirteen Offertory Chants. Sing them as printed, or combine the verses with the Vatican or Solesmes edition if you prefer. Whatever you do, make music with them!

One of Jeff’s recent posts included a terrific quote from Msgr. Schmitt about the importance of appreciating chant and polyphony as music. Our people must come to love the Gregorian Propers not only on account of the scriptural texts appointed by the Church, which have been prayed for centuries, but also on account of the music itself. Our parishes, especially the larger ones, are not wanting for talent, but what we generally lack are enough practicing Catholic musicians who take church music as seriously as secular music. From a technical standpoint, chant deserves to be approached with the same respect and discipline as music composed for the opera house or concert hall. From a liturgical standpoint, chant is neither merely a sort of “half-music” rubrical requirement to get out of the way before moving on to “real music,” nor a background accompaniment to the “real liturgy” taking place at the other end of the church. Chant is both real music and real liturgy! May we never lose sight of the dignity of what we do, and may the divine assistance and the intercession of the holy Popes Gregory the Great, Pius V, and Pius X be with us always.

* I did not respond directly to Charles Weaver’s post because he gives an account of nineteenth-century thought, which is irrelevant to the medieval manuscripts. In The Latin Language (London: Faber & Faber, 1954), L. R. Palmer says plainly, “For the period after 300 A.D. there is general agreement among scholars that a stress [i.e., dynamic] accent characterized Latin” (p. 214). This understanding, however, was decidedly not the scholarly consensus in France at the time of Pothier and Mocquereau. Note that the conventional and continued use of terms such as tonic, pretonic, and posttonic does not imply that the word accent has anything to do with pitch. Those who deliberately adhere to the Solesmes method in opposition to proportional rhythm or semiology, if they are men and women of principle, at least implicitly accept the linguistic underpinnings of that method. As for the pure Vatican edition, the preface says that in all chants, “the accent and rhythm of the word are to be observed as far as possible.” Whether the author of that preface was Pothier, Wagner, or someone else, he likely conceived of the nature of the accent and rhythm of the Latin word in a way that is now known to be historically improbable. Will the next counterargument claim that the Catholic Church has an official position regarding the nature of the Latin tonic accent, based on outdated and discredited theories?

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Mocquereau on Trial” (16 Sep 2023)

MORE THAN NINE MONTHS AGO, Charles Weaver made the observation that, “Interestingly, for a chant rhythm war between a proportionalist and a proponent of the ‘pure’ Vatican rhythm, both parties seem to spend a great deal of time attacking Dom Mocquereau.” It was not the first time I’ve been accused of attacking Dom Mocquereau, and it probably won’t be the last. Someone else, having misunderstood what I wrote, came very close to claiming that I had slandered the man. Let’s be reasonable. A claim that a scholar misinterpreted evidence, with no insinuation of deliberate deception or otherwise malicious intent, should not be construed as an attack on the person. He likely acted in good faith, but that doesn’t mean he was right. I named the nuance and ictus theories as the basic faults with the Solesmes method; naivety and ignorance of the alternatives allowed those erroneous theories to be accepted widely, though not universally, throughout the Latin rite. Whether he intended to do so or not, Charlie has exposed two even more fundamental errors behind the Solesmes approach to rhythm: the application of the thirteenth-century “golden rule” and a historically implausible understanding of the nature of the tonic accent. Their interpretation of the so-called golden rule blinded both Mocquereau and Gajard to the clear evidence of Laon 239, which writes long notes in a non-cursive fashion, thereby dispelling any ambiguity concerning the number of notes affected by an episema in the St. Gall manuscripts, and their conception of the Latin word accent as high, short, light, arsic, and independent of the ictus, predisposed them against the steady tactus of proportional rhythm. “The independence of the Latin tonic accent and the rhythmic ictus has always been and will always remain the foundation and the basis of the Solesmes Method” (Mocquereau, tr. Weaver).

Dom André Mocquereau, O.S.B. (1849–1930)

Outdated Scholarship • For almost any chant of the Proper of the Mass, the Solesmes notion of the golden rule can be disproved by comparing the neumes copied in a triplex edition; the only way around that problem is either to claim that the neumes mean something different than what they obviously do, which was Mocquereau’s approach, or to claim they’re irrelevant, which is Ostrowski’s approach; indeed, he never acknowledges a long note at a syllabic break because he disregards the rhythmic indications of the oldest sources altogether. As for the nature of the stressed syllable in Latin, the tonic accent, I’m unaware of any current scholarship supporting the idea that the Latin language still had a pitch accent by the Early Middle Ages, when the chants were composed. Admittedly, this is outside of my areas of expertise and interest, but what I’ve read indicates that classical Latin had vowel quantity (which I learned from Mrs. Sims in tenth grade) plus a pitch accent not necessarily coinciding with a long vowel, both of which died out sometime in late antiquity. It was anachronistic and incorrect to apply the characteristics of classical Latin to the medieval Latin of Gregorian chant. The Church learned this lesson the hard way with the 1631 “reform” of the Office hymns under Pope Urban VIII, now generally regarded as a huge mistake. Maybe there are scholars still claiming today that Carolingian Latin had vowel quantity and pitch accent, but they aren’t in the majority, and it is probably fair to say that there is a scholarly consensus to the contrary. Charlie mentioned that discussion of the importance of stressed syllables as pitch accents “has become a complete non-starter within the scholarly discussion of chant.” Although the term tonic accent remains in use, Latinists have overwhelmingly abandoned the idea of pitch stress in medieval Latin in favor of dynamic stress. Mainstream chant scholarship has moved on as well, yet the obsolete theory of the tonic accent as a pitch accent remains a basic underpinning of the classic Solesmes interpretation, as is evident in the quote above from Mocquereau. This is exactly the kind of thing I previously referred to as outdated scholarship, to my colleague’s vehement objection, but I would be happy to receive correction from a better educated reader if my understanding of the nature of the Latin accent in the Middle Ages is deficient according to solid evidence or current scholarship.

By What Authority? • The value of Mocquereau’s work as a whole is beyond question, but his ictus placement theory has now been discredited for more than six decades, and not even the most uncompromising champion of the Solesmes method today would seriously attempt to defend his salicus interpretation on paleographic grounds, as Charlie has admitted. Let us hope that the present decade will see the demise of the nuance theory, which still inexplicably allures semiologists, in favor of a return to the proportional rhythmic indications of the oldest extant sources. No further proof is needed for any sensible musician to reject the Solesmes misinterpretation of the thirteenth-century “golden rule” as inapplicable to the rhythm of the first-millennium chants. Throughout the Gregorian Rhythm Wars series, I have consistently implored my readers to study the oldest sources themselves to verify whether my claims are true. Although I have occasionally appealed to common sense and general musicianship, I have never asked anyone to take my word for anything. Jeff Ostrowski, on the other hand, attempts to buttress his position with irrelevant curial decrees from eleven decades ago, but let’s take a look at his Guillaume Couture Gregorian Chant draft. On the very first page of the actual chants, we encounter these markings:

Jeff, how are your additions licit according to the same criteria by which you pass judgment on Mocquereau? (#1) I have knowingly made an ad hominem attack here, but my objection remains valid because you yourself raised the same issue with regard to Mocquereau’s editions. A few pages later:

But compare the Vatican edition:

Jeff has omitted the liquescent figures. Another example:

With such additions and omissions, surely anyone using his edition must incur the anathema of Cardinal Roche’s predecessor! But in all seriousness, how are all of his markings and alterations fine if Mocquereau’s (and mine) are supposedly absolutely forbidden? It is difficult to fathom how adding a dotted line straight through all four lines of the staff is permissible but writing a dot after a note is out of the question. Something doesn’t add up here.

Examples • For the mode IV antiphons, I have prepared a very short comparison for the monastic version, which leaves no doubt as to the correct rhythm:

*  PDF Download • MODE IV ANTIPHON COMPARISON (2 Pages)

A reasonable interpretation of the monastic version of the antiphon Propheta magnus:

For the Communion Panis, quem ego dedero, here is the version from the Graduale Triplex:

My interpretation:

Verify for yourself that the edition above adds rhythmic markings without altering the typography of the Vatican edition—which is more than can be said for Jeff’s editions. Assuming that the prohibition against altering note spacing is a “dead letter” (and I’m not the one arguing otherwise!), consider whether the following improves both accuracy and legibility:

Here’s a recording:

If you find my recording aesthetically lacking, I suggest making your own in the same style. Why not? We see from these examples that the problem with Mocquereau’s interpretation lies in what he omitted, not in what he included—or, as Jeff says, added.

Challenge Accepted! • Jeff has written more than once that Mocquereau “had a predilection for a handful of manuscripts,” or similar words. In fact, the manuscripts in that handful are among the oldest and best. In his first post in this series, Jeff nicknamed them “Moc’s Fantastic Four.” Their value is so widely acknowledged by serious chant scholars and their rhythmic indications now well enough understood that it takes a dilletante to place them on an equality with nonrhythmic manuscripts from later centuries, but here we are. To the extent that Mocquereau interpreted some things correctly, I suppose I’m stepping forward to defend him. Jeff asks, “what if every single editor had mutilated the official edition according to a handful of manuscripts for which they [sic] had fondness? Does anyone doubt what the result would have been?” Are these merely rhetorical questions? I honestly can’t tell! Besides the Solesmes and triplex editions, I know of only seven rhythmic editions of the Sunday Mass Propers produced in the past forty years, namely those of Hakkennes, Blackley, Stingl, Kainzbauer, Turco (example page), Nickel, and my own. Five of those are predicated on the nuance theory. Jeff can compare the results for himself, but what will he compare them to? The pure Vatican edition? The Solesmes edition? Laon 239? Einsiedeln 121? St. Gall 359? Chartres 47? Bamberg 6? Montpellier H. 159? Some beautifully illuminated but rhythmically insignificant Gradual from the fourteenth century? Well?? To the extent that Mocquereau relied on first-millennial manuscripts in preference to later sources, I’ll take the witness stand again in his defense. What are we to make of Jeff’s irrelevant claim that no one can “prove” that the oldest extant sources are, in fact, the oldest? He might as well ask me to “prove” that I’m the real Patrick Williams and not a clone. Where would I even start? (And if I were a clone, wouldn’t I be able to offer the same “proof” anyway?) This is really getting ridiculous. The burden of proof is on the one who persists in ignoring the evidence.

Jumping to Some Conclusions and Avoiding Others • Why should it matter if the Hook & Hastings organ in the Cathedral of the Holy Cross was built in 1776, 1875, or 1974? Are there not older extant instruments? Are there not bigger, more versatile, more expensive, or more beautifully voiced organs elsewhere? Aren’t there other organs from 1875 that are almost nothing like that one? Has no other musical instrument besides the Hook & Hastings organ ever been played in the Cathedral of the Holy Cross? Didn’t Hook & Hastings themselves build other organs that were quite different from it? Why should anyone think that it is representative of Hook & Hastings organs, late nineteenth-century American organs, or Catholic cathedral organs? Have you ever heard of a Hook & Hastings organ in the Vatican? On the stop list, I see an Open Diapason in all four divisions, but many other organs have a stop called Principal. Some spell it Prinzipal, others have just a plain Diapason without the adjective Open, and still others have a Montre, Prestant, or something else instead. What makes you think those are just different names for the same kind of stop? How can you be so sure? And don’t say, “because Audsley and Gleason say so!” Supposedly, over 275,000 Hammond B3s were produced. That surely must count for something, right? Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to take the Hammond B3 as an example of a typical American organ? They play all right, don’t they? And guess what? Hook & Hastings closed the same year Hammond set up shop, 1935. It’s true! It must mean that Hook & Hastings suddenly forgot how to build pipe organs as soon as electronic organs were developed. . . . I have deliberately made quite a few non sequiturs in the preceding sentences to prove a point, but I’ll let Jeff figure out for himself what it is. I hope you got some amusement from this little diversion, but I’m fed up with playing games instead of having serious discussion about the rhythm of the oldest extant manuscripts, and I think many of our readers are growing weary of it as well. Don’t let Jeff pull the wool over your eyes again! In his first post, he dated seven manuscripts to the ninth or tenth century: St. Gall 359, Bamberg 6, Laon 239, Chartres 47, Einsiedeln 121, Mont Renaud, and Montpellier H. 159. Now he has the gall (pun intended!) not only to question whether they are truly that old but also to claim “that we know very little about when these manuscripts were created.” Ladies and gentlemen, this takes the cake. He’s making things up as he goes along. Why doesn’t he admit defeat already? Could it be any more obvious that he is avoiding discussion of the rhythm of those sources by invoking unsourced historical claims, personal tastes, a misleading and inconsistent interpretation of the law (which he conveniently disregards in his own editions), and the concept of unprovability pitted against a nebulous notion of tradition?

Ignoring Vollaerts and Misrepresenting Cardine • Jeff asks, “Why were these crucial and esteemed manuscripts [Einsiedeln 121, St. Gall 339, St. Gall 359, and Bamberg 6] not copied?” but then in his next paragraph, apparently with no awareness of the contradiction, he proceeds to tell us that scribes continued to copy the St. Gall neumes long after adiastematic notation had fallen out of fashion elsewhere. If Jeff had bothered to read the Vollaerts chapter I recommended in my first post in this series, he wouldn’t be asking about the copying of St. Gall manuscripts. As I wrote in my fifth reply, “This has nothing to do with scribes no longer understanding how to write the older notation, but it doesn’t make much sense to continue differentiating long and short notes on the page once they’ve all become equal in performance,” which is precisely what can be observed from comparing the later St. Gall manuscripts to the oldest ones.

St. Gall 379, Thirteenth Century

St. Gall 353, Thirteenth or Fourteenth Century

Jeff’s unwillingness to do his homework, some ten and a half months later, demonstrates that he’s not sufficiently familiar with the subject matter and therefore unqualified to participate in the type of serious debate I signed up for. Why invite someone to discuss the rhythm of the oldest extant manuscripts and then argue that those sources are no more valuable than “thousands” of others, on the pretext that nobody can prove their exact dates? If the situation weren’t bad enough already, he attributes to Cardine the idea that “the authentic rhythmic tradition was lost because the copyists ‘tried to represent the melodic intervals more exactly.’” Unsurprisingly, there’s a real comprehension problem here, and Jeff loses more credibility with each new post in this series. What Cardine actually wrote is that “the interpretive particularities and the finesse of the notation gradually disappeared as a result and before long they came to write all the notes in an identical way.” Jeff has twisted Cardine’s words in order to portray a gradual process as a sudden alteration. My opponent is correct, however, in saying that “there was not a ‘sudden rupture’ in the manuscripts at Saint Gall” and that “the scribes continued to use adiastematic notation long after it fell out of fashion.” Who exactly has claimed otherwise? Not Cardine, not Mocquereau, and not I!

Questions Remain • Jeff, please tell us: Who claims that there was a sudden change to the chant rhythm? (#2) As far as I can tell, you’re attacking an argument that nobody has made. Suppose, for the moment, that Wagner, Mocquereau, Gajard, Vollaerts, Cardine, Murray, and practically all chant scholars of the modern era are correct in accepting that a gradual decay of the authentic traditional chant rhythm took place in the eleventh century, all across Europe, in which the tempo was slowed down and the note values were evened out. According to the accepted historical narrative, it was the singers themselves who changed the rhythm. The scribes wrote what was actually sung; they did not cause the rhythmic decay by changing the notation. As a thought experiment, pretend that you also accept that narrative as factual. Now, I ask you: Is it helpful to know that a given manuscript is from the tenth century, before the change, even if the exact year can’t be pinpointed? (#3) Again, assuming such a change took place, would it be reasonable to expect a manuscript from the end of the eleventh century to show the same rhythm as the one from the tenth? (#4) How about one from the thirteenth century? The ninth?

US-NYcub Western MS 097, Thirteenth Century

For the fifth time: Do you believe that there was a sudden change of the Protestant chorales and psalm tunes, from rhythmic to isometric? (#5) Why or why not? (#6) For the fourth time: Is it “miraculous” that Old Hundredth is sung with the same melody today as in 1551? (#7) For the third time: Are the 1791 or 1854 versions of Old Hundredth adequate to reconstruct the rhythm of the the 1565 version? (#8) And the million-dollar question: Is there any evidence for “nuanced” rhythm, totally outside the 1:2 proportion, from before the year 1100? (#9) Why do you hold the opinion that the long marks of the oldest manuscripts were nothing more than “slight nuances, probably intended for individual cantors,” which agree with each other only by accident? (#10) Show us some evidence. It’s time to quit pussyfooting around and either answer my ten questions directly or else concede. Enough is enough, and our readers deserve better!

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Liturgical Recitative” (15 Feb 2023)

IN MY LAST POST, I mentioned liturgical recitative, giving the examples of the psalmody of the Divine Office, the prayers of the celebrant, and the readings. I would like to expound upon the significance of recitative and its notation. In classical music, recitative is employed in both opera and oratorio. It is a style of singing a text more or less in speech rhythm, with the notation indicating relatively long and short notes, not exact rhythmic proportions. (Sound familiar?) Its most basic and usual form is recitativo secco, dry recitative, accompanied rather sparingly by keyboard (harpsichord, organ, or even piano), often together with cello, or with lute and/or theorbo instead. Despite the time signature at the beginning of the movement, there is no discernible beat or tactus; it is in free rhythm and unmetered.

Brock McElheran, Conducting Technique for Beginners and Professionals, p. 111

Chanting or Singing? • Those who, without any etymological grounds, distinguish between chanting and singing usually mean some form of recitative by the term chanting. The simplest kind of liturgical recitative is as straightforward as possible: recto tono, which is the recitation of text on a single pitch (monotone). We’ll look at examples of how recitation on a single pitch is notated in the adiastematic neumes. In the Vatican edition, reciting tones are either notated with a separate note (square punctum) for each syllable, or else the plain text is printed without chant notation. In other editions, a note (either black or white/hollow) with vertical bars on either side may be used, or a sort of tractulus or punctum of double or triple width. In modern notation, a double whole note (breve) is often used in either of its two forms: a whole note with double vertical bars on each side, or a hollow rectangular note with a single vertical bar on either side. Alternatives in modern notation include a black double whole note or, especially in Anglican chant, a plain whole note. I was unable to determine how long these styles of notation have been in use. If a reader knows, I would be interested in learning this bit of history!

Anglican Chant

A Striking Example • Perhaps the most striking example of liturgical recitative in the choral Proper of the Mass occurs in the communion for the Friday after the fourth Sunday of Lent. Here is the version from the Graduale Novum (1.94), with horizontal episemata added to reflect the long notes indicated in the MSS; red marks are editorial:

As you compare the two sets of adiastematic neumes, consider what Fr. Vollaerts wrote about “the value of Laon 239”:

1. By distinguishing longs and shorts in syllabic passages, only Laon 239 has preserved intact a primitive tradition. Only this MS has saved from mutilation what has been dispersed over several other MSS as incomplete fragments of a crumbling tradition. Only in Laon 239 has this tradition remained intact.

Since Laon as a whole, corresponds completely and positively with all the other MSS together, it would be patently absurd to suppose that this MS does not maintain the tradition.

2. It is evident that for its ‘noting’ of syllabic passages, Laon is superior to the other complete documents (we possess only eight Nonantolian pages); Laon is accurate, and at the same time the only MS which is accurate.

Shortly, it will be proved that this evaluation applies also to the manner in which the Laon MS clearly indicates a long sound by means of its virga, and in contrast, a short sound by its point. [1]

Can we disagree? Here is an edition substituting a barred hollow note (punctum cavum) in the short syllabic passages:

and an edition in modern notation, followed by commentary:

1. a double whole note (breve) is used for the reciting tones, with equivalent Gregorian notation

2. pes initio debilis according to the editors of the Graduale Novum (see the critical apparatus in Beiträge zur Gregorianik, vol. 26, p. 17); the normal cursive pes rotundus of two short notes seems equally probable here

3. epiphonus in L

4. the quarter bar line (divisio minima) here may seem counterintuitive, indicating only an optional breath if needed rather than any additional lengthening, but the liquescent note preceding it suggests that the movement to the following note is uninterrupted

5. again, a pes initio debilis according to the editors of the Graduale Novum; note the discrepancy here between the Messine and St. Gall neumes

6. the quilisma is transcribed as a portamento

7. the top note is interpreted as long, which is not explicitly notated (cf. no. 11); note that the B-flat is included in the key signature in the modern notation edition, as there is no B-natural in this chant

8. descending quilisma or tremula in some sources, e.g. Montpellier H 159 below, transcribed as a portamento; note the slanted i signifying B-flat

9. oriscus in L; may be preceded by an ornamental upper auxiliary note

10. the last note of the cursive torculus is interpreted as long, which is not explicitly notated

11. the quilisma is transcribed as a portamento

12. the rhythm given here is according to the interpretation of Jan van Biezen

13. this is a pressus major in both L and E; an ornamental upper auxiliary note may be sung before the repeated note; most of the adiastematic MSS treat -tuus as a single syllable

In addition to the numbered items, I wish to mention that I have retained the bar lines of the Graduale Novum in my editions above, and the half notes in modern notation are based on those bar lines, which are purely editorial. (I wouldn’t necessarily leave all of those bar lines and double-long notes intact in an actual performing edition for my schola.) A breath after Judaeis would be reasonable, as would another after Lazare, despite the absence of bar lines at those spots. The z of Lazari/e is pronounced like dz in our Italianate Church Latin, not z, ts, or ss. An upper auxiliary can be also be sung before the last note of -za- of Lazare, although that one takes more practice for most singers to execute well.

See for Yourself! • Is it not evident that distinct short and long note values are intended in the MSS? I deliberately chose an exceptional case this time. Verify for yourself that, apart from the opening recitative, short notes come in pairs and that the normal syllabic value is long, even in this atypical chant. Now we’ll take a look at the introit psalm tones. I’m unaware of any fully notated verses in L, but a few chants have at least the intonation of the psalm notated:

GN 1.352 Intret oratio, mode III:

GN 1.71 Reminiscere, mode IV:

GN 1.268 Exaudi Domine . . . adjutor, mode IV:

GN 1.257 Respice in me, mode VI:

GN 1.3 Ad te levavi, mode VIII:

In the mode III example, the Messine psalm tone differs from the St. Gall tone used in the Graduale Novum and is actually closer to what we’re accustomed to from the Vatican edition. In the first mode IV example, note that the clivis and cephalicus are used interchangeably. At the end of the mode VI example, E writes the cephalicus interchangeably with a long note (I only marked the long notes indicated in L, but the last three have the same value). Is it a stretch to infer that the cephalicus has the same duration in both contexts and that one long equals two shorts? Don’t take my word for it; hang on to the idea as a possibility and work with it yourself. The brackets and abbreviation 2a m. in the triplex edition mean that the neumes were written “in a second hand” by a later scribe. Unlike our Videns Dominus example, there is not a single instance of repeated notes written short in these psalm tones. Moreover, with two exceptions, namely the tristropha in mode III and the long pes quadratus at the beginning of mode VI, every neume (i.e., every syllable) in these verses is either one long or two shorts. Make of that what you will, but please don’t rule out the possibility that the longs are actually exactly twice the length of the shorts, just as the medieval writers tell us.

Equalism Refuted • If an equalist interpretation of the Vatican edition were the authentic traditional rhythm preserved in the oldest sources, we should expect every chant to be written entirely with either all long or all short notes, not a combination of the two, and we should expect the normal syllabic value to be short. Why isn’t it? You already know the answer by now: because that’s not how it was originally sung. Veni foras! Come forth from the tomb! May our voices be the instruments through which God breathes new life into the ancient chants of the Catholic Church, decrepit through centuries of neglect and misinterpretation.

[1] Jan W. A. Vollaerts, Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1960).

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Patrick’s First Response to Jeff” • (3 Nov 2022)

IS GREGORIAN CHANT intended to be a series of notes of equal value, a combination of long and short notes, or a musical application of speech rhythm? Chant is a vast repertory including all of those styles, but in this exchange with Jeffrey Ostrowski, our focus will be the chants of the Proper of the Mass, namely introits, graduals, alleluias, tracts, offertories, and communions. I will defend the position that these chants are composed with a combination of long and short notes in 2:1 proportion. This interpretation is historically known as mensuralism, but more accurately called proportionalism or simply proportional rhythm. I will attempt to demonstrate that the oldest extant manuscripts overwhelmingly support proportional rhythm, and that the equalization of note values indicates a degeneration rather than a true evolution of the authentic traditional rhythm.

The Oldest Extant Manuscript Sources • Most scholarly editions of the past 50 years rely heavily on three adiastematic (staffless) manuscript sources: L, the Laon Gradual, Codex Laudunensis 239, from around the year 930 (the Laon municipal library website actually dates it to the ninth century); C, the St. Gall Cantatorium, Codex Sangallensis 359, from between 922 and 926, for graduals, alleluias, and tracts; and E, the Einsiedeln Gradual, Codex Einsidlensis 121, from between approximately 960 and 996, for introits, offertories, and communions. These three sources are well preserved, legible, and rather complete. Along with Chartres, Mont Renaud, and the few surviving fragments from Nonantola, they are unquestionably the oldest extant manuscripts from about A.D. 920 to 1000, and their reliability is acknowledged by nearly all chant scholars over the last century. This is not to say that these few manuscripts alone deserve to be studied to the exclusion of all other sources, but Fr. Vollaerts remarked that “To plead their value would be akin to forcing open an unlocked door” (Rhythmic Proportions, p. 7). Mr. Ostrowski apparently wants to lock the door, install a deadbolt, and throw away both keys!

Short and Long Values • In the oldest adiastematic manuscripts, short and long values are indicated by the shape of the neumes themselves and whether they are connected (cursive) or separated (non-cursive). Some of the length indications are indeed reproduced in later manuscripts with what Dom Cardine called the neumatic break or cut, where the punctum mora (augmentation dot) is typically added in the Solesmes editions, filling in the blank space of the Vatican edition. The Vatican edition and the diastematic manuscripts, however, are utterly irrelevant to the discussion of the original rhythm, as they either presume an equalist interpretation with occasional doubled notes or else an oral rhythmic tradition. In most cases, it is impossible to notate chant sung in equalist or accentualist (rhetorical) rhythm with adiastematic neumes in a way that would agree with the oldest manuscripts. The Solesmes editions reproduce a number the long markings of the ancient manuscripts by means of the horizontal episema, but they omit many others, treating the normal syllabic value as short and indivisible, and often marking only the first note of a group that ought to be entirely long.

A Couple of More Recent Examples  • Before we delve into the chant, I wish to present two examples of altered rhythm and rhythmic ambiguity in more modern church music.

You likely know this tune with the words “O Sacred Head,” and you’ve probably sung and heard it only one way your entire life. Obviously, the first version, a series of stemless noteheads, gives no information about the rhythm. Which of the remaining three is the most correct or authentic? It can be argued that each version is “correct” and “authentic” in a particular time or place, but what if we ask the question in more explicit terms: Which version best corresponds to the oldest extant sources? The answer to that is unquestionably the last version, regardless of whether you’ve ever sung or heard it that way, how it’s printed in your favorite hymnal, how Bach used it, or whether you like the sound of the original version. Our opinions don’t change the historical evidence. There are rhythmic and isometric versions of dozens of hymn tunes, including the entire Genevan Psalter. Are the isometric variants, now several centuries old themselves, the result of mass hallucination, capricious publishers, or nothing more than the tendency of religious music to slow down and even out rhythmically over time? If we were to examine every non-Lutheran English hymnal available, we might conclude that the isometric version of Passion Chorale (O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden) authentically reproduced the original rhythm, but our conclusion would be erroneous because we neglected the oldest sources.

The following example shows only a bit of the rhythmic variety possible with a series of six notes, all drawn from chants or hymns:

If we were given only the stemless filled noteheads with one of the texts written beneath them, we could rely on our own memory for the rhythm, listen to someone else who knew the chant or hymn better, sing the melody with notes of equal value, make up our own rhythm, find it notated more precisely elsewhere, or find a good recording of it. Any of those approaches could result in the correct rhythm in a particular case, but it is self-evident that some of those approaches are generally more reliable than others. Do I need to present concrete evidence that a half note (within the same phrase) is longer than a quarter note, and moreover that its correct duration is exactly double that of the quarter note, that they are not merely nuances of one another, that syllabic stress in and of itself has no bearing on the duration of the note if the composer has set it otherwise, that a half note is the same thing as a minim and a quarter the same as a crotchet, that the same phrase can be notated with a combination of whole and half notes as with half and quarter notes, etc.? In modern music just as in chant, these sorts of things can be demonstrated by comparative analysis and the teaching of theorists, both of which I will begin to present below.

Deficiencies of the Vatican Edition • The pure Vatican edition is a slight improvement over stemless noteheads not only because of the neumatic breaks, but also because of the addition of bar lines. Still, it offers few other rhythmic indications, and it is also known to contain melodic and even textual errors. The Church’s call for “a more critical edition” of the chant books (Sacrosanctum Concilium, ¶ 117) entails more than just a reordering to meet the demands of the revised liturgical books. Nearly 60 years later, the more critical edition has yet to be promulgated officially, but the Graduale Novum (ConBrio, 2011; 2nd vol. 2018), which incorporates the recommendations for melodic restoration published in the journal Beiträge zur Gregorianik beginning in 1996, is a step in that direction.

Ad fontes! • That brings us to the chant in question, the introit Si iniquitates for the twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost. Here is the critical apparatus from vol. 40 of Beiträge zur Gregorianik (2017):

The chant as it appears in the Graduale Novum:

Laon 239 (L):

My literal transcription of L into square notation:

Einsiedeln 121 (E):

My literal transcription of E into square notation:

A transcription of the antiphon combining both sources:

My performing edition, with additional long marks (discussed below), bar lines, modernized/standardized spelling, capitalization, and punctuation:

The same in modern notation:

Performance note: All grace notes should be sung before the beat and take their value from the preceding note, or they may be omitted at the choirmaster or cantor’s discretion. The half notes are editorial and could just as well be notated as quarter notes with a fermata.

Contradictions between L and E • As we lack both an unbroken rhythmic tradition and recordings from centuries past, unless we learn to read the ancient neumes for ourselves, we are left to our own uninformed interpretation or someone else’s. Although they give only an outline of the melody, the neumes have much to offer with respect to rhythm. You are of course free to accept my interpretation, Jeffrey Ostrowski’s, Dom Cardine’s, Dom Mocquereau’s, or anyone else’s, but I encourage you to examine the adiastematic neumes for yourself and judge any interpretation according to the best manuscript evidence. Note that L and E are in agreement with each other except at the following places:

• E writes a single neume, a pressus major, for the first two syllables, which represents a crasis or fusion of two identical vowels.

• At -ta- of iniquitates, L, St. Gall 339, and Montpellier H 159 give a single note:
       
  E writes a franculus (also called a gutturalis or virga strata), which is a combination of virga plus oriscus. The oriscus in any form is never followed by a unison note. [But see tibi propter of the Gloria from Mass XI in Stingl's edition, where there is an intervening quarter bar line.] It follows that the melodic restoration from do to ti, mentioned in note 2 of the critical apparatus, is surely correct. Bamberg 6 and Chartres 47 (Ch) give the same figure:
   
  Angelica 123 and Mont Renaud write a pes (podatus):
   
  Here, an editorial decision has to be made. Because the Graduale Novum retains the square notation of the Vatican edition without distinguishing the oriscus, it is impossible to determine with certainty whether pes or franculus is intended. Hakkennes (Graduale Lagal), Stingl (Gregor und Taube), and Nickel (Graduale Renovatum) all use a franculus:
       
  The direction of the oriscus is probably a scribal or typographical convention with no implications for the rendition. (I have used the two forms interchangeably in my own editions.) Kainzbauer (Graduale Authenticum) uses a square punctum:
  
  I have chosen to use the franculus and have interpreted it as two short notes.

• At the beginning of the first Domine, L has a doubled note, where E has a long pes. The other modern editions agree with L, except Lagal:
  
  Note 5 of the critical apparatus states that the reading of the Vatican edition is left alone here, citing the many manuscripts contradicting E, including others of the St. Gall family.

• At the beginning of sustinebit, both sources write a torculus resupinus, but L has the first note long. The other St. Gall manuscripts concur with E, but Mont Renaud and Benevento 33 and 40 seem to agree with L:
       
  Again, an editorial choice must be made. Lagal also writes the first and last notes longer:
  
  Some of the other adiastematic manuscripts are less clear.

• Finally, at -ne- of sustinebit, L writes the rhythm long-long-short-long, and E writes long-long-short-short. L’s rhythm for this figure often corresponds to the inverse quilisma in Montpellier, but that is not the case here. Angelica and Mont Renaud, however, do write figures that involve notes of more diminished value:
   
  I have interpreted L’s reading as three long notes with an ornamental note between the upper note and the last note.

Comparing Other Sources • Neither L nor E writes the last note of ­-a- of propitiatio as long, but other manuscripts do, e.g. Bamberg 6 and St. Gall 339:

Compare the clivis at -ve- of observaveris with the one at the beginning of propitiatio:

Both L and Ch (which Mr. Ostrowski misinterpreted) use the short cursive (connected) form for the first and the long non-cursive (separated) form for the second. E writes a c (celeriter, swiftly) over the first and an episema on the second. Now compare the pes at -qui- of iniquitates with the one at the beginning of the second Domine:

The difference between the short and long forms is readily apparent.

The Authority of Different Manuscripts • A good initial test of the rhythmic reliability of a given manuscript is whether or not it differentiates between short and long forms of the clivis and pes. Already in the tenth century, some fail to distinguish long from short—which is not to say that no distinction was observed in the singing, only that it was not notated. Many such manuscripts can be classified as non-rhythmic. (If Mr. Ostrowski wishes to see an intermediary semi-rhythmic manuscript “halfway” between proportional and equal rhythm, then let him consult chapter 1 of Fr. Vollaerts’ Rhythmic Proportions in Early Ecclesiastical Chant for a classification of tenth- through twelfth-century manuscripts. I really have nothing to add to what has already been said there by Fr. Vollaerts.) Why seek answers in less precise manuscripts when we have fairly unambiguous sources at our disposal? In a manuscript without deliberate long-short indications clearly noted, it is hardly realistic to expect such indications to be added accidentally, especially decades or centuries after proportional rhythm had deteriorated into equalism.

Unnecessary Magical Thinking • I challenge Mr. Ostrowski to show where Dom Mocquereau claimed that the “primitive and universal rhythmic tradition” was lost due to “mass hallucination.” As far as I can tell, the claim of mass hallucination is a straw man of my colleague’s own creation. We can prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that a rhythmic deterioration and equalization occurred in many Reformation-era chorale and psalm tunes. Why on earth should it seem incredible to anyone to think that the same thing could have happened to Gregorian chant more than half a millennium earlier and some four centuries before printed music? We have evidence for it not only in the manuscripts themselves, but also in contemporaneous writings. Yet Dom Mocquereau had the gall to claim that “The medieval authors not only contradict one another, but often, alas, do not really know what they are talking about” (Monographie grégorienne VII, p. 31, quoted by Murray). Now getting back to the chant . . .

What Is the Quilisma? • At the end of Deus, every note is long except for the quilisma itself, but the Solesmes edition marks only the second note before the quilisma, with the note immediately preceding the quilisma also understood to be long:

How should the quilisma be sung? The preface to the Vatican edition describes it as a trill, tremolo, or shaken note; these three terms are used in the English edition of the Liber Usualis to translate the Latin nota tremulae vocis and nota volubilis. Timid is another possible translation; cf. the English adjective tremulous. The Solesmes method and most semiologists simply treat it as a light short note. Dom Mocquereau and Dr. Van Biezen thought the quilisma represented an ascending portamento—a slide through several notes. Fr. Vollaerts and Dom Murray transcribed it as two notes, the first normally being a repetition of the preceding note. Prof. Kainzbauer has argued that the quilisma is merely a cautionary sign before an ascending skip, neither a note nor a portamento. In my modern notation edition, I have used the standard notation for a portamento or glissando, leaving the interpretation up to the director or performer.

Equal Note Values?  • The syllabic value is long, without exception in this introit; no syllable is notated with a punctum or with a tractulus or virga with c. If the chant were intended to move in equal note values, we should expect long notes throughout—non-cursive forms in L, and extensive use of the episema in E—but that is not the case. I count seventeen cursive or partially cursive neumes, affecting at least 33 notes, not including the quilisma, and L and E are in agreement about all of them.

A Challenge • Every modern edition writes a long note or bar line at the end of est, which is a plain, short, cursive torculus in the manuscripts—the same figure as at qui- of quia. Although I already accept the short-short-long interpretation as correct, I would like to challenge readers to submit evidence of a long (doubled) note at the end of est from any manuscript; unfortunately, Bamberg 6 is illegible at this spot. In my opinion, there is not enough proof from this chant alone to support the long interpretation of the three notes I’ve marked with the horizontal episema at est, including that final note, likewise at qui- of quia. The principles for the interpretation of those notes can be inferred from studying other chants. Many examples could be furnished, but I will cite only the recent introit Deus in loco for the eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, again from the Graduale Novum:

Straining Credibility • Are we to believe that  and  are rhythmically identical, even though they’re notated differently, and that the separation in the first neume is meant to indicate nothing more than a slight impulse on the fourth note, if that? In case of any doubt that the two torculi have the rhythm short-short-long, compare Bamberg 6, which adds an episema at the end of each of them:

Even though this example alone might be insufficient to establish that the normal rhythm of the cursive torculus is short-short-long, it demonstrates that one scribe wrote an episema twice where others didn’t. In this particular case, does the discrepancy point to the existence of a local rhythmic variant, or does it suggest that long notes were understood elsewhere even without an episema? If six short notes were intended, why not notate the first example the same as the second? In fact, the only late medieval diastematic manuscript I consulted, Rheinland 61 MS-D-11, a Gradual from the end of the fourteenth century, writes what we might expect for equal rhythm:

Ignorant Standardizations • More than four centuries later, there is no trace of the separation between two torculi—and indeed, no trace even of the torculi themselves or the preceding long uncinus or virga, which have mutated into a porrectus subbipunctis and clivis. To my knowledge, none of the tenth-century manuscripts writes the first neume that way. In studying the adiastematic neumes, the idea that the last note of a torculus should ordinarily be understood to be long, although not yet conclusively demonstrated, sheds light on the correct interpretation of the other introit:The separation between the fourth and fifth notes is also significant, which we’ll examine as we encounter similar neumatic elements in the coming weeks.

Why Bother? • We have now established a very probable reading of the oldest manuscript sources. Does it makes more sense to judge other manuscripts and editions in light of the oldest sources, or to judge the oldest manuscripts in light of later or less authoritative sources? While it is true that the original rhythm of the chant remains unknown, it is no longer possible to make the same claim concerning the rhythm indicated in the tenth-century manuscripts. The crux of the matter is not whether we can understand the manuscripts, but whether we should incorporate what they reveal into our singing. Are the later rhythmic changes a sign of deterioration or of progress? Is the 1908 Vatican edition the evolutionary goal of all Western chant? If the answer is no, let’s not pretend otherwise. There were approved editions before it, and there will surely be approved editions after it. To address a specific claim made in part 1, I have looked over the April 2022 USCCB Committee on Divine Worship NewsLetter and noted the Ordo cantus Missae (cross-referenced to the pre-Conciliar Graduale Romanum) listed as one of the “principal books of music for the Eucharist,” but I do not see it stated that “‘Gregorian chants of Mass parts and Propers’ must [emphasis mine] be taken from the pre-Conciliar Graduale Romanum”; in fact, I see several books listed that contain chants found in neither the pre-Conciliar Graduale Romanum nor the 1974 edition, including one book in English. Furthermore, the wording principal books implies that the listing is not exhaustive.

Forbidden or Fostered? • As for the legislative aspects, it seems unreasonable if not disingenuous to argue that a style of interpretation that is not used at the Vatican—and probably not anywhere in Rome—is to be considered normative for Catholic worship in the Latin rite, let alone obligatory. Mr. Ostrowski has himself written that, “It’s actually not forbidden to sing from ancient manuscripts—so long as the text is not altered—and this was done by the Sistine Chapel during papacy of Pope Saint Pius X.” He has either changed his position or else he believes that the various restored editions (including mine) are not based on ancient manuscripts. I think I have already clearly and sufficiently demonstrated the contrary. The 2018 Pietras dubia response made it clear that other versions of the chant are allowed, and unless there has been a subsequent prohibition in the last four years, which I’m unaware of, it remains definitive. Therefore, I am unwilling to concede that the pure Vatican edition rhythm is in any sense even technically the only permissible interpretation; if that were indeed the case, it would reflect neither actual practice nor the mind of the Church as expressed in the liturgical constitution promulgated by an ecumenical council.

Closing Quotation • I do not wish to play the role of apologist for either Mocquereau or Cardine, but it is absolutely false to claim that Dom Murray saw no need to offer any explanation of how the rhythmic decline occurred. I am now well over my intended word count, but I would like to close with a long quote from Murray:

This [the eleventh] was the century during which the primitive oral tradition, especially as regards the rhythm, was rapidly being lost and forgotten, and less and less attention was being paid to the older manuscripts and their rhythmic indications. Even when new manuscripts were compiled in the old notations, the scribes often reveal a misunderstanding of the old rhythmic symbols which they appear to use as merely graphic conventions. In the musical treatises of the period, too, there are many complaints of the rhythmic decay of the Chant. A typical example is to be found in the Commentary on Guido’s Micrologus by Aribo, written about twenty years after Guido’s death. ‘A tenor,’ he says, ‘is the length of a note which is in equal proportion if two notes are made equal to four and their length is in inverse proportion to their number [i.e., two long notes are equal to four short ones]. So it is that in the old antiphonaries we often find the letters c, t, and m, indicating respectively celeritas, tarditas and mediocritas. In olden times great care was observed, not only by composers of the Chant but also by the singers themselves, to compose and sing proportionally. But this idea has already been dead for a long time—even buried.’

That the ‘proportional singing’ of which Aribo speaks was a question of proportional note-values is clear from the context. That it had ceased to be the practice is equally clear. In any case the four-line staff notation made no provision for rhythmic indications, and, by making it possible to sing at sight, destroyed all ideas of depending on, still less preserving, an oral tradition. But, as Aribo indicates, the old rhythmic tradition was already dead. One of the chief causes of its extinction was undoubtedly the widespread practice of organum, in which the Chant was sung in parallel fourths and fifths. This practice was already at least a hundred years old, and the tenth-century documents, Musica Enchiriadis and Scholia Enchiriadis, both explain that its characteristic feature was its slow pace (morositas). Elsewhere we read that this slow pace made it practically impossible to maintain the proper rhythmic proportions between the short and the long notes of the Chant, even though these were still being indicated in the notation: ‘We still write down points and strokes in order to distinguish between the long and the short notes, although music of this kind [organum] has to be so solemn and slow that it is hardly possible to maintain rhythmic proportions in it.’

With the disappearance of rhythmic proportions between long and short notes, the original rhythmic tradition perished. Henceforth the Chant was performed in notes of equal length, so that by the time the staff notation was introduced there seemed to be no need to do more than write down the precise notes and intervals. (Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts, pp. 7–8)

Further reading:
Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts by Dom Gregory Murray, O.S.B., pp. 3–22
Rhythm, Meter and Tempo in Gregorian Chant by Dr. Jan van Biezen, preface & pp. 19–41

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Doubled Notes” · November 4, 2022

SOME READERS were possibly startled to see my modern notation transcription in part 2. “Surely you don’t mean it should actually be sung that way!?” Indeed I do! Fr. Vollaerts, Dom Murray, and Dr. Van Biezen all used modern notation with eighth and quarter notes for their examples. Blackley used square notation with black and white notes for his, but the idea is the same, regardless of the style of notation used. Although we concern ourselves with paleography, which is the study of manuscripts, and semiology, which is their interpretation, it is a slight mischaracterization to consider us semiologists per se. The proportionalist, equalist, accentualist, Solesmes, and semiological approaches are considerably different from one another and should be regarded as discrete schools of thought for both historical and practical reasons. Just as in part 2, I will begin with an example from a Renaissance-era tune of Protestant origin but familiar to Catholics as well, and for which we can demonstrate rhythmic variants with irrefutable evidence.

Proportional or Equalist? • In many churches, Old Hundredth is notated in the hymnal with this rhythm:

but actually sung this way:

or possibly vice versa. A congregation that sings “Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow” every Sunday of the year probably never looks at the book, but the situation is different if they’re called upon to sing several stanzas of “All People That on Earth Do Dwell” or some other text to the same tune. If the notated rhythm is different than what they know from memory, the organist will have to make a decision about whether to play the hymnal version or the rhythm they’re accustomed to (and I would recommend the latter). Local custom and oral/aural tradition may take precedence over the notation.

False Equivalence • Now I ask you this: On the basis of the above example, would it be illogical for us to assume that a half note and quarter note are just different ways of writing the same thing? Yet, we all actually know better. Nor can we in good faith claim that a half note only represents a nuance of a quarter note, or that a quarter note only represents a nuance of an eighth note. No! They indicate strict 2:1 proportions. Imagine a “nuanced” version of Old Hundredth:

It’s probably not sung that way anywhere in the world, but that is exactly the style of singing most people now think of as “chant-like.” As an aside, a colleague facetiously refers to the isometric version as the Old 75th. We should note that in the Genevan Psalter, the tune is actually used for Psalm 134, not Psalm 100.

Dubious Theories • As far as I can tell, the theory of rhythmic nuances in chant, as opposed to more or less strict proportional durations, is largely the invention of Dom Mocquereau (1849–1930). (Professor Weaver, however, brought to my attention a passage from 1859 in support of nuanced rhythm by Canon Augustin Gontier, a friend of Dom Gueranger’s.) One of Dom Mocquereau’s other claims to fame is his ictus placement theory, along with its two- and three-note groupings, chironomic drawings, and peculiar application of arsis and thesis. The Solesmes ictus placement is useful for teaching singers to count a certain way so that they stay in sync with one another (and, in some cases, with an organist at the opposite end of the church), but it is thoroughly unhistorical. The Gregorian semiologists, who follow the approach (not a systematic method!) of Dom Cardine (1905–88), reject Dom Mocquereau’s ictus theory but retain his nuance theory. Why?

Exact Doubling • Both the Solesmes method and Cardine’s semiology reject strict rhythmic proportions—except where they don’t! Supposedly, the horizonal episema in the Solesmes editions comes from an ancient manuscript source, whereas the punctum mora or augmentation dot is an editorial addition. In fact, there are horizontal episemata that are also editorial. Be that as it may, the foremost expositors of the Solesmes method tell us that the dot represents a doubling of the note; the episema, only a nuanced lengthening. That may sound reasonable enough, but why should signs added by 20th-century editor monks indicate strict proportions and those from the tenth century only nuances? To my knowledge, this is never explained.

The Medieval Theorists • We have a number of quotations from medieval writers in support of proportional rhythm, and none in support of nuanced rhythm. We saw in part 2 how Dom Mocquereau cavalierly discredited the medieval writers as ignorant of the subject matter and disregarded their teachings in favor of his own theories. It would be interesting to learn how Cardine, Agustoni, Göschl, Joppich, Fischer, Berry, Kelly, Saulnier, and other semiologists have dealt with the contradiction between the medieval rhythmic proportions and the nuances of semiology. In semiology, the normal note value, represented by the tractulus in the St. Gall notation and the uncinus in Laon, is considered to be of variable length according to context. Without a value of fixed length (naturally relative to tempo) serving as a rhythmic baseline, the semiologists are indeed working with “nuances of nuances,” as Jan van Biezen characterized their approach, adding, “and that is of course nonsense” (“The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant,” translated by Kevin M. Rooney, p. 25 of Rhythm, Meter and Tempo in Gregorian Chant). In this discussion, it is not my place to present the arguments in favor of a nuanced approach (if there actually are any!), as that is not the position I am defending, but I will be happy to respond to any that are presented by other contributors, provided they respect the oldest manuscripts and the rhythmic doctrine of the medieval writers; otherwise, we might as well be speaking different languages.

Needless Complications • A return to the straightforward proportional rhythm of the Middle Ages is much to be preferred to either the Solesmes method or the assorted approaches of the semiologists, which often sound remarkably different from each other. The semiologists have complicated and overanalyzed chant beyond the comprehension of the average musicologist or cathedral choirmaster, not to mention the average parish cantor or chorister. I showed some of my singers the three volumes of Agustoni & Göschl’s Introduction to the Interpretation of Gregorian Chant and commented that the 1:2 proportion of the medieval theorists is apparently either so difficult or musically unsatisfying that we need a 1,000-page introduction to get us started singing properly. According to R. John Blackley, “It’s said that one must study six years in Rome to be considered a semiologist” (Rhythm in Western Sacred Music before the Mid-Twelfth Century and the Historical Importance of Proportional-Rhythm Chant, p. 96). In the interest of full disclosure, I want to acknowledge that I continue to use the Solesmes method week in and week out, simply because those are the editions we currently have at our disposal for the traditional Latin Mass, but even the two- and three-note groupings of that method are a complication in comparison to proportional rhythm.

Final Thoughts • Where does an equalist rendition of the Vatican edition fit into all of this? In fact, I believe Mr. Ostrowski’s approach, like mine, also represents a rejection of the nuance theory. In his recordings, I hear a strict doubling of notes before bar lines, at the melismatic mora vocis, and before the quilisma. Any slight rhythmic nuances are on the order of agogic accents or rubato rather than an interpretation of manuscript markings. Although a little on the fast side for my taste, which is understandable for a solo recording,* I believe his interpretation is faithful to the manner in which Gregorian chant was sung for many centuries—just not in the ninth, tenth, or early eleventh century. Will I be charged with antiquarianism? I unashamedly wish to restore something from the past that died out, but so did Pope St. Pius X and the monks of Solesmes; unfortunately, they misinterpreted some of the evidence. We don’t have all of the answers before us, but we do have the benefit of another 125+ years of subsequent scholarship. St. Cecilia, pray for us. St. Gregory, pray for us. St. Pius X, pray for us.

*For a recording intended to help choral singers learn their part, most directors have learned from experience not to breathe where they would as soloists. We generally seek longer phrases, which are accomplished by stagger breathing. It is often easier to speed things up a bit in order to get through a long phrase in one breath than to retrain people not to breathe where we did in the practice recording. For this reason, even for purely demonstrative purposes, I prefer to get ensemble recordings whenever possible.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Patrick’s Second Response to Jeff” (16 Nov 2022)

WE ARE IN AGREEMENT that there is an official edition, with its own rhythm, which is more or less how chant was sung for many centuries, and I said so directly in part 3 of this series. Why belabor a point that hasn’t been disputed? I stated my thesis as clearly as possible at the beginning of part 2: “I will defend the position that these chants [of the Proper of the Mass] are composed with a combination of long and short notes in 2:1 proportion.” In part 8, Professor Weaver accurately summarized the essential difference in the approaches advocated by myself and Mr. Ostrowski: “Williams prefers the signs of the ninth and tenth centuries, while Ostrowski (like Pothier) takes a view that encompasses more and later sources.” To put it another way, and in practical terms: Mr. Ostrowski wants the episemata (long marks) of the Solesmes editions to be disregarded, whereas I want more long notes to be observed than are marked in those editions—and as double proportions, not slight nuances. I am interested in singing chant with the same rhythm it had at the time of the oldest extant MSS, prior to the rhythmic deterioration mentioned by the medieval writers, which Mr. Ostrowski trivializes by continuing to level the unfounded charge of belief in mass hallucination. He quoted and addressed the first two sentences of my paragraph with the heading “Unnecessary Magical Thinking” (part 2) but ignored the rest of what I wrote there. Our readers deserve to see the real issue dealt with fairly and honestly, according to the evidence.

Take Another Look! • How anyone can consider the form of the clivis (flex) at iniquitates to be identical with the two at propitiatio in 1087cluniacensem|1087, StMaur|1079, and 857noyon|1057 (here I reproduce the style of labeling used by Mr. Ostrowski) is beyond comprehension. Note that iniquitates, not observaveris, was the specific example addressed in my Facebook comment—Mr. Ostrowski’s backtracking notwithstanding. I am admittedly not as tech savvy as Mr. Ostrowski, but here is a clumsy side-by-side comparison of the clivis at iniquitates with the second one at propitiatio for each of those three MSS. Do the two neumes look identical to you?

• Cluniacensem:
  
  

• StMaur:
  
  

• Noyon:
  
  

Anyone can see that none of those three MSS uses the same neume at both words. Nowhere did I claim that the second form is long in those three sources, only that the two forms are not identical, as demonstrated above.

The Long and Short of It • As for Auvergne and Limoges, I am admittedly no expert on those two MSS, but I see what appears to be a cephalicus, corresponding to a cursive clivis, at -ser- of observaveris, and also at the end of apud. At least in Limoges, the last syllable of Israel (israhel) is written with exactly the same form of the clivis as the two at propitiatio (propiciacio), with no written indication of further lengthening, yet those notes at Israel are sung long (doubled):

I bring this example up only to point out the inconsistency with which the same sign is interpreted even in pure Vatican edition equalism, and not to make a further argument, but I believe this suffices to answer question 1 (“11 November A”) from part 6. As for Chartres 47, which was destroyed in World War II, the facsimile of the MS is illegible at the beginning of iniquitatem [sic]. Let’s compare -be-/-ve- of observaberis/observaveris instead:

They are not the same! Mr. Ostrowski asked for evidence demonstrating that he’s wrong, and there it is. In fact, I already covered precisely this example in part 2, under the paragraph heading “Comparing Other Sources.” Furthermore, he evidently still has me mistaken for a disciple of Dom Cardine, which is emphatically not the position I took in part 3.

The Meaning of the Episema • In early MSS of the St. Gall family, the episema is used interchangeably with the letter t and corresponds to non-cursive writing in Laon and other sources, which is abundantly clear in the examples I posted in part 2. As Mr. Ostrowski explained in part 1, the letter t means tarditas, trahere, tenere, or tene, all of which signify lengthening (slow down, draw out, hold). Is that not evidence enough that those notes are indeed longer? Moreover, does the consistency with which long notes are marked in the oldest MSS (presented in part 2), from 300 miles apart, not point to a uniform rhythmic tradition in the tenth century? In the Solesmes editions, the significance of the episema is explained in the “Rules for Interpretation,” not the preface, but since the preface to the Vatican edition has been mentioned in parts 4, 7, 8, and Mr. Ostrowski’s previous post, I would like to note that its authorship by Wagner is not universally admitted. In Peter Jeffery’s very informative article on “The New Chantbooks from Solesmes,” he attributes the preface, including the rubrics,* to Pothier, not Wagner, in notes 39 and 103.

Backward Methodology • I have articulated my firm opinion that MSS from the second half of the eleventh century and later are, categorically, not reliable for discerning the original rhythm, and I fear we are already talking past each other with continued discussion of such sources. Does it make more sense to judge later MSS and editions in light of the oldest extant sources, or to judge the oldest sources in light of later MSS? Perhaps we can now move on from propitiatio to est. I already posed my challenge in part 2, but I reiterate it here: Show me a long note at the end of est from any MS—just not Lagal please! On what basis does the Vatican edition add a bar line after est? Does the neumatic sign there differ in any way from the one at the first syllable of quia?

Let’s Be Honest • Mr. Ostrowski seems to be developing a habit of reading unnecessary complications into things that are actually straightforward. In a recent article for another site, he cited a Church document in order to advocate a practice directly forbidden not only by that same document, but by the very paragraph he cited—namely, the singing of English hymns during High Mass in the traditional Latin rite. Now he is portraying the Pietras dubia and response as ambiguous, even though the mention of the so-called methods of Eugène Cardine and Marcel Pérès leave little doubt as to the scope of permissible (or at least tolerated) chant interpretations. Do Pérès or the semiologists sing according to the rhythm of either the pure Vatican or Solesmes editions? Emphatically not! Does Pérès even follow the notes of the Vatican edition? I’m not sure I’ve heard a single recording of his where there was not some deviation from the melody of the Vatican edition, but please correct me if such a recording exists. Now let’s look at the examples. In the interest of the brevity requested of me, I will let the comparison below speak for itself, without further comment.

*The 1908 Graduale Romanum included a rubric directing the Sanctus and Benedictus to be sung as a single movement, without separation, but only a year later, Sacred Congregation of Rites decree no. 4243 upheld the previous practice of singing the Benedictus, whether chant or polyphony, only after the Elevation of the Chalice. That decree was superseded by De musica sacra et sacra liturgia 27d (1958) and the revised rubrics printed in subsequent editions of the Graduale, both pre- and post-Conciliar, which require the Gregorian Sanctus and Benedictus to be sung without a break.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Repercussion and the Mora Vocis” (21 Nov 2022)

IN HIS NOVEMBER 10 guest post, Matthew Frederes mentions, among other supposed defects in the rendition of chant, what he refers to as pulsation. I assume he means what is more typically known as repercussion or rearticulation. It is most instructive to read what the Solesmes “Rules for Interpretation” say on the matter:

Formerly each of these two or three notes [of the distropha or tristropha] was characterised by a slight stress or impulse of the voice; in practice, we advise the joining of the notes in one sound. These double or triple notes, especially when repeated, may be sung with a slight crescendo or decrescendo according to their position in the word of the text or in the melodic line. A gentle and delicate repercussion (i.e. a fresh layer of sound) is needed at the beginning of each distropha or tristropha, as well as on the first note of any group which begins on the same degree as the strophicus. (Liber Usualis, xxiij; Liber Brevior, xxj)

This paragraph contains a rather frank admission that the Solesmes method practice of tying repeated notes together and fusing them into a single sound of double or triple length is a departure from the historic manner of singing (here I repeat my own wording from a one-page handout on the topic). The preface to the Vatican edition merely says that such notes “must be sustained for a length of time in proportion to their number” and that the pressus “should be sung with more intensity, or even, if it be preferred, tremolo [‘tremula voce’ in the Latin version].”

Differentiation • I would argue that, in the oldest sources, a tristropha with the rhythm short-short-long and a bivirga with the rhythm long-long have exactly the same duration. They are not used interchangeably; without repercussion or some other difference in their rendition, however, they would be indistinguishable except on paper. Almost ironically, according to the Solesmes method, the tristropha, interpreted as three short notes all tied together, and the bivirga with horizonatal episema, interpreted as two long notes tied together, each approximately 1.5 times the short value, also both have the same duration as each other and, without repercussion, sound exactly the same. Several examples of the bivirga with episema can be found in the Tenebrae responsories. The modern notation edition of the Liber Usualis writes two eighth notes tied together, each with an episema.

Sources • I would also like to address Jeff Ostrowski’s Eripe me alleluia example from his post titled “How Does the Official Rhythm Actually Sound?” There he discussed the morae vocis indicated by the note spacing of the Vatican edition, with a comparison of the Solesmes rhythm. His observations are accurate but do not go far enough. Where do those morae vocis actually come from? He has asked me twice not to use “Because Dom Cardine says so” as an argument—which I wouldn’t do anyway. Now I ask in return: give us something more substantial than “Because the Vatican edition says so”! Why did the editors put the spaces there? Here is a duplex rhythmic example incorporating the melodic corrections:

And another without them:

The St. Gall neumes are reproduced from the Graduale Restitutum of Anton Stingl jun. (Gregor und Taube).

Repercussion

The tristropha [in the introit psalm verses for modes I, III, and VII] should be sung with a “three-fold rapid percussion of the note,” or with a “three-fold rapid blow, like someone knocking with his hand.” (Aurelian of Réome, mid 9th cent.)

Every neume is formed of the two motions, upwards [acute accent] and downwards [grave accent], except the repercussed and simple neumes. (Guido of Arezzo, early 11th cent.)

Guido’s commentator describes neumes which “are double or triple in the repercussion of the same sound.” (Aribo, late 11th cent.)

We call a virgula or punctum a simple neume; a repercussed neume is one that Berno calls distropha or tristropha. (John Cotton, early 12th cent.?, quoting Berno of Reichenau, early 11th cent.)

Most of the translations above are from Gregorian Chant according to the Manuscripts by Dom Gregory Murray, p. 40.

Formerly, the individual elements of this figure [i.e., the strophicus] were characterized by an impulse of the voice. . . .  It would be best to repercuss the apostropha gently and softly. (Dom André Mocquereau, early 20th cent.)

Note that the above quote is taken from the introduction to the Liber Usualis, where the words referring to the apostropha (apostropham) were rendered in English as “at the beginning of each distropha or tristropha.”  Nearly the same Latin wording was retained in Dom Gajard's revision in the Antiphonale Monasticum, which is given in English in the 1957 Solesmes publication Mass and Vespers as follows:

Formerly these notes were distinguished by a slight impulse or inflection of the voice. . . .  The ideal would be a light repercussion, as it were a fresh layer of sound, on each apostropha.

The most recent Solesmes method textbook to appear in English, Laus in Ecclesia (second edition, 2023), says the following:

Certain Gregorian melodies include long passages at unison and on the same syllable.  Two pitfalls must be avoided in the interpretation of these long held notes: connecting everything in one single sound or, on the contrary, executing note by note.  In the first case, one obtains a sound without expression, of undefinable length which makes one lose the rhythm and produces infallibly an effect of boredom.  In the second case, we have a succession of repeated sounds producing very easily a jolting effect hardly conducive to prayer.

Dom Mocquereau, it is true, acknowledged that the systematic repercussion of all notes at unison, even in the distropha or tristropha, was traditional in ancient music.  And he even advocated a return to this vocal effect which, he said, “if gracefully and smoothly rendered, is wholly charming.”  But with wisdom, he also noted that this principle was difficult to apply for a large choir without very serious musical training.  That is why, in the final analysis, he recommended the practice of the neumatic repercussion which the Method of Solesmes has adopted . . . . (translated from the French by a monk of Our Lady of Clear Creek Abbey)

Compare what can now be considered the mainstream semiological approach:

From the primitive Gregorian notation it is evident that two or more notes on the same pitch and the same syllable are never to be conjoined into one sound: hence each of the notes in the strophicus, trigon, and every other grouping of this sort is to be repercussed.  In passing from one word to another on the same vowel and on the same pitch, a repercussion is made. (Liber Hymnarius, 1983; tr. Peter Jeffery)

The same quotes in Latin:

Terna gratulabitur vocis percussione . . . trinum, ad instar manus verberantis, facias celerem ictum. (Aurelianus Reomensis)

Motus vocum . . . fit arsi et thesi, id est, elevatione et depositione: quorum gemino motu, id est arsis et thesis, omnis neuma formatur, preter repercusse aut simplices. (Guido d’Arezzo)

. . . cum duplices aut triplices in eiusdem sunt soni repercussione. (Aribo Scholasticus)

Simplicem autem neumam dicimus virgulam vel punctum: repercussam vero, quam Berno distropham vel tristropham vocat. (Johannes Affligemensis)

Singula hujus figurae elementa olim nonnulla vocis reparatione discernebantur. . . .  Optimum quidem esset apostropham leniter molliterque repercutere. (Andreas Mocquereau)

E notatione gregoriana primitiva constat duas aut plures notulas eiusdem gradus in eadem syllaba numquam coniugi in unum sonum: unde unaquæque notularum in strophicis, in trigonis aut in omni alio huiusmodi concursu, repercutiatur.  Cum a verbo ad alium in eadem vocali transitur, si in eodem gradu, fit repercussio. (Liber Hymnarius)

These repercussions are more analogous to what is known in modern music as portato, mezzo-staccato, or articulated legato than to pure staccato.  Musicians sometimes need to be reminded that staccato itself simply means detached, not as short as possible (staccatissimo), and not accented.  It must be kept in mind that the repercussions in chant occur under the umbrella of an overarching legato line.  They should be executed tastefully and gracefully, without exaggeration, with only the amount of detachment necessary for the notes to be heard distinctly, which is relative to the acoustics of the room.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “History Matters” (30 Nov 2022)

A FAMOUS LATIN AXIOM asserts, de gustibus non disputandum est: “in matters of taste, there can be no disputes”; colloquially, “there’s no accounting for taste.” Once we have moved into the realm of the subjective based on personal preferences, it indeed becomes more difficult to find common ground. It is obvious to me and nearly everyone else who has seriously studied the evidence that the Solesmes method is largely based on misinterpretation of the tenth-century MSS and does not accurately represent how chant was sung at any period during the Middle Ages, and that chant was sung differently in the twelfth century than in the tenth; here I refer not only to the practice of organum, but to the rhythm itself. In the MSS and in contemporaneous writings, a change from proportional to equal rhythm is evident, which is known to have taken place during the eleventh century. The following points are facts, not opinions:

• the Vatican edition remains an official edition of the Catholic Church

• the addition of rhythmic markings is explicitly permitted as long as the notes are not altered

• a typical edition of the chant books reordered for the reformed postconciliar liturgy was mandated by Vatican II; in fact, the former edition was mostly retained and promulgated in the 1970 Ordo Cantus Missae and the 1983 Ordo Cantus Officii, revised and newly printed with the same title in 2015

• a more critical edition of the chant books already published since the restoration by St. Pius X was also mandated by Vatican II; these have yet to be officially promulgated 60 years later!

• an edition of the chant books containing simpler melodies for use in small churches was mandated by Vatican II; for the Mass, that was fulfilled by the 1967 Graduale Simplex, revised and reprinted in 1975, which includes a simplified Kyriale

• for the traditional Latin Mass, also called the extraordinary form of the Roman rite, chant renditions in the style of Eugène Cardine or Marcel Pérès are acceptable

I pose the following questions to my colleagues: 1. What is the mind of the Church today regarding chant interpretation? 2. Does the Church give us objective principles to determine what constitutes a prayerful aesthetic, and 3. are there different standards for the Latin and Eastern rites? 4. Why is MS age important? 5. Do the oldest MSS bear witness to elements of performance that disappeared in later centuries?

Official versus Actual Vatican Edition • There is no question that the Vatican edition remains official, that the Solesmes editions are permitted, and that other interpretations—even those that deviate from the notes of the Vatican edition—are acceptable for liturgical use. Fr. Stephen Concordia, OSB, seems to have misread or misunderstood Mr. Ostrowski’s position. As he notes correctly in his guest post, the Solesmes rhythmic markings are absent in the Graduale Simplex, but he also claims that “At Papal liturgies where chant is sung, and a worship aid has been printed for the congregation that includes the chant melodies for the congregation to sing, the rhythmic signs of Solesmes are entirely absent.” While it is true that the vertical episemata are absent, there are horizontal episemata and dots aplenty—actually more of them than in the Solesmes editions. Consider this example from the libretto for last year’s Midnight Mass in St. Peter’s Basilica:

The Mind of the Church • With the above facts before us, which of the following interpretations conforms to the mind of the Church?

• the chant as actually sung for papal Masses in the Vatican

• the printed Vatican edition promulgated by St. Pius X over a century ago, without rhythmic markings

• the printed “classic Solesmes” editions

• the printed “new Solesmes” editions

• the chant as actually sung at Solesmes at any given time

• any of the various and sundry other interpretations—semiological, mensuralist, rhetorical, etc.—with or without melodic revisions

Quite simply, the Church tolerates every single one of the above approaches; for the traditional Latin Mass and the novus ordo alike, we are free to use any of them (subject to local regulations, of course). The old Medicaean edition, officially suppressed, even continues to find a place in the celebration of the liturgy in Vienna, apparently with ecclesiastical approval. The Catholic approach to chant today is, well, catholic. If and when the more critical edition is ever promulgated, it will be the standard by which other editions and interpretations ought to be evaluated. Regarding the Vatican edition, we should bear in mind that St. Pius X himself, in a letter to then-Archbishop Dubois from July 10, 1912, wrote that “It is important that these melodies should be performed in the manner that they were originally conceived as works of art.” Surely it was not his intention to impose a rhythm contrary to the oldest MSS! We now have a much better understanding of how our chants were originally conceived than anyone had 110 years ago. Why continue to look to Solesmes or Rome of yesteryear for guidance? We are at the end of 2022, with an ecumenical council, massive liturgical changes, the historically informed performance movement in classical music, and, most importantly, 114 years of chant studies having taken place since the Vatican edition was promulgated.

The Latin Text • In a short essay titled “On Realizing Gregorian Chant,” R. John Blackley has insightfully written the following: “The lack of weighted accent in the French language has kept Solesmesian theorists from seeing what an absurd situation it is when, in equalist rhythm, two notes fall on an unaccented syllable and only one note falls on a neighboring accented syllable, since weight is thereby taken away from the accented syllable and placed upon the unaccented.” (Note that Blackley categorizes the Solesmes method as nuanced equalism, a label many of its adherents would reject.) In fact, there are a number of cases where it’s not a matter of two notes on an unaccented syllable, but a long melisma with many notes right next to the stressed syllable set to a single note—and in the Solesmes edition, a short note at that! It should be self-evident that the text is irrelevant within a melisma. Of course the melisma must be sung on the correct vowel, but the text articulation occurs at the beginning of the first note and the end of the last note, i.e., the beginning and end of the neume.

Aesthetic Considerations • Largely because of the Solesmes hegemony, several generations of singers have been taught to approach chant as sung prayer, which is certainly not a wrong idea per se, but many understand sung prayer as the expression of personal devotion rather than the proclamation of a sacred text, which can lead to an introverted and contemplative aesthetic not fully in keeping with the actual role of chant in the liturgy. When I listen to what I consider some of the better semiological recordings, for example those of Einsiedeln Abbey under Fr. Roman Bannwart, the Coro Gregoriano de Lisboa, the Schola Resupina, or even St. John’s Abbey and University under Fr. Anthony Ruff, and then listen to Solesmes, Fotgombault, or Triors, the latter three sound whiny (this is a subjective judgment, and the same can be said of other semiological recordings, even some of the more famous ones). If I also listen to the monks of Mt. Athos or the cantors of St. George the Great Martyr Melkite Church, where I had my own initial exposure to Byzantine chant, the chanting of the French monks sounds fussy and enfeebled in comparison, if not downright effeminate—again, a subjective opinion, but I think many people would agree. Is a prayerful aesthetic lacking in the semiological interpretations, or in the proportional rhythm chants of the Byzantine rite or other Eastern churches? In another short essay titled “Rhythm and Nuance in Chant,” Blackley identified the heart of the matter:

The chant of the 9th- and 10th-century neumatic manuscripts was not, as might be assumed from the various Solesmes methods, a music ethereal in style or essence. Such longing for a beauty that is Gothic, redolent of spired churches, moving with grace from assured minds to trusted heavens, stems from habit, and understandably, but not from facts and history. History, along with honest attempts to sing the chants as they appear in the earliest manuscripts, discloses a song more robust in stature: and the long notes that bear its melodies are founded on, nestled in the earth just as soundly and nobly as any Romanesque structure.

Romanesque and Gothic Church Architecture Compared
(clockwise from top left) Saint-Sernin, Toulouse; San Clemente, Rome; Sainte-Chapelle, Paris; Cologne Cathedral

Affects and Affectations • Fr. Anthony Ruff, OSB, brought up the topic of sacred psychology in his book Sacred Music and Liturgical Reform: Treasures and Transformations and caricatured some of the arguments for a particular style of chant interpretation as akin to arguing about what kind of trill in baroque music would better move the listener to Christian prayer (pp. 492–3). I have said before that any style of chant sung well is capable of cultivating prayer (and sometimes even chant sung poorly). I want to thank Charles Weaver for the best summary of the history of the nuance theory that I’ve seen anywhere. With that said, there is no need to cling to historically untenable interpretations on aesthetic or spiritual grounds. The Solesmes method is designed—and by designed, I mean made up—to achieve a particular aesthetic result and does not facilitate the performance of the chants “in the manner that they were originally conceived as works of art,” as desired by St. Pius X. The Solesmes editions omit more of the oldest rhythmic indications than they reproduce, and those they do include are wrongly interpreted as agogic nuances. Other than most of the horizontal episemata, their rhythmic markings are 19th- and 20th-century inventions. Solesmes may have intended to set their interpretation in opposition to the secular and the modern, but they actually created a style of singing largely opposed to the entire history of Gregorian chant while posing as something authentic and traditional.

Manuscript Dates • The following dates are given in part 1:

• St. Gall 359, Cantatorium (C), 877

• Bamberg 6, ca. 905

• Laon 239 (L), ca. 927

• Chartres 47, ca. 957

• Einsiedeln 121 (E), ca. 961

• St. Gall 339, ca. 1039

I believe one of these could be off by nearly a century based on the dates given in standard editions and scholarly works. The use of ca. gives some wiggle room, but 95 years is really pushing it. Although age does not in and of itself guarantee accuracy, and we cannot determine the age of many MSS with certainly, it is helpful to have a general idea of whether we’re dealing with a group of MSS spanning as long as 163 years (877–1039) or as short as 55 (926–980). After all, 108 years is a difference of four or five generations, and MSS from more than a century and a half apart cannot be considered contemporary with one another. On my website, I list the following dates:

• St. Gall 359, Cantatorium (C), 922–926

• Laon 239 (L), ca. 930; the municipal library site still dates it to the ninth century

• Einsiedeln 121 (E), 960–996

• Bamberg 6, 966-1000

• Chartres 47, tenth century; destroyed in 1944

• St. Gall 339, 980–1000

These figures are based on editions such as the Graduale Novum and Graduale Triplex, the Graduale Synopticum and gregorien.info websites, the library websites where the digital facsimiles are hosted, and scholarly writings including Agustoni-Göschl, Blackley, Cardine, Gajard, Murray, and Vollaerts. I would be interested to know Jeff Ostrowski’s sources for his dates.

Disappearing Verses • It is well known that the melismatic Offertory verses and syllabic Communion psalm verses (chanted to the same tones as the Introit psalm verses) were no longer notated in later MSS, with a few exceptions, for example, the Requiem Mass (cf. Saint Edmund Campion Missal, third edition, pp. xvi–xxiv). To apply the same arguments used in part 1, would it be at all reasonable to suppose that those verses were only sung in certain monasteries in the tenth and eleventh centuries, not all across Europe? Or would it be more reasonable to view their general disappearance from the later MSS as evidence that the chants were no longer sung as they used to be? Likewise, would it be more reasonable to suppose that the tenth-century rhythmic indications were only intended to represent nuances from a particular monastery, or to view their general disappearance from the later MSS as evidence that the chants were no longer sung as they used to be? I am pointing out an inconsistency in argumentation, and these are not merely rhetorical questions.

Conclusions • My opinion is that the mind of the Church in the matter of chant interpretation remains the same as St. Pius X articulated 110 years ago, namely “that these melodies should be performed in the manner that they were originally conceived as works of art.” The same Pope enumerated the most essential qualities of sacred music as sanctity, goodness of form, and universality (Tra le sollecitudini, ¶ 2), yet with the nuance theory, we have a sort of musical isolationism instead of universality. “If Gregorian chant had truly had only nuances of duration, then it had to assume a completely isolated position. Something like this was and is namely unknown to the vocal monophonies of other Christian churches: Byzantine, Greek, Syriac, Coptic, etc.” (Jan van Biezen, “The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant,” translated by Kevin M. Rooney, in Rhythm, Meter and Tempo in Gregorian Chant, p. 26). Regardless of whether the MSS that constitute what Vollaerts called the model group (p. 7) come from a period spanning 55, 110, or 165 years, they furnish striking evidence of an overwhelmingly uniform melodic and rhythmic tradition, which is all the more reason to question the reliability of later MSS with regard to the rhythm. I would like to close by quoting Fr. Stephen Concordia’s guest post: “To approach an interpretation as close as possible to an ‘original’ rhythm there is no witness, no testimony, no factual evidence historically closer than the adiastematic neumes.”

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Patrick’s Third Response to Jeff” (19 Dec 2022)

ALTHOUGH THE ARGUMENTS I HAVE PRESENTED may be new to most readers, you’ll find no new theories and hardly any original thought in what I’ve written, only a restatement of the rhythmic teaching of the medieval writers as presented by Vollaerts, Murray, and Van Biezen. It’s unlikely that you’ve studied any of those authors, even if you happen to be well-versed in the theories of Mocquereau, Gajard, or Cardine, and it would be unreasonable for me to expect you to pay attention to me if you don’t want to bother with Vollaerts, Murray, or Van Biezen—but at least I can try! Some people read my articles and are still confused, even after singing through the examples in modern notation, so let me state as clearly as possible the two key differences between what was handed down from the Fathers of the Church and later alterations: The original chant has strict rhythmic proportions, not merely expressive nuances, and also a steady beat.

Beginning or End? • A friend and colleague expressed reservations about my criticism of approaching chant as sung prayer rather than the proclamation of a sacred text. In my first Corpus Christi Watershed post, before the Gregorian Rhythm Wars series, I wrote about beginnings and ends. To apply some of the same ideas, I would like to propose considering prayer as the end of chant instead of the beginning. One of my favorite chant quotes comes from Dom Gajard: “Flexibility is only possible where all is exact, where every element is in its right place.” When singers have their notes, rhythm, Latin text, and vocal technique in order, they then have the freedom to make their song prayer. When they’re still stumbling and fumbling musically, the chant will be for them—and their hearers—more of a cross to bear than a means of prayer, and their artificial mental separation between prayer and performance will persist. We would rightly be shocked to hear a priest say something along the lines of “I wasn’t praying; I was celebrating Mass,” yet hardly anyone bats an eye when an ordinary layperson says, “I didn’t sing because I was praying,” even though it means that person has chosen to prioritize individual devotion, which can take place at any time and anywhere (admittedly perhaps not as fruitfully as in church), over communal vocal participation in the liturgy, which is an opportunity many Catholics have but once a week. As I wrote in that first post, “When we sing the Ordinary and Proper of the Mass, we are actually praying the liturgy on behalf of the whole Church, not merely amplifying or elaborating the prayers of the priest.” I suppose we also have the right to remain silent, but what a truly awesome opportunity so many Catholics choose to squander! In writing these lines, I don’t at all mean to minimize the importance of interior participation.

Total War • The title “Gregorian Rhythm Wars” was Jeff’s idea, not mine. I think he had in mind something quite civilized, where we would draw our swords and actually look each other in the eye, whereas I imagined blowing everything in sight to smithereens. Be that as it may, sometimes the most productive approach is simply to ask questions. My opponent has accused me of muddying the waters, while himself fixating on late sources that reveal nothing about the original rhythm. Why are we not focusing exclusively on the interpretation of the best ancient MSS? [Q#1] The barrage of later MS evidence contrasted with the oldest sources serves as proof of a rhythmic alteration by the mid-eleventh century at the latest, and he has unwittingly bolstered the arguments in favor of my position rather than his own.

Show Me! • Since Jeff has reiterated his request to see a “transitional” MS, let me repeat what I already wrote in my first response: “If Mr. Ostrowski wishes to see an intermediary semi-rhythmic manuscript ‘halfway’ between proportional and equal rhythm, then let him consult chapter 1 of Fr. Vollaerts’ Rhythmic Proportions in Early Ecclesiastical Chant for a classification of tenth- through twelfth-century manuscripts. I really have nothing to add to what has already been said there by Fr. Vollaerts.” If you’re not going to listen to Vollaerts, you’re not going to listen to me either! If, as Jeff claims, “there ought to be transitional manuscripts giving evidence of rhythmic decay,” shouldn’t there also be transitional, semi-rhythmic editions of all of the altered sixteenth-century psalm and chorale melodies? [Q#2] There are, in fact, “transitional” editions of Old Hundredth that are neither fully rhythmic nor fully isometric—the “rhythmic” version generally known to English speakers is already an alteration of the original Genevan Psalter version—but I would be curious to see such an edition of the other 124 Genevan psalm tunes, Passion Chorale (O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden), or Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott. What exactly does the existence of an extant “transitional” version of Old Hundredth prove? [Q#3] And more to the point for our current discussion, what does the absence of a similar version of Passion Chorale, Ein feste Burg, or any other tune prove (besides that we might as well keep looking)? [Q#4] And why ought there to be transitional chant manuscripts? [Q#5] Frankly, I find that to be a real whopper of a presupposition! Can Jeff furnish an example of a chant MS where only about half of the old Offertory verses are notated? [Q#6] Why or why not? [Q#7] I don’t think he can defend his absurd claims with solid evidence; otherwise, he would have already done so.

Give Us Answers! • For some of the following questions, this is now my third time of asking:

• Is MS age important? [Q#8]

• What are the sources for your MS dates? [Q#9]

• Is there a scholarly consensus as to which MSS are the oldest? [Q#10]

• Are those same MSS for the most part legible and clear in their rhythmic indications? [Q#11]

• Is it reasonable to judge later MSS and editions in light of the oldest sources? [Q#12]

• Is it reasonable to judge the oldest MSS in light of later or less authoritative sources? [Q#13]

• Do the oldest MSS bear witness to elements of performance that disappeared in later centuries? [Q#14]

• Is it reasonable to suppose that the melismatic Offertory verses and syllabic Communion psalm verses were only sung in certain monasteries in the tenth and eleventh centuries, not all across Europe? [Q#15]

• Is it reasonable to view the general disappearance of those verses from later MSS as evidence that the chants were no longer sung as they used to be? [Q#16]

• Is it reasonable to suppose that the tenth-century rhythmic indications were only intended to represent nuances from a particular monastery? [Q#17]

• Is it reasonable to view the general disappearance of those rhythmic indications as evidence that the chants were no longer sung as they used to be? [Q#18]

• How do you address the proportional rhythm doctrine of the medieval writers? [Q#19] Give us more than “We don’t know what a long time means.”

• Why should it seem incredible that a rhythmic deterioration and equalization occurred in Gregorian chant, when we can demonstrate conclusively that exactly the same thing occurred in many Reformation-era chorale and psalm tunes? [Q#20]

• What do you make of the isometric variants of 16th-century chorale and psalm tunes? [Q#21] Are they the result of mass hallucination, capricious publishers, or nothing more than the tendency of religious music to slow down and even out rhythmically over time? [Q#22]

• In the introit Si iniquitates, is there evidence of a long (doubled) note at the end of est from any MS (besides Lagal)? [Q#23]

• Why are the notes before bar lines interpreted as double the normal note value? [Q#24] What is the basis or source for that interpretation? [Q#25] Please make your own argument and don’t quote Dom Pothier.

• Where do the morae vocis of the Vatican edition come from? [Q#26]

• Is a clivis plus climacus followed by another clivis rhythmically identical to a virga followed by a succession of two cursive torculi? [Q#27] What is the significance of the break after the virga? [Q#28] Between the torculi? [Q#29]

Example from the Gradual Tecum principium for Christmas Midnight Mass
top: Düsseldorf MS-D-12; middle: hypothetical edition (unpublished) for comparison; bottom: Vatican edition (Schwann)

• Likewise, is a porrectus subbipunctis plus two climaci rhythmically identical to the combination of virga, two cursive torculi, and pes subbipunctis? [Q#30] What is the significance of the break after the virga? [Q#31] After each of the torculi? [Q#32]

Example from the Gradual Eripe me for Passion Sunday
top: Düsseldorf MS-D-12; middle: hypothetical edition (unpublished) for comparison; bottom: Vatican edition

• How would you notate your equalist rendition of the introit Si iniquitates using the Messine (Laon) and St. Gall neumes? [Q#33] Give us a triplex edition!

• Does the Catholic Church give us objective principles to determine what constitutes a prayerful aesthetic? [Q#34] If so, are there different standards for the Latin and Eastern rites? [Q#35]

• What is the mind of the Church today regarding chant interpretation? [Q#36]

• If the inherent or implied rhythm of the 1908 Vatican edition is adequate, why is it not actually used in the Vatican? [Q#37] (And is there any evidence that it was ever actually used in the Vatican? [Q#38])

• If the 1908 Vatican edition is adequate, why did Vatican II call for a “more critical edition” of the chant books? [Q#39]

• Why had Solesmes already started working on a critical edition in the late 1940s? [Q#40]

• What sources should serve at the basis for the more critical edition, and why? [Q#41]

Your readers deserve answers! All of my questions merit your response, but I am not going to let you off the hook for the five underlined in bold above. I have answered your questions, and you have already pussyfooted around long enough. In the new year, perhaps you would consider recording a chant from the Proper of the Mass (and why not Si iniquitates?) in proportional rhythm with an ensemble in order to demonstrate that you fully understand my position, because right now I’m not at all convinced that you do.

Rhythmic or Nonrhythmic? • Of what use to this discussion is the example from the Limoges MS, dated to approximately 1085, which is already fifteen years after Aribo said that the idea of composing and singing proportionally had “already been dead for a long time, even buried”? [Q#42] Why should we be at all surprised that it doesn’t reproduce the rhythm from a century earlier? [Q#43] Is there something mysterious here that I’m missing? [Q#44] I already expressed twice “my firm opinion that MSS from the second half of the eleventh century and later are, categorically, not reliable for discerning the original rhythm” and that “we are already talking past each other with continued discussion of such sources.” I wish to withdraw from further analysis of those sources and allow the other contributors to have their say, as the later MSS don’t affect my arguments at all. Mont Renaud and Montpellier H. 159 are the only MSS that Jeff dates to the tenth century and also includes as specimens in his previous post—and he does not bother to present the actual Montpellier MS, only a transcription if it. In those two sources, the same form of the clivis is used at the end of Israel (iſrahel) as at the other places he highlights as examples. Following his line of argumentation to its logical conclusion and basing our interpretation only on the evidence of the MSS themselves, we would need to sing that neume as two short notes, the same as in- of iniquitates, -ve- of observaveris, -sti- of sustinebit, and pro- and -pi- of propitiatio. (If you want to discuss unnoted performance practice, we can do that later, but please stick to the MSS themselves for now.) As I said in my first response, “A good initial test of the rhythmic reliability of a given manuscript is whether or not it differentiates between short and long forms of the clivis and pes.” What does the long form of the clivis actually look like in Mont Renaud? [Q#45] What does the long form of the clivis actually look like in Montpellier H. 159? [Q#46] Are you willing to answer these questions, [Q#47] or shall we declare a ceasefire just in time for Christmas? [Q#48] And have I been obnoxious enough yet?? [Q#49] Despite his continued insistence that he has proved something by his example in part 1, I already refuted Jeff’s misreading of Chartres 47 in my first and second responses and don’t need to repeat myself here.

Interchangeable Markings • Although this post is written primarily in response to Jeff Ostrowski, I do wish to say a few words in reply to Charles Weaver’s latest post, in which he labels the assertion of “equivalence of the various signs that affect the rhythm: the episema, the Romanian letters, the non-cursive forms, the neumatic break, and the various combinations of these things that occur in the manuscripts” as an “interpretive leap.” In Si iniquitates, Bamberg 6 writes the letter t at -sti- of sustinebit, above a cursive clivis. In E, the episema is used there instead, and in L and Chartres, a non-cursive neume is written. I have no idea why the Bamberg scribe chose to add a t there instead of an episema. Among the oldest St. Gall MSS, that is the only t I see for the chant in question. As for the neumatic break, there is one after the first note of sustinebit in L, which I discussed in my first response, and in both L and E at -a- of ­propitiatio, at est, and after the first note of -us. I have already given my interpretation of this chant, so I encourage the reader to draw conclusions from comparing the oldest sources. If the note before the neumatic break is already written long, does the break make it even longer? Does answering no really require much of a leap? My statement, “We now have a much better understanding of how our chants were originally conceived than anyone had 110 years ago,” was an acknowledgement of all of the scholarship in the intervening years, not only what has come from (or reinforced) a proportionalist or mensuralist perspective. Other participants in this conversation might downplay the contributions of Mocquereau, Gajard, Cardine, Agustoni, or Göschl, but it is not by any means my intention to do so. We still have a long way to go, however, when people who have studied chant for decades, even at a postgraduate level, have zero familiarity with the interpretation of Vollaerts, Murray, and Van Biezen, possibly having avoided it because the aforementioned Mocquereau et al., associated with either the Solesmes method or semiology, said that mensuralism was wrong.

Disclaimer • For the record, I reject the claim that the authentic traditional rhythm was lost or abandoned “around 950.” In my previous post, I said that “a change from proportional to equal rhythm is evident, which is known to have taken place during the eleventh century.” Cantus planus was the result of that rhythmic degeneration. Therefore, I also reject the claim that “plainsong was sung—broadly speaking—the same way from roughly 975AD to 1550AD.” Tell us, approximately what year—or century—does the first known use of the term cantus planus come from? [Q#50] My dear Mr. Ostrowski, kindly get the facts straight and quit putting words in my mouth!

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Chorale and Chant Carefully Considered” (2 Jan 2023)

BARRING THE POSSIBILITY OF A CENTURIES-LONG CONSPIRACY by Protestant printers, it is safe to say that the isometric versions of the sixteenth-century chorale and psalm tunes amount to real proof of a rhythmic alteration. There is absolutely no chance that melodies originally notated with semibreves and minims were originally sung with notes of equal value, nor that the semibreves were only sung as slight expressive nuances rather than strict proportions; to think so would be contrary to both the plain meaning of the notation and good sense. Besides occasional passing tones, added later, the isometric versions represent the authentic melody with near-100% accuracy and are easily recognizable as variants of the same tunes, despite their different rhythm.

A Sterling Example • After my last post, it occurred to me that a tune heard in many Catholic churches during Advent (or perhaps the final weeks of the liturgical year) makes for an exemplary case study. Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme is most commonly known in the United States as either “Wake, Awake, for Night Is Flying” (Catherine Winkworth’s translation) or “Sleepers Wake, a Voice Is Calling” (William Ball’s translation). Here are three versions of the melody, all transposed to C major: 1. the original by Philipp Nicolai, 2. Bach’s version from the final movement of BWV 140, and 3. Bach’s version from movement 4 of the same cantata, rescored as an organ chorale prelude in the Schübler collection, BWV 645, no. 5.

Red noteheads signify major melodic alterations. Blue signifies rhythmic alteration, and purple signifies both melodic and rhythmic alteration.

1. The parenthesized notes are minor melodic variants such as passing tones or other ornaments.

2. Because of the added passing tone, this note is considered long.

3. Regardless of the melodic variant, none of these three notes can be considered rhythmically accurate.

4. The dotted rhythm here could be rewritten as two quarter notes; therefore, this note has not been marked as an alteration. The phrase has been rebarred.

5. Because of the added passing tone, this note is considered long.

6. We are not concerned with the syncopation here; in fact, the third version has been rebarred.

7. Because of the added passing tone, this note is considered long.

8. We are not concerned with the syncopation here.

9. Because of the added passing tone, this note is considered long.

The Same, but Different • Counting the repeats but not including the two notes in parentheses, the original chorale has 82 notes. You can confirm for yourself that Bach’s isometric versions reproduce the original melody with 98% accuracy. What about the rhythm? In the second version, only 20 out of 82 notes (37%) retain the relative long or short values of the original version. In the third version—mostly the same as the second, but with the normal value treated as relatively short instead of long—67 out of 82 note values (82%) are correct. Despite significant rhythmic discrepancies, we can easily recognize all three versions as the same melody, just as when we compare vastly different interpretations of chant. We could argue about which version is superior and why, whether Nicolai would love or hate Bach’s settings, or what constitutes an “authentic” performance for a congregation or group of singers that has known only one version their whole life, but all of that misses the point. If we were assigned the task of restoring the original chorale, only one of the three versions would be satisfactory, no matter how old, familiar, beloved, singable, beautiful, artistic, or prayerful the other two versions might be. Furthermore—and I really can’t overemphasize this—we cannot reconstruct the original rhythm from the isometric versions alone, just as we cannot reconstruct the original proportional chant rhythm from the equalist versions. We have to go to older sources, or at least to editions based on the older sources.

***PLEASE NOTE: The following paragraph contains statements that might not be entirely accurate.  I have not altered the text of my original post from January 2, but two days later, I received a message saying that Dominican chant had also been mensuralist before coming under the influence of Dom Pothier.  My colleague recommended “Medieval and Modern Dominican Chant in the 19th Century” by Fr. Innocent Smith, O.P. (PW, 1/5/23)

Uninterrupted Equalist Tradition • I recently received a visit from a friend and former choir member of mine, who now sings for a traditional Latin Mass in the Dominican rite. He reminded me that their chant represents an unbroken tradition from the thirteenth century, when the Order of Preachers was founded by St. Dominic. They have retained a version of plainchant unaffected by either the corruptions of the Renaissance era or the theories of Doms Pothier, Mocquereau, Gajard, or Cardine. Rhythmically, it is closer to what Jeff Ostrowski espouses than anything proposed by the Solesmes masters—old, classic, or new. Like the pure Vatican edition, the bar lines serve as rhythmic indications; but unlike the Vatican edition, the melismatic mora vocis, neumatic break, and praepunctis neumes have no special rhythmic significance. Here is the officium (introit) Si iniquitates for the twentieth Sunday after the octave of Trinity (twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost) according to the Dominican Graduale:

Applying the rhythmic indications of a tenth-century MS to Dominican chant from the thirteenth century would be just as misguided as applying equalist rhythm to Messine or St. Gall chant from the tenth century. The equalist plainchant of the High Middle Ages is as far removed from the rhythmic chant of the Early Middle Ages as the isometric chorales are from their rhythmic predecessors. I would now like to re-present three of my previous examples using the Graduale Novum and the Dominican Graduale for comparison.

Introit Deus in loco for the eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
(officium for the ninth Sunday after the octave of Trinity):

Gradual (responsorium) Tecum principium for Christmas Midnight Mass:

Gradual (responsorium) Eripe me for Passion Sunday:

Focus on the rhythmic implications of the note grouping and the adiastematic neumes, not the melodic differences. Don’t miss the point! Here is another example from an upcoming chant, the offertory for Epiphany:

In the Dominican variant, the mutilation of the repeated notes at -sis and in- is unsurprising. The Solesmes edition, which only marks two notes long in this little passage of 33 notes, is included in the middle. Anyone familiar enough with Solesmes’ editorial principles can make an educated guess about nine additional long notes (including some not explicitly notated as long in Einsiedeln 121):

Unfortunately, the Vatican and Solesmes editions leave no trace of another eight long notes:

The excerpt has nineteen long notes. In typical fashion, the Solesmes editions make no distinction between the long and short forms of the pes and climacus.

Origins • In my last post, I made the bold claim that the chant with its rhythm was handed down from the Fathers of the Church. Depending on how literally you take certain versions of the hagiographical dove legend, the chant either comes from the Fathers or from a singing pigeon:

A dove is his special emblem, in allusion to the well-known story recorded by Peter the Deacon (Vita, xxviii), who tells that when the pope was dictating his homilies on Ezechiel a veil was drawn between his secretary and himself. As, however, the pope remained silent for long periods at a time, the servant made a hole in the curtain and, looking through, beheld a dove seated upon Gregory’s head with its beak between his lips. When the dove withdrew its beak the holy pontiff spoke and the secretary took down his words; but when he became silent the servant again applied his eye to the hole and saw the dove had replaced its beak between his lips. (Catholic Encyclopedia)

MS 171a, Stadtbibliothek, Trier

This story was later embellished to recount that the bird cooed the chant melodies to St. Gregory, which the holy Pope dictated on his parchment. As far as solid historical evidence is concerned, the chant melodies that have come down to us as “Gregorian” are associated more strongly with the reign of Charlemagne (768–814) than the papacy of St. Gregory the Great (590–604), but we also know that they were based on preexisting Roman chant disseminated to other parts of Europe during the papacy of Adrian I (772–795). As a point of chronological reference, the Second Council of Nicaea took place in 787. Like plainchant, the term Gregorian chant came about after the chant itself.

An Incredible Claim • Jeff has asked me for a “transitional” semi-rhythmic manuscript of Gregorian chant. I have told him where to look, and I believe he will more easily find it than a “transitional” semi-rhythmic edition of the entire Genevan Psalter. Although providing us with a glimpse into the process of rhythmic deterioration, transitional MSS would have been of little contemporary interest after the change to equal rhythm was completed. Rhythmic MSS might have been preserved as curiosities, but a transitional MS, being neither fish nor fowl, would have been redundant, of negligible value, and therefore disposable. That any have survived is remarkable. It is incomprehensible to me how anyone in 2023 can believe that chant was sung in equalist rhythm in the tenth century. How am I to take such a position seriously? Better yet: why should I or anyone else take that position seriously in the face of such overwhelming evidence to the contrary, adequately addressed in the scholarship of the past 140 years?

There can be no doubt that rhythmic differentiation was an essential element in the practice of those choirs for whom the St Gall, Laon and other sources were written. The fact that the Laon source is widely separate geographically from the others suggests that this way of singing chant was quite widespread. How long it persisted is unclear. (David Hiley, Western Plainchant: A Handbook, p. 379)

Avoiding any and every form of mensuralism is often now [2017] considered a hallmark for correctly singing Gregorian chant. Noting, however, that early manuscripts from different countries often strongly agree about which notes are long and which are short, it seems hard to believe that only nuanced note lengths would characterise the rhythm of chant. Moreover, the idea that Gregorian chant could have been passed on through oral tradition for centuries without some way to measure the length of the notes sounds incredible. (Dirk van Kampen, “The Rhythm of Gregorian Chant: An Analysis and Empirical Investigation,” p. 15)

The idea that Gregorian chant could have been passed on through oral tradition for centuries before it was written down without any sort of “measurable” duration of notes is far-fetched enough. But when you examine a number of independently produced manuscripts that in all but a few cases agree with one another about which notes are long and which are short, it’s hard to believe there wasn’t some sort of regularity to them, some way to measure the lengths of notes. (Sven Edward Olbash, “Fear of a Mensuralist Planet”)

Throwing Out the Baby with the Bath Water • According to Dom Gajard, the foremost expositor of the classic Solesmes method after Dom Mocquereau, the various mensuralist theories were, “in fact, based upon pure imagination. What stands out as most absurd is that, although they all contradict one another, they are all based on the same texts by medieval writers, whose clarity they all extol and whose obvious meaning each one claims to know. This in itself is a condemnation of one and all” (The Solesmes Method: Its Fundamental Principles and Practical Rules of Interpretation, p. 7). A rasher and more sweeping assertion could hardly be fathomed! When the Solesmes theorists don’t base their own method on those same passages from medieval writers, they simply ignore them and say that they are of no value. Granted, the writings of the medieval theorists are not divine revelation, but the “classic Solesmes” hermeneutic is like rejecting certain scriptural passages altogether and deeming them unsuitable as a foundation for doctrinal orthodoxy on the grounds that they have been misinterpreted by heretics, who disagree among themselves. It’s not a sound approach in either theology or musicology. In fairness to Dom Mocquereau, later scholars have claimed that he only had a defective version of the Commemoratio brevis available to him. Today, we can no longer use that excuse. Unless we are singing for the liturgy of a religious order or otherwise have good reason to use the chant of the High or Late Middle Ages instead of that of the Early Middle Ages, promoted by the Catholic Church for use in the Roman rite, why should we cling to equalist rhythm, when the ancient authors all tell us otherwise?

Realistic Expectations • I don’t expect my singers to learn to read adiastematic neumes in duplex or triplex notation at sight; what I do expect is for them to learn to read the notes and rhythm properly from an edition with clear rhythmic markings. If I can teach third graders how to do it, you can learn too! Too many people, even those who ought to know better, take a look at my editions and immediately suppose that I have added rhythmic markings according to my own taste. Jeff Ostrowski seems to make the same assumption about Dom Mocquereau and the Solesmes editions. The vast majority of Dom Mocquereau’s markings, like mine, come directly from the adiastematic MSS, as I’ve demonstrated previously and will continue to do in subsequent installments.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “The Normal Syllabic Value” (6 Feb 2023)

AT THE FRONT OF THE LATIN-ENGLISH EDITIONS of the Liber Usualis are printed the Rules for Interpretation, a translation of Dom Mocquereau’s prooemium (preface or introduction), which can be found in the all-Latin editions from before 1934, including the modern notation editions. In the all-Latin editions currently in print, Dom Gajard’s 1934 preface replaces the earlier one by Dom Mocquereau. Dom Gajard begins with the concept of tempus primus or protos chronos, defined as the primary and indivisible beat. In Gregorian Semiology, Dom Cardine writes of what is translated in the English edition as the normal syllabic beat (Italian tempo sillabico normale, French temps syllabique moyen, Latin valor syllabicus medius). I prefer the term normal syllabic value, as beat lacks precision in English and can mean ictus, tactus, stroke, pulse, count, simple beat, compound beat, tempo, speed, or rhythm in general.

Solesmes Method • The idea of the normal syllabic value is different in proportional rhythm (mensuralism), equalism, the Solesmes method, and semiology. We have already seen that in the Solesmes method, there is the notion that the primary or elementary note value is short and indivisible. The Rules for Interpretation state in at least three places that a single note has the value of an eighth note or quaver in modern music:

The single notes without rhythmic signs have the value of a quaver in modern music. (xx)

Each note in Plainsong, whether isolated or in a group, whatever be its shape, has the same value, the value of a quaver in figured music; followed by a dot, its value is equivalent to a crochet. (xxij)

A single note has exactly the same value, in intensity and duration, as the syllable to which it is united. The approximate value of a syllable may be reckoned as a quaver. (xxv)

The last of these three quotes suggests some degree of flexibility relative to the text, but not enough to result in anything approximating a triplet, let alone a dotted eighth (quaver) paired with a sixteenth (semiquaver). Syllables set to isolated long notes (marked with dot or horizontal episema) are the exception to the rule.

Gregorian Semiology • In Dom Cardine’s semiology, which is essentially a more mature development and revision of the Solesmes method, the normal syllabic value is correlated with the amount of time it takes to pronounce a syllable with an initial voiced consonant and a vowel. That value can be augmented, e.g., if there are voiced consonants at the end of the neume, or diminished, e.g., if there is no initial consonant. Dom Cardine gives the following examples:

five normal syllabic beats: Veni Dómine
five heavy, lengthened, or enlarged beats: non confundéntur
five light, fluid, or shortened beats: dii eórum – fílii tui

Now this explanation sounds quite reasonable and is undoubtedly true in some cases, but do the adiastematic neumes support it for the chants of the Proper of the Mass? I answer no. We have many chants that are liturgical recitative, in free speech rhythm and chanted according to a formula: the psalmody of the Divine Office, the prayers of the celebrant, and the readings, for instance, but the Proper of the Mass sung by the schola cantorum is not in that same style, and it is doubtful that even the psalm verse and Gloria Patri of the introit can be categorized as recitative in free oratorical rhythm. After all, those verses have their own tones not used for any part of the Divine Office, with the repeated notes written as a series of tractuli, uncini, or virgae—not to mention the mediant cadences written with short notes in several of the modes.

Equalism • In equalism as espoused by Jeff Ostrowski, every syllable has an equal value, as the name suggests, unless doubled. There are no durational nuances to speak of. It is fair to say that, just as in the Solesmes method, the normal syllabic value is short and indivisible. This is the most straightforward and uncomplicated of all the rhythmic approaches, but we have already seen that it is not supported by the oldest manuscript sources.

Proportional Rhythm • In proportional rhythm, the normal syllabic value is long, and short neumes are the exception. This interpretation is borne out by the adiastematic neumes themselves. There is no question that a syllable set to a single note is normally notated with a tractulus, uncinus, or virga. In both the Solesmes method and semiology, these neumatic signs are usually given a longer value within the context of a multi-note neume than when isolated. Why? What possible justification is there for that interpretation other than the deliberate avoidance of mensuralism? Furthermore, when a syllable is actually notated with a short note in the adiastematic sources—punctum, virga with c, or tractulus with c—the Solesmes editions don’t treat it any shorter than if it were written with a long sign in the manuscripts! At least the semiologists are generally more faithful to the sources in those instances.

A Diminished Augmented Syllabic Value? • Let us consider an example that was mentioned only in passing in a previous post, the Midnight Mass communion In splendoribus:

Graduale Novum

The Vatican and Solesmes editions give two notes of equal value for In splen-. We cannot possibly reconstruct the oldest sources from such interpretations. That leaves us with semiology and proportional rhythm as valid possibilities. Here, the first note is definitely long and the second is written emphatically short on the syllable splen-, which has three consonants at the beginning, one of which is a sonorant or voiced consonant, with another voiced consonant at the end of the syllable in conjunction with a voiced consonant beginning the following syllable. Ordinarily, such a complex articulation would require the augmented syllabic value according to Dom Cardine’s theory, but here it’s decidedly short. A common critique of semiological interpretations is that they all sound different from each other, and I think there are reasons for that. The real problem with semiology is not that it neglects the rhythmic indications of the oldest sources (although that is sometimes true too), but rather that it overinterprets them. I wish to reiterate what I said in my second post in this series:

The semiologists have complicated and overanalyzed chant beyond the comprehension of the average musicologist or cathedral choirmaster, not to mention the average parish cantor or chorister. I showed some of my singers the three volumes of Agustoni & Göschl’s Introduction to the Interpretation of Gregorian Chant and commented that the 1:2 proportion of the medieval theorists is apparently either so difficult or musically unsatisfying that we need a 1,000-page introduction to get us started singing properly.

As an expansion of the Solesmes method but without the binary and ternary rhythmic groupings, Gregorian semiology is like the nuance theory on steroids.

Taking Everything into Consideration • Based more on my own intuition than any solid evidence, I believe that In splendoribus probably represents a dotted rhythm. Dotted rhythms lie outside the 1:2 proportion, but there are exceptions to many rules! The same text occurs in the gradual of the same Mass, with the same rhythm:

Graduale Novum

There is no doubt that long and short neumes are juxtaposed here in both chants. The question is whether the first two notes taken together equal one beat, two, or one and a half:

(the pitches are taken from the communion; the rhythm is equally applicable to the gradual)

Any one of the above renditions is an improvement over an equalist interpretation in terms of fidelity to the oldest sources. I do not claim to have a definitive answer, only a proposal that is in accord with the oldest sources and that represents an improvement over the Solesmes method. In light of the evidence, how do the present-day defenders of the Vatican and Solesmes editions justify their positions? What do they make of the edition actually used in the Vatican?

The evidence of the adiastematic manuscripts and the medieval writers should take precedence over our modern theories, not the other way around. In keeping with the spirit of the pre-Lenten carnival season, I wish to close with a bit of levity by sharing a delightfully acerbic remark from the celebrated organist and composer Charles-Marie Widor regarding the work of the Solesmes monks: “Their Paléographie, which had begun so well, finished like a watercolor course taught by the blind” (“L’ Œeuvre de Gevaert,” p. 399, n. 1; tr. John R. Near in Widor: A Life beyond the Toccata, p. 234), along with a somewhat pertinent meme (complete with a typo!)—after a

Patrick Williams Responds to Matthew Frederes · February 28, 2023

IN THE RECENT POST titled “Do We Need a Beautiful Cento, or an Archaic Reversion?” by Matthew Frederes, there are eleven references to the Vatican edition but not a single explicit reference to the more critical edition called for by the Catholic Church at the Second Vatican Council in Sacrosanctum Concilium, ¶ 117. I must say, I find this omission peculiar. Mr. Frederes outlines his reasons for rejecting the Graduale Novum, which has no official status that I’m aware of. He provides an example from the critical apparatus for the Novum, as I have also done in my previous posts. Every melodic correction in the Novum has its basis in one or several reliable ancient sources.

A More Critical Edition • If the Vatican edition is not and never was in need of any melodic corrections, why did an ecumenical council order that “a more critical edition is to be prepared of those [chant] books already published since the restoration by St. Pius X”? What kinds of things would a more critical edition need to address? The Latin text? Note grouping? Bar lines? If that’s all, then why has such an edition still not been completed more than 60 years later? These are absolutely not rhetorical questions. Those who treat the Vatican edition as inerrant—and a fortiorti the Solesmes edition based upon it—are going to have to come to terms with the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy sooner or later. As I said previously, “If and when the more critical edition is ever promulgated, it will be the standard by which other editions and interpretations ought to be evaluated.”

Terrible Examples • Mr. Frederes proffers three examples from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, two partial and one complete, which he claims are consistent with the Vatican edition of the introit Puer natus est, but are they really? I see the interval of a fifth notated at et in each of them. Did he examine them further? Perhaps he assumed his readers wouldn’t bother to check. Guess what? At least one of them did—and he was shocked at what he found!

In the first example, from Bellelay, I spot nineteen discrepancies from the Vatican edition, two of which agree with the Novum; in the second, Laon 240, twelve discrepancies, again two of which agree with the Novum; and in the third, Laon, 241, four—a total of 35 discrepancies in three examples furnished in support of the Vatican edition!—and I only examined the images he actually posted, not the whole chant, and not including the psalm verse. Furthermore, all of his examples contradict the Vatican edition at the first note of -pe­- of ­imperium, -me­­- of humerum, and the third note of the first ­ejus—hardly a testament to the Vatican edition representing an uninterrupted melodic tradition! I daresay the Dominican version has a stronger claim in that respect. Judge for yourself:

Compare also three other “restored” editions:

Kainzbauer (Graduale Synopticum)

Hakkennes (Graduale Lagal)

Blackley

as well as a so-called Old Roman version:

Bodmer 74

All of the restored versions including the Graduale Novum deviate less from the Vatican edition than the twelfth-century example Mr. Frederes shared from Bellelay. What was his point again?

Rallying the Troops • Mr. Frederes’ “prayer” that the Graduale Novum will never be approved as an official edition is accompanied by a metaphorical call to arms:

It is conceivable that this could happen if efforts are not made to defend the work of Solesmes, and therefore portions of what we currently have are at risk of being lost to archaism unless more musicians and members of the faithful get involved and resist any deviation from the priorities which established the edition of the chant we have inherited and sung for the last century.

Here, it is unclear whether his solicitude is only for the Vatican edition or also the Solesmes rhythmic markings and method. Regardless, it falls on deaf ears as far as I’m concerned. Having perhaps a couple thousand hours of study of the oldest manuscripts under my belt at this point, I have verified a lot of things for myself that I no longer have to take at anyone else’s word, nor do I expect anyone to take my word on anything. Have I not consistently encouraged everyone to study the sources for themselves? Those sources have their own inherent authority. They do not need my stamp of approval, yours, or that of any monk of Solesmes, Fontgombault, Triors, or Clear Creek, let alone anyone in the hierarchy lacking the proper formation to adjudicate musicological matters. Just as I have rejected the equalist rhythm of the High and Late Middle Ages in favor of the proportional rhythm of the Early Middle Ages, I likewise reject the premise that the melodic alterations apparent in later manuscripts represent a more mature version of the chant.

Cherished Expressions? • Let’s be honest for a moment about the idea that the Solesmes chants are so beloved that any deviation from the Liber Usualis is practically akin to altering the deposit of faith. In my parish, there are men who have complete Masses memorized but have serious difficulty reading an unfamiliar Mass (a Lenten feria, for example) at sight. We have other fine singers, fairly new to chanting the propers, who will read the restored editions without difficulty, with no sentimental attachment to the Solesmes version. Occasionally, someone in the congregation will ask me after Mass where I found a particular “hymn,” in reference to some part of the Proper sung right out of the Liber. My parish now has two Sung Masses on Sundays, one of which was previously a Low Mass. The congregation at that Mass has been reluctant to participate in singing the chants of the Ordinary, despite the hymnals in the pews, bulletin announcements, pulpit announcements, and solid leadership from cantor, choir, and organ. Some of our people have been going to the Latin Mass their whole lives. If the Solesmes chants, now in continuous use in many places for 115 years, are still not familiar enough for the faithful to join enthusiastically in singing Credo I, we have bigger problems to deal with than a few melodic corrections here and there.

Sacred Snoozefest? • There are signs of boredom and restlessness not only among run-of-the-mill Latin Mass-goers, but even among our most devoted Catholic musicians. This subject could take up a separate article, but be on the lookout for an incessant and insatiable thirst for variety and, yes, novelty (as opposed to restoration) in liturgical music. See, for example, the same article by Dr. Kwasniewski that was quoted by Frederes:

Aside from the specific selections, another way the disposition toward theatrical performance is manifest in parishes today—even when the music is traditional and beloved—is through the use of manneristic (overdone) interpretation, attention-getting alternation between different sections of the choir, or the contrast of choir and soloists. (When I speak of alternation here, I am not referring to the customary alternation of, e.g., cantors and omnes for the Gloria & Creed.) Although alternation between chant and polyphony in the same piece and the use of falsobordone, organum, or droning can all be done tastefully and appropriately, they should not be so frequently employed that the purity and simplicity of the Gregorian chant is stifled or compromised. It is best to use such things as ornaments or enhancements for greater solemnities.

Dear Reader, do you belong to a parish, chapel, or oratory where you haven’t heard an entire Mass chanted “straight” for some time—without “drones,” organum, alternation between men’s and women’s voices (not to be confused with antiphonal singing between the schola and congregation), or too-elaborate organ accompaniments with descants that overwhelm the melody? I don’t at all mean to suggest that the experience of Sunday High Mass in the parish should have exactly the same feel as in a monastery, but it simply isn’t necessary to “augment” the chants in such ways. If every serious Catholic musician were to study the sources, the chants would reclaim some of their original rhythmic vitality and nobody would feel a need to gussy them up in the ways that are all too often heard at Latin Masses nowadays. Catholic sacred music should sound like neither a dirge nor a carnival! Gregorian chant has its own inherent variety of forms and styles, which should be respected. It’s the proper music of the Roman rite and there’s no need to make it foreign sounding.

The Mind of the Church • I am grateful for the reminders from the preface to the Vatican edition. One sentence in particular stood out: “she has been zealous to keep the traditions of our forefathers, ever trying diligently to discover and boldly to restore any which might have been forgotten in the course of the ages.” How does that jibe with an apotheosis of the 1908 Vatican edition as complete, perfected, immutable, and impervious to the scholarship of subsequent decades? Was Sacrosanctum Concilium’s call for a critical revision not a definitive expression of the mind of the Church in the matter? Again, not rhetorical questions! As for the mischaracterization of the restored chants found in the Gradual Novum as “novel versions of the chant with crippled melodies emanating from those who appear to seek ‘archaeology and nothing else,’” “disruptive changes,” and “blatant antiquarianism,” I’m afraid the author has taken several steps in the wrong direction—away from the oldest extant sources and away from the sounds of Catholic worship in the first millennium. As I have mentioned elsewhere, once something has been tampered with, whether deliberately or accidentally, it is an alteration and no longer truly representative of tradition in its fullness. Consider a few facts: the completion of the Vatican edition was very rushed; the Pope wanted about 50 years of work compressed into a mere five. From the outset, the monks did not have all of the manuscripts at their disposal that we now have, or that they themselves would have a couple of years into the project; unfortunately, their editorial principals had already been solidified. They similarly had only incomplete or defective copies of the medieval theoretical writings available to them. Although not perfect, the Graduale Novum is a great advance in the right direction toward restoration of the chants “in their integrity and purity according to the testimony of the oldest manuscripts,” according to the desire expressed by St. Pius X. There were other official editions before the Vaticana, and there will be others after it.

Addendum (March 8, 2023) • Just yesterday, Matthew Frederes posted his February 27 article to Facebook with the following comment:

The Vatican Edition of Gregorian Chant, as well as the work of St. Gregory the Great it sought to replicate, were both a cento (“patchwork”) based on a broad sampling of the plainsong tradition. New editions vying for attention are making drastic changes based on only two or three manuscripts. The end result is merely an archaic reversion that artificially breaks tradition. I ask, do we need a beautiful cento, or an archaic reversion?

Such an egregious claim demands a public response, which I provide here for the benefit of any readers not active on Facebook, although the post is public and should be visible here even to those without an account.

The fact of the matter is that the editors of the Graduale Novum consulted 131 manuscripts—not “only two or three.” A comprehensive list appears in Beiträge zur Gregorianik, vol. 57. For the introit discussed above, besides the two sources mentioned by Mr. Frederes, the melodic restorations are supported by an additional ten manuscripts: Albi, Bamberg 6, Einsiedeln 121, Klosterneuburg/Graz, Rouen/St. Petersburg, St. Gall 339, St. Gall 376, St. Yrieix, Thomaskirche Leipzig, and Verdum 759. Including Laon 239, that amounts to thirteen manuscripts. No serious musician insists upon singing only from century-old editions of polyphony—let alone Bach or Handel—when more recent and better scholarly versions are available. Only with Gregorian chant have I found such an intransigent attachment to outdated editions. Subjective assessments aside, we owe our readers an honest account of the editorial basis for the newer editions. As a colleague recently reminded me, “We are entitled to our own opinions, not our own facts!”

Patrick’s Second Response to Matthew · March 2, 2023

WHEN I STARTED WRITING FOR CORPUS CHRISTI WATERSHED, I had to affirm that I accept all Church teachings. I couldn’t have expected that I would have to defend Vatican II in response to another contributor, but we live in strange times! Dogmatic teachings are one thing; discerning “the mind of the Church” is something else, especially when the mind of the Church in the year 1903 is being pitted against that of 1954, 1963, or 2023. I am not a theologian, and I don’t wish to stray too far from my areas of expertise. Dr. Kwasniewski’s objections notwithstanding, my observation is that some traditionalists—especially musicians—actually love to quote the previous paragraph of Sacrosanctum Concilium, which says that “Gregorian chant should be given pride of place in liturgical services”; ¶ 36, which says that “the use of the Latin language is to be preserved in the Latin rites”; and even ¶ 101, which says that “the Latin language is to be retained by clerics in the divine office.” The creation of the Vatican edition was regulated by several motu proprios. I would need to consult a canonist to say for sure, but I believe they all have the same weight as Traditionis Custodes, representing the current position of a particular Pope. Sacrosanctum Concilium, on the other hand, was voted for by 2,147 bishops and Council fathers, with only another four voting against it. If that doesn’t represent the mind of the Church, what does?

Cardinal Albareda’s Ballot for Sacrosanctum Concilium

Defining Terms • According to archivists.org, a critical edition is “A text that has been published with an editor’s extensive annotations, commenting on variations between different versions of the text (manuscripts, drafts, editions), and that provides an understanding of the text based on other sources.” The Graduale Triplex does not meet these criteria. The 1974 Graduale Romanum is a typical edition, also in accordance with SC 117, but not a critical edition. It retains the text (here I mean not only the words but also the musical notation) of the 1908 Vatican edition, but reordered for the new rite. The 1979 Graduale Triplex adds Messine and St. Gall adiastematic neumes to the 1974 Graduale Romanum, with some variants noted, but I am only aware of one change to the words, and none to the notes, note grouping, or bar lines. Again, it does not fulfill the requirements for a critical edition.

A 117-Year-Old Problem • The need for subsequent revisions had already been admitted by Rome before the Vatican edition had even been completed:

It had long been recognized that paleographical research had sufficiently advanced to be in a position to improve upon the work done somewhat rapidly at the beginning of the twentieth century in preparing the editions already issued. The Holy See (in a letter of Secretary of State Merry Del Val to the archbishop of Cologne) acknowledged in 1906 that changes in the official editions would be necessary but would not be carried out in the immediate future; see Moneta Caglio, “Constitutio,” 374. SC 117 did not call for an editio critica (“critical edition”), but an editio magis critica (“more critical edition”), which is an implicit acknowledgement that the original melodies cannot be reconstructed definitively, but only approximated more closely. (Fr. Anthony Ruff, O.S.B., Sacred Music and Liturgical Reform, p. 322, n. 30)

Such a revision had been in preparation by the monks of Solesmes since at least the 1940s but was never published. More information concerning the project can be found by consulting the brief bibliography below. In the Graduale Novum, published in 2011, the words editio magis critica iuxta SC 117 appear on the title page. Both volumes, the second appearing in 2018, are published in cooperation with the Vatican press, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, and the papal tiara and crossed keys appear on the half-title page. While the Graduale Novum is neither “official” nor a typical edition, I refer the reader again to the Pietras dubia response and the motu proprio Col nostro concerning the liceity of singing versions other than the Vatican edition as long as the chants come “from the authority of other good Gregorian codices.”

Vatican Edition or Solesmes Method? • By his inclusion of the quote from Dom Desrocquettes, Mr. Frederes’ position remains nebulous. Which edition does he consider official? Is it the pure Vatican edition with its inherent equalist rhythm, the Solesmes rhythmic editions based on the nuance and ictus theories, or the Graduale Triplex, which, generally speaking, provides enough indications for a satisfactory rendition in either equalist, nuanced equalist of the Solesmes or semiological variety, or proportional rhythm? Has a typical edition of the postconciliar Graduale Romanum been published that lacks the Solesmes markings? I don’t believe so. If defending the pure Vatican edition, why include the reference to “another system [that] is perfect and is actually better than Solesmes”? His position is further muddled by the inclusion of the excerpt from Cardinal Martinelli’s letter reiterating the equalist rhythm of the Vatican edition. I have conclusively demonstrated that the official rhythm is not used for papal Masses—and probably never was! You can easily confirm this for yourself by listening to the recordings. The Martinelli directive is, for all intents and purposes, a dead letter. Nobody today is obligated to comply with it, and I find it more than a bit odd that people are trying to resuscitate it some 113 years later, despite a contradictory decision in the dubia response published not even five years ago.

Another Erroneous Claim • Mr. Frederes again discredits himself by claiming that Montpellier H. 159 is “a note for note replica of the Vatican edition’s Puer natus est.” (Besides, if true, wouldn’t it be the other way around?) This manuscript from the late tenth or early eleventh century indicates pitches using the letters a through p, excluding j. Anyone knowledgeable of the rudiments of music can decipher this notation if he or she knows that h is an octave above a, p is another octave above h, and k is an octave above c. Here is a literal transcription of the chant in question:

Do we not find here six divergences from the Vatican edition? If the notes were the same, at the second nobis, we should see klkk ghg, not klik hg (two discrepancies). At the first eius, the i with quilisma is absent in the official edition, as are the final liquescent h of the second & and l of magni; and -li- of ­consilii is lacking the lower note, which would be notated as h. Let the reader confirm that my transcription and analysis are accurate.

May, Should, or Must? • I challenge Matthew Frederes to state his position unambiguously. I have been clear about my positions, and he, not I, is the one encouraging resistance and asserting that “progress trumps antiquity,” without recognizing that he is resisting both! For the traditional (extraordinary form) Latin Mass, is the Vatican edition with its equalist rhythm something that we may, should, or must use? What about the rhythm of the Solesmes editions? May, should, or must? It is obviously impossible to observe both equalist and nuanced rhythm simultaneously in the same chant! Must we observe the words and notes of the Vatican edition to the exclusion of any other variant of the chant? That position contradicts the motu proprio and dubia response I mentioned above. It seems that we have more mays than musts. As for shoulds, the prudent course would be to follow the wishes (as opposed to definite directives, which fall under musts) of one’s choirmaster or director, pastor, and superiors. As I like to say, remember rule number 1: Keep the boss happy!

Further Reading:

Dom Eugene Cardine, O.S.B., “Regarding the Critical Edition of the Graduale: Its Need, Advantages and Method,” The Gregorian Review, vol. 5, no. 1 (1958), pp. 21–30.

Dom Jacques Froger, O.S.B., “The Critical Edition of the Roman Gradual by the Monks of Solesmes,” Journal of the Plainsong and Mediaeval Music Society, vol. 1 (1978; original French article published in 1954), pp. 81–97.

Dom Joseph Gajard, O.S.B., “The Role of the Principal Families of Manuscripts in the Restoration of the Authentic Gregorian Versions,” The Gregorian Review, vol. 5, no. 1 (1958), pp. 31–45.

Fr. Rembert Weakland, O.S.B., “Review: Le Graduel romain,” Caecilia, vol. 89, no. 2 (1962), pp. 71–72.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Clap Your Hands!” (10 Mar 2023)

THE RECENT EXCHANGE WITH MATTHEW FREDERES proved to be a bit of a diversion from the Rhythm Wars topic. Instead of expending more time and energy debating the merits of melodic variants or hundred-year-old letters from cardinals, I would like to return to the subject of rhythm. In last month’s article, I deliberately chose an exceptional chant. Today I would like to examine a short introit with no melodic changes in the Graduale Novum.

1908 Graduale Romanum

2011 Graduale Novum

In the Graduale Novum, besides the addition of the adiastematic neumes, there are only three differences from the Vatican edition: the removal of the star marking the end of the intonation, the substitution of a quarter bar line for the half bar line, and the connected form of the penultimate neume. Here is a transcription in modern notation, followed by commentary:

1. unlike in previous examples in this series, I have used staccato dots to emphasize that the repeated notes should be rearticulated and not tied together

2. long + grace + long (pes initio debilis) corresponds to the combined evidence of L (the neumes of Laon 239, written above the staff) and E (Einsiedeln 121, written below the staff); L could be sung literally as long + two shorts, and E as two shorts + long; three shorts here is out of the question

3. the porrectus here terminates with a cephalicus, which indicates augmentative liquescence; the voiced consonant is given half the note value

4. ditto

5. the oriscus in E warns that the following note is not in unison

6. L notates a weak beginning note (torculus initio debilis) here; the first note is absent in a number of early sources, which supports the ornamental interpretation as a grace note

7. the Beneventan manuscripts write the last three notes as a torculus

8. half bar line in the Vatican edition

9. the combination of t and st in E is odd; Stingl thinks the t applies to the last note of the tristropha and the st to the following note

10. the oriscus here (and elsewhere) might indicate an ornament

11. pes + torculus in the Vatican edition; the connected (cursive) form used in the Novum agrees with the adiastematic neumes

Here is an attempt at an Urtext edition:

and a performing edition in Gregorian notation:

I’m Waiting… • With nearly all of my previous questions remaining unanswered almost three months later, I challenge contributors and readers alike to demonstrate how either the nuanced Solesmes rhythm or the equalist pure Vatican edition rhythm for this chant could possibly agree with the Messine neumes of L (Laon 239) or the St. Gall neumes of E (Einsiedeln 121). Do we have an older source for this chant than L? (And if so, what does it show?) Do the late medieval manuscripts faithfully reproduce the rhythm of L? If not, then regarding rhythm, how can they be considered reliable, let alone authoritative? With these questions unanswered by those objecting to the inclusion and observance of rhythmic markings based on the oldest extant sources, it is difficult to take their arguments seriously.

Ictus Fictus! · March 15, 2023

I GENUINELY APPRECIATE Charles Weaver’s latest post acknowledging candidly that the Solesmes rhythm “did not take the rhythmic elements of the adiastematic markings into account at its founding.” I have been forthright throughout this series about my intention to recover the rhythm of the earliest extant sources. This project will take years to complete, and I value constructive criticism. As I have stated previously, I continue to use the Solesmes method week in and week out with my men’s schola. Generally speaking, it gets satisfactory results, but I think there is considerable room for improvement in the method itself. I prefer the actual rendition to the theory behind it, but that’s the problem! Was Fr. Vollaerts mistaken when he wrote the following concerning the typical Solesmes-style performance of notes with the horizontal episema?

These sounds of longer duration have become, everywhere in the world (in all monasteries, churches, and even on gramophone records of perfect performances) sounds of absolute double duration collated with the ordinary short sounds of the cantus planus. (Footnote: An exception may be made for the long torculus and some other neum of four shaded sounds.) On the other hand, these same prolongations are often neglected altogether, resulting in the hearing of either longae of double duration, or of breves of single duration. . . . The singers, when adding some duration-nuance, immediately fall into a duration equalling two short sounds. Many choirs have been heard to treat these shaded tones often as sounds of even three short durations. (Rhythmic Proportions in Early Medieval Ecclesiastical Chant, 2nd ed., p. 229)

His assessment strikes me as astonishingly accurate. We can speak eloquently of long, beautifully shaped phrases, free rhythm, the importance of the tonic accent, and the spiritual aspects of chant, but those are hardly the exclusive preserve of the classic Solesmes method. Its truly distinctive characteristics are precisely what I have a problem with, namely the nuance and ictus theories that are its very heart and backbone. Take those away, and you no longer have the Solesmes method. I have articulated my objections to the nuance theory in some detail already in this series. Now I would like to elucidate the problems with the ictus theory.

The Ictus according to Mocquereau • The word ictus literally means stroke or beat. In conducting, it refers to the instant when the direction of the conducting gesture changes. This definition also applies in chant according to the Solesmes method, but in free rhythm without a steady beat, the ictus assumes a heightened importance. In order to stay together, the singers must know and understand what their conductor’s gestures correspond to in the printed music, and the Solesmes method furnishes rules to govern that. The placement of the ictus can be determined by a vertical episema above or below a note (rule 1). Where that indication is lacking, the ictus is placed at the beginning of a doubled or tripled note or on the note preceding a quilisma (rule 2). Where there is neither vertical episema, doubled/tripled note, nor quilisma, the ictus is placed at the beginning of a group of notes (rule 3). There is also a silent ictus at each full or double bar line within a chant (except in the rare instances when a slur is printed across the bar line). In syllabic passages where the ictus is not marked, its placement can be determined by counting backward two by two from the next known ictus and avoiding unstressed penultimate syllables whenever possible, giving preference to final or accented syllables. If you don’t know and apply those rules, you’re NOT really following the Solesmes method, regardless of what books you sing from or which recordings you’re trying to imitate. There are additional, more obscure rules concerning the placement of the ictus on a “culminating virga” within a group and avoiding placement of the tonic accent in the middle (on count two) of a ternary compound beat.

Downbeat, Upbeat, or Both? • The ictus marks the beginning of a two-note (binary) or three-note (ternary) compound beat. Any note that appears to be isolated actually forms part of a binary or ternary beat with the preceding note(s) or rest. Each ictus is further characterized by whether it is part of an arsic or thetic movement: arsis is élan or impulse, and thesis is repose. Although each ictus is labeled as arsic or thetic, with the chironomic conducting gesture accordingly modified, the Solesmes Rules for Interpretation also state that “the rhythmic fall or thesis will necessarily occur on every second or third note in the course of the melody,” although “these steps or falls form in an ascending movement the arsic part, or rise, of the larger rhythm, just as every step one takes in climbing up a hill goes to the general movement upward.” Well, it’s a fine simile that leads to a crummy syllogism! Just imagine it: “Every ictus is thetic. Some ictus are arsic. Therefore, some arses are theses.” Confused yet? Hardly any of this has its basis in medieval music theory or in the manuscripts themselves. It is a made-up system based on a nineteenth-century theories, and its usefulness and validity must be judged according to how well it conforms to reality. Magister dixit, the appeal to authority, isn’t good enough.

Without Justification • In our little two-line introit, the Solesmes method incorporates four false ictus: one at the last syllable of plaudite, two at the second syllable of jubilate, and one at the end of Deo. I see no possible justification for the marked ictus on the second note of (plaudi)te. Weaver rightly (in my judgment) identifies mi as the structural pitch in his simplified version. The third syllable of jubilate is a praepunctis or disaggregate neume, inconsistently interpreted in the Solesmes method. The first note may be lengthened. You see that that note is graphically separated from the other three; this corresponds exactly to what Dom Cardine called the neumatic break. Although not the case here, many of these disaggregate neumes also correspond to the melismatic mora vocis of the Vatican edition. I say that those isolated notes are treated inconsistently in the Solesmes method because the lengthening of them is, as far as I can tell, a later addition to the “classic” method—proto-semiology, with no hint in the Rules for Interpretation. The relevance of this explanation is that the ictus is sometimes placed on the first note of such configurations, despite rule 3.

Clarity in Modern Notation • The Solesmes monks also produced an edition of the Liber Usualis in modern notation, with more vertical episemata than appear in the “square note” editions. In the modern notation, the ictus is marked on the last note of -bi-, which means there must be another on the second note of -la-. The accompaniment edition by Achille Bragers agrees with this ictus placement. Rule 3 requires an ictus on the first note of -bi-. I established in my last post that the torculus here has a weak beginning (initio debilis) note, making it equivalent to a clivis with a lower auxiliary grace note (Kainzbauer prefers the term clivis urgens). Is it in any way reasonable to place the ictus on that weak beginning note? Of course not! Likewise for the short last note. Of the three notes, the upper note is the only one that falls on the beat. How can it be otherwise? (Incidentally, it occurred to me this past Sunday, singing from the Solesmes edition, that the same figure occurred twice in the gradual, at praevaleat and judicentur.) The placement of the ictus on the last sol of Deo is less objectionable than the other three cases, as there are indeed manuscripts that support a short-short-long short-short reading of the last five notes (Chartres 47, for example), and it is perfectly legitimate that Weaver has questioned my proposed rhythm here. If you’ve been following this series, you know by now that my principle is generally to give preference to the oldest available sources. I mentioned the use of a torculus in the Beneventan manuscripts (Bv 34 shown below), which are not the oldest sources. I won’t elaborate here, but Cardine’s discussion of the neumatic break helps explain why the Laon and St. Gall scribes simply didn’t use that notation.

More than Two Note Values • Besides the long and short note values of L and E, I have acknowledged a third durational value present in the notation of L: the weak beginning note of what Cardine called the special torculus, discussed in the previous paragraph. Weaver mentions the presence of virgae both with and without episemata in E, with the implication that they might represent more than two durations according to context:

For instance, we get, in E, the virga with episema, but we also get the virga without episema. These are both long, but equal (by necessity) in the mensuralist way. But when the same stroke is in composition as in the several examples of the climacus, it becomes short. And it is equally short regardless of the addition of the letter c (with c in plaudite; without in omnes and Deo).

It will be helpful to compare Bamberg 6 (top) and St. Gall 339, both of which might be older than E; it should not be forgotten, however, that L is probably at least three decades closer to the authentic tradition than any of the St. Gall sources for this chant.

Both Bam and 339 write an episema at each of the three occurrences of the bivirga; E does not. In L, I count seven instances of the letter a, all but one of which occur between notes that are already definitely long, including the three pairs notated as bivirgae in the St. Gall neumes. At Omnes, Bam writes the last note of the climacus definitely long; instead of pes + virga (bivirga urgens?), 339 writes a tristropha. For the third through eighth notes of the opening neume, no two of the four sources agree literally. Here are their rhythmic indications:

L: sslss?l
E: ssssll
Bam: sslsl?l
339: ssssss

Frankly, my solution is as good as any. At Deo, Bam and 339 contradict each other (and L and E) regarding the length of the fourth, fifth, and sixth notes. The greatest peculiarity seen so far occurs in Bam at ex[s]ultationis. At -ta-, there are three long marks: episema, t, and x. What are we dealing with here, and why do the other three manuscripts not show anything extraordinary? When I undertook my analysis of this introit for my previous post, I consulted the comparative table here to see if any source suggested an initio debilis neume on the following syllable, -ti-. At least in proportional rhythm, grace notes take their value from the preceding note, not the following note. I wonder if the triple long indication is nothing more than a reminder to hold the note a full beat without adding a grace note. We may never know!

Steps toward Restoration • For your consideration, I offer a partially corrected rhythmic edition based on the foregoing discussion, which corrects three of the false ictus and incorporates the points of interpretation mentioned by Weaver. You can verify that this version adds rhythmic markings but makes no changes to the Vatican edition:

Unlike in the Solesmes edition, there are no positive errors, but many of the manuscript indications are lacking. Where are those long bivirgae? What about the penultimate note of gentes, definitely long in all four of the manuscripts? What about the isolated uncini (Laon), tractuli (St. Gall), virgae (St. Gall), or puncta (Vatican) at -mnes, -di-, ma-, ju-, -te, vo-, and -ta-? In contrast to the same neumes at -bus, -o, and -nis, is there some good reason to interpret those other seven as short, especially the three on stressed syllables and the one with a triple long indication in Bamberg 6? Would something like the following not gain greatly in fidelity to the oldest sources, meanwhile avoiding dealing with the manuscript ambiguities (1–3, 6, 7) and controversial points of interpretation (4, 5, 8)?

This looks awfully close to my edition (below), with only those eight long marks lacking. Sing it. Whether you interpret the long notes as double proportions or slight nuances is unimportant for the moment; just be sure to sing them long enough that a scribe wouldn’t notate them as short notes.

Problem Spots • I drafted this section as a separate follow-up post but subsequently decided to include it here. All three of the controversial points of interpretation referred to above concern whether or not a note at the end of a neume is long. Mainstream semiology is in agreement that each of these notes should be long. To my knowledge, the principle is not articulated in Cardine’s Gregorian Semiology, but rather in his introduction to the 1983 Liber Hymnarius published by Solesmes, where he states as a rule that notes at the end of an otherwise short, cursive neume regain the normal syllabic value, which he calls the recovered syllabic value (valor syllabicus recuperatus). That principle is consistently applied in the Graduale Lagal (below) for neumes of three or more notes—although that edition was rejected by Cardine himself. Unlike proportionalists (mensuralists), semiologists make no distinction between odd- and even-numbered groupings. The specific neumes in question in the introit Omnes gentes are the cursive porrectus at -la-, the climacus resupinus flexus at De-, and the torculus resupinus flexus at -o-. Arguments for the short-short-long interpretation of the cursive porrectus in particular are to be found in the works already cited in this series.

As for the climacus resupinus flexus, I mentioned the Beneventan notation of the last three notes as a torculus, in opposition to the typical Chartres notation as short-short-long short-short. With only a little effort, I was able to identify sixteen other occurrences of this figure in fourteen chants, with most of them notated in four or five manuscripts; someone more enterprising will surely find additional examples. Among about 70 total instances I examined in Laon and the four oldest St. Gall sources (C, E, Bam, 339*), I found only two where the first note alone was written long, three where the third note alone was written long, and one where the fifth note was written long. Additionally, there is one instance where the fourth and fifth notes (the clivis) are both long, and another where the entire five-note figure is long. In none of these cases is a particular long mark duplicated in another source for the same chant. In contrast, the letter c above the fourth note is so prevalent that I didn’t attempt to count its occurrences. There are a few instances of c above the first note, and at least one of st after the third note. I did not notice a single instance of c or n next to the final note, but that is not sufficient to say definitively that it is not short. The data is inconclusive, and you can see why I call this a problem spot.

[Update: A few hours after publishing, I remembered a very similar figure (scandicus subbipunctis resupinus flexus) in the gradual Domine praevenisti, written entirely short in E, C, and 339. Bam writes the first, second, third, and fifth notes long, which correspond to the first and third notes of the climacus resupinus flexus. Fortunately, one of the surviving tenth-century fragments from Nonantola includes this chant and shows an episema on the last note at both occurrences (ei and saeculum). It might not be our smoking gun, but this evidence is certainly is worth noting. Below is Jan van Biezen’s transcription.]

Although they are both nominally cursive figures of five notes, unlike the climacus resupinus flexus, the torculus resupinus flexus is actually written without lifting the pen. It would be helpful for demonstrative purposes if some scribe had written it with an episema or t at the last note, but alas, we have no such luck. I only compared two other examples, both from the Midnight Mass offertory Laetentur caeli, but I will be on the lookout for others. If you don’t find the semiological principle of lengthening the final notes of neumes persuasive, consider whether my arguments concerning the rest of this chant have been convincing. If yes, then you can confirm for yourself that the short notes elsewhere either come in pairs (or other even numbers) or are grace notes, but here, at the end of the chant, we apparently have an odd number of short notes. Either there is syncopation, or there is some other explanation. I can think of only four ways out of the problem: 1. one of the notes is long, 2. the first note is a grace note, 3. the neume starts on the half beat instead of the beat itself, or 4. the following neume starts on the half beat. I see no evidence in favor of any of the latter three. My “solution” is to lengthen the last note, but I remain open to any other evidence-based possibilities.

Too Much? Not Enough! • I have shown that the Solesmes editions omit many of the length indications of the oldest sources. Although Jeff Ostrowski claims that the rhythmic markings are “technically illicit,” the 1958 Instruction on Sacred Music and Sacred Liturgy De musica sacra et sacra liturgia could hardly be any clearer: “The rhythmic signs which have been inserted into some chant editions on private authority are permitted so long as they not alter the melodic line of the grouping of the notes, as they appear in the Vatican editions.” Unfortunately, unlike for melodic variants, the Church has established no requirement that such rhythmic signs actually be correct or taken from ancient codices. There are no ictus marks per se in the adiastematic neumes, but do the Solesmes editions also fail to place the beat correctly? According to their own rules, there are 34 compound beats in the Solesmes edition of this antiphon. Thirty ictus are placed correctly, which doesn’t imply that the rhythm of the entire compound beat is correct. Only eleven of the Solesmes compound beats can be considered correct, with the ictic note marked in green (10) or brown (1) below. The four erroneous ictus discussed above are marked in red. Purple signifies a correctly identified ictus without the entire compound beat being correct (19 including the bar line; notice that the total so far adds up correctly: 10+1+4+19=34). Blue signifies an ictic note not identified by application of the Solesmes rules (24). Gray signifies non-ictic notes not misidentified as ictic (12). I invite you to verify for yourself that the total number of beats in my proposed proportional rhythm is 53, compared to the 34 of the Solesmes edition:

11 compound beats correctly identified (1 of them debatable)
+18 additional correctly identified ictic notes
+24 unidentified ictic notes
=53 beats

What percentage shall we consider a passing score? I believe we can achieve true artistry, beauty, piety, and authenticity in our singing without ictus placement rules and ternary groupings. What do you think?

* Jeff Ostrowski refers to these collectively as “Moc’s Fantastic Four,” with “Moc” being Dom Mocquereau.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Non Praevaleat” · April 10, 2023

MOST ENGLISH SPEAKERS have the notion that chanting is something fundamentally different than singing. The words we use have a tremendous effect upon the way we think. People who are fluent in more than one language sometimes have the experience of a slightly different personality taking over when they switch between languages. Many (most?) languages lack separate verbs for chant and sing; some also lack separate nouns for chant and song. Similarly, the singers of Western Europe in the Early Middle Ages would have had no words for arsis or thesis, and probably the only thing they would have known approximating upbeat or downbeat would have been the levatio and positio of the hand in marking a steady beat. Fast-forwarding a millennium, it seems reasonable to say that nobody living today was brought up with a proportional rhythm interpretation of Gregorian chant. Those of us who embrace it got to this point because we questioned unfounded claims. Like most people who learned either the Solesmes method or semiology, it was drilled into us that mensuralism was to be avoided at all costs. That evasion was something we had to accept on the authority of our teachers, choirmasters, and various authors, without proof.

Analysis • I encourage everyone to study the sources for themselves, and I make the resources available to them to do so. Now let’s study together. We’re going to examine just two words and eighteen notes from the gradual for the third Sunday in Lent. I have doctored the sources only to the extent it was necessary to place the syllables on the same line, remove the neumes of other syllables, and, where appropriate, show the clef. Compare which figures (neumatic signs) are used interchangeably among the various manuscripts.

Liber Usualis:

Graduale Novum:

Einsiedeln 121:

Bamberg 6:

St. Gall 339:

Graduale Restitutum (Stingl):

Graduale Renovatum (Nickel):

Graduale Lagal (Hakkennes):

Graduale Authenticum/Synopticum (Kainzbauer):

Comparative table (Kainzbauer):

My edition with numbered notes for ease of identification:

• 1. uncinus in L; plain virga in all SG sources

  2. cursive torculus initio debilis in L; cursive torculus in all SG; first note marked with c in C

  3. 〃

  4. 〃

  5. uncinus in L; virga with episema in E & C; plain virga in Bam; tractulus (with episema?) in 339

  6. cursive clivis with oriscus plus virga in L; cursive clivis plus pes quassus in all SG; C & Bam add c above the clivis; Bam & 339 add an episema at the end of the neume

  7. 〃

  8. 〃

  9. 〃

  10. uncinus in L; tractulus with episema in C; virga with episema in E; plain tractulus in Bam & 339

  11. short-short-long climacus in L, C, & E; entirely short climacus in Bam* & 339

  12. 〃

  13. 〃

  14. non-cursive clivis (=two uncini) in L; clivis with t in C; clivis with episema in all other SG

  15. 〃

  16. short-short-long climacus in L; short-short-long climacus in C, with c above first note; entirely short climacus in E with st before first note; entirely short climacus in Bam*; long-short-short climacus in 339

  17. 〃

  18. 〃

*In Bam, it is often difficult to determine whether the last note of a climacus is a short punctum or long tractulus.

I tend to go with the most straightforward reading of anything ambiguous. Because of the rounded clivis in L and the letter c in C and Bam, I offer an alternative interpretation:

Conclusions • The Graduale Novum incorporates two instances of neumatic disaggregation not found in the Vatican edition, which are undoubtedly an improvement to the square notation. Special forms for the weak beginning note and the oriscus appear in some of the other editions. Hakkennes and Nickel appear to interpret the special torculus as a long torculus initio debilis, i.e. a long (non-cursive or episematic) clivis preceded by a lower auxiliary grace note. The reading of the second and third notes (#3–4) as long is a mistake apparently originating with Cardine (see Gregorian Semiology, pp. 51–58). The adiastematic manuscripts are generally in agreement with one another in their use of either the short or long form. In the short, cursive form, the second and third notes are long only relative to the weak beginning note. They each have the usual short value of half a beat. Yet again, we encounter a false ictus at the third note of -le- (#12), which must be rejected as incorrect, unhistorical, and unmusical. The unmarked ictus on the first note of prae- (#2) must likewise be rejected.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Patrick’s Fourth Reply to Jeff” (4 July 2023)

THE VERY FIRST SENTENCE ON THE PROJECT PAGE OF MY WEBSITE says plainly, “This is a work in progress, updated regularly.” I obviously cannot utilize 100% of the time an edition that’s not yet completed. In his third response to me, Jeff Ostrowski wrote, “I was disturbed to learn that you do not use the mensuralist theories you propound in real life with your choirs.” I beg my readers’ indulgence for my addressing the entirety of this reply directly to Jeff. In fact, Maestro Ostrowski, I use proportional rhythm with my choirs alongside the Solesmes method. Chant according to the Solesmes method is used for approximately 150 Sung Masses a year at my parish. About one-sixth of those Masses also include chants of the Proper of the Mass sung in proportional rhythm according to the oldest extant manuscripts. I have shared recordings of my women’s schola singing in proportional rhythm directly with you, and many other ensemble recordings are available publicly on my YouTube channel, which is prominently linked on the homepage of my website. I also have unlisted practice recordings on YouTube that I’m willing to share upon request. To claim that I lack the courage of my convictions, implying that I am unwilling to practice what I preach, is not only ignorant and inaccurate, but offensive. Furthermore, as a form of ad hominem attack, even if your claim were factually true, it would be fallacious and invalid as an argument against my position.

Length Indications in Chartres 47 • Jeff, in your first post of this series, you wrote the following:

957AD Manuscript • Let’s go back even further, to 47chartres|957. This manuscript was created (perhaps) circa 957AD. We see that—just as the others—this manuscript contradicts Mocquereau’s elongations:

The highlighted neumes show two long, non-cursive clives. The Solesmes edition writes a horizontal episema at the beginning of each:

In what way does Chartres 47 (Ch) contradict those episemata, which you deride as “Mocquereau’s illicit modifications,” “Mocquereau’s elongations,” and “Mocquereau’s additions”? You have misinterpreted the manuscript, and so did Mocquereau—just not in the way you claim! In fact, the oldest sources show four equally long notes, not four shorts, not long-short long-short. You have discredited yourself by failing to differentiate between the cursive and non-cursive forms of the clivis. I addressed this with sufficient clarity and detail in the paragraph titled “The Long and Short of It” in my second response. I really have nothing to add to what I wrote there in November of last year, but since you have pushed the matter, I will restate what I’ve already written. Look at observaberis, circled in blue in the examples below. At -be-, there is a clivis, also called a flexa or clinis, which indicates two notes, with the melodic contour high-low. That clivis is written in a cursive form in Ch, without graphic separation between the two notes. Laon 239 (L), Einsiedeln 121 (E), Bamberg 6 (B), and St. Gall 339 (G), also write a cursive clivis there, with E and B adding the letter c.

Chartres 47 (Ch):

Laon 239 (L):

Einsiedeln 121 (E):

Bamberg 6 (B):

St. Gall 339 (G):

Look at the second syllable of sustinebit, circled in red. Among those five manuscripts, G alone writes exactly the same kind of clivis there at -ti- as at observaberis. Note that G is typically dated as the latest of the five sources. B adds the letter t. E adds an episema. L and Ch both write a non-cursive form of the clivis, where the two notes are graphically separated. Now look at propitiatio, circled in yellow. Among those five manuscripts, G alone writes the same short form of clivis there, twice, as at the previous occurrences. The others either write a non-cursive form or add an episema. Dom Mocquereau was right to add episemata at sustinebit and propitiatio, but he was mistaken in interpreting them as a nuanced lengthening of only the first note of each neume. He should have added them at Deus as well; look at the green circle in the manuscript images to see why. Unfortunately, Ch is damaged at that spot. As for the end of the introit, marked in purple, everyone doubles those notes, regardless of interpretive approach. It is inconsequential that both Ch and the Vatican edition write a short clivis to end the chant.

Faith, Common Knowledge, or Logic? • Jeff, you have asked me to give evidence for why I believe the non-cursive writing of Ch signifies lengthening. It is a somewhat improper question for a couple of reasons. Believe implies something that I accept on faith, and this isn’t that. It’s like asking why someone believes the figure 5 means the number five. It’s also like asking me to provide evidence that sixteenth and eighth notes or half and whole notes, respectively, have the exact rhythmic proportion 1:2. Is that always true? Recitative and Anglican chant are examples of music where the notation doesn’t function that way.

You must not understand what I write here to be an “always in every possible instance” type of explanation. I am addressing specific occurrences in the specific chant I’ve been asked to analyze, and those instances are sufficient to demonstrate my point. Ch, L, E, and B use one form of the clivis at observaberis and a different form at sustinebit and twice at propitiatio. In the first article of this series, you explained that the letter t means tarditas, trahere, tenere, or tene, all of which signify lengthening. In my third response to you, under the paragraph heading “Interchangeable Markings,” I noted only one instance of the letter t in the selected manuscripts for this chant, at sustinebit in B, where it corresponds to an episema in E and non-cursive neumes in L and Ch. Unless one wants to argue in favor of G against the four older sources, there can be no doubt that the clivis at observaberis is short and the ones at sustinebit and propitiatio are long. Do you really and truly believe that the version of this chant notated in Ch, L, E, and B was sung in equalist rhythm in the tenth century, or that the long marks were nothing more than “slight nuances, probably intended for individual cantors,” which agree with each other only by accident? Preposterous, I say! If you believe that, I have some nice oceanfront property here in Arizona that might interest you. If I was too dumb to notice your persuasive argument to the contrary, then kindly reiterate it for me! Are we in agreement that I have now provided the “pointed and narrow and specific reasons” you demanded, all drawn entirely from this one chant and our previous discussion of it? We find unanimity among the oldest sources, with divergence as we get farther from them chronologically.

Avoiding the Crux of the Matter • Jeff, you wrote, “looking at the entire manuscript tradition (and not just two or three codices that are particularly clean and accessible) we see the most astonishing, breathtaking, and mind-boggling correspondence between the various MSS.” In fact, by the eleventh century, we see not “mind-boggling correspondence” regarding the rhythmic indications, but confusion, which soon degenerates into cantus planus without differentiation between long and short notes; indeed, such confusion is already somewhat evident in St. Gall 339, shown above. Let me ask you: Is it “miraculous” that Old Hundredth is sung with the same melody today as in 1551? I don’t think so, but we can demonstrate beyond the shadow of a doubt that the rhythm has been altered and now exists with several variants, which are more than the straightforward duple versus triple meter changes you make them out to be. Each version represents how the tune was sung in a given time and place, but only the oldest version shows the original rhythm. This concept should not be hard to understand.

1565:

This version is presumably identical to version published in the 1551 edition.
Recording, sung in Dutch.

1584:

In this edition, there is already a tendency toward an isometric (equalist) version.

1628:

Recording of the arrangement by Vaughan Williams, with the same rhythm.

1653:

Before 1750 (Bach):

This version differs so drastically from the original that I haven’t attempted to mark the rhythmic divergences. A melodic alteration is marked in blue.

1791:
Recording of the isometric version, sung in Dutch.

1854:
Recording in the traditional American “fasola” style, with four-syllable solfege sung first.

1940:

This is the same as the 1628 version.

1990:
Here the rhythmic and isometric versions are printed together on the same page.

In all of the above examples, there is only a single melodic variant, yet it would be impossible to sing the different rhythmic versions simultaneously without cacophony ensuing. If you listen to the Dutch recording of the isometric version, you hear that it’s sung so slowly that you hardly miss the differentiation of long and short notes. There are indeed a few traces (“intermediary steps”) of the rhythmic decay, but not millions or even dozens. In mischaracterizing the rhythmic variants as merely a change from quadruple to triple time, you have demonstrated your ignorance and misunderstanding of the original chorale rhythm just as blatantly as your ignorance and misunderstanding of the original Gregorian chant rhythm. In another recent post, you claimed that, “We find a breathtaking one-to-one correlation of the pitches in more than 95% of the manuscripts,” yet I counted five discrepancies out of a total 39 notes, just from omnes to the first allelu-, in the three manuscript examples you shared in that very post. Why not take the time to compare a few sources carefully, note for note, instead of making up your own bogus statistics? Your claim of “astonishing,” “breathtaking,” “mind-boggling,” and “miraculous” correspondence of the chants throughout the centuries in your latest response—right after stating that “the oldest manuscripts often contradict one another”—strikes me as a way of sidestepping the matter I entered into this series to discuss: the rhythm of the oldest extant sources. It is not sufficient to say that they often contradict one another; there is much that can be determined with a high degree of certainty by consulting and comparing them. There is no rhythmic agreement across the centuries, from the tenth through the fifteenth, because the authentic traditional rhythm was lost; whether you believe so or not doesn’t change the historical facts!

Calling Your Bluff • Jeff, do you believe that there was a conspiracy among the Protestant printers to suppress the authentic rhythm of the chorale melodies and that the Reformed congregations magically forgot the true rhythm because of mass hallucination? Is that a reasonable accusation for me to make against you? Of course not. I implore you to retract immediately your insinuation, with which you began this debate, that Wagner, Mocquereau, Gajard, Vollaerts, Cardine, Murray, Agustoni, Göschl, Joppich, Fischer, Berry, Kelly, Saulnier, Blackley, Weaver, I myself, and nearly every chant scholar of the modern era all believe that “Catholics across Europe suffered a type of mass hallucination, in which they all forgot the ‘true’ rhythm of plainsong,” or that the chant “magically switched its fundamental rhythm practically overnight, without a trace.” It is disingenuous and ludicrous to inject the notion of hallucination and magic into the historical narrative, which you have repeated even in your most recent response to me. When I first called you out on this nonsense, you responded that you were “attempting to give a summary of what people like Dom Mocquereau believe.” If you’re going to stand by your insidious claim, then PROVE IT from something one of us has written. Who has theorized mass hallucination or magical amnesia? As far as I can tell, it’s an invention of none other than Jeff Ostrowski!

Parting Shots • Jeff, if you were unable to find the time, over the course of more than half a year, to read a single “enormously lengthy” 21-page chapter by Fr. Vollaerts—which amounts to less than one page a week from November 3 to May 16!—I question whether it is worth my time and energy to continue this discussion. You waited five months to reply to only several of my questions and asked that I wait a minimum of five days to reply to yours. I seriously considered making you wait five months or longer, but doing so would serve no purpose other than spite—especially since I haven’t said anything new. Frankly, I am unconvinced that you are any more capable of interpreting a triplex edition correctly than you are of reading Chartres 47 correctly. You’ve repeatedly proclaimed your opinion that the oldest sources shouldn’t be considered more valuable or authoritative than “the other 10,000.” If you don’t think Laon 239, Einsiedeln 121, and St. Gall 359 are superior to any random codex from, say, the fourteenth century, then what’s the point of studying the adiastematic neumes anyway? After more than eight months, it appears quite possible that, despite our shared skepticism of the Solesmes method, we have little common basis for constructive dialogue regarding the rhythm of the oldest manuscripts and are reaching the point of merely repeating ourselves ad nauseam. If I were in your shoes, I would have waved the white flag already! Regardless of whether or not this post concludes my contribution to the Gregorian Rhythm Wars series, I would like to say that I greatly appreciate the opportunity to have presented the proportional chant rhythm of the Early Middle Ages to a wide audience. Anyone interested in delving more deeply into the material is welcome to visit my website, where my contact information and many valuable resources can be found.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Williams Responds to Weaver” (12 July 2023)

BY THEIR NATURE, SUBJECTIVE ARGUMENTS are more difficult to address than logical arguments based on fact. So far in this series, I have based my arguments primarily on evidence directly from the oldest manuscripts themselves, Jeff Ostrowski has based his primarily on ecclesiastical legislation, and Charles Weaver has based his primarily on aesthetic considerations and the Solesmes theorists. In his latest contribution, Charles wrote the following:

We could . . . say that the interpretation of the signs from St. Gall or the other early sources is definitely not the foremost part of what Mocquereau is doing in this or in any passage of chant. The sign is something that Mocquereau consults, but then his editorial practice subordinates to that information to his broader editorial and interpretive program, based on his principles of rhythm. . . . The signs (St. Gall and all the rest) show what they show. Perhaps Mocquereau was wrong with his interpretation of these signs (as Patrick asserts), but he was wrong for a specific reason having to do with the tradition of rhetorical performance.

Mocquereau was wrong, and there’s no probably or perhaps to it. As for the why, subordinating clear evidence to contradictory a priori principles strikes me as a greater cause for concern than subordinating the same evidence to personal preference pure and simple—however egregious the latter may be. We ought to know better more than a century later. I have no doubt that many cling to outdated scholarship and an anachronistic aesthetic, invariably described in spiritualized prose, in good faith, with the utmost sincerity, but that doesn’t change the bare fact that it’s outdated scholarship and an anachronistic aesthetic.

Technically Deficient but Spiritually Superior? • Many still believe that the Solesmes method represents how chant was actually sung a thousand years ago. Anyone who has followed this series should be familiar enough with the evidence by now to reject that idea entirely. The better educated and more honest defenders of the Solesmes method present a type of argument that can be caricatured—if not summarized—as follows: This isn’t how it was actually sung a thousand years ago, but don’t you hear and feel how holy it is? I don’t mean to mock my colleague’s piety or anyone else’s, but I have a serious problem with three assumptions underlying that position: 1. that a devout but rhythmically inaccurate rendition is superior (or at least preferable) to a rhythmically accurate one; from which it follows 2. that a rhythmically accurate performance is not conducive to piety in the same way as the Solesmes method, and therefore, 3. that the Solesmes style is an improvement over the rhythm that was handed down from the Fathers of the Church. How can the technically superior performance not be more effective in moving the listener to prayer? If the performers themselves are not similarly moved, that’s their own personal problem; it is not our place as musicians to judge subjective spiritual dispositions or to gauge the quality of a performance by how it stimulates our own religious sentiments. (After all, many Catholics find the contents of the Glory & Praise and Gather collections more meaningful and edifying than any chant interpretation.) If the words and music themselves are insufficient to move the hearts of the singers and hearers, the composition is unworthy of the liturgy in the first place.

A Challenge to Charles • As for Dom Gajard’s claim that the horizontal episema represents “an invitation, not to external display, but to enter into one’s soul and there to find the indwelling Guest,” I challenge Dr. Weaver to explain how a doubling of the notes in question fails to achieve the same effect (or should I say affect, or Affekt?) as a less-than-double agogic nuance. The Solesmes method rarely lengthens a note that is written short in the oldest manuscripts, but there is one case in which it unfailingly does so: the salicus. The Solesmes Rules for Interpretation state that the horizontal episema would have also been used for the salicus, were it not for the difficulty of writing it (Liber Usualis, English edition, p. xxviij). Is the lengthening of the middle note of the salicus also an invitation to enter into one’s soul and there find the indwelling Guest? Why or why not? Apart from the salicus aberration, a comparison of my edition of nearly any chant will reveal more such “invitations” than in the Solesmes edition. Are more episemata inconsistent with the invitation to look within and with “effects that radiate outward in time and color the entire passage”? Chant in proportional rhythm not only offers more invitations to look within, if that is the meaning one wishes to give the episema, but it better preserves the spiritual impulse behind the original composition. It is truly a restored tradition, neither an alteration nor a misinterpretation of the sources.

Golden Rule . . . • According to the preface to the Vatican edition, the “golden rule” states that “there must be no pause at the end of any neum followed immediately by a new syllable of the same word; by no means must there be a lengthening of sound still less a silent beat, for this would break up and spoil the diction” (Liber Usualis, p. xiij). What can be meant by a “silent beat” other than a rest? The “lengthening of sound,” however, refers to the mora ultimae vocis, which will be discussed below. In the previous paragraph of the preface, pause is contrasted with breathing; therefore, it appears that the “pause at the end of any neum” means “a lengthening of sound,” not a breath or rest. In the Solesmes Rules for Interpretation, the rule is restated as, “Never take breath just before a fresh syllable of a word” (p. xxxix), which is entirely sensible. This golden rule concerning “pauses” between syllables within a word, apparently not written anywhere before 1274, is some four centuries removed from the oldest extant sources. In early Solesmes publications, it was applied so stringently that the neumed, “chantified” versions of hymns from later centuries were corrupted to remove most long notes before new syllables of the same word, resulting in such absurdities as these:

The latter is marked rhythmus usu receptus! In the former, long notes do occur before new syllables of the same word, at adeste and adoremus, but they are printed as a distropha (two puncta) instead of a single punctum with dot or episema. These editorial “improvements” were mercifully reversed in later editions, where these two hymns are printed in modern notation instead. An exceptional case involving the golden rule remains intact in the hymn Adoro te devote, where a footnote cautions the singer: “In verses 2 and 6 no pause in last line.” In the Proper of the Mass, we don’t have to look far at all for examples of the distropha before a new syllable, as they abound in the first Mass of the liturgical year. Here’s just one example with two such occurrences:

In fact, Do- and da- are not only doubled notes, but doubled long notes in the manuscripts:

Surely our readers would benefit from an explanation of how these lengthenings don’t violate the golden rule, especially when the two notes are tied together. I know I would!

Or Golden Exception? • In the two introits that have been analyzed in detail in this series, namely Si iniquitates and Omnes gentes, I count a total of 41 syllables that are neither word finals nor monosyllabic words. Of those 41, only seven of the neumes end with a note that is definitely short, and one of those is a doubled note (torculus strophicus). Another six, most of them discussed here, could be interpreted as short. The rest are long. The so-called golden rule isn’t much of a rule at all if the oldest manuscripts have to be ignored 68 to 85 percent of the time in order to observe it. Rather than affirming Mocquereau’s interpretation of the golden rule, the oldest sources refute it. (The Solesmes apologists are almost certain to say that such methodological rigor entirely misses the point. How convenient, and how ironic to reproach those who would dare to quantify the rhythm in the context of an article about avoiding pauses and silent beats!) In my editions, double-long notes, marked with both horizontal episema and punctum mora dot, appear at the end of phrases coinciding with a period, question mark, or colon in the text, sometimes a comma, and followed by a bar line. I’ve chosen my words carefully in order to be crystal clear about the distinction between doubled long notes and double-long notes. Doubled long notes are two long notes at the same pitch on the same syllable, as in the Dominus dabit example. Double-long notes are ordinary long notes such as the tractulus, uncinus, or virga (in most contexts), which are doubly augmented at the end of a phrase. This mora ultimae vocis is much like a fermata in modern music. As a rule, these double-long notes occur in chant at the end of a word, not within the word.

Semiology • The 1983 Liber Hymnarius contains detailed rules for semiological interpretation, comparable to those of the Liber Usualis for the Solesmes method. That part of the preface was inexplicably removed from the 2019 edition, along with the rhythmic markings. In a scathing review of that revision, Prof. Franz Karl Praßl wrote the following:

Behind the minimizing and euphemistic statement that the “rhythmic signs” were removed is concealed the surprising and shocking observation that anything that in any way could recall the interpretation of chant in light of the oldest manuscripts has been obliterated. . . . The lifegiving power of the melodies in their differentiated rhythmic form and theological proclamation has been castrated by the removal of the various types of dots and episemas. . . .

One can only deeply regret what happened with this edition. Distinguished Solesmes chant scholars such as Pothier, Mocquereau, Claire, and Cardine were always at the cutting edge of scholarly advances in questions of restitution and interpretation. Today, regression and retrospective dominate. That pains the heart. One wonders what is behind this and how we could have arrived at this point.

Although my understanding differs from that of the semiological school of interpretation, I share Praßl’s concerns, and so should you. That 1983 preface states that notes at the end of an otherwise short, cursive neume regain the normal syllabic value, which is called the recovered syllabic value (valor syllabicus recuperatus). The recovered syllabic value applies not only at the end of a word or phrase, but at the end of syllables within a word, which is clear from the wording of the preface and the musical example included in it. If pausa in the quote from Elias Salomonis is taken to mean the mora ultimae vocis rather than an ordinary long note (the normal or recovered syllabic value in the terminology of the semiologists), then there is no difficulty in applying the golden rule to proportional rhythm, semiology, the Solesmes method, or any other style of chant, and likewise if it may be understood primarily as a prohibition against breathing between syllables of the same word, which is indeed sage advice. If, on the other hand, pausa is understood to apply to the ordinary long note (normal or recovered syllabic value), then the quote underscores the reality that the authentic rhythm was long lost by the thirteenth century. What do contemporary sources say? This sentence from Engelbert of Admont (ca. 1250–1331) is unambiguous: “The pausa is actually a medium silence of breathing between made distinctions” (De musica, tractatus quartus, cap. XL: “Pausa vero est inter distinctiones factas medium silentium respirandi”). I would say, “Case closed!” but even that clear definition of pausa is unlikely to appease those who are determined to preserve nineteenth-century performance practice at all costs. At any rate, it describes performance practice in the late thirteenth or early fourteenth century, not the late ninth or early tenth. The oldest manuscripts have an inherent authority that is greater than that of any theorist from a later century. I have played along for the sake of argument, but if we’re judging ninth- or tenth-century manuscripts according to the doctrine of thirteenth-century theorists, we have it backwards.

Universal or Particular? • I question why a style of singing, which was used by a particular congregation of Benedictines from the mid-nineteenth to the mid-twentieth century, should be idealized as the best interpretation for universal use in the Latin rite today. The Solesmes method was in more general use only for about six decades, and even during that time, it wasn’t used everywhere. In fact, it’s no longer used where it started. What style of chant was “traditional” in Rome at the end of the nineteenth century? Finally, insistence upon a nuanced interpretation of chant—whether the classic Solesmes method, or semiology with its limitless range of agogic nuances—excludes all of the traditional chant of the Eastern churches. Is there any Eastern church that uses chant with a rhythm anything like the Solesmes method or mainstream semiology, without a steady beat? (Readings, priest’s prayers, and other instances of liturgical recitative or cantillation are not under consideration.) Is measured rhythm prayerful for the Eastern rites, just not the Latin rite? If so, then why not rob the works of Palestrina, Victoria, Haydn, or Rheinberger of their authentic rhythm too? I ask Charles and Jeff both: What is to be gained from outdated scholarship and an anachronistic aesthetic that cannot be better accomplished by a return to the oldest sources?

1

1th/12th-Century Romanesque (top) and 13th-Century Gothic Architecture
(clockwise from top left) Saint-Sernin, Toulouse; San Clemente, Rome; Sainte-Chapelle, Paris; Cologne Cathedral

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Tradition, Beauty, and Musicality” (16 July 2023)

IN HIS LATEST REPLY, Charles Weaver conveniently left out the sentence immediately before the quoted text from the Scolica enchiriadis, which says, “Come, let us sing for exercise; I will stamp my feet in anticipation, and you will imitate in following” (Age canamus exercitii usu; plaudam pedes ego in praecinendo, tu sequendo imitabere). In the context of discussing metrical feet, someone else might translate the second clause as, “I will clap the feet.” Either way, are we to believe that teacher and pupil stamped their feet or clapped their hands in free oratorical rhythm, with agogic nuances instead of a steady beat? Vollaerts notes that an eleventh-century manuscript from the archives of St. John Lateran gives the melody of the Ego sum via antiphon in St. Gall neumes with episemata, which means we’re actually dealing with long and double-long notes, in 1:2 proportion, sped up to equal ordinary short and long notes.

Why We Fight • I was invited to participate in this series to defend the position that the rhythm of Gregorian chant fundamentally involves short and long notes in 1:2 proportion. I have demonstrated various ways in which that position is tenable according to the oldest manuscripts and the medieval theorists. Charles acknowledged that Guido’s meaning is sometimes obscure, which is a common complaint about many of the medieval theorists. But as Alasdair Codona has pointed out elsewhere, they use unambiguous terms such as unus, duo, and ratio. There is no good reason to think that a 1:2 ratio means anything besides what the words literally mean. Where does any medieval theorist write of rhythmic nuances of the type promoted by Mocquereau, Gajard, and Cardine—to wit, an expressive lengthening for the episema or ordinary long note (tractulus, uncinus, or virga in most instances) that is somewhere between single and double in duration? Can a single shred of evidence be produced, or is it just a made-up theory? It is imperative that we separate the nineteenth-century “tradition” of rhetorical chant from the real tradition. Charles writes of “something as difficult and ambiguous as the rhythm of Gregorian chant,” but short and long notes in 1:2 proportion with a steady beat aren’t especially difficult or ambiguous. Many of the difficulties do not arise from the oldest extant sources but are the creation of men who have turned these shorts and longs into nuances and nuances of nuances.

The Golden Exception • Regrettably, my objections to Mocquereau’s interpretation of the golden rule were left unanswered. Something that applies a mere fifteen percent of the time is an exception, not a rule:

Neumes followed immediately by a new syllable of the same word:
red – long in both sources = 22
purple – long in one source = 4
blue – long by interpretation = 8
orange – short but doubled = 1
green – short in both sources = 6
total = 41

Giving the skeptics the benefit of the doubt (quite literally), I have revised my previous figure of notes that could be interpreted as short from six to eight, including the virga in Domine and the oriscus at the beginning of exsultationis. As for the ends of phrases (or words), tenor and mora vocis are interchangeable terms for what were formerly unnoted lengthenings, later indicated with bar lines; it is futile to search for them in the oldest manuscripts! I was pleased to read the admission that, “this discussion, from the eleventh century, is already certainly from the post-Mensuralist era, if the chant was originally mensuralist.” The Hartker Antiphoner is typically dated to between 990 and 1000, when Guido was yet a child. His galloping horse analogy is unproblematic from the mensuralist perspective and is quoted by Vollaerts as well. As far as I can tell, we’re all in agreement about lengthening the last note of phrases. Lengthening several notes together or the final of every word is more contentious, but I think there is some wiggle room for interpretation of the contradictory evidence we have at our disposal, some of which may represent local practices. It is a different matter when diverse sources from hundreds of miles apart are seen to be in agreement.

Pedagogical Pedigree • I, too, can trace a direct pedagogical lineage to Marier and Guéranger, just as I can trace a keyboard lineage to Beethoven and Bach. Many musicians can do this, and it’s not as remarkable as it might sound. As Jeff recently reminded us, we all came from somewhere! The first person I learned Gregorian chant from was Cal Shenk, who studied with Marier. Two of my organ teachers studied with Arthur Poister (“now play it with stug!”), who studied with Marcel Dupré, who studied with Guilmant and Widor, both of whom studied with Lemmens, who studied with Hesse, who studied with Rinck, who studied with Kittel, who studied with J. S. Bach. Two of my piano teachers studied with Roy McAllister, who studied with “Madame” Isabelle Vengerova, who studied with Theodor Leschetizky, who studied with Carl Czerny, who studied with Beethoven. Unsurprisingly, as the subject becomes more specialized—piano, then organ, then chant—the number of generations to a teacher immediately recognizable by surname only diminishes.

Poister, Vengerova, Marier
Master Teachers on American Soil

I play and sing the music of Bach, Beethoven, Dupré, Guilmant, Lemmens, and Widor, but I don’t sing anything composed by Guéranger. Who taught him chant? Who taught Gontier? And more importantly, which of their masters’ ideas did they ultimately reject? Gontier is more than nine centuries removed from the oldest extant sources, which is a lot of time for countless errors, alterations, corrections, and revisions to have crept in. Charles says, “at the very least the Mocquereau method retains its value as a way to learn to make beautiful liturgical music out of the notation in the Liber.” But now let us move beyond the Liber, back to the sources! The rhythmic adiastematic manuscripts are much closer to the pure tradition. Even if they aren’t totally reliable in every instance, they’re the best guide we have; the later sources are rhythmically corrupted, and anything earlier is highly conjectural because of the lack of notated sources. I am not a theorist, and my objective is simply to complete a performing edition based on the more critical edition (i.e., the Graduale Novum) for parish use.

Beauty and Musicality • Charles wrote, “let us also set aside the idea of correctness in performance as the ultimate musical value.” I can speak only for myself, but I have no such idea of correctness as the ultimate musical value. The right notes and rhythm are the beginning of musicality, not the end of it. That is what I teach my choirs. My editions are a tool for the performers to make music with. Music, after all, is a combination of sounds, not notes on a page. Did I not recently write of my editions, “Whatever you do, make music with them!”? As Charles said, “Let us strive to perform historical music in a way that conforms to the historical data, sure. But let us also perform in a way that is beautiful.” Also is a key word. To perform in a beautiful way that willfully ignores the historical evidence is a misinterpretation or distortion, especially if passed off as the original version. Besides, I would prefer the best semiological recordings, such as those of the Coro Gregoriano de Lisboa, Einsiedeln under Bannwart, or the Schola Resupina, or even the more exotic or soloistic recordings by Pérès, Poisblaud, or Vellard over those of Fontgombault, Clear Creek, or the Institute on purely aesthetic grounds any day of the week, hands down, with or without the neumes in front of me.

Reinventing the Wheel • There are copious recordings, of varying quality, of chant in the Solesmes style, many of which are now available for free. Nevertheless, there are constant endeavors to make new recordings in the same style. I have my own “warts and all” live liturgical recording of the Gregorian Requiem Mass on YouTube, sung from the Liber Usualis according to the Solesmes method with a completely different group of men than now make up our schola, all volunteers, and live recordings of the congregational chants are available on our parish website. Those were added primarily to help our parishioners learn the chants themselves and for out-of-town families planning funerals to hear what a Requiem Mass sounds like here. On my hard drive, I surely have recordings of the Propers for every Sunday and holy day of obligation sung from the Liber Usualis by my schola, but I have no inclination to share them with the world. Why? Because they’ve been recorded in that style already—some of them dozens of times—and there’s no need to reinvent the wheel. How delightful it would be to hear chants sung beautifully in a style that hasn’t been recorded hundreds of times already! I hope Dr. Weaver’s encouragement of learning multiple approaches will not fall on deaf ears.

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Patrick’s Fifth Reply to Jeff” (24 July 2023)

AS WE APPROACH THE NINE-MONTH MARK IN THIS SERIES, I wish to reiterate the position I have defended all along: the oldest extant manuscripts show the chants with long and short notes in 2:1 proportion, which fit into the framework of a steady beat (not to be confused with a meter or time signature), contrary to what nearly everyone in our era has been taught. In his fourth response to me, Jeff wrote, “Patrick, you correctly noted that 339sanGall|1039 does not match the others, but you give no explanation for this.” Is that so? In my fourth reply, I noted that St. Gall 339 (G) shows exactly the same form of the clivis at observaberis, sustinebit, and propitiatio, mentioning that it “is typically dated as the latest of the five sources”—Jeff’s article dates it 73 years later than Laon—and commenting later that:

In fact, by the eleventh century, we see not “mind-boggling correspondence” regarding the rhythmic indications, but confusion, which soon degenerates into cantus planus without differentiation between long and short notes; indeed, such confusion is already somewhat evident in St. Gall 339.

In my third response, I quoted Aribo, who wrote in ca. 1070 that the idea of composing and singing proportionally had “already been dead for a long time, even buried.” Peter Wagner, citing the Musica enchiriadis, notes the evidence for the slow performance of organum (harmonized chant), requiring a slow rendition of the chant itself (Einführung in die gregorianischen Melodien, vol. 2, 1912, pp. 370–371). Anyone claiming that “the ‘authentic rhythm’ became corrupted or forgotten because scribes ‘could no longer properly write adiastematic neums’” is confused. Does anyone claim such a thing, or is this another straw man? It’s akin to claiming that the rhythm of Old Hundredth (Geneva 134) was corrupted because the publishers forgot how to print mensural notation. The fact is, the rhythm was corrupted because of the ponderous tempo and equalization of note values—the same things that happened to chant five centuries before. Is it plausible that someone today understands the rhythm of the 1565 version better than someone in 1584? Well, compare the 1565 and 1584 versions to see for yourself:

1565:

1584:

Is it plausible that someone 500 years from now might have a better understanding of the operation of a rotary telephone from reading about it than today’s teenager, who is only a few decades removed from when that technology was in common use? I rest my case! I will now get back to the business at hand and analyze a couple of chants according to the oldest extant sources.

Another Introit Analyzed • Jeff has introduced the introit Exaudi Domine . . . adjutor into the discussion, so let’s examine it:

Summary of note values (antiphon only):
red – long in both sources = 45
purple – long in at least one source = 4
brown – long in a source other than L or E = 3
blue – long by interpretation = 4
green – short in both sources = 46
yellow – short by interpretation = 2
total = 104

Laon 239 (L) is generally considered the oldest extant source for this chant. In comparing Einsiedeln 121 (E), we see that the two sources are in unambiguous agreement for 98 of the 104 note values, marked in red, brown, blue, and green. I interpret L’s c at adjutor as applying to both notes, which together correspond to E’s pes rotundus. E’s pes quassus at the end of derelinquas can be interpreted as two long notes without in any way contradicting the literal meaning of the sign. The c at the unison salicus in salutaris can be read as applying to the oriscus rather than the virga. That gives us agreement for 101 note values. Of the remaining three notes, all on the first syllable of neque, the two yellow notes are ambiguous and could also have been colored purple; L and E could be read there as agreeing with each other, without forcing the interpretation. That leaves the first note of neque as the only outright contradiction between the two sources. I think you’ll agree that a correspondence of greater than 99 percent is excellent. E writes eight virgae, but only the one at Deus has an episema. I would hold that note a beat and a half, not on account of the episema alone, but because of context; L and E are in literal agreement here regardless. In this particular chant, L’s cursive clivis always corresponds to E’s clivis with c. Apart from the psalm verse, E writes a plain cursive clivis without c only once, at adjutor. Jeff could hardly have proposed any other chant where the neumes are written with such nearly impeccable consistency. As for the three notes marked in brown, which are not explicitly long in L or E, our first observation should be that the one at the end of Deus is followed immediately by a bar line and dotted in the Solesmes editions; therefore, there seems to be no objection to the long interpretation of it from the partisans of the Solesmes and pure Vatican equalist interpretations. It makes little practical difference to the singer or listener whether a note is lengthened because of a neumatic sign, an episema, the letter t or a, a dot, a bar line, a melismatic mora vocis, or tying two short notes together. The last note of the porrectus at despicias is marked with an episema in St. Gall 374, and the entire torculus at -ta- is long in St. Gall 376—for whatever those relatively late sources are worth. I would be reluctant to rely too heavily on them, but Jeff has already placed them on an equality with L, E, and every other manuscript, despite devoting most of his previous article to demonstrating that various St. Gall manuscripts contradict each other. By failing to differentiate between rhythmic and non-rhythmic manuscripts and by appealing to cursive neumes without an episema from later and less reliable sources to disprove “nuances” from earlier and highly reliable sources, it seems he wants to have his cake and eat it too!

The Parable of the Singer • A singer was given a printed page of song lyrics, without any musical notation. Although she didn’t have it completely memorized, she was already familiar with the song and only needed a few reminders here and there. Just to be safe, she penciled in all the note letter names and then made a handwritten copy of the lyrics with chord symbols for her accompanist, who was also familiar with the song but didn’t know it by heart. The singer was asked to sing the same song a year later and used her little musical cheat sheet again. She never found a published version but eventually had the song totally memorized and gave her copy of the lyrics with note letter names to someone else. Years passed and nobody found a published copy of the song, but the cheat sheet was photocopied many times and circulated widely. Remarkably, nobody ever recorded it until many centuries later. Since the song was only sung one week every year, people started to forget the exact rhythm. Over the course of years, decades, generations, and centuries, people continued to sing the song annually, and it was published a number of times, with quite a few variants. At some point, a photocopy of an entirely handwritten version with chord symbols turned up, where someone else had written in the rest of the melody notes. A millennium after that lady made her two cheat sheets for herself and her accompanist, someone rediscovered a copy of the songbook her grandparents used in grade school, 101 Songs to Sing. The song was in there, with the same notes, but the rhythm was very different from how people had been singing it for a thousand years. Two years later, a new volume was published, The Greatest Songbook of All Time, which purported to include a definitive edition of that song and hundreds more, with tens of thousands of copies sold worldwide, but the melody was notated entirely in eighth notes, except for quarter notes at the ends of phrases and a few other spots where that lady had separated her letters wider apart than elsewhere. A year later, a facsimile of 101 Songs to Sing was published in a musicological journal, but many scholars dismissed it as unimportant not only because most of the songs had been sung another way for many centuries, which they considered to be the “traditional” version, but also because nearly all of the songs in 101 Songs to Sing were thought to have been at least a century old already when it was published, and there were fragments of older editions of some of the songs to prove that theory. Another 70 years later, the publisher of The Greatest Songbook of All Time released a companion edition that included the versions from 101 Songs to Sing and the handwritten cheat sheet alongside the “definitive” version.

Write What You Mean • Although the parallels may be imperfect, I hope my parable serves to illustrate the concurrent change to diastematic notation that Jeff mentions. Many of us have created our own musical cheat sheets at some point, but very few have filled an entire notebook with them. They are sufficient as memory aids for someone who already knows the song but are of limited use to someone who doesn’t know how the song is supposed to go because they lack rhythmic indications; one might as well sing or play it in straight eighth notes throughout or make up the rhythm according to one’s own tastes. If the rhythm has already been evened out, a non-rhythmic notation that is melodically precise would seem like an improvement over a notation that is rhythmically precise but melodically equivocal. This has nothing to do with scribes no longer understanding how to write the older notation, but it doesn’t make much sense to continue differentiating long and short notes on the page once they’ve all become equal in performance. As I have already said at least three times in this series, the later manuscripts have nothing to add to the rhythmic indications of the neumes copied in the triplex editions, which are taken from the most ancient relatively complete sources, and I don’t know how to be any clearer about this. For the record, I stated all the way back in December that “I wish to withdraw from further analysis of those sources [from the second half of the eleventh century and later] and allow the other contributors to have their say.” The later manuscripts generally cannot be considered a commentary upon or correction of the oldest sources. As Jeff has acknowledged, many manuscripts don’t differentiate between long and short forms of the clivis at all. What about the torculus?

Being Sensible • Four notes have been marked in blue as long by interpretation, each one of them at the end of a cursive torculus. Now that the evidence has been examined, I would like to appeal to reason to complete the big picture. Dear reader, I ask you to ignore the paleography for a moment as well as anything you’ve read from Pothier, Mocquereau, Gajard, Vollaerts, Murray, Cardine, Blackley, Van Biezen, Ostrowski, Weaver, me, or anyone else. Does it make more sense to interpret those four notes in blue as long, resulting in 80 binary beats (not counting the double-long notes and rests at bar lines), or short, resulting in 72 binary beats and four ternary beats? Perhaps common sense will be sufficient to convince you of something nobody can prove from the evidence of this particular chant alone, namely that the ordinary rhythm of the cursive torculus is short-short-long. The binary nature of the remainder of the chant is displayed in color before your very eyes. Now all you have to do is connect the dots for yourself.

Another Example • I have also analyzed the offertory Exaltabo in like manner and uploaded a recording to YouTube (updated 8/8/23). Despite the length of this chant, the rhythm is remarkably straightforward:

red – long in both sources
purple – long in at least one source
brown – long in a source other than L or E
blue – long by interpretation
green – short in both sources
black – lacking in one source

This chant has a total of 461 notes. According to my interpretation as presented in Thirteen Offertory Chants, which normally gives preference to L, it has 361 binary beats, not including the repetition, and also not including the double-long notes and rests at bar lines. If the six notes in blue (five of which are at the end of plain cursive torculi) are interpreted as short, it has 349 binary beats and six ternary beats. Which interpretation of those six notes makes more sense musically?

Nuances and Clarifications • Jeff wrote, “How can we explain the discrepancies? I have suggested that many of the so-called ‘rhythmic’ indications were probably nuances. Therefore, when scribes ignore, jumble, or modify them, it’s no big deal.” Jeff, I challenge you, just as I challenged Charles: Where does any medieval theorist write of rhythmic nuances for the episema or ordinary long note (tractulus, uncinus, or virga) that are somewhere between single and double in duration? Can a single shred of evidence be produced, or is it just a made-up theory? The ad hominem attack you made was not that my claims are untrue because proportional rhythm is not widely used, but rather that you considered that it might be improper to continue discussion with me because I lack the courage of my convictions, since I allegedly don’t use proportional rhythm at all with my own choirs—which is not only fallacious, but patently and demonstrably untrue. I don’t demand an apology (this is a war, after all!), but know that I will continue to call you out on these kinds of things. Charity toward our readers demands accuracy and honesty. If your cursive clivis comparison chart was made in response to my question, “Why not take the time to compare a few sources carefully, note for note?” it should have been obvious from context that I was referring to correlation of pitches, but I appreciate the effort, even though you omitted what I and others believe to be not only the oldest but also the most reliable sources from your comparative table of manuscripts spanning approximately 169 years. One must question the exclusion of Laon 239 and Einsiedeln 121 from a chart including sources dated to as late as ca. 1074. In this series, I have already answered your concluding question, “What evidence is there that the stroke known as an episema denotes a longer note?” (slightly paraphrased), but I will be happy to restate my answer yet again after you answer a couple of the questions I asked previously, namely: 1. Is it “miraculous” that Old Hundredth (Geneva 134) is sung with the same melody today as in 1551? 2. Do you believe that there was a conspiracy among printers to suppress the authentic rhythm of the chorale melodies, or that the Protestant congregations suddenly forgot the original rhythm? And one new question: 3. What does an analysis and comparison of the 1791 and 1854 versions of Old Hundredth reveal about the 1565 version?

1791:

1854:

1565:

A Personal Note • In my previous reply to Jeff, I wrote, “it appears quite possible that . . . we are reaching the point of merely repeating ourselves ad nauseam.” Let us, however, recall the Latin axiom Repetitio est mater studiorum (“Repetition is the mother of learning.”). Perhaps Jeff is right that we shouldn’t call things off just yet. With that said, my contributions to this series have become very time consuming in recent weeks, and I will not be able to continue churning out articles at the same rate. The liturgy doesn’t take a summer break, and neither do my adult choirs. My workload doesn’t diminish considerably over the summer, which means that I have to sacrifice some of the time I ought to be working on my Cantatorium editions in order to research and write articles. As we move forward, I will contribute to this series no more than once a week, posting only on Sunday or Monday. This will also help to avoid monotony for our readers, lest it appear that Corpus Christi Watershed has been taken over by the discussion of Gregorian rhythm. I will post blog articles on non-Chant Rhythm Wars topics whenever I have one ready. With discussion of Office antiphons and ongoing examination of second-millennium manuscripts, we are drifting from my area of expertise, which is the Proper of the Mass according to the oldest extant sources. In my opening contribution to this series, I provided a modern notation transcription in quarter and eighth notes. At the beginning of my follow-up article the next day, I said as clearly as possible that I mean that notation to be taken literally, with notes in 2:1 proportion. I’ve been surprised at the inability or difficulty so many people have in grasping this simple, straightforward concept of proportional rhythm. People who read music and know the Solesmes style of chant have said they don’t understand most of what I’m talking about. Others have commented that proportional rhythm actually seems more nuanced to them than the Solesmes method (!). Others have said that they think what I propose would be more difficult than the Solesmes method for an ensemble to sing together. Still others have commented on how interesting it is that I “added” rhythm to the chant. They don’t have a clue. I feel the same frustration Vollaerts and especially Murray must have felt; even when examples are provided in perfectly unambiguous modern notation, along with the graphical evidence of the adiastematic neumes, people still don’t “get it.” Maybe I’m just a lousy teacher, as Jeff suggests (another ad hominem?). I have followed the formula he mentioned of saying what I’m going to say then saying it. Now I would like to close by saying what I said, not in this article alone but in the entire series. IT HAS A STEADY BEAT, AND THE LONG AND SHORT NOTES ARE IN 2:1 PROPORTION. Sorry for yelling! St. Chrodegang of Metz, pray for us.

Cantatorium.com edition, Fifth Sunday after Pentecost:

Gregorian Rhythm Wars • “Check the Date!” (19 Aug 2023)

JEFF OSTROWSKI HAS ASKED ME WHAT EVIDENCE THERE IS that the stroke known as an episema denotes a longer note. Thousands of examples of the correspondence of t in one manuscript with the episema or non-cursive writing in other manuscripts could be presented. I’ll illustrate only one, from the introit Si iniquitates, with which we began this series. Here are the eight oldest more or less complete rhythmic manuscripts:

All are extant except Ch, which was destroyed in World War II. I have interpreted the Rankin and Graduale Synopticum designations of “early,” “late,” and “middle” of the century broadly, as fifty-year periods. B’s clivis with t corresponds to either the non-cursive clivis or the clivis with episema in all but one of the other manuscripts. If G’s undifferentiated clivis without episema should be sung as two short notes and preferred to the other seven sources, one may reasonably demand an explanation for the interpretation. Is G more excellent than L, Ch, E, and B? If so, why were the editors of the various duplex and triplex editions unaware of its surpassing greatness? In fact, those editors knew, just as we do, that G was several generations removed from the oldest sources.

Slow Down or Hold? • Why does it matter whether the letter t corresponds to an episema or non-cursive writing? In his opening post of this series, Jeff wrote that the letter t “means ‘tarditas’ or ‘trahere’ or ‘tenere’ or ‘tene’—basically a ritardando,” but is that true? A ritardando is a gradual slowing down, but the basic meaning of t is to hold rather than to slow down gradually. In modern notation, we have a tenuto mark, which, in fact, looks exactly like a horizontal episema. One doesn’t have to be an etymologist to note the similarity between the words tenuto and tene/tenere. We have a cognate in the English words retention and tenable, among others. For the other Latin words, tarditas and trahere, we have tardy and a plethora of words incorporating some form of tract. You already know that the English words retarded, protract, and retain mean “delayed,” “prolong,” “hold on to.” The Latin words tarditas, trahere and tene(re) respectively signify “delay” or “slowness,” “to draw out” or “to drag,” and “(to) hold”—in other words, lengthen. Despite similarities between tarditas, ritardando, and retard, the meaning of tarditas seems to be an immediate delay (i.e., a held note) rather than a gradual deceleration. There are many instances of t or an episema affecting a single note, which may also be graphically separated from the rest of the neume. It is impossible to slow down a single note gradually; it can only be held. So, the episema likewise signifies a lengthening of the note or notes thus marked, just as non-cursive writing also signifies long notes. I know of no other plausible explanation for the correspondence of these markings.

Rhythmic Proportions, Not Unimportant Nuances • The Solesmes masters claim that the meaning of the horizontal episema is “a slight broadening of the note or group which is affected by it” and that it is “an expressive sign rather than a quantitative one” (Carroll) or “only an expression mark,” which “does not therefore affect the rhythmical structure of a passage” and which “leaves the rhythmical quality of the note which it marks unchanged” (Gajard). While that may be true for the horizontal episema in their editions, it was a quantitative mark in the adiastematic manuscripts; otherwise, we would have some shred of evidence from the first millennium in support of expressive nuances of “slight broadening.” I maintain that the short and long notes of the first-millennial manuscripts as a rule stand in the same 1:2 proportion as eighth and quarter notes in modern notation. Jeff, you claimed that “many of the so-called ‘rhythmic’ indications were probably nuances. Therefore, when scribes ignore, jumble, or modify them, it’s no big deal.” I call upon you to defend your position of unimportant nuances as articulately as possible, with evidence from before the year 1100. (This date of 1100 is arbitrary and generous.)

Reader, Beware! • Don’t be duped by “evidence” from late manuscripts or theorists! Aribo wrote in the late eleventh century that the idea of composing and singing proportionally had “already been dead for a long time, even buried” (“jam dudum obiit, immo sepulta est”). If a manuscript is less than a thousand years old, don’t count on it to transmit the authentic rhythm faithfully. If it’s less than 900 years old, you can be reasonably sure that the rhythm is extensively corrupted and that it won’t aid your understanding of the oldest sources. Always check the date. To recap a few of my thus far unanswered questions:

• For the second time: What does an analysis and comparison of the 1791 and 1854 versions of Old Hundredth (Geneva 134) reveal about the 1565 version? Would you (or anyone else) be able to reconstruct the 1565 version from a performance of the 1791 or 1854 version?

• For the third time: Is it “miraculous” that Old Hundredth (Geneva 134) is sung with the same melody today as in 1551?

• For the fourth time: Do you believe that there was a conspiracy among printers to suppress the authentic rhythm of the chorale melodies, or that the Protestant congregations suddenly forgot the original rhythm?

• And the million-dollar question: Where does any theorist before the year 1100 write of rhythmic nuances for the episema or ordinary long note (tractulus, uncinus, or virga) that are somewhere between single and double in duration?

Nice Try! • In his latest post in the Gregorian Rhythm Wars series, Jeff again refers to his clivis comparison chart. Now let him show us how the long and short forms of the clivis differ from one another in Montpellier H. 159, Mont Renaud, Saint-Yrieix, or Noyon (Egerton 857)—not only in the introit Exaudi, but anywhere. At least with regard to the clivis, all four of those must be regarded as non-rhythmic manuscripts. Of his ten selected manuscript sources, Jeff dates only four of them to the first millennium, approximately, and two of those four are non-rhythmic, writing only an undifferentiated form of the clivis in every instance. That leaves but two sources from the chart upon which any compelling argument may be based, B and Ch:

Perhaps Jeff would like to explain why he chose to omit the two sources included in the triplex editions, L and E, which agree with B about the long value of the three clives and also with G, whose lesser authority I’ve discussed above. Let him also explain why we ought to prefer Ch’s short reading of the last of the three clives* to the unanimous and unambiguous testimony of the other three first-millennial rhythmic sources. So far, I find his claims totally unconvincing. How about you? Isn’t it peculiar that my opponent seems so uninterested in Laon 239, St. Gall 359, and Einsiedeln 121 and doesn’t encourage anyone to study them or give any kind of preference to them over the other thousands of chant manuscripts? Maybe that’s because they don’t support his (mis)interpretation. Open your eyes and don’t be fooled by someone who keeps pulling the wool over them. The oldest rhythmic sources are reliable. If you’re interested in recovering the authentic traditional rhythm, there you will find what you seek. Study them for yourself and don’t take my word for anything!