Volume 20 — Christmas In The Thirteenth Century.

Few are the hearts that do not feel the benign and joyful influence of Christmas. It is the one feast that neither the all-destroying zeal of the Reformation nor the cold indifferentism of the present age has dared to abolish or desecrate. To how many is it the sole remaining word that reminds them of the sacred name of Christ! There was a time when Christmas was but one of the many holydays that with each succeeding month recalled to Christian hearts some great event in the life of their divine Master; but heresy has swept away one by one those sacked days of repose and prayer. Even in Catholic countries the church has found it necessary to reduce the number of Days of Obligation, so cold have grown both faith and devotion.

Wealth and material prosperity—these are the sole ends for which a heartless world would have us exert all our energies, and it would fain clog with the sordid love of gain all the higher aspirations of the soul.

But we are forgetting that this is Christmas time—a time for innocent pleasure, and not for moralizing; so, leaving the present age, with all its faults, we will ask our readers to transport themselves with us, in imagination, some six centuries back, and witness how was celebrated in those Ages of Faith the holy night of the Nativity of our Lord.

The period selected is about the middle of the XIIIth century. Religion was then in the fullest splendor of its power. It was the light of civilization, the custodian of all learning. Every art had combined to render its outward expression worthy of the great and holy mysteries it taught. Gothic architecture had at this date attained its highest perfection; painting and sculpture were almost exclusively devoted to the decoration of God's temples; poetry and music were united to render attractive the sublime and rarely-interrupted Offices of the church. The liturgical works of the period are mines of poetic and musical riches that for the most part lie hidden and uncared for in their musty tomes.

Some will doubtless smile when we speak of the Latin poetry of the [pg 503] middle ages, and certainly those who seek in it the polished and classical verses of a Horace or a Virgil will be disappointed. They will, however, find that, despite their somewhat strange Latinity, these productions of a so-called barbarous age contain a depth of feeling, a strength and freshness of expression, quite unknown to the pagan poets, and were as appropriate to those grand old cathedrals under whose roofs they were to resound as were the classic odes and songs to the luxurious banquet-halls of Rome or the effeminate villas of Naples. In fact, to adequately judge of the poetry contained in the Offices of the mediæval period, we must place ourselves amid the surroundings in which they were performed; we must not view it from the stand-point of the present age, with its entirely different ideas of both religious life and religious art.

It will be, then, in an old French cathedral that we shall ask our readers to spend this Christmas night; for the office, or rather religious drama, at which we intend to make them assist, is taken from a Roman-French missal of the XIIIth century.

The night has closed in. Within the city walls the tortuous and narrow streets are nearly deserted; but lights gleam from many a diamond pane, for inside joyous circles are gathered around the glowing logs that brightly sparkle in the ample chimneys. Old stories are repeated by venerable grandfathers to merry grandchildren, who in return sing with silvery voices quaint old carols. Suddenly a well-known sound fills the air; from the high cathedral towers burst forth the joyous chimes that herald the approach of Christ's natal hour. The notes that ring out so clearly in the cold December air are those of the familiar Christmas hymn, Christe Redemptor omnium.112 Soon a hurrying throng begin to fill the streets, all wending their way towards the same point, through narrow and winding streets. By gabled house and arched doorway, by mullioned window and jutting tower, they press forward until they reach the central square, where rises, in all its splendor, the old cathedral church.

Beautiful and imposing at all times is a Gothic cathedral, but never more so than when the trembling light of a winter moon throws around it a soft halo, just enough to make its grand proportions visible amid the surrounding gloom, while leaving all the finer details wrapt in sombre mystery. Doubly lofty appear tower and spire, and strangely weird each fantastic gargoyle, as a stray moonbeam falls athwart its uncouth countenance.

Let us follow the crowd, and enter beneath the richly-sculptured doorway. Dim is the light within, only just sufficient to find your way among the throng that now begins to fill every part of the vast edifice. The numerous assemblage of priests and choristers are singing the Office of Matins, the grand old melodies of S. Gregory resounding beneath the vaulted roof with that wonderful effect that makes them, when sung by choir and congregation, the most truly religious music that exists. As the last solemn notes of the Te Deum die out, a white-robed chorister-boy representing an angel advances into the centre of the choir, and in sweet, clear accents chants the words of the angelic message, “Nolite timere: ecce enim [pg 504] evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum, quod erit omni populo, quia natus est vobis hodie Salvator mundi, in civitate David. Et hoc vobis signum: Invenietis infantem pannis involutum, et positum in præsepio”—“Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, that shall be to all the people: for this day is born to you a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, in the city of David. And this shall be a sign unto you: You shall find the infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and laid in a manger.”

Then from the high triforium-gallery seven pure young voices ring out, as if from heaven, the words sung by the angel-host on the first Christmas night: “Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis.” These familiar words that herald the pious representation of the holy scenes whose reality centuries ago hallowed this night in the mountains of Judæa, are listened to by the vast congregation with rapt and devout attention. In their simple and earnest faith the assistants feel themselves transported back to the days of Herod and to the village of Bethlehem, as they behold emerging from the western porch, and slowly advancing up the nave, a train of shepherds with staves in their hands, singing, as they proceed in search of their newborn King, the following hymn. Both words and music are full of beauty, and the cadence is well suited to a Christmas carol:

Pax in terris nunciatur,

In excelsis gloria.

Terra cœlo fœderatur,

Mediante gratia.

Mediatur homo Deus

Descendit in propria,

Ut ascendat homo reus

Ad amissa gaudia.

Eia! Eia!

Transeamus, videamus

Verbum hoc quod factum est

Transeamus, ut sciamus

Quod annunciatum est.

In Judea puer vagit,

Puer salus populi,

Quo bellandum se præsagit

Vetus hostis sæculi.

Accedamus, accedamus

Ad præsepe Domini,

Et dicamus:

Laus fecundæ Virgini.

(Peace on earth is announced, and in heaven glory,

Earth is reconciled through divine grace. The Mediator God-Man descends amongst his own, that guilty man may ascend to lost joys.

Let us go over, let us see this word that is come to pass.

Let us go over, that we may learn what has been announced.

In Judæa an infant cries

An Infant, the salvation of his people,

By whom the ancient enemy of the world foresees he must be warred upon.

Let us approach, let us approach the cradle of our Lord,

And let us sing: Praise to the fruitful Virgin.)

A crib has been arranged at the extreme end of the choir, containing the figure of the divine Infant and our Blessed Lady. It is surrounded by women, to whom naturally is given the charge of watching over the Virgin Mother and her new-born Babe. Towards this crib the shepherds wend their way, passing beneath the carved rood-screen through the open portals of the choir. Two priests advance to meet them, and greet them with the following versicle: “Quem quæritis in præsepio, pastores, dicite?”—“Whom seek ye in this manger, shepherds, tell us?”

They reply: “Salvatorem Christum Dominum infantem pannis involutum secundum sermonem angelicum”—“Christ our Lord and Saviour, an infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, according to the word of the angel.”

The women around the crib now draw back the curtains that have, until this moment, kept it concealed from view, and, showing to the shepherds the divine Infant reclining in the manger, sing these words: “Adest hic parvulus cum matre sua de quo dudum vaticinando Isaïas dixerat propheta: Ecce virgo concipiet et pariet filium: euntes dicite quod natus est”—“Here is the little Child and his Mother of whom of old Isaias prophesied: Behold, [pg 505] a Virgin shall conceive and bring forth a son; go forth and announce that he is born.” The shepherds salute the Virgin and Child, and sing the following charming little carol in honor of the Virgin Mother:

Salve Virgo singularis;

Virgo manens, Deum paris,

Ante sæcla generatum

Corde patris;

Adoremus nunc creatum

Carne matris.

Nos, Maria, tua prece

A peccati purga fece;

Nostri cursum incolatus

Sic dispone,

Ut det sua frui natus

Visione.

(Hail, O Virgin incomparable! remaining a Virgin, thou hast brought forth the Son of God, begotten of his Father before all ages.

Now we adore him, formed of the flesh of his Mother.

O Mary! purify us from all stain of sin; our destined course on earth so dispose, that thy Son may grant us to enjoy his blessed vision.)

After this hymn they fall on their knees and adore the divine Babe; then, turning towards the choir, they with joyful accents exclaim, “Alleluia, Alleluia. Jam vere scimus Christum natum in terris, de quo canite omnes cum prophetis dicentes”—“Now we truly know that Christ is born on earth, let all sing of him with the prophet.” Answering to this invitation, the choir intone the prophetic words of the introit of the midnight Mass: “The Lord has said to me, Thou art my Son; this day I have begotten Thee.”

The priests and assistants advance slowly in procession to the foot of the altar, and the solemn celebration of High Mass commences.

The lessons conveyed by this beautiful and symbolic representation are happily continued when the reality of the divine mysteries has taken its place. The priests who represented the shepherds, quitting the crib where they were the first to do homage to the Child-God, proceed to occupy the most exalted places in the choir, and to take the leading parts in the chants that accompany that Holy Sacrifice in which the same Child-God once more descends on earth.

Among the many impressive ceremonies of the Catholic Church, there is none more touching than the celebration of the midnight Mass. Whether it be in a vast cathedral or in a modest village church, it never fails to bring home to the heart, in a wonderful manner, the realization of the two great mysteries of the Incarnation and the Eucharist, awakening in the soul a lively devotion towards them. If such be the effect of the sacred rite on men who have only just quit the bustle and turmoil of life, as they enter the church, what must it have been on minds prepared by so graphic a representation of those very mysteries that the Mass not only commemorates, but actually reproduces in a manner far more perfect, if less perceptible to the outward senses.

How conspicuous, then, was the wisdom of the church in encouraging the performance of these pious dramas—not only as affording an innocent pleasure to the spectators, but as a preparation for the better understanding of the sacred mysteries that were commemorated in each succeeding feast; for on the popular mind how far more powerful than the most eloquent sermon is the effect of any ceremony that appeals directly to the senses!

At the termination of the Mass the officiating priest, turning towards the shepherds, intones the following anthem: “Quam vidistis, pastores? dicite, annunciate nobis in terris quid apparuit”—“Tell us, O shepherds, whom you have seen? Announce to us who has appeared on earth.” To which they reply: “Natum vidimus et [pg 506] choros angelorum collandantes Dominum. Alleluia, alleluia”—“We have seen the Lord, who is born on earth, and the choirs of angels praising him.”

The office of Lauds, which terminates the night-office, then commences. The shepherds, still occupying the places of honor, but divided in two choirs, sing the poetic paraphrase which on all solemn feasts in those days took the place of the Benedicamus and Deo Gratias. After which they all unite in chanting the following antiphon, which forms a fitting termination to the ceremonies of the night: “Ecce completa sunt omnia quæ dicta sunt per angelum de Virgine Maria”—“Behold, all things are accomplished that were announced by the angel concerning the Virgin Mary.”

Such were the pious festivities that six hundred years ago filled with joy and devotion many a vast congregation in cathedral and church throughout France on Christmas night. We have described them as far as they can be gathered from the Office-books of the period; but how many beautiful details, handed down by tradition and introduced from time to time, must necessarily have escaped us at this distant period! We venture to hope, however, that we have succeeded in giving our readers at least a slight idea of the deep religious feeling, and at the same time poetic beauty, that characterized these sacred dramas of the middle ages.