source: orbiscatholicussecundus.blogspot.com |
For
a brief time, in the early 1990’s, I had the privilege of knowing Fr. Franck
Quoex and being counted among his many friends. We met at the “Angelicum”
University (Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas in the City) in 1995
when we both began work on the Theology License in the so-called Thomistic
Section. It was understood in those days—before anything like a traditional
Catholic revival had even begun—that the only course of studies deserving of
the name “Thomist” was to be found in this Section. Naturally, Don Quoex (as we
always called him) sought out the true Thomistic scholars (the few that
remained at that point), as did I, and we found ourselves in almost all the
same classes and seminars. It seemed clear that he revered the doctrine of the
Angelic Doctor and its fine academic tradition in Rome, most notably in the Scuola Romana of the Lateran University
and at the Angelicum of Fr. Garrigou-Lagrange, O. P.
Don Quoex was quiet and attentive in
the classes of the Dominicans of the “old school,” such as Fr. Benoit Duroux, O. P., and Fr. Vittorio
Lagoutaine, O.
P.
(r.i.p.), those professors in other words who were deeply imbued with a
knowledge of the Common Doctor and a true love for the Catholic intellectual
life. And of course Don Quoex himself proved to be no mean Thomist in exploring
the Saint’s understanding of the sacred liturgy. At the same time, he was
prepared to question some of those younger, less reliable instructors, or even
professors, whose courses or seminars were unavoidable even in the Thomistic
Section. During one such seminar, the young lady leading it (a kind of adjunct
professor), who was very much of an historicist bent, gently reproved our
little group of die-hard Thomists saying, in so many words, that we shouldn’t
equate him with the Magisterium or dogma. Don Quoex joined the others in correcting
this inadequate assertion, citing the papal magisterium, the Council of Florence,
and so forth. But, as always, he did so without acrimony or unpleasantness, and
in fact he remained in the good graces of this particular professor. (During
her course on scholastic history, when she for some reason showed us the
first-known illustration of eyeglasses—a Dominican friar was wearing them—and
mentioned playfully that the bespectacled Dominican looked like Don Quoex, he
laughingly agreed.)
We consoled each other about the
abysmal state of the Angelicum in general, in those days more or less overrun
with the “Polish mafia,” who rode in on the train of John Paul II. The Rector
Magnificus himself was a Pole, and his seminar—what little I can remember of
it—was pedestrian in the extreme, memorable mainly for the vapid exchanges
between the Rector and his favorite, a particularly dense Polish seminarian. “Abyssus abyssum invocat,” I once
remarked after an especially cloying episode between the two Poles; Don Quoex,
typically, laughed and signaled me to be discreet at the same time, like the
gentleman he was.
He was always very correct in
appearance, his hair neatly brillantined and combed down, a pair of
old-fashioned spectacles (remarkable in those days) gracing his refined
features, and wearing as much of the traditional vesture of Roman clergy as one
could get away with in the 1990’s: the soutane, the greca (long, double-breasted black coat), and shoes with buckles on
them, although not proper buckle-shoes (which he only wore for Mass or in
choir). No one, sadly, could wear the capello
Romano with impunity back then, and Don Quoex was prudent enough to
understand that the gain did not outweigh the backlash in those pre-Summorum Pontificum times.
Don Quoex, though, was perhaps most
memorable for his love and celebration of the traditional Mass. On a few
occasions, I served his private Mass and was impressed by his deep
concentration and reverence. He was always very “classical” in performing the
rubrics: nothing was ever prolonged for the sake of “devotion” but done in an
expeditious, “Roman” manner. There were a couple of practices of his (not
really directed to be done one way or another by the rubricists) that stood out
for me: for instance, he held the host vertically, rather than parallel to the mensa of the altar, when making the Sign
of the Cross over it immediately before the consecration; and he traced the two
crosses at the Minor Elevation from the chalice downward to where the Host had
rested on the corporal, rather than parallel to the altar. At the time, and
even now, I thought to myself that if Don Quoex does it in this manner, that
must be the preferred way, because there was no doubt in my mind then or now
that few if any surpassed his knowledge of the Roman rite.
After I was ordained a priest, I
assisted Don Quoex in the celebration of the Sacred Triduum at San Giorgio in
Velabro, acting as deacon for Holy Thursday, celebrant for Good Friday
(according to the pre-1955 rite of the Presanctified), and subdeacon for Holy
Saturday. The animating spirit behind all this—including Tenebrae of Good Friday—was of course Don Quoex, although several
of us “unreformed” clergy helped out. He never let himself be distracted or
entangled in the kind of deficiencies or make-do substitutions that plagued
organizing solemn Mass in those days: if there weren’t proper Lectors, for
example, to sing the Lessons on Holy Saturday, the acolyte and subdeacon could
simply take turns, one after the other. Nor was he too concerned that
everything be thoroughly rehearsed; in true Roman style, the Master of
Ceremonies (more often than not Don Quoex himself served in this capacity)
could direct the sacred ministers during the Mass. And he certainly kept
uppermost the truly important elements of each of these wonderful Masses of the
Triduum: he was, for example, very solicitous to make sure that the Adoration
of the Cross by the clergy take place exactly as it was laid down in the books.
As anyone who knew him could affirm,
he had a beautiful singing voice and knew how to make the text come alive and
ring throughout the basilica. He himself, for the Tenebrae of Good Friday, sang the second nocturn Lessons (from St.
Augustine) and with such well-regulated fervor and intensity that it seemed
almost as though St. Augustine himself were calling down through the ages as
Don Quoex sang those stirring words: “Et
vos, O Judaei, occidistis.”
I also had the good fortune to be
his guest at Gricigliano (the mother house and novitiate of the Institute of
Christ the King, to which he belonged at the time) for Holy Week and Easter. I
remember being amazed at how many beautiful, old editions of the Missal and the
Breviary he possessed. He was very busy, of course, arranging all the
ceremonies, but still he made time to see that I was being taken care of. At
the time (1996), I didn’t detect any disaffection with the Institute, although
in retrospect perhaps he was less than enthusiastic organizing the Pius XII
Holy Week (and who could blame him?) at Gricigliano, unlike his cheerful
efforts for our San Giorgio ceremonies. He also had a good-natured impatience
with some of the more scrupulous candidates (i. e., postulants) at the
seminary. He related to me how he was once asked by one such—as a kind of casus conscientiae—what he ought to do
if he couldn’t finish saying the Apostles’ Creed secretly during the Office
before the Hebdomadarius intoned “Carnis
resurrectionem.” Don Quoex, laughing, told me that he replied to this
seminarian: “You don’t have to do anything!”
After I began work on my doctorate
later that same year, I was unfortunately not able to see Don Quoex as often as
before. He, also working on his doctorate, became more and more involved with
“Tradition, Family, Property,” the movement launched, of course, by Don Plinio
Corrêa de Oliveira. As much as I can recollect—and I should add that I couldn’t
attend any of the meetings as Don Quoex urged me to—this work, or movement,
seemed to him to be sound, truly Catholic, and seriously engaged in the work of
Catholic restoration. I realize that in the U.S. there has been some
controversy over this movement, but I have no doubt that if Don Quoex approved
the Italian version of this organization, it was a worthwhile endeavor. He had,
in addition, friendly relations with the “Black” Roman nobility, who seemed to
hold him in high regard, for instance the Massimo family (at whose palace, for
the annual celebration of St. Philip Neri’s miracle, Don Quoex and I would
cross paths).
To my regret, I wasn’t able to keep
up my acquaintance with this fine priest after I left Rome to return to the
States to work on my dissertation. Like many others, I was shocked to hear how
very ill he became and how suddenly. I can say without affectation that at the
news of his death, I was mortified to think that such a good, young priest
should be taken from us when so many less deserving clergy (among them myself)
continue to enjoy good health. At the same time, it seemed to me that there was
a certain distinction—if that’s the right word—in his suffering and early
demise, as though he were to be counted somehow among that great,
long-suffering yet persevering generation of Romans—Don Antonio Piolanti,
Cardinal Siri, and his beloved Cardinal Stickler, to name a few—who were even
then passing away or already deceased. My last memory of Don Quoex,
accordingly, is that which I make at the Memento
mortuorum at Mass, when I commend to Christ the soul of one whom I was
fortunate enough to know as a friend.
-Fr. Capreolus
Beautiful. I would absolutely love to get my hands on a copy of Fr. Quoex's dissertation on St. Thomas' understanding of the liturgy - once I learn to speak French.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Fr. Capreolus, for sharing this insight. Our late, and much lamented, mutual friend 'CSG' had known Fr. Quoex and much admired him. Perhaps, one day we may all be reunited in a better place.
ReplyDeleteHow did manage to be ordained by a Bishop who was consecrated before June 1968?
ReplyDelete