Don Quoex on the Ancient Papal Mass

Those attached to the memory of Franck Quoex, formerly of the ICRSS and later of the diocese of Vaduz, will recall his expertise on the history of the papal liturgy. Br. Aelred has translated his explication of the papal rites outlined in the Ordo Romanus I into English. Take a gander here.

A Belated Anniversary: Last Papal Mass

I meant to post on this yesterday, but forgot in my own negligence. October 18th was a memorable day in the long history of the Roman Church. On that day, fifty years ago, Pope Paul VI celebrated Mass according to the unique rites of the papacy for the very last time. Papal Mass, which synthesized the primitive Roman tradition with the international Gallican praxis, remained virtually unchanged since the age of St. Gregory VII. With a stroke of the pen on September 28th, 1964, Pope Paul, through Inter oecumenici, outdated the form of Mass Abbé Franck Quoex called the standard of the Roman tradition. 

Inter oeumenici—which, among other things, implicitly called for Mass facing the people, priests in visible chairs facing the congregation, bare altars, and a "reform of the entire Ordo Missae" (48)—demanded innovations to the liturgy that made papal Mass impossible. Readings in the vernacular would replace the Greek and Latin singing of the lesson and the Gospel. The omission of the prayers before the altar displaced the reception of the maniple. The singing of the doxology made the use of polyphonic music difficult, which in turn limited other musical options like the Silveri Symphony. The demand for "genuine Christian art" in vesture consigned the papal tat to the closet until Msgr. Guido Marini's tenure began some years back. All the demands of Inter oecumenici had to be met by March 7th, 1965, the first Sunday of Lent. Paul VI, perhaps with some persuasion from the Consilium, "promoted" the papal Master of Ceremonies, Enrico Dante, to the College of Cardinals on February 22nd, 1965, thereby removing him from his place of obstruction.

The canonization of the Ugandan martyrs by Pope Paul VI was the last hurrah for the traditional Roman liturgy for quite some time....

The Introit

The traditional practice of offering the Pope loaves of bread and turtle doves at a canonization.
The assistant priest is Cardinal Tisserant, a controversial giant of Pacellian and Conciliar
Vatican politics. The Eastern clergy are seated close to the pope, which would not have been
the case before the Council, when Cardinals—as supposed extensions of the pope—held
higher places of honor.

The Canon of the Mass. The Greek clergy stand on either side of the Roman subdeacon. Tiaras
and statues of Ss Peter & Paul adorn the altar. The Cardinals surround the altar according to rank,
perhaps a relic of concelebration or perhaps a statement of hierarchy.

The Pope communicates at the throne, being been brought the Sacrament and
the chalice by the Latin deacon and subdeacon. He drinks from the chalice
through a gold straw called the fistula. Only the Pope, the Latin deacon, and
Latin subdeacon communicate.

The Pope drinks the ablutions. The obscured face of that of Alfredo Cardinal Ottaviani,
head of the Holy Office/CDF at the time.

After the Mass, Pope Paul declares the martyrs to be saints.

Memories of Don Franck Quoex (Guest Post)

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

Interesting Requiem Mass

Something the Rad Trad attempts to do on this blog is to draw attention to those deceased who have played a part in the preservation of the older Roman rite. People will discuss Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre ad nauseam and neglect some more obscure, but equally important, names. We have mentioned Fr. Quintin Montgomery-Wright a few times here as well as Msgr. Ducaud-Bourget. In this lengthy excerpt from a November 11, 1995 Requiem Mass we see two men integral to the survival of the older Roman rite: Alfons Maria Cardinal Stickler and Fr. Franck Quoex.

source: ifuv.org

One could not call Cardinal Stickler a "traditionalist" either in the strict or general sense of the word, but he, like Cardinals Ratzinger and Medina, realized that the rapid liturgical transition brought considerable grief to a great many people and that something should be done to accommodate such people. Stickler openly celebrated according to older uses in the 1980s and 1990s when only he and a handful of other prelates "in good standing" would dare touch a pre-Pauline Missal (the bishops of Gabon, Cardinal Medina, and Cardinal Ratzinger are the only others that immediately spring to mind). He and his secretary, Fr. Gregory Hesse, helped Fr. Gilles Wach establish a house of studies in Gricigliano for an African society called the Institute of Christ the King, even ordaining many of their early priests (according to the pre-Pius XII books, as was their norm before c.2000). On May 12, 1996 Stickler celebrated an older rite Mass in St. Patrick's cathedral in New York City, to this day the most attended event in the history of that building. It was Mother's Day; the New York chancery ensured that the Mass was not advertised, but word spread when people learned Mozart's Coronation Mass would be the musical setting. The Roman rite owes much to Cardinal Stickler.

The other man of note in this video is not one of the ministers, but the Master of Ceremonies, Fr. Franck Quoex. Quoex, as recounted elsewhere here, was initially a seminarian with the FSSPX, but found them liturgically disinterested. He found his way to Fr. Wach and the Institute of Christ the King in Gricigliano, where he was one of the first priests ordained for the fledgling group. Quoex eventually became the Institute's liturgy professor and greatly influenced the society's liturgical praxis. Those who knew him said he was the only man in the world capable of arranging a Papal Mass should the need arise (it did not). The Institute eventually compelled him to leave when they switched to 1962 early last decade. Quoex went on to teach liturgy for the FSSP and, when he died in 2007, received an appointment to teach liturgy at the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross in Rome, where he would have had the opportunity to influence future generations of priests and bishops. Most impressive to me in this video, as someone who has MC'ed, is Quoex's unassuming deportment. Diocesan clergy, particularly prelates, are often uneasy about celebrating the liturgy in unusual ways and the MC is often tempted to arrange things himself or abjure the ministers for their mistakes. Quoex mildly adjusts Stickler during the Introit and as the Mass progresses eases the Cardinal into his prayer. The Mass is signature Quoex in some ways, very Roman: the Introit seems expanded beyond the versicle, possibly entailing more of the psalm from which it is taken, as in the early Roman liturgy; the choir is—gasp—in the choir rather than in an alcove (the usual thing to do when celebrating the old Mass in Rome); Dies irae is chanted in full while the Gradual is in recto tono, likely for the sake of the choir; the choir master is vested; the Last Gospel is said despite the absolution at the end (you can tell because the Pontificale has been moved despite the scene cutting). Quoex's kindness and affability towards those interested in the liturgy endeared the old rite to people and made them feel easier about celebrating it. He viewed the old Roman Mass as the "purest masterpiece of Western civilization." We ought to treasure it with the same mind and spirit as Fr. Quoex.

Let us thank the good Lord for giving us these two men and for what He did through them, and let us spare a moment for a prayer for the souls of those men.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem. Exaudi orationem meam, ad te omnis care veniet. Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.