Dies Irae, or “Did Edgar Allen Poe Know Gregorian Chant?”

[The following is a modification of a post from last year.]

The Sequence listed in the extraordinary form of the Roman Rite for the Feast of All Souls is the Dies Irae.  Like the other parts of the All Souls Day Liturgy it comes from the Requiem Mass.  While no longer listed as a sequence in the Gregorian Missal, its place in the liturgical life of the Church has certainly not been abrogated.  It is suggested in the Liturgy of the Hours during the last week before Advent as an opening hymn for the Office of Readings, Lauds, and Vespers.  The text is divided into the three parts, one for each of these hours.  It is also listed in the Appendix of all four volumes and is appropriate as a hymn for each of the hours during the Office of the Dead.  Moreover, it seems the the spirit of Summorum Pontificum, in which the Holy Father called for a mutual influence of the two forms of the Roman Rite, allows for the inclusion of the Dies Irae as a sequence even in the Novus Ordo.

The relevance, or rather the necessity, of the sequence’s message for our time is due in part to the “change in theology” regarding Christian burial. Of course, this is not to mean that the Church’s theology has changed. However, it cannot be ignored that the vast majority of people both within and outside of the Church have changed the way in which they think about a Funeral Mass. No longer is the purpose of the Rite to pray for the deceased’s soul, but instead it is to (1) honor the person’s life and (2) to comfort those who are grieving by canonizing the deceased on the spot.  There is no more talk of Death (such talk is “distasteful” on the palate), no more talk of Judgement, and certainly no more talk of Hell.  The “four last things” have been reduced to one: Heaven, translated “instant canonization”.  Along with this reduction come the absence of any discussion regarding Purgatory or our need to pray for the repose of the soul. What remains is a shallow cliche that the deceased is “smiling down on us from a better place.”

The Dies Irae provides a stark contrast to this mistaken theology. (After all, Dies Irae is translated as “Day of Wrath.”) While some may characterize the lyrics as “morbid” because they speak of death, the obvious should be pointed out: that the Funeral Mass and the Feast of All Souls are in fact Masses for the deceased, and as I pointed out in the previous post, death is in fact morbid.  However, even with the themes of judgement and death, the Dies Irae is not a song for the dead, but for the living. Recognizing St. Paul’s admonishment to be vigilant until the end, the Dies Irae has lines such as,

Low I kneel, with heart submission,

see, like ashes, my contrition;

help me in my last condition.

While the virtue of fear of the Lord runs through each and every verse, there is also found the virtue of Christian hope:

Thou the sinful woman savedst;

thou the dying thief forgavest;

and to me a hope vouchsafest.

While the wicked are confounded,

doomed to flames of woe unbounded

call me with thy saints surrounded.

In grasping the reality of these words, the congregation, who is present to pray for the soul of their deceased brother or sister, is also called to be present in solidarity with the dead. The Requiem Mass, including that of All Souls, becomes not only about the dead, but also become a harsh reminder of our own mortality. The fact that the death of a loved one inspires in us a recognition of our own mortality is a cosmic principle; all the more so then should the Liturgy of Christian Burial reflect this principle.

In addition to the lyrics, the music itself serves a purpose. It goes without saying that Gregorian Chant, by its very nature, allows the listener to rest in a state of contemplation. The lack of strict meter gives the impression that the music is outside of time, and thereby the listener is given an earthly foretaste of eternity. Contrast this with the steady beat that undercuts the hymns heard in modern liturgies: a strict meter gives the listener the sensation that the song is marching towards a finish, not the sensation of resting in eternal timelessness.

The Dies Irae accomplishes this perhaps better than an chant I have heard. This is a bold statement, I know, but I beg your “indulgence.”  (I couldn’t resist the easy Purgatory Pun.)  Listen carefully to the chant. The melody in the first line (“Dies Irae, dies illa”) provides a recurring theme, eight pulses long, heard throughout the chant. (I am sure that we can draw some parallel between the eight pulses and the theology of the “eternal eighth day,” but I will not push that particular analogy here.)  However, while all the verses contain three lines, it is interesting that the theme is not always the first of the three lines as it is in the first and second verses. Sometimes, as in the third and fourth verses, the musical theme is found in the middle line. In the next two verses (5 and 6) the theme is not found at all, and then it is back to the first line in the seventh and eighth verses. Because the melody reoccurs throughout the performance, it provides a pulse that seems “ever present” in the notes. A similar device, albeit in a literary sense, is found in Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven. Every verse ends with seven syllables, but those seven syllables culminate in the haunting, “nothing more” or “nevermore” or “evermore.” This provides that same sort of “pulse” that paradoxically makes the reader feel like the poem may never end, but at the same time keeps him reading. Of course, whether we use the adjective “haunting” or “solemn,” it seems that Poe and the author of the Dies Irae understand and employ the same device. Where The Raven and the Dies Irae differ is that Poe places his pulse in the same place within each verse. This has the effect of endless time. The Dies Irae, in migrating its pulse to different places within the verses, gives the effect of a timeless end, or rather eternity.

All of this is academic, however, without actually hearing the sequence. As with any Gregorian melody, I recommend first listening, then reading a translation of the Latin, and then listening again. With that, I give you both a recording and the text:

The English translation, written to model the meter and rhyme or the original Latin, was done by William Josiah Irons in the 1800’s and can be found here.  However, it is no replacement for the original Latin.  As Dom Matthew Britt noted in his work The Hymns of the Breviary and Missal,  “The exquisite beauty of the Latin original has continually lured translators to attempt to reproduce this noble hymn in the vernacular.  The great number of translations is an eloquent witness of this fact.  It is freely acknowledged that no adequate translation has yet appeared” (page 205).

Day of wrath! O day of mourning!
See fulfilled the prophets' warning,
Heaven and earth in ashes burning!

O what fear man's bosom rendeth,
When from heaven the Judge descendeth,
On whose sentence all dependeth.

Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth;
Through earth's sepulchers it ringeth;
All before the throne it bringeth.

Death is struck, and nature quaking,
All creation is awaking,
To its Judge an answer making.

Lo! the book, exactly worded,
Wherein all hath been recorded:
Thence shall judgment be awarded.

When the Judge his seat attaineth,
And each hidden deed arraigneth,
Nothing unavenged remaineth.

What shall I, frail man, be pleading?
Who for me be interceding,
When the just are mercy needing?

King of Majesty tremendous,
Who dost free salvation send us,
Fount of pity, then befriend us!

Think, good Jesus, my salvation
Cost thy wondrous Incarnation;
Leave me not to reprobation!

Faint and weary, thou hast sought me,
On the cross of suffering bought me.
Shall such grace be vainly brought me?

Righteous Judge! for sin's pollution
Grant thy gift of absolution,
Ere the day of retribution.

Guilty, now I pour my moaning,
All my shame with anguish owning;
Spare, O God, thy suppliant groaning!

Thou the sinful woman savedst;
Thou the dying thief forgavest;
And to me a hope vouchsafest.

Worthless are my prayers and sighing,
Yet, good Lord, in grace complying,
Rescue me from fires undying!

With thy favoured sheep O place me;
Nor among the goats abase me;
But to thy right hand upraise me.

While the wicked are confounded,
Doomed to flames of woe unbounded,
Call me with thy saints surrounded.

Low I kneel, with heart submission,
See, like ashes, my contrition;
Help me in my last condition.

Ah! that day of tears and mourning!
From the dust of earth returning
Man for judgment must prepare him;
Spare, O God, in mercy spare him!

Lord, all pitying, Jesus blest,
Grant them thine eternal rest.

Amen.

The original Latin, together with a more literal translation can be found at St. Cecilia Schola Cantorum.

Finally, as a contrast performance, the following is wonderful, but uses a style that is more fluid in its rhythm.  This contrast is part of the great rhythm controversy in Gregorian circles.  The first performance is a traditional Solesmes approach, disciplined in its rhythm, while what follows is much more fluid.  For me, the more fluid performance loses the haunting pulse that underlies the first piece, but I’ll leave it up to you to decide.