Why Restoring the Roman Rite to Its Fullness is Not “Traddy Antiquarianism”

The broad stole (and not visible, the folded chasuble), both abolished by Pius XII

In a recent address, Archbishop Thomas Gullickson, Papal Nuncio to Switzerland and Liechtenstein, made a rousing case for “pressing the reset button” on the Roman liturgy by abandoning a failed experiment and taking up again the traditional rites of the Catholic Church. He is giving us a brisk version of what the newly-published book The Case for Liturgical Restoration provides in much detail.

Then, with admirable candor, Archbishop Gullickson broaches the million-dollar question:

I am avoiding the burning issue of setting a date for the reset. I used to think that going back to the 1962 Missal and to St. Pius X and his breviary reform was sufficient, but the marvels of the pre-Pius XII Triduum as we have begun to experience them leave me speechless on this point. Perhaps the teaching of Pope Benedict XVI on the mutual enrichment of the two forms will provide the paradigm for resolving the question of which Missal and which breviary. My call for a return to the presently approved texts for the Extraordinary Form, then, is inspired by a certain urgency to move forward, to further the process. I do not feel qualified to take a stance in this particular matter of where best to launch the restoration.

The position that has dominated the Tradisphere for a long time is that we should be content with 1962 as our point of departure for a healthy liturgical future. After all, 1962 is the last editio typica prior to the upheavals occasioned by the Council; it is still recognizably in continuity with the Tridentine rite; and it is enjoined upon us by Church authority in the motu proprio Summorum Pontificum.

In a contrasting position, Dom Hugh Somerville-Knapman of Dominus Mihi Adjutor urges that we must still take seriously the Constitution Sacrosanctum Concilium and that, accordingly, the 1962 Missal will not pass muster:

I still see a validity in a mild reform in the liturgy along the modest lines actually mandated by the Council: vernacular readings, setting aside the duplication of the celebrant having to recite prayers, etc., that were being sung by other ministers, a less obtrusive priestly preparation at the beginning of Mass, etc. And the conciliar mandate for reform cannot be just forgotten as though it never happened: it must be faced and dealt with, either be reforming the reform made in its name, or by a specific magisterial act abrogating it.
       That is why the interim rites interest me – OM65 [The Ordo Missae of 1965] is clearly the Mass of Vatican II while also clearly being in organic continuity with liturgical tradition. It left the Canon alone as well as the integral reverence of the liturgical action. Even Lefebvre was approving of it. What distorts our perception of OM65 is that we have seen 50 years of development since, and cannot help but see OM65 as tainted by what came after it.
       Moreover MR62 is a rather arbitrary point at which to stop liturgical tradition. For some committed trads this is an imperfect Missal, even a tainted one. Is a pre-53 Missal better? Or a pre-Pius XII one? Or maybe pre-Pius X? Why not go the whole hog and argue for pre-Trent — after all, Geoffrey Hull sees the seed of liturgical decay there? We end up in a situation in which each chooses for himself on varying sets of idiosyncratic principles. It is ecclesiologically impossible. The Catholic Church has a magisterial authority which establishes unity in liturgy. That this has been sadly lacking for some decades is not an argument for ignoring magisterial authority altogether. Then we may as well be Protestants.

Dom Hugh is willing to admit that Bugnini and Co. were busy behind the scenes throughout the 1960s and early 1970s, plotting and eventually carrying out the rape and pillage of all that remained of the Western liturgical tradition. He nevertheless thinks that, in the world outside the Politburo, the 1965 Missal was generally seen — and can still be seen today — as the reform that lines up with the Council’s desiderata. This, then, should be where the reset button takes us. (To brush up on what the 1965 Missal was like, read this account by Msgr. Charles Pope.)

A missal from the mid-60s: trying to keep up with the changes

As far as I can tell, however, the purist 1962 and reformist 1965 positions are rapidly losing ground throughout the world, particularly as the internet continues to spread awareness of the ill-advised and sometimes catastrophic reforms that took place throughout the twentieth century to various aspects of the Roman liturgy, with Holy Week looming largest. Since I, too, disagree with the 1962 and 1965 positions, I would like to make the case for returning to the last editio typica prior to the revolutionary alterations of Pope Pius XII: the Missale Romanum of Benedict XV, issued in 1920. [1]

The principal argument used to defend adherence to 1962 is that we should all do “what the Church asks us to do.” But who, or what, is “the Church” here? In this period of chaos, it is no longer self-evident that “the Church” refers to an authority that is handing down laws for the common good of the people of God. From at least 1948 on, “the Church” in the liturgical sphere has meant radicals struggling to loose the bonds of tradition who have pushed their own agenda of simplification, abbreviation, modernization, and pastoral utilitarianism on the Church, with papal approval — that is, by the abuse of papal power. These things are not rightful commands to be obeyed but aberrations that deserve to be resisted — of course, patiently, intelligently, and in a principled manner, but nevertheless with a firm intention to restore the integrity and fullness of the Roman rite as it existed before the Liturgical Movement in its cancer phase took over at the top level and drove the Roman rite into the dead end of the Novus Ordo.

For a long time, I sincerely tried to understand, appreciate, and embrace Sacrosanctum Concilium. But it was not possible, after reading Michael Davies, and later Henry Sire’s Phoenix from the Ashes and Yves Chiron’s biography of Annibale Bugnini, to see in this document anything more than a carefully contrived blueprint for liturgical revolution. It contradicts itself on several points and takes refuge more often than not in massive ambiguities that were deliberately put there — and we know this based on documentary research, no conspiracy theories are needed.

For me, the evaporation of the validity of Sacrosanctum Concilium came from a deeper reflection, thanks to a lecture by Wolfram Schrems, on the meaning of its abolition of the Office of Prime. A Council that would dare to abolish an ancient liturgical office of uninterrupted universal reception vitiates itself from the get-go. Since none of the documents of Vatican II contains de fide statements or anathemas, the charism of infallibility is not expressly involved. Given their very nature, a bunch of practical pastoral recommendations can be mistaken, and there is ever-mounting evidence that the aims and means of the radical arm of the Liturgical Movement were grievously off-target. The assumptions of the Council about what “had to be done” to the liturgy misread the sociology and psychology of religion. Their proposals for reform bought into modern assumptions that have not stood the test of time and had, indeed, already been effectively criticized before and during the Council. So it seems to me somewhat immaterial that ‘65 better reflects the conflicting and at times problematic ideas of the Council.

Moreover, the idea that the 1965 Ordo Missae represents the implementation of SC is hard to sustain in the light of repeated statements by Paul VI that what he promulgated in 1969 is the ultimate fulfillment of the liturgy constitution (see here and here for examples culled by the selectively papolatrous PrayTell; I discuss the infamous addresses of 1965 and 1969 here). 1965 was presented publicly (though not always consistently) as an interim step on the evolutionary process away from medieval-Baroque liturgy to relevant modern liturgy.

The “moment of truth,” I think, is when students of liturgy realize that the 1962 is extremely similar to 1965 in this respect: it was an interim Missal in the preparation of which Bugnini and the other liturgists working at the Vatican had changed as much as they felt they could get away with. Even assuming all the good will in the world, these liturgists had experienced a triumph of renovationism with the Holy Week “reform” of Pius XII — a reform that was notable as a dramatic deformation of some of the most ancient and poignant rites of the Church — and they were rolling along with the momentum. The abolition under Pius XII of most octaves and vigils, multiple collects, and folded chasubles, inter alia, is part of this same sad tale of cutting away some of what was most distinctive and most precious in the Roman heritage. [2]

This is why it is not arbitrary for traditionalists to say that the Missal ca. 1948 — which means, in practice, the editio typica of 1920 — is the place to go. The reason is simple: except for some newly added feasts (the calendar being the part of the liturgy that changes the most), it is in all salient respects the Missal codified by Trent. It is the Tridentine rite tout court. For those of us who believe that the Tridentine rite represents, as a whole and in its parts, an organically developed apogee of the Roman rite that it behooves us to receive with gratitude as a timeless inheritance (in the manner Greek Catholics receive their liturgical rites, which also achieved mature form in the Middle Ages), a pre-Pacellian Missal gives us all that we are looking for, and nothing tainted.

People like to point to “improvements” that could be made to the old missal, but those who have lived long and intimately with its contents are usually the last to be convinced that the suggested improvements would actually be such. I have addressed some examples here, here, and here. [3]

A Maria Laach altar missal from 1931

Wait a minute, an interlocutor might say. Isn’t all this “traddy antiquarianism”? Aren’t we guilty of doing the same thing we blame our opponents for doing, namely, reaching back to earlier forms while holding later developments in contempt?

No, none of what I am proposing amounts to “traddy antiquarianism.” What is clear is that the Liturgical Movement after World War II went off the rails. Changes to the liturgical books from that point on were motivated by global theories about what is “best for the modern Church,” which led to the abundant contradictions and ambiguities of Sacrosanctum Concilium, the Montini-Bugnini reign of terror, and the crowning disgrace of the 1969 Ordo Missae and other rites of that period.

The point is not to go back indefinitely, but to take a missal that is essentially the one codified by Trent and Pius V, with the kind of small accretions or small emendations that characterize the slow progress of liturgy through the ages. As Fr. Hunwicke likes to point out, for many centuries since Pius V, it is possible to take up an old missal and put it on the altar and offer Mass. The changes are so minor that the missal is virtually the same from Quo Primum to the twentieth century. [4] Saints come on and saints come off, but even the calendar is remarkably stable. After Pius XII’s reign, however, it is much harder for an “old” missal and a “new” (i.e., 1955 Pacellian, 1962 Roncallian, 1965 Montinian) missal to share the same ecclesial space; they cannot be swapped one for the other, including at some very important moments in the Church year. This already shows, in a rough and ready way, that a rupture has occurred — and this, prior to the Novus Ordo.

Pius V’s condition that only rites older than 200 years could continue to be used after his promulgation of the Tridentine Missal is another way to see that our argument here is backed by common sense. A rite younger than 200 years old might seem like a local made-up thing, but a rite that’s clocked up two centuries of age or more has an “immemorial” weight to it — something not to be disturbed or replaced. This, indeed, is the basic reason for the illegitimacy of the Novus Ordo: that which it replaced was not merely something older than 200 years, but something with a 2,000-year history of continual use that shows no momentous ruptures but only a gradual assimilation and expansion. But the 200-year rule of Pius V also suggests that the revival of something less than 200 years old need not be an example of antiquarianism, but could be simply an intelligent recovery of something lost by chance, error in transmission, or bad policy. Thus, if certain octaves and vigils were abolished only a few decades ago, and if the rationale for this change deserves to be rejected, their recovery cannot be considered, by any stretch of the imagination, an example of antiquarianism. After all, as The Case for Liturgical Restoration points out (pp. 14, 16), the Old Testament gives us examples of liturgical restoration far more dramatic than the recovery of pre-Pacellian rites is for us.

Antiquarianism or archaeologism — often qualified with the adjective “false” — is the attempt to leap over medieval and Counter-Reformation developments to reach a putatively “original, authentic” early Christian liturgy. The term does not correctly apply to setting aside modernist, progressive, or utilitarian deformations. How ironic if a move against false antiquarianism were now to be targeted as being itself an example of the same! Let us put it this way: Catholics have always been intelligently antiquarian in that they care greatly for and wish to preserve their heritage and seek to restore it when it has been plundered or damaged. The Liturgical Movement, on the other hand, presented us with the spectacle of an arbitrary, violent, and agenda-driven antiquarianism. The two phenomena are as different as patriotism and nationalism.

Our situation in the Latin Church has achieved the clarity of a silverpoint drawing: (1) the modern papal rite, risibly dubbed the Roman Rite, has established itself as a pseudo-tradition of vernacularity, versus populism, informality, banality, and horizontality, as NLM contributor William Riccio described with gut-wrenching accuracy; (2) the “Reform of the Reform,” on which hopeful conservatives during the reign of Benedict XVI had gambled away their last pennies, is not only dead but buried six feet under; (3) the traditional Latin liturgy, though by no means readily available to all who wish for it, is firmly rooted in the younger generations on all continents and in nearly every country, and shows no sign of budging. Many traditionalist clergy would already prefer to use a missal from the first half of the twentieth century, and of those who remain, there are plenty who, in moments of honesty, and with trustworthy friends, will admit they have some problems with the ersatz Holy Week and the John XXIII missal. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis: if you have made a wrong turn, the only way to go forward is to go back. That is the fastest way to get on.

In this article, I explained why it is legitimate, praiseworthy, and indeed necessary to seek the restoration of the fullness of the Roman liturgy that was lost in the postwar period. I am not touching on the more delicate and controversial question of what kind of permission, and from whom, is or may be required for utilizing an earlier edition of the missal. It does not follow, simply because an earlier edition of the missal is better, that anyone is ipso facto entitled to give himself permission to use it. But regardless of permissions already in effect or still remaining to be ascertained, we should not see 1962 as a neighborhood where liturgical life may settle down. In comparison to the strife-ridden ghetto of the Novus Ordo, where opposing gangs of progressives and conservatives engage in a neverending turf war, the 1962 status quo comes across as far safer, lovelier, more commodious. It is, nevertheless, a trailer park, a way station along the road to a better place.


NOTES

[1] Needless to say, particular feasts that subsequently entered the calendar, such as that of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, should be included.

[2] Archbishop Gullickson says, in the same address: “While we are at it: When it comes to calendar… isn’t older better? From me you will get a resounding ‘yes’, especially if we are talking about vigils and octaves, and giving the proper denomination to times and seasons.”

[3] The question of the reform of the Divine Office under Pius X is a separate can of worms. It is easy to see that the Church should restore some elements of the traditional Roman office that were lost, such as the Laudate psalms in Lauds, but it is by no means easy to see exactly how that should happen. The situation with the Office is vastly more complex than the situation with the altar missal or the other sacramental rites. Fortunately, at least Benedictine monks have the option of using an Antiphonale Monasticum largely untouched by the rupture of Pius X.

[4] One does see more dramatic change in the explicitation of rubrics. Pope Clement VIII did a major “reboot” of the Missal of Pius V aimed at clarifying the rubrics. Any edition of the missal from Pius X onwards includes an enormous bloc of rubrics added at the front, which wasn’t there before. Nevertheless, the broad point that one could use any edition of the missal is indisputable; it would apply to the majority of feasts and the temporal cycle.

Visit www.peterkwasniewski.com for articles, sacred music, and classics reprinted by Os Justi Press (e.g., Benson, Scheeben, Parsch, Guardini, Chaignon, Leen).

The History of the Folded Chasuble, by Henri de Villiers (Part 2)

We continue with the second part of Henri de Villiers’s article “Les chasubles pliés: Histoire et liturgie”, originally published in French on the website of the Schola Sainte Cécile. This translation of the article, done by Mr Gerhard Eger, is also being published simultaneously on Canticum Salomonis, with our thanks to him and to Henri once again for his generous permission to reproduce his work.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF FOLDED CHASUBLES?

The generalized practice of cutting off the front part of the folded chasuble, which is certainly convenient, must have contributed to it being perceived as a vestment distinct from the celebrant's chasuble, which was certainly not so in the beginning. Paradoxically, this might have contributed to disaffection with its use. In 1914, the Jesuit Braun [14] deplored the disappearance of folded chasubles throughout Germany. France was hardly better off at this time; although the published ceremonials continue to describe the use of folded chasubles, it is quite rare to find examples or even photographs of them in the 20th century. Their use seems to have endured more in Italy, in the Iberian Peninsula, and in the British Isles.

Already suppressed for the Paschal Vigil in the new experimental liturgies of 1951 and 1952, folded chasubles were entirely banished from Holy Week with the 1955 reforms, and violet and black dalmatics and tunicles put in their place; folded chasubles were still to be used during the rest of Lent and other penitential seasons. This anomaly ceased with the publication of the new code of rubrics in 1960, which stated at the end of the general rubrics that "folded chasubles and broad stoles are no longer used” [15].

Msgr Léon Gromier, the Papal Master of Ceremonies, remarked during his famous conference on the reforms of Holy Week:

Folded chasubles are one of the oldest characteristics of the Roman Rite; they go back to the time when all the clergy wore chasubles, and were retained for a most austere penance. Abandoning them makes a lie of the paintings in the catacombs. It is an immense loss, an outrage to history. They wrongly give this explanation to justify their misdeed: that folded chasubles are difficult to find. But the exact contrary is the case: one finds violet chasubles everywhere that can be folded, whereas violet dalmatics are much less widespread [16]. Besides, one always has the option of ministering in an alb.

We may add that it was a curious move to suppress folded chasubles at the same moment when a return to the ancient, more ample form of the chasuble was being promoted everywhere.

On the other hand, the usage of folded chasubles was never interrupted among the Anglo-Catholics (and perhaps its usage will be gradually restored by the various new ordinariates erected to receive these communities into the bosom of the Catholic Church). In addition, amidst the renaissance of liturgical studies among traditional Catholic communities one observes a growing number of people who are restoring the ancient use.

IN THE OTHER WESTERN RITES.

The use of the folded chasuble is not limited to the Roman Rite. It is found, with variations, in the following liturgies:

1) The Ambrosian Rite: Folded chasubles are used during Advent, Lent, and the Major and Minor Litanies (i.e. Rogation Days, which take place on the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday after the Ascension in this rite, and during which ashes are imposed) and other fasting days throughout the year. As in the Roman rite, the subdeacon takes off his folded chasuble to chant the Epistle. The deacon rolls his up crosswise in the Roman way from the Gospel to the end of Communion. During Sundays of Lent, the deacon chants the very ancient litanies after the Ingressa at the beginning of the Mass; to do this, since it pertains to his proper ministry, he also rolls his chasuble crosswise. The liturgical colours differ from the Roman custom: dark violet during Advent and the Sundays of Lent, but the ferias of Lent are in black. The Major Litanies are in dark violet and the Minor are in black. During an exposition of the Blessed Sacrament on a day of penance, folded chasubles are obligatory, even in small churches. One notable difference with the Roman use is that during all of Holy Week (which begins on the eve of Palm Sunday, in Traditione Symboli) is celebrated in red and the dalmatic and tunicle are employed.

2) The Rite of Braga: The use is identical to the Roman rite, except for the procession of Palms when the dalmatic and tunicle are used.

3) The Rite of Lyon: Very interestingly, folded chasubles are not used until after the first Sunday of Lent, a relic of the time prior to St Gregory the Great when the first day of the Lenten Fast was the Monday following this Sunday. The deacon takes off his chasuble before chanting the Gospel but does not roll it over his shoulders (so he does the same as the subdeacon at the Epistle). Folded chasubles are not used on Good Friday.

4) The Rite of Paris: Chasubles are not folded but rolled over the shoulders (the ceremonials speak of transversed chasubles: planetis tranversis super humeros). They are not used during Sundays of Advent, which are celebrated in white in Paris; rather the dalmatic and tunicle are used instead. Folded chasubles are nonetheless used during ferial Masses of Advent in bigger churches with many clerics; smaller churches are dispensed. Transversed chasubles are used for the first time on Ash Wednesday, then on Sundays of Lent, and on Good Friday; the vestments are black each time. On ferias of Lent, on the other hand, the deacon and subdeacon serve only in alb, stole, and maniple, without chasubles, even in the cathedral. Ember Days in September are celebrated with red transversed chasubles, since these days belong to the Time after Pentecost, which is red in Paris.

5) The Premonstratensians: This rite has the interesting peculiarity that the use of folded chasubles begins on Septuagesima.

6) The Cistercians, Dominicans, and Carmelites: These three rites shares similar uses; during penitential seasons, the deacon and subdeacon serve in alb, stole, and maniple, as in smaller churches in the Roman rite. Note that in the Dominican rite, the dalmatic and tunicle are not used during ferial Masses throughout the year.

7) The Carthusians: This rite is very pared down and does not employ the dalmatic and tunicle at all during the year. During Mass, the deacon only puts on the stole to sing the Gospel. Folded chasubles are therefore not used at all.

AND IN THE EAST?

Based on the evidence from ancient artistic representations, the Byzantine East used the chasuble since at least the 5th century; it is called φαιλόνιον in Greek (phelonion, similar to the Latin pælonia).

Theophilus of Alexandria. Miniature on papyrus, 5th century.

By an interesting development similar to the one that happened in the West, the front part of the phelonion is cut in such a way as to facilitate the gestures of the celebrant.

Icon representing St John of Novgorod: the phelonion is held folded over the arms.

A Byzantine priest wearing the phelonion. The front part of the vestment is cut to facilitate liturgical gestures.

Certain Spanish folded chasubles have a shape very similar to that of modern-day Byzantine phelonia cut in the front.

Spanish-style folded chasubles, very similar to the current Byzantine cut.

We nevertheless do not find any evidence that deacons and subdeacons ever wore chasubles in the East; both used dalmatics) [17]. Yet, in the Russian use, during the ordination of a cantor or lector, the bishop puts a short phelonion over his shoulders, which is likely the Eastern equivalent of the Western folded chasuble.

Ordination of a lector in the Russin use.

The short phelonion is then taken off once the lector has chanted an Epistle.

A newly-ordained Byzantine lector wearing the short phelonion sings the Epistle.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The History of the Folded Chasuble, by Henri de Villiers (Part 1)

We are much obliged to Henri de Villiers and the Schola Sainte Cécile for permission to publish this translation by Mr Gerhard Eger of the article “Les chasubles pliés: Histoire et liturgie”, which is also being published simultaneously on Canticum Salomonis. Readers may also find some of our previous articles on folded chasubles of interest: here, here, and here, and on the short phelonion here.

Folded chasubles are the vestments used by the deacon and subdeacon during penitential seasons instead of the dalmatic and tunicle. Their use dates back to the earliest years of the Church, when all the clergy used the chasuble.

HISTORY

The chasuble was originally a civil garment used already by the Etruscans, and became widespread in the Roman Empire beginning in the first century of our era, to the point that it became an elegant article of clothing in common use. It was a round garment with a hole in its centre to pass the head through, and covered the upper body down to the knees. It is known under different names, the principal ones being: pænula, the most common name in ancient Rome; casula, literally “little house”, because it was a sort of little tent (this term has resulted in the English “chasuble”;) planeta, the term later used by the Roman liturgical books, whereas the rest of Western Europe has always preferred to use casula; and amphibalus mainly employed by the Fathers of the Church of Gaul.

Etruscan pænula (rolled up over the arms), 4th century B. C.

The chasuble then tended, at the start of our era, to replace the old toga, which was too heavy and less practical, to the point where Roman orators began to insist on using them instead of togas when pleading cases, in order to have more freedom in for oratorical gestures [1]. Under the Emperor Trajan (98-117), the tribunes of the people wore chasubles, and Commodus (180-192) ordered that those assisting public spectacles should do so in a chasuble and no longer in a toga. The chasuble became the senatorial vestment in 382.

Christians naturally used this garment [2] and at the start of the 3rd century Tertullian chastised the faithful who took off their chasubles during liturgical prayers for reasons that he labelled superstitious [3]. As the chasuble became a vestment of honour for high officers of the Empire, Christians sought to give their own tribunes and senators—bishops, priests, and deacons—a similar mark of honour.

In Christian writings, the first mention of the chasuble as a properly liturgical vestment is relatively late: it is found in the second of the two letters written by St Germain of Paris († 576), which contains a famous description of the mass according to the ancient Gallican rite:

The chasuble, which is known as amphibalus and which the priest wears, shows the original unity of all that was instituted by Moses the Lawgiver. Now, the Lord commanded that diverse vestments be made, so that the people might not dare wear what the priest wears. Hence it has no sleeves, since the priest’s duty is to bless rather than to minister. Hence from the start it has been of one piece, and not split or opened, since many are the hidden mysteries of Holy Scripture, which the learned priest must conceal under a seal, as it were, and preserve the unity of the faith, nor to fall into heresy or schism.

Nevertheless, well before this first mention, numerous frescoes, mosaics, and miniatures from the 4th century onward show beyond doubt the chasuble was largely adopted during this era as a liturgical vestment, in the East as well as the West.

St Ambrose of Milan wearing a chasuble. Note the cut that facilitates the movements of the right arm. Mosaic dated 375 from the chapel of San Vittore in Ciel d’Oro in the basilica of St Ambrose.

At this time, the chasuble was the general vestment of all the clergy, not only that of bishops and priests, but also of deacons, subdeacons, and—according to Alcuin (c. 730-804)—in certain circumstances even of acolytes! Amalarius of Metz (775-850) tells us that the chasuble was still worn in his time by all clerics without distinction. He calls it the generale indumentum sacrorum ducum [4]. It was still employed by acolytes in certain regions into the 11th century [5].

For the celebrating bishop or priest, this vestment did not create any discomfort in carrying out the sacred ceremonies, as St Germain of Paris notes: “Hence it has no sleeves, since the duty of the priest is to bless rather than to minister”. But the ministers—deacons and subdeacons—had to adapt the chasuble for their purposes: they rolled back the front part of the vestment, so that the arms of the ministers would be free to handle the sacred vessels. And thus they were dubbed “folded chasubles”, or planetæ plicatæ ante pectus, as the Latin liturgical books say.

In order to better understand the form taken by this folding, below are some photographs taken from the journal L’Art d’Église (n. 4, 1948), which show a very successful attempt to recreate the ancient shape of the folded chasuble by the monks of the St Andrew’s Abbey in Belgium:

The subdeacon’s folded chasuble

From the singing of the Gospel until the end of the Mass, the deacon, in order to be freer in his movements, rolled up his chasuble and slung it across his shoulders over his stole.

The deacon’s chasuble: rolled and slung over the shoulder or simply folded, depending on the different moments of the Mass.

The celebrant’s chasuble did not need to be folded [6] precisely because the deacon and subdeacon would help him by lifting up its edges at certain times, during the incensations and at the elevations. This beautiful gesture was faithfully kept by the Roman liturgy, even when it ceased to be necessary after celebrants’ chasubles began to be clipped and reduced in shape.

In fact, the folded chasubles worn by deacons and subdeacons were a clear symbol of their proper function as sacred ministers, i.e. of their role as servants of the celebrant.

Deacons’ and subdeacons’ folded chasubles were later replaced, beginning in the 5th century, by two new vestments: the dalmatic and the tunicle, vestments endowed with sleeves that made it more manageable for them to carry out their liturgical and ministerial functions.

Still, Rome took a long time to adopt this novelty, and the Ordines Romani that describe the Roman liturgy at the time of St Gregory the Great and a bit thereafter (7th century) still name the chasuble as the vestment worn by the pope, the deacons, and the subdeacons. Moreover, John the Deacon (c. 825-880), the biographer of St Gregory the Great (c. 540-604), in his Vita Gregorii Magni, designates the rest of the clergy that accompanied the Pope on processions with the term planeti (“those wearing planetæ”, i.e. chasubles).

When Rome finally accepted the use of dalmatics and tunicles, she nevertheless kept the use of folded chasubles for the deacon and subdeacon during Lent and penitential seasons, following the generally observed liturgical principle that the seasons considered the most holy are also those that are spared from liturgical innovations.

Furthermore, the dalmatic and tunicle are sumptuous vestments that symbolize joy and innocence. For a long time, their colour had to be white, and ancient dalmatics were also adorned with the two bright purple vertical bands (lati claves) that adorned the senatorial garb of old. During the ordination of a deacon, the bishop imposes the dalmatic upon him with these words: “May the Lord attire thee in the garment of salvation, and the vestment of joy (indumento lætitiæ), and ever surround thee with the dalmatic of justice”. The equivalent prayer for clothing the subdeacon with the tunicle also speaks of a vestimento lætitiæ. The use of the dalmatic and tunicle was consequently entirely inappropriate for penitential seasons, during which the old folded chasuble was hence preserved.

The distribution of candles during the Feast of the Purification

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Yes, Advent IS a Penitential Season

It seems that the start of every new liturgical year brings forth at least one article in the Catholic parts of the web “explaining” that Advent is not a penitential season. The Code of Canon Law is generally cited, since Advent is not included in the “official” list of penitential days and seasons, along with the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, which describes it as a period of “devout and joyful expectation,” with no mention of penance.

The reality of the matter is more complex. The Church’s traditions are not comprehensively determined by or summed up in any Code of Canon Law, nor in any Missal or other liturgical book. It is true that Advent is not a fasting season, and has not been so in the West for a very long time. On the other hand, fasting in Lent, the most ancient and universal sign of that season’s penitential nature, has been reduced to a risible two days, and the many references to “fasting” have either been removed or changed to “abstinence” in the prayers and hymns of the Lenten liturgy. And yet no one would claim that Lent is therefore not a penitential season.

Gaudete Sunday at Our Lady of the Rosary in Blackfen, England, 2013. 

Historically, Advent and Lent have a great deal in common liturgically, and that has actually not changed very much in the post-Conciliar rite. The liturgical colors of the season, violet and rose, remain the same. (More on this below.) From very ancient times, the vestments which symbolize the joy of a feast day, the dalmatic and tunicle, were replaced in both seasons by folded chasubles, which were then (inexplicably) abolished tout court, not just for Advent. (In churches which did not have them, the deacon and subdeacon served in albs, the former with a stole.) In the new rite, the dalmatic may be left off “for necessity’s sake, or because of a lesser degree of solemnity.” (GIRM 338) Since no indication is given as to what constitutes “a lesser degree of solemnity,” one is perfectly free to regard the Sundays of Advent as less solemn than the festivities of the Christmas season, and leave the dalmatics off. (The vagueness of this rubric has, unfortunately but inevitably, lead in many places to the abuse of deacons never wearing a dalmatic, but rather the penitential arrangement of alb and stole, even on the greatest solemnities.)

In the Mass, the Gloria in excelsis is omitted on Sunday in both Forms of the Roman Rite. On the ferial days of Advent, the Alleluia is traditionally omitted before the Gospel; this is optional in the Novus Ordo, which is to say, a perfectly licit way of continuing to observe the Church’s historical custom. Traditionally, Advent and Lent also both saw the removal of flowers from the altar, and the silencing of the organ. In the post-Conciliar liturgy, this has been slightly modified; flowers and the organ are forbidden in Lent (not merely discouraged), but may be used in Advent “with that moderation which is fitting for the nature of this season.” (GIRM 305 and 313) Again, the rubrics’ vagueness leaves one perfectly free to decide that they are best left off altogether.

The exceptions to the traditional rule about flowers and organ music are Gaudete and Laetare Sundays, on which they may be used as they would be on other Sundays and feasts, along with the characteristic rose-colored vestments, which were created as a mitigation of the penitential violet. The continued existence of Gaudete Sunday in the middle of Advent is the clearest sign that the season’s penitential character endures.

And If It Isn’t, It Should Be

Laying all this aside, when the time comes to Reform the Reform, (as it certainly will, even though we know not the day nor the hour,) it will have to be admitted that “devout and joyful expectation” has been a failure, and should be redressed as such. It does not seem to have achieved anything at all by way of restraining the orgy of consumerism that passes for Christmas in much of the world. The spectacle of “Black Friday” shopping on the day after Thanksgiving is fortunately limited to the United States, (where, however, Catholics are the single largest Christian denomination by an enormous margin.) The restoration of some degree of fasting and penance in Advent, already practiced by many on a private level, would provide a powerful Catholic witness to the “reason for the season.”

While videos of Black Friday are often a very sad thing to watch, personally I have always found it even sadder to see how many Christmas trees are out on the sidewalk with the trash by the evening of the 26th. This is one of many common signs that, rather than being kept as a season of expectation, joyful or otherwise, Advent has become in many places a backwards version of the Christmas and Epiphany octaves. Pastorally, the Church should encourage the faithful to bear witness to the importance of the birth of Christ by keeping the whole of the Christmas season, with the very ancient and important feasts that follow, as the great prolonged festival it traditionally was; reestablishing a formally penitential character for Advent would certainly help us to do that, as Lent does for Easter.

A Follow-Up on the History of the Planeta Plicata

Stemming from the recent NLM piece on the Use, History and Development of the "Planeta Plicata" or Folded Chasuble, one of our readers, a Cistercian, noted the following in the comments:

If you can consult bound copies of Art d'Eglise, a journal of liturgical art published by the Benedictines of St. Andre (Belgium) between 1932 and 1963(?) you'll find in one issue devoted to the cut and use of the conical chasuble with pictures of the folded chasuble worn with both the fold in the front and actually rolled up over the left shoulder.

I am pleased to report that I tracked this down at a local theological library. It was found in issue no. 4, 1948, of L'Art d'Eglise (which at the time seems to have been named L'Artisan et les Arts Liturgiques).



Here are the photographs in question that were referred to by our reader.





More to come from this journal, as I managed to find a few other interesting images.

Use, History and Development of the "Planeta Plicata" or Folded Chasuble

With it being Lent, there seemed to be a natural opportunity to speak to a matter which is of some historical and liturgical interest, particularly for those interested in various details of Western liturgical history. What I am speaking of is the planeta plicata and stola latior, or, the folded chasuble and broad stole.

Now we have spoken of and shown these from time to time to some degree, but we have never condensed the matter into a single article to date, and further, when those mentions have arisen, often the same questions arise about their use. Accordingly it seemed would be of some value to make a more condensed article about the matter, particularly as we enter the time which is most associated with their former use.

I speak of "former use" for the reason that the folded chasuble and broad stole were abandoned in the Roman rite under John XXIII in the early 1960's, prior to the Second Vatican Council. (cf. Novus Rubricarum Codex, 137.) Whether this was or is desireable -- particularly given their long-standing use -- is a matter of some debate and growing consideration today, particularly as liturgical scholars and churchmen begin to re-appraise and ask questions of some of the principles which informed some of the liturgical reforms of the 20th century.

However, that particular debate is not the purpose of this article, which is rather more interested in them on the level of history and historical usages and manifestations, as well as a practical consideration of their use within the context of other Western rites and uses.

History of Planetae Plicatae, or Folded Chasubles

I. The Earlier Use of the Chasuble, Civil and Ecclesiastical

In considering the history of the planeta plicata, it seems best to begin with what is surmised about its early use, and the use of the chasuble more generally.

In our day, we are particularly accustomed to think of the chasuble as a uniquely priestly garment, and for the most part, it has developed into that, but the use of the folded chasuble certainly speaks to it not being, historically, uniquely priestly. In fact, there is thought that the chasuble is actually derived from what was originally a common form of Roman civil dress:

Nearly all ecclesiologists are now agreed that liturgical costume was simply an adaptation of the secular attire commonly worn throughout the Roman Empire in the early Christian centuries... the chasuble in particular seems to have been identical with the ordinary outer garment of the lower orders. It consisted of a square or circular piece of cloth in the centre of which a hole was made; through this the head was passed. With the arms hanging down, this rude garment covered the whole figure.

-- The Catholic Encyclopedia, "Chasuble"

The following image of Pope St. Gregory the Great standing between his father, Gordianus, and his mother Silvia, shows this dress. You will note that they are all wearing the "paenula", "casula" or chasuble in its civil form.

By a certain point (one suggestion places it at the 6th century) the chasuble became an exclusively ecclesiastical garment, but not an exclusively priestly garment. The Catholic Encyclopedia, in its entry for the chasuble, notes that "[the] chasuble, though now regarded as the priestly vestment par excellence, was in the early centuries worn by all ranks of the clergy."

Further, Archdale King in The Liturgy of the Roman Church suggests that "in some churches, chasubles were worn by acolytes until the 11th century and they are still used by the deacon and subdeacon in Advent and Lent. Their origin is ascribed by De Vert to the stational processions in Rome, when the deacons wore chasubles or 'mantles', in place of the customary dalmatics." (p. 129)

Fr. Joseph Braun, S.J., the well respected German liturgical historian and scholar, adds an additional layer of consideration about the use of the planeta within Rome and without it:

If we ask who wore the planeta, we will have to differentiate between Roman and extra-Roman usage. According to the latter [usage] only priests and bishops seem to have used it in the liturgy, whereas in Rome during the same, all clerics used it, into the 9th century. This emerges from the Roman Ordines as well as from the indication of Amalarius of Metz. The Roman Deacons were, however, only vested with the planeta until they entered the presbyterium, except for certain times, days and occasions which had a penitential character; for on these they ministered without dalmatic in a dark planeta. With the Subdeacons in Rome, as we have heard earlier, the planeta fell out of use in the 9th century by being replaced by an outer tunic modeled on the dalmatic, except for penitential times, in which they, too, continued to make use of the chasuble. With the Roman acolytes the vestment remained a bit longer, but probably not beyond the 10th century...

-- Die liturgischen Paramente in Gegenwart und Vergangenheit, p.105 (Trans. by Gregor Kollmorgen)

Braun mentions the 8th-9th century liturgical writer Amalarius of Metz on the use of the chasuble by other clerics, and at least one of those references can be found here in a translation from Amalarius' Liber Officialis: "Ministers remove their chasubles when they undertake the job of lector or cantor... The lector or cantor at his individual duty wears an alb with no chasuble..." (Trans. by Christopher A. Jones, found in the Introduction of A Lost Work of Amalarius of Metz, p. 2-3) Amalarius is known to have also spoken of the use of the folded chasuble.

The 13th century writer, William Durandus, author of the Rationale Divinorum Officiorum also spoke to the use of the folded chasuble in the third book of the aforesaid work:

...the Roman Church uses violet from the first Sunday of Advent until the Mass on the Vigil of the Nativity inclusively, and from Septuagesima until the Mass on Easter Eve exclusively of the latter, whenever the Office is of the season; except upon Maundy Thursday and Good Friday... And be it understood that upon Holy Saturday violet is to be worn at every office which has a place before Mass; with this exception, that the Deacon who blesses the Paschal Candle, and the Subdeacon who serves him, are vested respectively in a Dalmatic and Tunicle of white... But after the Blessing done, the Deacon lays aside his Dalmatic, and putting on a violet folded-chasuble keeps the same even until the beginning of Mass.

-- Chapter. XVIII, "Of the Four Colours which the Church Uses in Her Vestments"

As to the extent which the chasuble was used, it is a matter of some question. Braun suggests that:

Outside of Rome the custom of the ministri functioning in chasubles instead of dalmatics on penitential days gained acceptance only slowly. In the Carolingian era it was established there only "in some places" as we hear from Amalarius. The usage had only become general in the 12th century, and even then it was probably only the more prominent churches, the cathedrals, the large collegiate churches and the eminent monastic churches, in which on penitential days deacons and subdeacons made use of the chasuble.

-- Die liturgischen Paramente, p.105

II. How the Folded Chasuble was Manifest at Different Times

It seems best to begin with the more recent manifestations of the folded chasuble and work backwards to its earlier historical form.

When we think of the folded chasubles today, we tend to mainly think of them in their baroque form, with the front of the chasuble either folded upward or cut short:

(The first two show variants on the so-called "cut" form, which simply eliminates what would have been folded up by shortening it, whereas the third is actually folded up)

Other examples can be found in a 1752 edition of the Caeremoniale Episcoporum which show them in the context of the feast of Candlemas:

(Image courtesy of Ceremoniaire: Les Rites Liturgiques)

The Gothic revival which began in the 19th century and spanned the 20th took up this form of folding as well:

Indeed the rubrics specify "planetis plicatis ante pectus", the "chasuble folded before the breast", thus formalizing that manner of folding the chasuble today.

Working our way historically backward from the present time, this form of folding is a development which was tied to the shifting form of the chasuble which gradually became less and less ample over the centuries, thereby changing the way in which this was accomplished -- and the vestments of the gothic revival, such as that seen above, while restoring a more ample form that would allow for the more ancient method, naturally adopted the present rubric of folding the chasuble.

In earlier centuries, however, the form of folding was manifest not by folding the chasuble up in the front, but rather at the sides and up to the shoulders.

Braun notes:

How the acolytes put on the chasuble, whether in a similar manner to the priests or in a different manner, we do not know; we only hear that they had to put off the vestment when they had to sing at the ambo. The deacons pulled the chasuble, when they ministered in it on penitential days, at the end of the oratio up to the shoulders and let it like this until the alleluja after the gradual. Then they removed the vestment, wound it - together with the stole, which until then hung straight down with both its ends - like a sash across back and chest to the right side and served like this until the Pope returned after Communion from the altar to the throne. Of the Subdeacons, the Primicerius of the Cantores gathered up the chasuble already at the antiphon of the introit, the others like the Deacon after the oratio. However, they ordered the chasuble somewhat different than the Deacons, that is to say in such a manner, that it formed a puff in the front, probably in order to make use of it for touching the sacred vessels and books...

It is questionable whether it also became the custom everywhere that they then gathered up the chasuble in the front as was done in Rome. It seems that in some places the subdeacon limited himself to removing it for the epistle, the deacon, however, to wearing it like a sash from the Gospel until after Communion."

-- Die liturgischen Paramente, p.105

Archdale King notes in The Liturgy of the Roman Church that:

Subdeacons lifted the chasuble up on to the shoulders and let it fall with the point on the breast, as also did the deacons when they kept it on for the Mass. Amalarius says that it was worn 'bandolier-fashion'.

The Folded Chasuble of the Deacon: Two Forms of Wear



It is important at this point to note that there are two manifestations of the folded chasuble as it pertains to the deacon; this will be important to understand a later development: the first is where it is worn up at the sides to the shoulders and let fall; and second is when it is folded yet again and then worn in a sash like form. When they were worn in each of these ways depended upon the point of time within the liturgy.

The former method has, unfortunately, turned up no depiction so far, but thankfully there is one mediaeval example which shows this sash-like, or "re-folded" manner of wearing the folded chasuble. It comes from the North-west tower of the exterior of Wells Cathedral in England:

(Left: The statue as it appears. Right: The folded chasuble in its sash-like form highlighted)

A Word about Broad Stoles

At this point, a further word about this "bandolier" or "sash" wearing of the folded chasuble seems relevant, particularly as we prepare to consider the folded chasuble in modern usage.

In its modern expression, the folded chasuble turned into two separate vestments: the folded chasuble itself and the broad stole.

The broad stole really intends to approximate, not a stole, nor its own vestment separate from the folded chasuble, but rather the folded chasuble when it had been folded once more as we have just shown above. This is the origin of what we have come know as the "broad stole" or stola latior. (See right. The maniple has also been highlighted to complete the visual comparison.)

The reason for this development was likewise tied to the development of the chasuble itself. Just as the form of the folding of the chasuble changed from the sides to before the breast because of the newer forms, so too did the folding of it yet again into stola form likewise become an issue. Accordingly, the separate stola latior developed in order to compensate for this, thereby continuing the tradition of this sash-like vestment at particular times of the liturgy.

In point of fact, the broad "stole" is really not a stole at all then, but is worn over the stole proper of the deacon -- similar to how it was wound up with it before. An interesting point can be raised on this front.

As was mentioned in an earlier quote from Braun, originally the actual stole of the deacon was not worn in this angled, sash-like fashion; when it was, was apparently only within the context of the planeta plicata:

That the deacons put on the stole in the form of a sash only developed later. In the beginning of the 12th century it was already custom, not, however, already in the 9th century. At that time rather the deacon only on penitential days, on which he would wear the the planeta in the manner of a sash from the Gospel onwards, wound the stole around in the form of a sash, together with the planeta. From this exception then gradually developed the later rule.

-- Die liturgischen Paramente, p.138

In other words, Braun is suggesting that the form of wearing the diaconal stole that we are so familiar with today -- on an angle, worn from the left shoulder to the right hip -- is actually a result (and now the only remnant) of the tradition of the folded chasuble when the stole was wound up with the folded chasuble in that manner.

* * *
How They Were Used in Recent Liturgical Usage

Having now looked briefly at some of the history of the vestment in question, it seems that we should also consider how and when these vestments were manifest and used within recent liturgical usage, as some may be only familiar with them on a cursory level.

I. When the Planetae Plicatae were Used in Recent Liturgical Usage

First of all, they were used during the penitential times. The 8th edition of The Ceremonies of the Roman Rite Described (Fortescue and O'Connell) published in 1953 has this to say:

They are worn... by the deacon and subdeacon, instead of dalmatic and tunicle, on days of fasting and penance, except vigils of Saints' days and Christmas Eve, which have dalmatic and tunicle. Folded chasubles therefore are used on Sundays and weekdays of Advent and Lent, when the Mass is of the season. Except from this the third Sunday of Advent and the week-days (Monday, Tuesday and Thursday) on which its Mass may be repeated. Except also the fourth Sunday of Lent, Maundy Thursday and (for the deacon) Holy Saturday at the blessing of the Paschal candle and Mass. Folded chasubles are used further on Ember days (except those in the Whitsun octave), on Whitsun Eve before Mass (not at the red Mass), on Candlemas at the blessing of candles and procession. (p.245)

The mention of the 3rd Sunday of Advent and 4th Sunday of Lent of course point to the "Rose" Sundays (Gaudete Sunday and Laetare Sunday) when the penitential rigour of the season is lightened. Typically Rose vestments were to be worn on this Sunday. (More on this momentarily however.)

At the time that this was written in 1953, folded chasuble and broad stole would also have been used upon Good Friday, but in the colour black of course. However, this usage was abandoned in the Roman rite even prior to violet after the Holy Week revisions of Pius XII.

Previous to these revisions however, folded chasubles and broad stoles were to be found in two liturgical colours: violet and black. Here are two examples which I had a friend "model" at my request, to better show how they looked while worn:

Now, the question is often asked therefore, "why then do we see older dalmatics and tunicles in violet?"

This question seems to be (understandably) rooted in the present usage of the modern Roman liturgy, which sees purple only used during Lent and Advent (or as an option for funeral Masses). But in the calendar of the usus antiquior, violet dalmatic and tunicle would have also been used for times such as the pre-Lenten season of Septuagesima. In other words, there was a broader use of violet outside of the seasons of Lent and Advent.

Further, according to Fortescue, if there were no Rose coloured vestments to use on Gaudete and Laetare Sundays, violet vestments were used on those Sundays instead, including the violet dalmatic and tunicle (p.245) -- which would be in keeping with the lightened penitential character of those Sundays.

II. Who Used Them in Recent Liturgical Usage

As was mentioned in the quote above, folded chasubles were worn by the deacon and subdeacon in place of the dalmatic and tunicles at the appropriate times.

Additionally, as has already been mentioned, the deacon would wear the broad stole, which was worn over top of his normal diaconal stole when the planeta plicata was taken off. (see p. 245-6, 8th edition of Fortescue)

Planetae Plicatae where also used by not only the deacon and subdeacon, but as well as by the assistant deacons at Solemn Pontifical Masses in the penitential seasons. (See A. Stehle, Manual of Episcopal Ceremonies, "Ash Wednesday"). You can see two such assistant deacons accordingly vested here:

(Palm Sunday 1919 at Westminster Cathedral, London. Cardinal Bourne leads the Palm Sunday procession)

III. Where Planetae Plicatae Were Used in Recent Liturgical Usage

Braun suggests they were required to be used "in cathedrals and other preeminent churches, not in smaller ones." (Die liturgischen Paramente, p. 103)

How "preeminent" might be understood is up for some interpretation of course. For his part, Fortescue, in addressing this specific matter, identifies "greater churches" as follows: "'Greater churches' are cathedrals, collegiate churches, parish churches and the chief churches of Regulars. They include therefore nearly all churches in England." (See Chapter II, "The Vestments of the Roman Rite". p. 11 in 1953 edition of the Ceremonies.)

Of course, this was not to be understood in a restrictive sense; that they were not allowed in smaller churches. Rather, it only speaks to where they were required.

Of course, this leads to the question of what was done in those locales where they were not technically required, but a solemn Mass was had. Both Braun and Fortescue speak of the deacon and subdeacon simply wearing their proper vestments, minus the dalmatic and tunicle respectively in these instances.

IV. How they were used within the Roman Liturgy Recently

From the book, Liturgical Law by Fr. Charles Augustine, OSB:

Deacon and subdeacon sometimes wear a folded chasuble (planeta plicata)... the deacon, before chanting the Gospel, folded it like a mantle under the right arm in order to perform his functions more conveniently. Now the deacon divests himself before the Gospel of the planeta plicata and takes it back after the last ablution. But all that time he wears a broad stole over the other one. The subdeacon puts off the planeta plicata during the time he reads the epistle, and resumes it after having kissed the celebrant's hand.

-- p. 54

V. When their use Ceased within the Roman liturgy

As was mentioned earlier, black folded chasubles and broad stole were no longer used in the Roman liturgy of Good Friday after the revisions to Holy Week in 1955 under Pius XII.

Violet folded chasubles and broad stole were no longer used in the Roman liturgy after the rubrical revisions of John XXIII in 1960.

VI. Usage in Other Western Liturgical Rites and Uses

We would be remiss to not give a brief consideration to the question of the use of the planeta plicata within the context of other Western liturgical rites and uses. This too, is a question which often arises.

It should be stated first, however, that our considerations are limited to the more recent usages of these liturgical books, and are not necessarily considering what may have been centuries ago.

The Ambrosian rite did use planetae plicatae during Advent, Lent and the Lower Litanies. On Good Friday however, the deacon wore red dalmatic. (See Archdale King, The Liturgies of the Primatial Sees. More generally, also see Missale Ambrosianum, 1904: Rubricae Generales, 44)

The Premonstratensian rite also used planetae plicatae on Good Friday as well as during the penitential seasons. But in addition, the Premonstratensians also used folded chasubles for the pre-Lenten season of Septuagesima. This would appear to be quite unique to them in modern usage at least. (See Archdale King, The Liturgies of the Religious Orders, p. 185, and the Premonstratensian Ordinarius, para. 223.) As for when their use was stopped, this is an open question at the moment, but they might have continued to use them until the Order adopted the modern Roman liturgy. (See also, Missale Praemonstratense, 1936: De Defectibus in Celebratione Missarum Occurentibus, De Paramentis, 5.)

The rite of Lyon also makes mention of the use of the folded chasuble but with a twist. Folded chasubles were not used on the 1st Sunday of Lent, as "according to tradition, Lent begins on the first Monday" (see King, Liturgies of the Primatial Sees, p. 50) and so accordingly on that Sunday (as well as Laetare Sunday) dalmatic and tunicle were worn by the deacon and subdeacon. Additionally, folded chasubles were not used upon Good Friday. (See Missale Romano-Lugdunense, 1904: Rubricae Generales Missalis, XIX.4)

The Bragan rite also mentions the use of the folded chasuble in penitential seasons, including upon Good Friday. (See Missale Bracarense, 1924: Rubricae Generales, Tit. 8.6)

Within the Dominican rite, planetae plicatae were not used -- within modern times at least. However, the Dominican rite did exclude the use of the dalmatic for penitential times (as well as ferial days generally), thereby having deacon and subdeacon simply wearing the vestments proper to them, minus the outer dalmatic. (See Missale Sacri Ordinis Praedicatorum, 1933: De Coloribus, De Qualitate Indumentorum, 4)

The situation in the Cisterican rite is similar to that of the Dominican. Folded chasubles were not used, but in penitential times, deacon and subdeacon merely wear their proper vestments, minus the outer vestments of dalmatic and tunicle. (See Missale Cisterciense, 1910: Rubricae Generales Missalis, XX.6)

Likewise, with the Carmelite rite. (See Missale Carmelitanum, 1935: De Coloribus et Qualitate Paramentorum, 10)

Within the Carthusian rite, dalmatics and tunicles are not used generally. Rather, the deacon wears the cuculla ecclesiastica and, for the Gospel only, a stole. The subdeacon is likewise plainly vested. Accordingly, it seems likely to surmise that they would not have adopted folded chasubles.

Finally, with regard to the Mozarabic liturgy, to date, I have come across no reference either way.

Notes:

Thanks to Gregor Kollmorgen for the translation of the Braun excerpts from German to English and for also highlighting the matter of the diagonal wearing of the diaconal stole and how that may be related to the planeta plicata.

Thanks also to Fr. Augustine Thompson for confirming a few details about the Dominican rite, and Nicola de Grandi, the Ambrosian rite.

A few others helped confirmed some details for me, and I wish to extend them my thanks as well. They know who they are.

Thanks as well to my priestly friend who modelled some of the vestments in question.

Finally, if anyone has any information which they think might be a good supplement, or another consideration or interpretation, do feel free to send it in. There is much detail, history and question here, so it is easy to miss some points.

SUPPLEMENT

1. The following further images of the more ample form of chasuble rolled up, as well as further folded into stola form were found in issue no. 4, 1948, of L'Art d'Eglise (which at the time seems to have been named L'Artisan et les Arts Liturgiques).

2. Also, in addition to the image of Palm Sunday at Westminster Cathedral, this photo of the Easter Vigil also shows the use of folded chasubles.

3. Finally, some rare images of the use of the folded chasuble from within the context of the papal liturgy of Good Friday have been found:

(Detail)