Splendid, warm morning...

And if it feels like rain it certainly doesn't look like it. So far as I can tell it should be the Mass Quasi modo again but Saint-Eugène is streaming the Mass Vultum tuum (Introibo) for Saint Bernadette-- her feast may be in the proper calendar of France today (I had thought it was back in February) or, alternatively, this may be happening because her relic is being brought to Saint-Eugène for the veneration of the people; this was mentioned Sunday but my French didn't catch any more than the fact of the visit. Perhaps today is the day. Ah, at Introibo the explanation is given:

The date of February 18th was chosen for her feast to mark the 'octave' of the feast of the Apparitions on the 11th. Certain dioceses keep the feast on the day of her birth into heaven, April 16.
I think this all means that Saint Bernadette's feast was not put into the Roman Calendar: checked Calendarium Romanum from 1969 and evidently not.

Canon Guelfucci is attended by a server I didn't recognize-- and then it occurs to me that I probably do, only he is not wearing his spectacles. That is what I most dislike about the silly masks: the slightest variance in the temperature of the airs and, pft, fogged they be. Now that Mass is completed, that laptop must endure its fortnightly update from Microsoft; because it still has its original interior works it takes forever to accomplish this. The other laptop, that had its update earlier in the week, finishes in a few minutes: it has a solid state works installed several months ago. 

Time for None approaches but I must begin cooking my rice before I do that. Rodney Merrill, in his translation of Apollonius Rhodius's poem Argonautika, suggests that, if for no other reason than to match Vergil's twelve books of the Aeneid, each of the four books be read in three parts; I finished the second part today, through line 921. Ah, have only now remembered about Giovanni Bononcini's San Nicola di Bari-- which is at 1730, so after Vespers. 

Am dining on rice, tuna, and beans while beguiling myself first by listening to Evan Millner read, and then reading myself, the macaronic poem Very Felis-itous. It is at Google Books; am going to format it as best I can without going back and forth to see how accurately I'm doing so.

Felis sedit by a hole,
Intente she, cum omni soul,
Predere rats.

Mice cucurrerunt trans the floor
In numero duo tres or more,
Obliti cats.

Felis saw them oculis,
'I'll have them', inquit she,
'I guess, dum ludunt'.

Tunc illa crepit toward the group,
'Habeam' dixit, 'good rat soup--
Pingues sunt'.

Mice continued all ludere,
Intenti they in ludum vere,

Tunc rushed the felis into them,
Et tore them omnes limb from limb,


Mures omnes, nunc be shy,
Et aurem præbe mihi
-- Benigne:
Sit hoc satis-- 'verbum sat',
Avoid a whopping Thomas cat

– Green Kendrick, Esq.

'Verbum sat' is simply an alternative way to abbreviate 'verbum sapienti' or 'sapientibus'-- a word to the wise singular or plural; these days one more often sees 'verbum sap'. I wish we had cats in this house. Violenter.

Dom Prosper on this Friday in the first week post Octavam Paschae.

Let us, today, turn to another subject. Let us think upon that unfortunate Jerusalem, which, a few days since, re-echoed with the blasphemous cry: Away with him ! Away with him! Crucify him! Is the City impressed by the great events that have taken place in her midst? Is the report still afloat of the Sepulchre's being found empty? Have Jesus' enemies succeeded in tranquillising the public mind by their lying scheme? They have summoned the soldiers who were set to guard the Tomb, and have bribed them to say that they neglected their duty, that they fell asleep, and that the Disciples came, in the meanwhile, and stole away their Master's corpse. As to the punishment due to this infraction of military discipline, the soldiers are told that they need be under no apprehension, inasmuch as they are assured that every excuse shall be made to the Governor, in case of need. Such is the final effort made by the Synagogue for making the world forget the name of Jesus of Nazareth. She would make out that he was a mere contemptible impostor, who deserved the ignominious end he came to, and will now be execrated for the posthumous attempt at a Resurrection! 

And yet, in a few years hence, the name of Jesus will be known and loved far beyond the walls of Jerusalem, or the territory of Judea: it will be held in blessing in the furthermost parts of the earth. Let a hundred years pass, and the adorers of this Jesus will be found in every country. After three centuries, paganism will own itself beaten; the idols will roll in the dust; the majesty of the Caesars will humble itself before the Cross. And thou, blind and obstinate Jew! wilt have it, that He, whom thou didst blaspheme and crucify, is not risen, although he be now the King of the earth, the loved Monarch of a boundless empire! Read thy heaven-given prophecies, which thou hast handed down to us. Do they not tell thee, that the Messias is to be despised, reputed with the wicked? and treated as one of them? But do they not likewise tell thee, that his Sepulchre shall be glorious? For all other men, the grave puts an end to their name and their glory; whereas with Jesus, his Sepulchre is the trophy of his victory; we proclaim him to be the Messias, the King of ages, the Son of God, because by his own death he conquered Death. But Jerusalem is carnal-minded; and the humble Nazarene has not flattered her pride. His miracles were undeniable; the wisdom and authority of his words surpassed everything that had ever been heard; his goodness and compassion even exceed the miseries he is come to allay: but Israel has seen nothing, heard nothing, understood nothing; and now, he remembers nothing. 

Alas! his fate is sealed, and it is himself that has sealed it. Five centuries before this, Daniel had thus prophesied: The people that shall deny him [Christ], shall not be his. Let them, therefore, that would escape the most terrible chastisement ever sent upon man, lose no time in recognising the Risen Jesus as the Messias. A heavy atmosphere broods over the deicide City. Her people have said: Let his Blood be upon us and upon our children! so indeed it is: it hangs like a storm-cloud of vengeance over Jerusalem, and, forty years hence, will send forth its thunderbolts of slaughter, fire, destruction, and a desolation which shall continue even to the end

Impostors shall rise up, giving themselves out as the Messias. Jerusalem knows that the time for the fulfilment of the Prophecies is come; and hence the credulity of her people in siding with these Pretenders. Seditions are the consequence of this fanaticism. At length, Rome is obliged to interfere. She sends her Legions; and having drowned the rebellion with a deluge of blood, she banishes Israel from his country, making him a Cain-like wanderer on the face of the earth. Why do not these unhappy Jews acknowledge, as the Messias, this Jesus whom they have crucified ? Why still expect a fulfilment, which has been so evidently accomplished? Why pass by, with sullen unrepentance, this empty Sepulchre which is ever protesting against them? Have they not clamoured for the shedding of innocent Blood? They have but to confess this crime, this fruit of their pride, and they will be pardoned. But if they persist in defending what they have done, there is no hope for them: their chastisement will be blindness of heart, they will walk on in darkness even to the abyss, and hell will be their eternity. Bethphage and Mount Olivet are still echoing with the cry of 'Hosanna to the Son of David'! O Israel! thou hast yet time! repeat this acclamation of thy loyalty! The hours are passing swiftly by; the Pentecost Solemnity will soon be upon us. On that day, the Law of the Son of David is to be promulgated, and the Law of Moses will be abrogated, for its work is done and its figures are turned into realities. 

On that day, thou wilt feel two peoples within thy womb: one, weak in number, but destined to conquer all nations by leading them to the true God, will humbly and lovingly acknowledge for their King, this Crucified and Risen Son of David; the other, proud and haughty, will obstinately blaspheme its Messias, and will become, by its ingratitude, the type of voluntary hardness of heart. It denies, even to this day, the Resurrection of its Victim; but the chastisement, which is to lie upon it to the end of time, proves that he who punishes, is God, the God of truth, whose anathemas are infallible. 

Time for Vespers before the Bononcini at 1730; it being a feria tomorrow, we begin the Office of Our Lady on Saturdays with this Hour; the antiphon at the Magnificat was the Regina caeli

It is 1740 and nothing is at the YouTube channel yet, tsk. One imagines that the UO has a certain number of expert Internet manipulators skillful at preventing glitches; perhaps they are none of them available to the School of Music and Dance. 

Ha; they are, as it turns out, using the UO SOMD channel on YouTube, not the Musicking Conference one. Someone forgot to change the link, I guess. The edge of my irritation was taken off, one, in happiness at finding the concert, and, two, because the idiots are wearing masks while they're singing which idiotic practice immediately attracted all my biliousness. Only at the UO. And why are they projecting the texts on a screen behind the stage (the program is here)? An attempt to re-assert a sort of normalcy in spite of the ridiculous masks? Who knows. Now I am resuming my long abandoned fuming over the University's coup de main against the Oregon Bach Festival... must attend to the lovely music and singing.

I couldn't help myself; someone commented on the idiotic masks, and I chatted, 'hear, hear'. And had resolved to give it a rest until Dr Holly Roberts sententiously remarked how they are following all the plaguers' rules. But I did write how well the instruments sound (she plays the violin as well as directs, administers the Conference, I believe). I expect those comments will be scrubbed from the final edit.  

It is also the feast of Saint Fructuosus (7th century), of Saint Engratia (4th century), and of Saint Mikel (20th century).

V. Et álibi aliórum plurimórum sanctórum Mártyrum et Confessórum, atque sanctárum Vírginum. R. Deo grátias.