Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Dedication
- Contents
- Acknowledgments
- List of Abbreviations
- Introduction
- Part I Berlin 1873–1897
- Part II Wesel 1897–1902
- Part III Leipzig 1903–1918
- Part IV Intermezzo: Leipzig 1918–1920
- Part V Leipzig 1920–1929
- Part VI Leipzig 1930–1939
- Part VII Leipzig 1940–1950
- Epilogue: Musical Offering
- Bibliography
- Index
14 - Portraits in Ambivalence
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 26 May 2022
- Frontmatter
- Dedication
- Contents
- Acknowledgments
- List of Abbreviations
- Introduction
- Part I Berlin 1873–1897
- Part II Wesel 1897–1902
- Part III Leipzig 1903–1918
- Part IV Intermezzo: Leipzig 1918–1920
- Part V Leipzig 1920–1929
- Part VI Leipzig 1930–1939
- Part VII Leipzig 1940–1950
- Epilogue: Musical Offering
- Bibliography
- Index
Summary
Contrary to Straube's prediction, Germany was still very much at war in spring 1918. On March 3, just as negotiations around his candidacy were getting serious traction, the new Soviet Russian government had ceded the Baltic States in the harsh peace treaty of Brest-Litovsk imposed by the German and Austrian Empires. Now turning its full strategic attention to the western front, Germany launched a series of offensives through mid-July, when the Second Battle of the Marne turned the tides decisively in favor of the Allies. As May gave way to June in faraway Leipzig, there still seemed reason to imagine that the fatherland could prevail against its western enemies, even as the national resolve continued to be severely tested.
These circumstances surely swirled in the minds of the faculty, students, and alumni of the Thomasschule as they gathered on Monday, June 3, to welcome the new cantor in a solemn but simple ceremony. At this moment, they stood on the unstable precipice not only of new political realities, but also of a Thomaskantor who manifestly was not going to conform to the time-honored mold. An alumni choir performed Schreck's “Führe mich,” op. 33, no. 3, and his setting of Psalm 23, “Der Herr ist meine Hirte,” op. 42, memorializing Straube's predecessor and, undoubtedly for some, recalling the fact that the cantorate until now had been a composing office. According to the press account, Rector Tittel welcomed Straube with the pointed wish, “May the assumption of the cantorate, which necessitates the grave relinquishment of certain cherished artistic activities, bring blessings and impart rich fulfillment”—a deliberate way of putting things that will not have escaped Straube's attentive ears, and in which he could perceive the residues of concern over his hitherto “fragmented” schedule. In prepared remarks, the new cantor addressed the issue, at least obliquely, as well as the reservations of those who felt he was going to allow his artistic ambitions to override the larger objective of the boys’ humanist education. “As little as he regards composition as the task that corresponds to his nature,” read the report that paraphrased Straube's brief speech, “he will all the more take care to cultivate the formidable tradition of the past.”
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- Karl Straube (1873-1950)Germany's Master Organist in Turbulent Times, pp. 189 - 206Publisher: Boydell & BrewerPrint publication year: 2022