Johannes Brahms_ A Biography - Jan Swafford [271]
As Smyth understood, the habit of relegating most women to “Kinder, Kirche, Küche” was the culture’s problem. But Brahms possessed a virulent case of it. Smyth saw his misogyny in high relief and was not inclined to make excuses, as Lisl von Herzogenberg did. After all, Lisl was one of the great exceptions. With her and Clara and the favored few “his attitude was perfect … reverential, admiring and affectionate, without a tinge of amorousness.” As to the rest, “if they did not appeal to him he was incredibly awkward and ungracious; if they were pretty he had an unpleasant way of leaning back in his chair, pouting out his lips, stroking his moustache, and staring at them as a greedy boy stares at jam tartlets.”16
Like most who knew Brahms, Ethel Smyth never let conflicting feelings about him cloud her admiration of the music, or of the humility that balanced the arrogance and callousness: “He knew his own worth—what great creator does not?—but in his heart he was one of the most profoundly modest men I ever met.”17 Besides, in the Herzogenberg household he could be a charmer and a pushover. Smyth had indelible memories of Lisl emerging flushed from the kitchen where she was cooking one of his favorite dishes at the stove, and declaring with mock imperiousness, “Begin that movement again; that much you owe me!” At such moments Brahms rolled over like a puppy.
Obviously the Herzogenbergs were something like ideal friends for him, their circle a welcoming setting. He was their shining hero, his friendship their great prize, Lisl one of his most admired heroines. He appreciated the couple’s talent, the pleasures of their company, and Lisl’s skills in the kitchen. That Heinz led a Bach chorus endeared him to Brahms too. (In every performance of the Bachverein Lisl led the soprano section.)
In 1877, Brahms began sending Elisabet von Herzogenberg new work for criticism—nominally to Heinz as well, but really to her. And for over a decade Brahms kept a photo of this blond, velvet-clad muse on his writing desk in Vienna.
In those years, Elisabet returned to him minute critiques and a great deal of praise, becoming one of the friends he relied on both for caveats and approval. Once again, Brahms the misogynist allowed a woman to remake him. Among his circle Lisl filled an important niche. At one end were Clara and Joachim, both virtuosos at the top of the profession who had once composed extensively. At the other end was the amateur Billroth, who could read an orchestral score at the piano and had tried his hand at composing. (He exterminated the results, observing that “it was beastly stuff and stank dreadfully while burning.”18) Billroth remained a surgeon by trade, though; he had not studied music like a professional and his scientific side tended to take him into musical speculations of no interest to Brahms. As an amateur with professional training, Elisabet’s background lay between those extremes. Though Brahms may not have known about it during her lifetime, she composed too—including some songs published under Heinz’s name.
Meanwhile, in the later 1870s relations among Brahms and Clara Schumann and Joachim had become strained, for reasons sometimes tangible and sometimes not. To a degree it was simply because they were three formidable people, and after twenty-five years of intensive personal and professional association they were bound to get on one another’s nerves. With Elisabet Brahms now had another trusted advisor to fill in for them.
If he rarely followed anyone’s advice to the letter, his friends still had a steady influence on his work—if not in the details of a given piece, in his larger direction. It is notable that he never included a full-time composer as one of his closest circle of advisors. (Timid Heinz was not as critical as his wife, though she voiced his concerns for him.) It is still more notable that at no time on record