Morisot, Manet and Mallarme, Part 3

There are women who seem able to do it all. Whether with the benefits of financial support, psychopharmaceutical aids, or some inherent grace beneath it all, these women can do what the rest of us can not. We may seek to ridicule them, present their hidden anxieties, reveal their personal crises, but in truth, we all know, that some women–in the words of possibly the greatest advertising campaign of all time–just do it.

In Mallarmé's piece on Morisot what becomes most apparent to me is his admiration for her ability to manage so many roles, of which the two most important are clearly her studio time and her social requirements. He sees her as the well-respected painter, the considered and considerate hostess of a Salon, a mother, the sister-in-law to the sometimes difficult Edouard Manet whose paintings also adorned her home, a sister to whom she remained intimate even when her sibling abandoned painting upon marrying, a considerate friend, an avid letter writer (as they all seem to have been! Though I guess we write emails), and, dare I say it, a beautiful home-maker.

Perhaps because we live in such a competitive age, or perhaps because we fear difference after the Social Revolution of the 60s and 70s, whatever the reason we seem disinclined these days to recognize, respect, or revere greatness. Whether in our civic leaders, our friends, or larger peer group, I see a disposition interested in finding the flaw. Is it not obvious that undoubtedly it is there? Is it necessary to highlight it?

I have said nothing here about the quality of Mallarmé's writing most commonly termed obscure because it has been discussed at such length in so many other places. He is notoriously difficult, known to have written his prose then gone back and deleted words so that what remained was a spare, almost terse, presentation of his object of focus. No matter how obscure he might be, however, that he admired her is clear. And he does not hesitate to state all the ways in which she was great. We could perhaps be encouraged to do the same, not necessarily of our immediate circle–who may in truth not be "great" with that in no way diminishing their wonderful and important place in each of our lives, though we likely each know at least one truly great person–but perhaps of those celebrities, politicians, and other luminaries whose lives we permit to have plastered across our screens and papers to feed some longing that we need not indulge.

Some people are great. Let's let them be.