Excerpt from Pennsylvania School Journal, 1888, Vol. 37
It was a maxim of Raffaelle's that the artist's object was to make things not as nature makes them, but as she would make them, as she ever tries to make them, but never succeeds, though her aim may be deduced from a comparison of her effects, just as if a number of archers had aimed unsuccessfully at a mark upon a wall, and this mark were then removed, we could by an examination of their arrow marks, point out the probable position of the, spot aimed at, with a certainty of being nearer to it than any of their spots.
We have most of us heard of original sin, and may perhaps, in our modest moments, conjecture that we are not quite what God or Nature would have us to be, Raffaelle had something to mend in humanity. I should like to have seen him mending a daisy, or a pease-blossom, or a moth, or a mustard seed, or any other of God's slightest work! If he had accomplished that, one might have found him more respectable employment, to set the stars in better order, perhaps (they seem greviously scattered as they are, and to be of all manner of shapes and sizes, except; the ideal shape and the proper size), or to give us a corrected view of the ocean, that at least seems a very irregular and improvable thing; the very fishermen do not know this day how far it will reach, driven up before the west wind. Perhaps someone else does, but that is not our business. Let us go down and stand on the beach by the sea - the great irregular sea - and count whether the thunder of it is not out of time - one - two - here comes a well formed wave at last, trembling a little at the top, but on the whole, orderly. So, crash among the shingle, and up as far as this gray pebble. Now stand by and watch. Another! Ah, careless wave, why could not you have kept your crest on? It is all gone away into spray, striking up against the cliffs there - I thought as much - missed the mark by a couple of feet. Another! How now, impatient one! couldn't you have waited till your friend's reflux was done with, instead of rolling yourself up with it in that unseemly manner? You go for nothing. A fourth, and a goodly one at last! What think we of yonder slow rise, and crystalline hollow, without a flaw? Steady, good wave, not so fast! not so fast! Where are you coming to? This is too bad; two yards over the mark, and ever so much of you in our face besides; and a wave we had so much hope of, behind there, broken all to pieces out at sea, and laying a great white table-cloth of foam all the way to the shore, as if the marine gods were to dine off it Alas, for these unhappy arrow shots of Nature! She will never hit her mark with those unruly waves of hers, nor get one of them into the ideal shape, if we wait for a thousand years.
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