"And dispute not with the fool!" The prophet never argues; it is for him only to affirm. Argument is at bottom only a lack of trust in my own truth. Caesar's wife must be above suspicion: and to bear misunderstanding in silence,--this is to be great. Hence the noblest moment in Kepler's life was not when he discovered the planet, but when he discovered that if God could wait six thousand years for the understanding by man of one of his starlets, _he_ surely could wait a few brief years for _his_ recognition by his fellow-men. God is the great misunderstood, and he--never argues. In living out my truth in silence, without argument even though misunderstood, I not only show my faith in it, but prove it by my very strength. If I am understood, nothing more need be said; if I am not understood, nothing more can be said. Pushkin, therefore, often weeps, sobs, groans. He at times even searches, questions, doubts, despairs; but he never argues. Broad is the back of Pegasus, and strong is his wing, but neither his back nor his wings shall enable him to float the rhyming arguer. No sooner does the logician mount the heavenly steed than its wings droop, and both rider and steed quickly drop into the limbo of inanity. Melancholy, indeed, is the sight of a dandy dressed for a party unexpectedly drenched by the shower; sorrowful is the sight of statesman turned politician before election; and pitiful is the spectacle of the manufacturing versifier, who grinds out of himself his daily task of one hundred lines, as the milkman squeezes out his daily can of milk from the cow. But most pitiful of all, immeasurably pathetic to me, is the sight of pettifogging logician forsaking his hair-splitting world, and betaking himself to somersaulting verse. To much the bard is indeed called, but surely not to that.... 8. To affirm then the bard is called, and what in "My Monument" is but hinted, becomes clear, emphatic utterance in Pushkin's "Sonnet to the Poet." "Poet, not popular applause shalt thou prize! Of raptured praise shall pass the momentary noise; The fool's judgment thou shalt hear, and the cold mob's laughter-- Calm stand, and firm be, and--sober! "Thou art king: live alone. On the free road Walk whither draws thee thy spirit free: Ever the fruits of beloved thoughts ripening, Never reward for noble deeds demanding. "In thyself reward seek. Thine own highest court thou art; Severest judge, thine own works canst measure. Art thou content, O fastidious craftsman? Content? Then let the mob scold, And spit upon the altar, where blazes thy fire. Thy tripod in childlike playfulness let it shake."