WHAT IS MAN? AND OTHER ESSAYS OF MARK TWAIN

many intolerable children put in their whole time in distressing

and idiotic effort to attract the attention of visitors; boys are

always “showing off”; apparently all men and women are glad and

grateful when they find that they have done a thing which has

lifted them for a moment out of obscurity and caused wondering

talk. This common madness can develop, by nurture, into a hunger

for notoriety in one, for fame in another. It is this madness

for being noticed and talked about which has invented kingship

and the thousand other dignities, and tricked them out with

pretty and showy fineries; it has made kings pick one another’s

pockets, scramble for one another’s crowns and estates, slaughter

one another’s subjects; it has raised up prize-fighters, and

poets, and villages mayors, and little and big politicians, and

big and little charity-founders, and bicycle champions, and

banditti chiefs, and frontier desperadoes, and Napoleons.

Anything to get notoriety; anything to set the village, or the

township, or the city, or the State, or the nation, or the planet

shouting, “Look–there he goes–that is the man!” And in five

minutes’ time, at no cost of brain, or labor, or genius this

mangy Italian tramp has beaten them all, transcended them all,

outstripped them all, for in time their names will perish; but by

the friendly help of the insane newspapers and courts and kings

and historians, his is safe and live and thunder in the world all

down the ages as long as human speech shall endure! Oh, if it

were not so tragic how ludicrous it would be!

She was so blameless, the Empress; and so beautiful, in mind

and heart, in person and spirit; and whether with a crown upon

her head or without it and nameless, a grace to the human race,

and almost a justification of its creation; WOULD be, indeed, but

that the animal that struck her down re-establishes the doubt.

In her character was every quality that in woman invites and

engages respect, esteem, affection, and homage. Her tastes, her

instincts, and her aspirations were all high and fine and all her

life her heart and brain were busy with activities of a noble

sort. She had had bitter griefs, but they did not sour her

spirit, and she had had the highest honors in the world’s gift,

but she went her simple way unspoiled. She knew all ranks, and

won them all, and made them her friends. An English fisherman’s

wife said, “When a body was in trouble she didn’t send her help,

she brought it herself.” Crowns have adorned others, but she

adorned her crowns.

It was a swift celebrity the assassin achieved. And it is

marked by some curious contrasts. At noon last, Saturday there

was no one in the world who would have considered

acquaintanceship with him a thing worth claiming or mentioning;

no one would have been vain of such an acquaintanceship; the

humblest honest boot-black would not have valued the fact that he

had met him or seen him at some time or other; he was sunk in

abysmal obscurity, he was away beneath the notice of the bottom

grades of officialdom. Three hours later he was the one subject

of conversation in the world, the gilded generals and admirals

and governors were discussing him, all the kings and queens and

emperors had put aside their other interests to talk about him.

And wherever there was a man, at the summit of the world or the

bottom of it, who by chance had at some time or other come across

that creature, he remembered it with a secret satisfaction, and

MENTIONED it–for it was a distinction, now! It brings human

dignity pretty low, and for a moment the thing is not quite

realizable–but it is perfectly true. If there is a king who can

remember, now, that he once saw that creature in a time past, he

has let that fact out, in a more or less studiedly casual and

indifferent way, some dozens of times during the past week. For

a king is merely human; the inside of him is exactly like the

inside of any other person; and it is human to find satisfaction

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