ones, and that it raises itself in its own eyes by choosing heroes from
among its own race. The human family love to preserve the memory; of the
parvenus of glory, as we cherish that of a great ancestor, or of a
benefactor.

In fact, the talents granted to a single individual do not benefit
himself alone, but are gifts to the world; everyone shares them, for
everyone suffers or benefits by his actions. Genius is a lighthouse,
meant to give light from afar; the man who bears it is but the rock upon
which this lighthouse is built.

I love to dwell upon these thoughts; they explain to me in what consists
our admiration for glory. When glory has benefited men, that admiration
is gratitude; when it is only remarkable in itself, it is the pride of
race; as men, we love to immortalize the most shining examples of
humanity.

Who knows whether we do not obey the same instinct in submitting to the
hand of power? Apart from the requirements of a gradation of ranks, or
the consequences of a conquest, the multitude delight to surround their
chiefs with privileges--whether it be that their vanity makes them thus
to aggrandize one of their own creations, or whether they try to conceal
the humiliation of subjection by exaggerating the importance of those who
rule them. They wish to honor themselves through their master; they
elevate him on their shoulders as on a pedestal; they surround him with a
halo of light, in order that some of it may be reflected upon themselves.
It is still the fable of the dog who contents himself with the chain and
collar, so that they are of gold.

This servile vanity is not less natural or less common than the vanity of