Five hundred and fifty years ago a man tried to make himself master of the world. In everything he undertook he was successful. We call him Tamerlane.
In the beginning he was a gentleman of little consequence—master of no more than some cattle and land in that breeding ground of conquerors, Central Asia. Not the son of a king, as Alexander was, or the heir of a chieftain, like Genghis Khan. The victorious Alexander had at the outset his people, the Macedonians, and Genghis Khan had his Mongols.[1] But Tamerlane gathered together a people.
One after the other, he overcame the armies of more than half the world. He tore down cities, and rebuilt them in the way he wished. Over his roads the caravan trade of two continents passed. Under his hands he gathered the wealth of empires, and spent it as he fancied. Out of mountain summits he made pleasure palaces—in a month. More, perhaps, than any human being within a life he attempted “To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire . . . and then, Remould it nearer to the heart’s desire.”
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