This powerful painting by Pierre Fritel pictures the grim progress of the great conquerors of the world through an avenue of death lined by the victims of the world’s wars. Cæsar rides in the center—beside and behind are Tamerlane, Alexander, Attila, Charlemagne, Napoleon and other world conquerors.
It is Human Desire that makes world history—desire for conquest, possession, and control. The Conqueror of the World must have his will. He treads the peoples of the earth under his feet, and spreads ruin in his path. He knows no social distinctions—this Re-molder of Humanity. The habitations of poor and rich alike are demolished, and the treasured possessions of city and town desecrated. Monuments of revered memory are razed to the ground, and new monuments to the Conqueror are raised to the sky. Nations are subjugated; governments are revised; territory is re-assigned; new laws are made. The people bow under the yoke; the Conqueror is enthroned with pomp and ceremony, and hailed as Master of the World.
And then—something happens that saves the world for the people. Some call it the “Hand of Fate”; those that live in the faith call it the “Will of God.” But history tells us that final defeat awaits the man that aspires to be Conqueror of the World.
Tamerlane, the Tartar tyrant, called “the Scourge of God,” swept the hordes of Asia before him in world conquest. He died suddenly while preparing to invade China. Alexander of Macedon, called “the Great,” made himself master of the world of his day. He forestalled Fate by dissipating his young life away, and died broken-hearted, sighing for more worlds to conquer. Hannibal, the Carthaginian, carried the spirit of conquest across the Mediterranean to Spain, Italy, and over the Alps. He threatened Rome itself, and aspired to the overlordship of land and sea. Finally, defeated by Scipio Africanus, he was exiled to Syria, where, dishonored and deserted, he committed suicide. Julius Cæsar conquered all Gaul, and carried the standards of Rome to far-off Britain. The name of Cæsar became synonymous with conquest, so that it has been borne by successive emperors for centuries, and is, even in this day, the title of Imperialism. But Cæsar crossed the Rubicon, “and Rome was free no more.” In the very fullness of his power he was assassinated by his own senators, his friend Brutus among them.
“As he was ambitious,” said Brutus, “I slew him. There is joy for his fortune; honor for his valor; and death for his ambition.”
Napoleon Bonaparte gained leadership in France at a critical time, reconstructed her shattered institutions, and built up a military power that dominated all Europe. His ambition contemplated a personal supremacy of the Continent, with vassal nations paying tribute to his sovereignty. Beyond the bounds of Europe he carried conquest into Egypt, riding his charger to the foot of the Pyramids. But his over-weening ambition tempted him too far. As the crossing of the Rubicon sealed the fate of Cæsar, the crossing of the Niemen marked the beginning of Napoleon’s downfall. With the Grand Army of more than half a million men, he invaded Russia, penetrating as far as Moscow. In a few months, with a pitiful, broken and ragged remnant of his forces, he recrossed the Niemen, minus glory and minus the trophies of war. Soon after, Napoleon met his Waterloo, and ended his days in lonely brooding, like an eagle chained to a rock, on the desolate island of St. Helena.
Sic transit gloria mundi—“so passes away the glory of the world”; so ends the career of the Conqueror.
