All things in life have their end. Even in the most joyful course of their vanity and radiance, strength leaves them, and they disintegrate into dust. The whole world is a tomb, and there is nothing living on its surface that will not be hidden and buried beneath it. Rivers, rapids, and streams move forward towards their destiny. None flow back to their joyful source. They roar, hurrying to vanish into the depths of the ocean. Yesterday’s things no longer exist today, and today’s may cease tomorrow. The cemetery is full of unpleasant dust from bodies that once moved living souls, which sat on thrones, presided over assemblies, led armies, conquered territories, demanded divine honors for themselves, swelled with empty glory, power, and reign. But all this glory has passed like a terrifying smoke emerging from the throat of Popocatepetl, leaving no other memories behind except a note on one page of chronicle.
Great, wise, brave, beautiful – alas! Where are they now? They have mixed with the masses. The land bears witness to what has happened to them will happen to us and those who come after us. Let us be encouraged, noble lords and chieftains, faithful friends and honorable subjects, let us trust in that sky where everything is eternal and where corruption has no access. The horrors of the grave are nothing but the cradle of the Sun, and the dark shadows of death are the shining lights of the stars.
Excerpt from the book
The Conquest of Mexico, William Prescott
Selected by Nataša Žaja