buffalo's skin reading ~ text reading
Note : Wikipedia indicates: "There is a controversy about a purported speech by Sealth concerning the concession of native lands to the settlers." It remain to be seen the Wikipedia credibility about this, credibility moreover so often blamed!
The Large Head of Washington announced his desire to us to buy our ground.
The Large Head announced to us of his friendship and his benevolent feelings. He is very generous, because we know well that he does not have great need for our friendship in return.
However, we will consider your offer, because we know that if we do not sell, the white man will come with his rifles and will take our ground.
But can one buy or sell the sky, the heat of the ground? Strange idea for us!
If we are not owners of the freshness of the air, nor of the gleaming of water, how can you buy it to us?
The least recess of this ground is crowned for my people. Each pine needle luisante, each sandy strike, each scarf of fog in black wood, each clearing, the buzz of the insects, all that is crowned in the memory and the life of my people. The sap which runs in the trees carries the memories of the red man.
Deaths of the white men, when they walk in the medium of stars, forget their native soil. Our deaths never forget the beauty of this ground, because it is the mother of the red man; we belong to this ground like it belongs to us.
The scented flowers are our sisters, the stag, the horse, the large eagle are our brothers; the peaks of the mountains, juices of the meadows, the hot body of the pony, and the man himself, all belong to the same family.
Thus, when it asks us to buy our ground, the Large Head of Washington requires many us.
The Large Head assured us that it would hold a corner of it for us, where we could live comfortably, us and our children, and who he would be our father, and us his children.
We thus will consider your offer to buy our ground, but that will not be easy, because this ground, for us, is crowned.
Water étincelante of the brooks and the rivers is not water only; it is the blood of our ancestors. If we sell our ground to you, you will have to remember that it is crowned, and you will have to teach it with your children, and to teach them that each spectral reflection of the clear water of the lakes tells the past and the memories of my people. The murmur of water is the voice of the father of my father.
The rivers are our brothers; they seal our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes and nourish our children. If we sell our ground to you, you will have to remember that the rivers are our brothers and yours, and to teach it with your children, and you will have henceforth to testify the kindness to them which you would have for a brother.
The red man always moved back in front of the white man, as the fog of the mountains flees in front of the raising sun. But ashes of our fathers are crowned. Their tombs are a Holy Land; thus, these hills, these trees, this corner of ground are crowned in our eyes. We know that the white man does not understand our thoughts. For him, a small holding is worth some another, because he is the foreigner who night has just plundered the ground according to his needs. The ground is not his brother, but his enemy, and when it conquered it, it carries on its road. It leaves behind him the tombs of his fathers and is not concerned with it.
You must teach with your children that the ground, under their feet, is made ashes of our grandparents. So that they respect it, say to your children that the ground is rich life of our people. Learn to your children what we learn to our children, who the ground is our mother. All that arrives at the ground arrives at wire of the ground. When the men spit on the ground, they spit on themselves.
Let us know we it: the ground does not belong to the man, it is the man who belongs to the ground. We know it: all things are dependent as the blood which links the same family. All things are dependent.
All that arrives at the ground arrives at wire of the ground. The man did not weave the fabric of the life, it is only one fabric wire. All that it does with the fabric, it does it with itself.
But we will consider your offer of going in the reserve which you intend to my people. We will live with the variation and in peace. What imports where we will pass the remainder nowadays. Our children saw their fathers humiliated in the defeat. Our warriors knew shame; after the defeat, they run idle days and soil their body of soft foods and strong drinks. What imports where we will pass the remainder nowadays? They are not more numerous. Still a few hours, a few winters, and there will remain any more none the children of the large tribes which lived formerly on this ground, or which still wander in wood, by small groups; none will be there to cry over the tombs of people formerly also powerful, as full with hope as yours. But why cry over the end of my people? The tribes are made men, not more. The men come and from go away, like the waves of the sea.
Even the white man, whose God walks with him and speaks to him like a friend with his friend, cannot escape the common destiny. Perhaps let us be us brothers despite everything; we will see. But we know a thing which the white man will perhaps discover a day: our God is same God. You think in vain today that you have it as you would like to have our ground, you cannot it. He is God of the men, and its compassion is the same one for the red man and the white man.
The ground is invaluable in its eyes, and which undermines the ground its creator of contempt covers. The white will pass, them also, and perhaps before the other tribes. Continue to soil your bed, and a beautiful night, you will choke in your own waste.
But in your loss, you will shine of bright fires, lit by the power of God who brought you in this country, and which, in a known intention of gave him, you to be able on this ground and the red man. This destiny is for us a mystery; we don't understand, when all the buffaloes are massacred, the overcome wild horses, when the secret recesses of the forests are heavy odor of many men, the aspect of the ripe hills for the harvest is damaged by the speaking cables.
Where is the thicket? Disappeared. Where is the eagle? It is not any more. What is to say good-bye to the nimble pony and hunting? It is to finish living and starting to survive.
Thus, we will consider your offer to buy our ground. And if we accept, it will be to be of course to receive the reserve that you promised to us. There, perhaps, we will be able to finish the short days which remain us to be lived according to our desires. And when the last red man disappears from this ground, and that its memory will not be any more that the shade of a cloud slipping on the meadow, these banks and these forests will still shelter the spirits of my people. Because they like this ground like the new-born baby likes the beat of the heart of her mother. Thus, if we sell our ground to you, like it as we liked. Take care of it as we took care of them.
Have in memory the memory of this country, such as it is at the time when take it to you. And of all your force, of all your thought, all your heart, preserve it for your children and like it as God loves you all.
We know a thing: our God is same God. He likes this ground. The white man itself cannot escape has the common destiny. Perhaps brothers, we are us will see.
version française©2001-2008 Daniel Bertrand - all rights reserved - terms of use
parental protection of the children with ICRA
