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06 给美国政府的答复
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西雅图酋长（Chief Seattle ,1786—1866），美国华盛顿州境内的印第安人部落的领袖，信奉天主教，对白人友好。西雅图市即以其命名。
这是1854年西雅图酋长在与白人签订出让土地协约之前，给美国政府的答复。
演讲讲述了印第安人与白人文明相遇后的衰落境遇，在慨叹两族在宗教和物质意识方面“几乎毫无共同点”之后，接受了放弃土地进入保留区的事实。
演讲带着诗意的忧伤和悲凉。语言中充满山河水流、日月风霜等自然意象，体现了印第安人对故土的无限爱恋，以及他们天人合一的宇宙观。演讲感情浓烈、语气恳切，具有引起听众同情的强大力量。
Yonder [1] sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change.
Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons.
The white chief says that Big Chief at Washington sends us greetings of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him for we know he has little need of our friendship in return. His people are many. They are like the grass that covers vast prairies [2] . My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a stormswept plain. The great, and I presume—good, White Chief sends us word that he wishes to buy our land but is willing to allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears just, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country.
There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind- ruffled [3] sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening [4] it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.
Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes [5] that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless [6] , and our old men and old women are unable to restrain [7] them. Thus it has ever been. Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward. But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.
Our good father in Washington—for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his boundaries further north—our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to us a bristling [8] wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fi ll our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward—the Haidas and Tsimshians—will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children.
But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father leads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit,seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fill all the land. Our people are ebbing [9] away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man’s God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws but had no word for His red children whose teeming [10] multitudes [11] once fi lled this vast continent as stars fi ll the fi rmament [12] . No; we are two distinct races with separate origins and separate destinies. There is little in common between us.
To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed [13] ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets [14] of stone by the iron fi nger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors—the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems [15] ,and is written in the hearts of our people.
Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity [16] as soon as they pass the portals [17] of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being.They still love its verdant [18] valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered [19] vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.
Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fl ed the approach of the White Man, as the morning mistfl ees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace,for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness.
It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days.They will not be many. The Indian’s night promises to be dark.Not a single star of hope hovers [20] above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man’s trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.
A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimelyfate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation followsnation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, andregret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from [21] the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.
We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation [22] of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley,every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter [23] in the sun along the silent shore,thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves,fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season,will love these sombre [24] solitudes and at eventide [25] they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished [26] , and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm [27] with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children’s children think themselves alone in the fi eld, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude.At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silentand you think them deserted, they will throng with the returninghosts that once fi lled them and still love this beautiful land. TheWhite Man will never be alone.
Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds.
[1] yonder 8 : adj. 那边的，远处的
[2] prairie 6 : n. 草原
[3] ruffl e 8 : v. 弄皱，扰乱
[4] hasten 4 : v. 加速
[5] denote 6 : v. 表示，指代
[6] relentless 8 : adj. 残酷的，坚韧的
[7] restrain 4 : v. 约束
[8] bristling 8 : adj. 粗硬的，生机勃勃的
[9] ebb 8 : v. 衰弱，退潮
[10] teeming 8 : adj. 丰富的
[11] multitude 6 : n. 大量
[12] fi rmamen 8 : n. 苍穹
[13] hallowed 8 : adj. 神圣的
[14] tablet 4 : n. 牌，碑
[15] sachem 8 : n. 酋长，领袖
[16] nativity 8 : n. 出生
[17] portal 8 : n. 门户
[18] verdant 8 : adj. 翠绿的，长满绿色植物的
[19] sequestered 8 : adj. 偏僻的，幽静的
[20] hover 6 : v. 悬浮，徘徊
[21] be exempt from 8 : phr. 免除
[22] molestation 8 : n.骚扰
[23] swelter 8 : n. 酷热
[24] sombre 8 : adj. 昏暗的，阴沉的
[25] eventide 8 : n. 黄昏
[26] perish 6 : v. 死亡
[27] swarm 4 : v. 密集
无数个世纪以来，浩渺苍天曾为我的族人挥洒同情之泪；这人们看似永恒无易的苍天，是会改变的：今天和风旭日，明日则可能乌云密布；但我的话却有如亘古的星辰，永不变更。华盛顿的大酋长可以像信赖日月季节更替一般，相信西雅图所说的任何话。
华盛顿的大酋长委托白人酋长向我们致以友好的问候与祝愿。他真是好意，因为我们知道他并不需要我们的友情作为回报。他的子民众多，如广袤草原上的无边青草；我的族人寥寥，如风雨狂虐过后平原上的稀落树木。这位了不起的——我想也是仁慈的——白人酋长传话给我们，他愿意在为我们保留丰足土地的前提下，购买我们的土地。这看起来的确很合理，甚至是慷慨的，因为红种人已经没有要求受尊重的权利了；这个提议也许还是英明的，因为这么辽阔的国土对我们来说已经没有意义了。
曾几何时，我们的族人曾住满了整片土地，就像随风涌浪的海水掩盖着满是贝壳的海底；但那个时代早已一去不复返，部族曾经的辉煌只留给我们忧伤的回忆。我不愿再纠缠于我们部落过早的衰落，不愿再为此哀叹，也不愿将此归咎于白种兄弟，因为我们自己多少也难辞其咎。
年轻一代总是容易冲动。我们年轻的族人被或真实或虚幻的冤屈所激怒，用黑漆将脸涂黑，同时也抹黑了自己的心，变得残酷无情；而我们这些上了岁数的老人们又无力约束他们。然而，尽管一直都是如此，尽管自从白人把我们往西驱逐以来一直如此，还是让我们希望彼此间的仇恨能够永远泯灭。仇恨能让我们失去一切，却毫无所得。对年轻人来说，复仇本身便是一种收获，失去生命也在所不辞；但是那些在战时固守家园的老人，以及可能在战争中失去儿子的母亲们，懂得更多事情的真相。
我们在华盛顿的好父亲——自从乔治国王将他的边界线向北推进之后，我已经把他当成我们和你们共同的父亲了——我说，我们了不起的好父亲传话来说，如果我们顺从他的意愿，他会保护我们。他的神武勇士将为我们筑起护卫之墙，他神奇的战舰会驻满我们的港口。这样一来，我们北边的宿敌——海达人和辛姆希人——就再也不能威胁到我们的妇孺老弱了。如此这般，他作为父亲，我们作为孩子就成了事实了。
但这可能吗？你们的上帝并不是我们的上帝！你们的上帝爱护你们的子民，却憎恨我的族人！他有力的臂弯慈爱地保护着白人，就像父亲指引孩童般指引着他们。但是他遗弃了红皮肤的孩子——如果我们真的能称作他的孩子的话。我们的上帝，那伟大的神灵，好像也已经遗弃了我们。你们的神让你们的人民一天天强大起来，很快就能占据整个大地；而我的族人却衰落得如激退的潮水一去不回。白人的神不会爱护我们的同胞，不然他为何不保护我们，而让我们像孤儿一样求助无门？既然如此，我们怎能成为兄弟呢？你们的神又怎能成为我们的神，让我们重振雄风并唤醒我们重返昔日鼎盛时期的梦想呢？假如我们真的有着同一位天父，那他必定偏心，因为他只照看白皮肤的儿子，我们却从来见不到他；他教给你们律法，对红皮肤的儿子却无话可说，尽管他们曾经如繁星占满苍穹般遍布整个大陆。不，我们是两个截然不同的种族，起源不同，命运也各异。我们之间几乎毫无共同点。
在我们看来，祖先的骨灰是神圣的，他们的安息之所也是圣地。而你们却似乎可以毫无哀痛感地远离祖先墓地。你们的宗教，是你们的神恐怕你们遗忘，以铁指书写在石板之上的。红种人对此既不能领会也难以记住；我们的宗教传自我们的祖先——伟大的神灵于夜晚的神圣时刻，以梦的方式赐予我们族中长者，经过酋长们的洞察，铭刻在我们族人的心底。
你们的亡者一旦踏进墓地的大门，便不再爱护你们，也不再爱护曾经的故国家园。他们从此飘忽于群星之外，很快就被生者遗忘，也永不再回来。我们的逝者却永远不会遗忘这个曾赐予他生命的美丽世界。他们依然爱恋着青翠的峡谷、潺潺的河流、雄伟的大山、幽静的溪谷和碧绿的湖泊海湾；并且以最温柔体贴的情感牵挂着内心孤寂的生者，一次次地从他们极乐的狩猎之地回来，探望他们，指引他们，安抚他们。
白日与黑夜无法共存。白人所至之处，红人都会退避三舍，一如晨雾在太阳升起之前就早早消散一样。然而，你们的提议看起来很公道，我想我的族人会同意退居到你们所承诺的保留区去。如此一来，我们便可以和睦地分居两处，因为白人大酋长的话对我的同胞们来说，就好像大自然从如磐的黑暗中发出来的声音。
至于我们度过余生的地点，是无关紧要的。我们已经去日无多。印第安人的夜晚只有一片漆黑，在他的地平线上不会再有希望的星星闪烁。忧伤的风在远处呜咽，残酷的命运尾随在红种人的身后，不论身在何方，都听得见无情的毁灭者靠近的脚步。他只能麻木地等待末日的到来，如同受伤的母鹿无奈地听着猎人靠近的声声脚步。
几经月圆月亏，几次寒来暑往，这个曾经由伟大的神灵所护佑、遍布广袤的大地、在自己的家园幸福生活的民族，将不会再有一名幸存的子孙，去为一个曾经比你们更强大、更生机勃勃、如今却只剩下墓碑的部族哀哀哭泣。 但我又何须为我族的夭亡而悲叹呢？一个部落没落，另一个部落兴起；一个民族灭亡，另一个民族崛起，如同潮起潮落。自然的法则如此，哀叹痛惜又有何益呢？ 你们没落的一天固然遥远，但终究还是会有那么一天的；就算白人能和上帝有如密友至交般亲密无间，也同样劫数难逃。我们终究会成为同病相怜的兄弟的，我们拭目以待吧。
我们会仔细权衡你们的提议，一作出决议就会告诉你们。但是要接受的话，我们还得先提一个条件：你们不能剥夺我们随时回去探望祖先、朋友和儿子坟墓的权利，也不可干扰刁难；对我们的族人而言，那里的每一寸土地都是神圣的。每一片山坡，每一处河谷，每一块平原，每一丛树林，都因我们族人早已远去的喜怒哀乐而变得圣洁无比；甚至那些静静躺在寂静的海边、被烈日暴晒的顽石，也因见证过族人们曾有的生气勃勃的生活而变得激动人心；甚至你们脚底的尘土也不会给予你们那种它曾给予我们的深情回应，因为它被我们祖先的鲜血所浸透，只有我们的赤足才更能感受到它那充满怜惜的触摸。我们已逝的勇士、多情的母亲、欢欣的少女、甚至还有仅仅在这里生长嬉戏过一段短短的美好岁月的孩子们，都热恋着这一片黯淡荒寂的土地，并在夜幕降临之时，迎接那些蒙蒙的族人之魂飘然而归。当最后一个红种人逝去，我们部落的回忆在白人心中已经成为神话之时，这里的海岸仍将聚集着我们族人无形的灵魂；当你们的后代以为他们是独自在田野、库房、商店、公路或者寂静的树林之中流连时，他们也绝非孤身一人。 大地之上没有任何地方是真正孤寂的；夜深人静，当你们城镇或村庄的街道悄然入梦，也许你会以为此刻它们都是荒芜无生命的。其实不然，街上将挤满了回归故园的亡魂。他们曾生活在这里，至今仍然热爱这片美丽的故土。 白人永远不会独占这个地方。
愿他公正友善地对待我的族人，因为死者并不是无能为力的。我说他们是死者吗？不，世上并没有“死亡”一说——他们只是去了另外一个世界。