All language subtitles for Centennial 00 Only The Rocks Live Forever Pt 1.eng

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Hello. I'm James Michener.

And those peaks are part
of a majestic mountain range we call the Rockies.

Granite giants that have been
a part of this land forever,

that symbolize our nation's
strength and freedom.

I suppose my primary reason
for writing the book Centennial

was to ask us, you and me,

if we're aware of
what's happening right now to this land we love,

this earth
we depend upon for life.

It's a novel, of course,

and its characters
and scenes are imaginary.

But there were French trappers
from Canada,

like the man who called
himself Pasquinel.

There were mountain men
from Scotland like the man named Alexander McKeag.

There was a silversmith
in St. Louis like Hermann Bockweiss,

an Army officer
like Maxwell Mercy,

a militia commander like
Frank Skimmerhorn,

a Texas trail boss
like R.J. Poteet,

and certain background
incidents and characters are real.

In the 1820s and '30s,
the mountain men did hold

an annual rendezvous
in the Rockies.

In 1851, there was
a great convocation at Fort Laramie

that saw 10,000 Indians
gather to approve a treaty with our government.

In 1864, there was a massacre

that is to this day
one of our nation's greatest tragedies.

And the same decade
did see the great longhorn trail drives north from Texas.

The cattle would bring
a need for a town.

A town like the one
I call Centennial.

This is the story
of that town.

It's a big story

about the people who helped
make this country what it is,

and the land that makes
the people what they are.

And it's a story about time.

Not just as a record,
but also a reminder.

A reminder that during
the few years allotted to each of us,

we are the guardians
of the earth.

We are, at once,
the custodians of our heritage,

and the caretakers
of our future.

Stay with us for
the great adventure of the American West.

NARRATOR: When the Earth
was already ancient,

of an age
incomprehensible to man,

an event of basic importance
occurred in the area

which would later be
known as Colorado.

One billion, seven hundred
million years ago,

an irresistible power broke
through the crust of the Earth to form a basement rock.

That rock would endure
to this very day.

Upon it would be built
the subsequent mountains.

Across it would
wander the rivers.

Brawling, undisciplined,
violent arteries of life

that are part of an endless
cycle of building up and tearing down,

of stripping away old deposits

and laying down new rock,

using the same material
again and again.

By the year 15,000 B.C.,
the major characteristics

of the land around
what was to become Centennial were fairly well determined.

Some miles northwest
was a chalk cliff,

beds of limestone infinitely
older than the Rockies.

To the west and slightly
to the south was a gemlike mountain valley

where nuggets of gold had
been raked from the crevices of the rocks by a glacier

and hidden
at the bottom of a stream.

Another special place
was on the western bank

of a wandering, muddy stream
where Centennial was to be.

A small underwater cave that
might never have been found

except for a murder
committed over 11,000 years after its creation.

And finally
there is the river.

A sad, bewildered
nothing of a river,

a sand bottom of
wandering afterthought.

Its name is as flat
as its appearance.

The South Platte.

Yet for a while
it was the highway of empire.

It was the course
of stirring adventure

and the means whereby
the adventurers lived.

And so the stage is set,

the land has become
a home for living things.

One of the most loveable
and stubborn of all creatures

came to thrive
in the streams of Colorado.

One of the most deadly
and terrifying took refuge in its rocky sanctuaries.

The horse returned to
the vast plains that were its place of origin.

And a version of the bison
trekked from Asia

to roam the area that would
one day be Centennial.

This shaggy beast would
become the center of culture for the American Indian,

a nomadic people
that migrated from Asia 12,000 years ago

and stayed to develop
a primitive social order

and a deep appreciation
of the land.

In the year 1756,

a sliver group of a tribe,
who referred to themselves only as Our People,

faced a major crisis.

The Indians surrounding them
had horses,

making them more mobile
in their hunting and more powerful in war.

War between the various tribes
on the plains was

a kind of dangerous game
that seldom resulted in death.

What was important
was a display of courage.

Bravery was shown by
touching or striking an enemy with hand or weapon,

a practice later to be
known as counting coup.

But the bravest act of all

was for a warrior
to stake himself out to face his enemy.

Held to the ground
by bison thongs and his own pledge

to fight so long as
his strength lasted.

Because of its bold disdain
for the enemy,

this act would
almost certainly end in the warrior's death

and was practiced only under
desperate conditions.

(SHOUTING)

For Our People,
the year 1756 was such a time,

because they had no horses
and they knew they could not survive long without them.

(IN ARAPAHO)
My father...

(IN ARAPAHO)
I am your father.

My real father,
where is he?

He is not coming.

Why? Where is he?

Listen to me.

Only the rocks
live forever.

(IN ENGLISH)
Only the rocks live forever.

(IN ENGLISH)
Gray Wolf. My father.

I am your father now.

NARRATOR: This young Indian
was nine years old when he first encountered death.

It was a thing
he could not fathom,

but he would learn
to face it without fear.

You didn't get any horses?
No.

Then my father
died for nothing.

Sun-at-Noon
staked himself out.

He counted many coup.

I am proud
he was my brother.

You can be proud
he was your father.

And we should both hope
to die such a death.

Only the rocks
live forever.

NARRATOR:
He was called Lame Beaver,

and he was destined
to become a great leader

at a time when a force
the Indian could not imagine

was moving slowly
inexorably toward him.

A force that would change
his way of life forever.

(PASQUINEL SINGING IN FRENCH)

(GROWLING)

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

(GROWLING)

(YELLS)

(LAUGHING)

(SINGING)

NARRATOR: As the century
was drawing to a close,

Lame Beaver had
lived half of it

and seen many things,

and now he had been told
that he would see a god.

He's no god. He's a man.

He moves more like a bison,
like he owns the prairie.

And the wolves
ran from him.

Maybe they're fresh
from another kill.

Maybe they had
reason to fear him. His skin is different.

Ute skin is
different, too.

He's a man.
We should talk with him. No.

He must have killed
many Pawnee to get here.

He may kill us
if we go to him.

We'll wait till dark,
then we'll see what his medicine is.

(WOLF HOWLING)

NARRATOR: It was but one of
many coups for Lame Beaver,

but it was the beginning
of a new era.

In that moment of
mutual terror and trust,

a treaty was ratified between
the Indian and the white man.

A treaty that would change
forever the nature of life in the American West.

He was a coureur de bois.
One who runs in the woods.

A small, powerful Frenchman
who wore the red knitted cap of Quebec

and called himself Pasquinel.

He brought with him
blankets from Canada,

bright cloths
from New Orleans,

silver from Germany
and beads from Paris.

With the coming of spring,
he had traded goods with the Arapaho,

the name by which
the other tribes referred to Our People.

He pressed his pelts
into bales weighing 100 pounds each.

And through that ingenious,
silent language of the plains

that is older
than speech itself,

Lame Beaver let him know that
he was welcome to come again.

He also let the trader know
the gift he would most like to have next time was a gun.

For he had seen
its awesome power

and knew it was
the weapon of the future.

And the white man agreed
to bring him one.

Then the Arapaho warned him
about the Pawnee.

Pasquinel had crossed
their land in safety coming in,

but the Arapaho insisted
they would not let him leave with anything of value.

Not even his life.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

NARRATOR: Heading eastward,
he found the river impassable

and was forced
to portage his pelts.

Selecting a hiding place
for his canoe

among a stand of cottonwoods
near the river's edge,

he covered it with brush
and set out on foot

to carry the first two
of his 100-pound bales

the distance of
over seven miles.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

(SINGING IN FRENCH)

(WHOOPS)

Satisfied that the bales
were properly concealed,

he calculated the hours
of daylight remaining

and turned back into
the heart of Pawnee territory for the rest of his pelts.

(HORSE SNORTING)

You come.

I follow.

I, Rude Water.

Pasquinel.

Gun?

Oui. Gun.

NARRATOR: Like Lame Beaver,
Rude Water's primary interest

was in the weapon
the trader carried.

The Pawnee had met
white men before,

spoke some of their language,

and knew well
the power of the gun.

You come from where?

St. Louis.

St. Louis
where sun rise.

I was with
Lame Beaver.

How long you
with Lame Beaver?

Your people must have told you
when I came through.

I saw them follow me.

You stay long time. Why?

Trade beaver.

Trade gun?

Non.

Trade bracelets and beads.

For you.

And your wife.

I have four wife.

You smart man.

We be friends, Pasquinel.

You give me gun,
we be good friends.

No. I need gun.

I could take.

Not if you're my friend.

And not if you want to learn
how to use the gun.

You smart man.

Next time you come,
you bring me gun.

The gun is worth many beaver.

We have plenty beaver.

I bring gun.

NARRATOR: The reception
and the parting were so friendly

that Pasquinel knew
Lame Beaver's words were true.

He would have to fight.

(SCREAMING)

(GUN FIRING)

(LAUGHING)

By damn, he's stubborn,
the Pawnee.

(RUSTLING)

(MAN WHISTLING)

(GROANS)

Pawnee.

Cheyenne.

(IN FRENCH)
Pull it out.

(IN CHEYENNE)
No!

I will do it.

Bite.

The tip has caught on bone.
I cannot work it free.

(IN FRENCH) Push it in,
twist it and pull.

You would die.

Then cut it off
beneath the skin.

(HORSE SNUFFLING)

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

All the Cheyenne
will hear of Pasquinel.

(ALL WHOOPING)

(SNAKE RATTLING)

Beaver! Much beaver!

We trade. You trade gun?

Trade? Yeah, sure.
We trade gun.

(GRUNTS)

These my peltries!
They stole them from me!

Get the rest of those pelts.

Sink those canoes.

NARRATOR: His canoe,
his rifle, his store of goods, and his pelts were gone.

After two years of work,

all he had was
a knife on his hip

and an arrowhead in his back.

BUTLER: It's lodged
in bone, all right.

The shaft's cut off
well below the surface.

Hurt?

Non.

That?

Non.

I can move it.

But if you can stand
that kind of pain,

it's not doing any damage,
I'd leave it alone.

(CLEARING THROAT)
Will you be going back?

As soon as I can
find a license holder to supply me.

To the Pawnee?

I have no war
with the Pawnee.

Just the pirates.

Thank you, Doctor.

I'll pay you
as soon as I find someone to finance my next round.

Tell me,
what's it like out there?

Violent.

There is a wind that
never seems to stop.

Sometimes you swear
you are going insane.

And storms like
you have never seen,

screeching and booming
with their thunder.

And hail. Hail
the size of hen eggs.

They can kill
whole flights of birds.

In the spring,
tornadoes that tear apart everything in their path.

And in the winter,

snow squalls
that kill everything that is unprepared.

And in between the storms,
it falls silent.

So quiet you are certain
you are going mad

and you pray for the storms
to come back again.

And then when they come
back again, you pray for them to stop again.

I tell you, it is a land
fit only for the savages,

and you have seen
what they are like.

But I have seen worse.

I have seen much worse.

They are very curious
how slowly a man can die.

And if you survive
the Indians and the elements, there are the animals.

Wolves that run
in whole packs,

and snakes that strike
from me to you

and plant their fangs
to pump their poison.

You find that amusing,
monsieur?

(CLEARS THROAT) Just wondering
why you're going back.

Because I am a simple man,
monsieur.

Without a profession,
without an education,

I know only the woods.

You know what I think?

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

I think you found a treasure.

A treasure?

What they fought
for in France.

What my people fought for
in the colonies.

Freedom.

Do you know what I think?
What?

I think that you are more
dangerous than the Pawnee.

Talk like that
could change everything.

(LAUGHING)

BUTLER: I wish
I could go with you.

I'm glad
you think you cannot.

Perhaps...
What?

I have a patient,
a merchant, a silversmith,

who has a trading license
with the governor.

Oui?

Well, I was just thinking
that perhaps we three could form a partnership.

He's just recently
from Munich.

His name is Bockweiss.
Hermann Bockweiss.

You like it?

If I were a Cheyenne chief,
I could not live without it.

(EXCLAIMS)

That is what
I want to hear.

You see, Richard?

This is a man
who knows good work.

I know nothing about silver
but I know the Indian.

And you cannot
make enough of this.

And this, and this,

and that

is the pi�ce de r�sistance.

Do you know the meaning
of the pipe?

It's smoked for peace,
isn't it?

And war.

And anything between men
that needs to be sanctified.

To many tribes
on the plains,

this is their most
sacred possession.

They believe that the pipe
gives them a communion with the spirit world.

When they exhale the smoke,
they see it as a breath of prayer.

The living breath
of the spirit. The Great Spirit.

Monsieur Bockweiss,

with this pipe
you can become immortal.

That would be nice,
Monsieur Pasquinel,

but quite candidly,
I would just as soon it made me rich.

(LAUGHING)

Papa?

Oh, I'm sorry.
I did not know you had company.

Oh, it's all right.

You know Doctor Butler.
Ja. Hello, doctor.

Lise.

And this is
Monsieur Pasquinel.

My daughter, Lise.

Monsieur.

(GREETING IN FRENCH)

I guess we should
know your first name, should we not?

I'm sorry.

Don't be. I have none.

Just Pasquinel.

You're from France?

Quebec.

Canada? How fantastic!

I've always been
so curious about Canada.

I hope you will
do us the honor

and come to dinner tonight
and tell us all about it.

Thank you, but...
Of course you will.

Lise, take him
to the house

and pour him
whatever he likes.

The doctor and I
will be right in.

Ja, Papa.

Monsieur?

I only brought him
to discuss a business proposition, Hermann.

But the city has
only 500 or 600 men, Richard.

Most of them married
and maybe none of them as strong as that one.

At any rate, if I were
a cautious man, I would not have come to this country.

And if I were not a romantic,
I would not have had such a lovely daughter.

Please sit down.

Merci.

Claret?
Fine.

You like the house?

It's grand.

The Chouteau family
built it,

but it was...

They wanted
something larger. Larger?

Why would anyone want
a house larger than this?

A house says a lot
about a person.

Merci.

But it doesn't make a man
bigger than he is.

Shall we sit?

Would you be more comfortable
if you were sitting?

No. No, I'm fine.

What brought you
to St. Louis? The river.

I mean, what reason?

Oh, beaver.

You're a trader, then?

Oui.

I should think that would be
a very lonely profession.

Profession? No, no.

(LAUGHING)

It is work.

And when a man works
he is always alone, n'est-ce pas?

Ja.

(STAMMERING) Ja,
I suppose that is true.

Shall we sit?

I would so love
to hear about Canada.

I don't think that
you would like Canada.

No? Why not?

Because they only have
little people.

It's true.
Little people like this.

Everyone.

I am the tallest man
in the whole country.

I do not need
to be laughed at.

Cried about, then?

Poor Lise Bockweiss.

The fairest woman
in all St. Louis,

with hair like wild honey,

whose eyes are like
a mountain lake.

What a pity she's so tall.

And that Pasquinel,
if he wants to hold her,

he should take an axe and
chop three or four inches off her legs.

It is fine to be tall.
If I were tall, I would rule the world.

But since I'm not,
I am satisfied to rule where I am at the moment.

Monsieur Pasquinel...

Non. Pasquinel.

No monsieur, no Henri,
no Jean Pierre. Just Pasquinel.

I think I should
look about dinner.

Do you still want me
to stay for dinner?

You were invited.

Oui, but to talk about Canada.

To get where we're going,
it does not matter how we stand.

It matters how we move.

And you, mademoiselle,
you move very well.

BUTLER:
So, what do you think, Hermann?

I think it is
a dangerous enterprise.

He must come and go
through how many tribes?

Pawnee, Cheyenne, Arapaho,
Dakota, Comanche, Ute.

Several thousand Indians
and one white man alone.

His chances for survival
cannot be good,

but you think he's worth
the risk of investment.

When I pushed that arrowhead
deeper in his back,

I know it hurt.

And I know a little bit
about pain, Hermann.

A man doesn't learn
to bear it like that without a lot of courage.

I think
he'll bring back pelts.

(DOG BARKING)

You killed
three Pawnee.

I killed three thieves.

And if your braves
attack me now, I kill you.

Two guns.
Oui.

For me?

One for the man
who said he was my friend.

Which man
speaks to me now?

I sorry we fight last year.

This year we be friends.

(IN PAWNEE)
Get the other gun.

(IN ENGLISH)
Now I have two guns.

(IN PAWNEE)
Bring the red beard.

And two white men.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)
Parlez-vous fran�ais?

(IN ENGLISH)
Just smile.

You teach them
how to shoot yet?

You kill anybody?

This my brother.

My brother.

Regardez.

Regardez.

(IN PAWNEE)
He says they're brothers.

Do they look like
brothers to you?

(IN PAWNEE)
If they are brothers,

she is my brother.

(ALL LAUGHING)

He said
if you're my brother, she's his brother.

I speak some Pawnee.

(IN ENGLISH) You speak
at the wrong damn time.

I might have
made their eyes believe, but not their ears, too.

Sorry.

(IN PAWNEE)
The brothers speak different tongues.

Are the Pawnee
and the Cheyenne brothers?

The Pawnee
and the Arapaho? No.

They speak the tongues
of different tribes.

Brothers speak
the same tongue.

He said different tribes
speak different tongues.

Since we don't speak
the same tongue, we cannot be brothers.

He lies.

He said...
I speak that much in any language.

No, no.
You're the one who lied

when you told me
I could pass in peace last year.

I carry the arrow
of a coward in my back.

A Pawnee arrow.

Now we are brothers.
This is true.

We are brothers like
the Arikara are brothers to the Pawnee.

Different,
but from the same family.

Now, I know you didn't
send your braves to kill me last year.

That is why I came back
in friendship as I promised.

And I brought this
to prove my friendship.

After we smoke it,
I will teach you how to shoot a gun.

We'll bring you
more guns next year if you keep your word.

I understand about family
like the Arikara and Pawnee.

I glad you understand
about last year.

You can travel in Pawnee land.

But for every
five pelts you take, you must give me two.

One.

Last year you said one.
It is still one.

But we will take
your pelts to St. Louis,

get more goods
then you can get on the river. We?

Unless you have
a better offer.

Him word good?
Same as you?

Same as me.

Maybe I keep him here.
Make sure you come back from St. Louis.

Non. We go together,
we come back together.

How I know for sure?

Because I am Pasquinel.

I come to you unafraid.

Scotland?
Aye.

How long?

Oh, a year.

Didn't take you long
to get caught.

I was about
to escape.

I could see that.

Bringing the Indian along
on the leash as a guide, were you?

I would have
gotten away.

Then I apologize for
spoiling your plans.

No.

No. I owe you my thanks
for saying what you did

without kenning
anything about me.

And I think
you should ken

I've killed a man.

(LAUGHING)

How do you ken
you'll see the men who took your pelts?

They went
to the Mandans.

They should return now.

Never without an answer,
are you?

Nor you a question.

We camp here
three, four days.

No more.

McKEAG: You laughed today.

PASQUINEL: I hope so.

When I told you
what I'd done.

And now you want
to tell me again.

It is a hard thing
to live with.

I've never told
anyone before.

Do you mind?

I'm not a priest.

I'm not a Catholic.

It was an awful thing.

The reason
I left the Highlands.

Had to leave, actually.

You see, he was a laird,
and a tyrant he was,

sinful as the devil himself.

He thought because he owned
the land, he owned the people who worked it, too.

He thought he could
do with them whatever he willed.

Never bothered me
that much, but...

My sister.

Well, if you're a wee bit
of a lass like her,

a man like that
is a hard thing, I suppose.

She never told me before,
mind you, what...

What he'd tried to do to her
when he'd come on her alone a time or two.

When I found him with her,

saw how he was hurting her
and how she was crying...

Well, I just could not
help myself.

I had to get him
away from her.

And when he unsheathed
his sword, I lashed out with my walking stick,

a big, knotted thing it was,
and I caught him full force on the side of the head.

And he... He just lay there.

And Meg, she was
crying even harder.

Dear God, it was
such an awful sight to see.

And then I had to leave

because I knew
what would happen if they found me.

Him being a lord and me
just a woodsman's son.

I was sorry for doing it,

and sorry for having
to leave my home

and my family.

But I ken
I did the right thing.

Didn't I?

Pasquinel?

McKEAG: How can you tell?

Hmm.

You go.
They don't know you.

Hey there,
passage to St. Louis?

I have pelts.

Sure.
Get your pelts ready.

(GUN FIRING)

(INDIANS ULULATING)

(MAN GROANING)

You did not tell me!

You did not tell me
you were going to kill them!

That's one question
you didn't ask.

But why did you do it?

They tried to kill me
last year.

How can you be sure
they were the same men?

The one that was
going to crush your skull with the club, I know,

and the grinning one,
he would have smiled watching it.

I know him and the others.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

What?
Bad companions bring bad luck.

It doesn't even turn
your blood a wee bit

to see what those butchering
savages are doing with their hatchets out there?

When they find the boat,
no one in St. Louis will accuse us, will they?

What white man would believe
that another white man would lift his scalp?

Have you?

You're as much a heathen
as they are.

Worse, maybe.

Because you ken
the wrong in it.

Do you know where the Indians
learned to take scalps?

From the English.

That's right,
from your fellow Britons.

They paid tribes up north

to bring back scalps
to prove that the enemy had been killed.

And the enemy
were my countrymen.

One was my father.

Now think about this.

The one thing the white man
is most afraid of,

the one thing that has
branded the Indian a "savage"

is a practice invented
by the white man.

(LAUGHS)

You don't think
that's funny, huh?

Well, you won't think
this is funny, either.

You should know, ken,

that the coureur de bois
ends up a scalp.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

You perhaps, and me, too.

(DONKEY BRAYING)

Whoa, whoa.

Still wobbles.

Wait.

Good as new.

Better.

You never told me
how you were caught by the Pawnee.

I thought you never
asked questions.

I was just wondering
if you were taken by surprise.

Like now.

What?

I think
there are only three.

(FOOTSTEPS)

Don't!

I have one arrow
in my back already.

I don't want to start
a collection, n'est-ce pas?

What do we do?

What you always
do with Indians.

Get ready to kill
or be killed

and hope it doesn't happen.

That'll just make us
better targets.

And let them see
our faces show no fear.

The old man
who taught you the Pawnee,

did he teach you Ute?

No.

The Utes are always
welcome in our camp.

Join us.

(IN UTE) You go.

No, we stay.

Trade beaver.

Ute no trade beaver.
You go.

Cheyenne trade beaver.

Arapaho trade beaver.

Pawnee trade beaver.

You come,
you see, you trade.

No trade.

When sun comes, you be gone.

What do we do now?

Sleep.

Tomorrow

we fight for our trade.

(HORSE NEIGHING)

Don't fire.

(GUN FIRING)

You were way high
both times.

I hit what I wanted.
Yeah, the wind.

If you give an Indian
a fair chance, you can avoid killing.

They're going
to charge again.

We'll give them this one
and then they'll be gone.

Years to come they'll sit
around the campfire and talk

about the coup they made
on the two white men

and the whistling lead.

And you'll sit in Scotland
and talk about the tomahawks and lances.

(LAUGHING)

Non!

(GROANS)

(UTE ULULATING)

Get it out.

It will hurt like hellfire.

No question that.

(MUFFLED SCREAMING)

The smell is bad.

Begone with you.

I'm bound to die.

I said begone.

(GROANS)

I'm cold.

You need the air.

I tell you I'm dying.
It's rotten.

McKEAG: It's rotten.

You think that will work?

Can you cut it off?

If you have no arm,
how can you fire a gun?

If you cannot fire a gun,
how can you hunt?

If you cannot hunt,
how can you...

You ask too damn
many questions.

There are worse places
for a man to die.

You will not die.

(SCREAMING)

I'm sorry, mon ami.

Out here, half a man

is no man at all.

Arapaho!

(DOG BARKING)

Pasquinel.

Your gun.

(IN ARAPAHO)
We smoke.

NARRATOR: And so, once again,
Lame Beaver and Pasquinel smoked the calumet and talked.

About the Pawnee attack
and the Cheyenne who had saved Pasquinel's life,

and that fateful moment
when each held the other's life

in his hands
and didn't take it.

(ARAPAHOS CHANTING)

(DRUMS BEATING)

(IN ARAPAHO)
Bad scar.

What?

Aye. Aye bad.

Does it hurt?

(IN ARAPAHO)
Hurt?

(IN ENGLISH)
It still hurts.

I cannot move my arm
away from my body.

The skin...
The scar is so tight.

You'll use it, though.

By damn, you'll use it.

Same thing, your shoulder.

I don't know.
I know.

(GROANS)

Use it!

Take your gun, by damn,
and use it!

Why?

You could do the hunting
for the next few weeks.

I could be dead tomorrow!

I'll get more plants.

(IN ARAPAHO)
Can you use this? What?

Can you use this?

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