The Little Prince

written and illustrated byAntoine de Saint Exupéry

translated from the French byKatherine Woods

Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9

Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18

Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27

(EPUB: [WinHTTrack WebsiteCopier], [Sigil the ePub editor] &

[Gulliver's Travels])

TO LEON WERTH

I ask the indulgence of thechildren who may read thisbook for dedicating it to agrown-up. I have a seriousreason: he is the best friend Ihave in the world. I haveanother reason: this grown-upunderstands everything, evenbooks about children. I have athird reason: he lives in Francewhere he is hungry and cold.

where he is hungry and cold.He needs cheering up. If allthese reasons are not enough, Iwill dedicate the book to thechild from whom this grown-upgrew. All grown-ups were oncechildren--although few of themremember it. And so I correctmy dedication:

TO LEON WERTHWHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY

1

Once when I was six years old Isaw a magnificent picture in a book,cal led True Stories from Nature,about the primeval forest. It was apicture of a boa constrictor in the actof swallowing an animal. Here is acopy of the drawing.

In the book it said: "Boaconstrictors swallow their preywhole, without chewing it. After thatthey are not able to move, and theysleep through the six months thatthey need for digestion."

I pondered deeply, then, over theadventures of the jungle. And aftersome work with a colored pencil I

some work with a colored pencil Isucceeded in making my firstdrawing. My Drawing Number One.It looked something like this:

I showed my masterpiece to thegrown-ups, and asked themwhether the drawing frightenedthem.

But they answered: "Frighten?Why should any one be frightenedby a hat?"

My drawing was not a picture of ahat. It was a picture of a boa

constrictor digesting an elephant.But since the grown-ups were notable to understand it, I madeanother drawing: I drew the inside ofa boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. Theyalways need to have thingsexplained. My Drawing NumberTwo looked like this:

The grown-ups' response, thistime, was to advise me to lay asidemy drawings of boa constrictors,

whether from the inside or theoutside, and devote myself insteadto geography, history, arithmetic,and grammar. That is why, at theage of six, I gave up what mighthave been a magnificent career asa painter. I had been disheartenedby the failure of my DrawingNumber One and my DrawingNumber Two. Grown-ups neverunderstand anything by themselves,and it is tiresome for children to bealways and forever explainingthings to them.

So then I chose anotherprofession, and learned to pilotairplanes. I have flown a little over

all parts of the world; and it is truethat geography has been veryuseful to me. At a glance I candistinguish China from Arizona. Ifone gets lost in the night, suchknowledge is valuable.

In the course of this life I have hada great many encounters with agreat many people who have beenconcerned with matters ofconsequence. I have lived a greatdeal among grown-ups. I have seenthem intimately, close at hand. Andthat hasn't much improved myopinion of them.

Whenever I met one of them whoseemed to me at all clear-sighted, I

tried the experiment of showing himmy Drawing Number One, which Ihave always kept. I would try to findout, so, if this was a person of trueunderstanding. But, whoever it was,he, or she, would always say:

"That is a hat."Then I would never talk to that

person about boa constrictors, orprimeval forests, or stars. I wouldbring myself down to his level. Iwould talk to him about bridge, andgolf, and politics, and neckties. Andthe grown-up would be greatlypleased to have met such asensible man.

2

So I lived my life alone, withoutanyone that I could really talk to,until I had an accident with myplane in the Desert of Sahara, sixyears ago. Something was brokenin my engine. And as I had with meneither a mechanic nor anypassengers, I set myself to attemptthe difficult repairs all alone. It was aquestion of life or death for me: I hadscarcely enough drinking water tolast a week.

The first night, then, I went tosleep on the sand, a thousand milesfrom any human habitation. I wasmore isolated than a shipwreckedsailor on a raft in the middle of theocean. Thus you can imagine myamazement, at sunrise, when I wasawakened by an odd little voice. Itsaid:

"If you please--draw me a sheep!""What!""Draw me a sheep!"I jumped to my feet, completely

thunderstruck. I blinked my eyeshard. I looked carefully all aroundme. And I saw a most extraordinary

small person, who stood thereexamining me with greatseriousness. Here you may see thebest portrait that, later, I was able tomake of him. But my drawing iscertainly very much less charmingthan its model.

That, however, is not my fault. Thegrown-ups discouraged me in mypainter's career when I was six

years old, and I never learned todraw anything, except boas from theoutside and boas from the inside.

Now I stared at this suddenapparition with my eyes fairlystarting out of my head inastonishment. Remember, I hadcrashed in the desert a thousandmiles from any inhabited region.And yet my little man seemedneither to be straying uncertainlyamong the sands, nor to be faintingfrom fatigue or hunger or thirst orfear. Nothing about him gave anysuggestion of a child lost in themiddle of the desert, a thousandmiles from any human habitation.

When at last I was able to speak, Isaid to him:

"But--what are you doing here?"And in answer he repeated, very

slowly, as if he were speaking of amatter of great consequence:

"If you please--draw me a sheep . .."

When a mystery is toooverpowering, one dare notdisobey. Absurd as it might seem tome, a thousand miles from anyhuman habitation and in danger ofdeath, I took out of my pocket asheet of paper and my fountain-pen.But then I remembered how my

studies had been concentrated ongeography, history, arithmetic andgrammar, and I told the little chap (alittle crossly, too) that I did not knowhow to draw. He answered me:

"That doesn't matter. Draw me asheep . . ."

But I had never drawn a sheep. SoI drew for him one of the twopictures I had drawn so often. It wasthat of the boa constrictor from theoutside. And I was astounded tohear the little fellow greet it with,

"No, no, no! I do not want anelephant inside a boa constrictor. Aboa constrictor is a very dangerous

creature, and an elephant is verycumbersome. Where I live,everything is very small. What Ineed is a sheep. Draw me a sheep."

So then I made a drawing.

He looked at it carefully, then hesaid:

"No. This sheep is already verysickly. Make me another."

So I made another drawing.

My friend smiled gently andindulgently.

"You see yourself," he said, "thatthis is not a sheep. This is a ram. Ithas horns."

So then I did my drawing overonce more.

But it was rejected too, just like theothers.

"This one is too old. I want asheep that will live a long time."

By this time my patience wasexhausted, because I was in a hurryto start taking my engine apart. So Itossed off this drawing.

And I threw out an explanationwith it.

"This is only his box. The sheepyou asked for is inside."

I was very surprised to see a lightbreak over the face of my youngjudge:

"That is exactly the way I wantedit! Do you think that this sheep willhave to have a great deal of grass?"

"Why?"

"Why?""Because where I live everything

is very small . . .""There will surely be enough

grass for him," I said. "It is a verysmall sheep that I have given you."

He bent his head over thedrawing.

"Not so small that--Look! He hasgone to sleep . . ."

And that is how I made theacquaintance of the little prince.

3

It took me a long time to learnwhere he came from. The littleprince, who asked me so manyquestions, never seemed to hearthe ones I asked him. It was fromwords dropped by chance that, littleby little, everything was revealed tome.

The first time he saw my airplane,for instance (I shall not draw myairplane; that would be much toocomplicated for me), he asked me:

"What is that object?""That is not an object. It flies. It is

an airplane. It is my airplane."And I was proud to have him learn

that I could fly.He cried out, then:"What! You dropped down from

the sky?""Yes," I answered, modestly."Oh! That is funny!"And the little prince broke into a

lovely peal of laughter, whichirritated me very much. I like mymisfortunes to be taken seriously.

Then he added:

"So you, too, come from the sky!Which is your planet?"

At that moment I caught a gleam oflight in the impenetrable mystery ofhis presence; and I demanded,abruptly:

"Do you come from anotherplanet?"

But he did not reply. He tossed hishead gently, without taking his eyesfrom my plane:

"It is true that on that you can'thave come from very far away . . ."

And he sank into a reverie, whichlasted a long time. Then, taking mysheep out of his pocket, he buried

himself in the contemplation of histreasure.

You can imagine how my curiositywas aroused by this half-confidenceabout the "other planets." I made agreat effort, therefore, to find outmore on this subject.

"My little man, where do you comefrom? What is this 'where I live,' ofwhich you speak? Where do youwant to take your sheep?"

After a reflective silence heanswered:

"The thing that is so good aboutthe box you have given me is that atnight he can use it as his house."

"That is so. And if you are good Iwill give you a string, too, so thatyou can tie him during the day, anda post to tie him to."

But the little prince seemedshocked by this offer:

"Tie him! What a queer idea!""But if you don't tie him," I said,

"he will wander off somewhere, andget lost."

My friend broke into another pealof laughter:

"But where do you think he wouldgo?"

"Anywhere. Straight ahead ofhim."

Then the little prince said,earnestly:

"That doesn't matter. Where I live,everything is so small!"

And, with perhaps a hint ofsadness, he added:

"Straight ahead of him, nobodycan go very far . . ."

4

I had thus learned a second fact ofgreat importance: this was that theplanet the little prince came fromwas scarcely any larger than ahouse!

But that did not really surprise memuch. I knew very well that inaddition to the great planets--suchas the Earth, Jupiter, Mars, Venus--to which we have given names,there are also hundreds of others,some of which are so small that one

has a hard time seeing themthrough the telescope. When anastronomer discovers one of thesehe does not give it a name, but onlya number. He might call it, forexample, "Asteroid 325."

I have serious reason to believethat the planet from which the little

prince came is the asteroid knownas B-612.

This asteroid has only once beenseen through the telescope. Thatwas by a Turkish astronomer, in1909.

On making his discovery, the

On making his discovery, theastronomer had presented it to theInternational AstronomicalCongress, in a great demonstration.But he was in Turkish costume, andso nobody would believe what hesaid.

Grown-ups are like that . . .Fortunately, however, for the

reputation of Asteroid B-612, aTurkish dictator made a law that hissubjects, under pain of death,should change to Europeancostume. So in 1920 the astronomergave his demonstration all overagain, dressed with impressive styleand elegance. And this time

everybody accepted his report.

If I have told you these detailsabout the asteroid, and made a noteof its number for you, it is onaccount of the grown-ups and theirways. When you tell them that youhave made a new friend, they never

ask you any questions aboutessential matters. They never say toyou, "What does his voice soundlike? What games does he lovebest? Does he collect butterflies?"Instead, they demand: "How old ishe? How many brothers has he?How much does he weigh? Howmuch money does his fathermake?" Only from these figures dothey think they have learnedanything about him.

If you were to say to the grown-ups: "I saw a beautiful house madeof rosy brick, with geraniums in thewindows and doves on the roof,"they would not be able to get any

idea of that house at all. You wouldhave to say to them: "I saw a housethat cost $20,000." Then they wouldexclaim: "Oh, what a pretty housethat is!"

Just so, you might say to them:"The proof that the little princeexisted is that he was charming, thathe laughed, and that he was lookingfor a sheep. If anybody wants asheep, that is a proof that he exists."And what good would it do to tellthem that? They would shrug theirshoulders, and treat you like a child.But if you said to them: "The planethe came from is Asteroid B-612,"then they would be convinced, and

leave you in peace from theirquestions.

They are like that. One must nothold it against them. Childrenshould always show greatforbearance toward grown-uppeople.

But certainly, for us whounderstand life, figures are a matterof indifference. I should have likedto begin this story in the fashion ofthe fairy-tales. I should have like tosay: "Once upon a time there was alittle prince who lived on a planetthat was scarcely any bigger thanhimself, and who had need of asheep . . ."

To those who understand life, thatwould have given a much greaterair of truth to my story.

For I do not want any one to readmy book carelessly. I have sufferedtoo much grief in setting down thesememories. Six years have alreadypassed since my friend went awayfrom me, with his sheep. If I try todescribe him here, it is to make surethat I shall not forget him. To forget afriend is sad. Not every one has hada friend. And if I forget him, I maybecome like the grown-ups who areno longer interested in anything butfigures . . .

It is for that purpose, again, that Ihave bought a box of paints andsome pencils. It is hard to take updrawing again at my age, when Ihave never made any picturesexcept those of the boa constrictorfrom the outside and the boaconstrictor from the inside, since Iwas six. I shall certainly try to makemy portraits as true to life aspossible. But I am not at all sure ofsuccess. One drawing goes alongall right, and another has noresemblance to its subject. I makesome errors, too, in the little prince'sheight: in one place he is too talland in another too short. And I feel

some doubts about the color of hiscostume. So I fumble along as best Ican, now good, now bad, and I hopegenerally fair-to-middling.

In certain more important details Ishall make mistakes, also. But thatis something that will not be myfault. My friend never explainedanything to me. He thought,perhaps, that I was like himself. ButI, alas, do not know how to seesheep through the walls of boxes.Perhaps I am a little like the grown-ups. I have had to grow old.

5

As each day passed I would learn,in our talk, something about the littleprince's planet, his departure from it,his journey. The information wouldcome very slowly, as it mightchance to fall from his thoughts. Itwas in this way that I heard, on thethird day, about the catastrophe ofthe baobabs.

This time, once more, I had thesheep to thank for it. For the littleprince asked me abruptly--as if

seized by a grave doubt--"It is true,isn't it, that sheep eat little bushes?"

"Yes, that is true.""Ah! I am glad!"I did not understand why it was so

important that sheep should eat littlebushes. But the little prince added:

"Then it follows that they also eatbaobabs?"

I pointed out to the little prince thatbaobabs were not little bushes, but,on the contrary, trees as big ascastles; and that even if he took awhole herd of elephants away withhim, the herd would not eat up onesingle baobab.

The idea of the herd of elephantsmade the little prince laugh.

"We would have to put them oneon top of the other," he said.

But he made a wise comment:"Before they grow so big, the

baobabs start out by being little.""That is strictly correct," I said.

"But why do you want the sheep toeat the little baobabs?"

He answered me at once, "Oh,come, come!", as if he werespeaking of something that wasself-evident. And I was obliged tomake a great mental effort to solvethis problem, without anyassistance.

Indeed, as I learned, there wereon the planet where the little princelived--as on all planets--good plants

and bad plants. In consequence,there were good seeds from goodplants, and bad seeds from badplants. But seeds are invisible. Theysleep deep in the heart of the earth'sdarkness, until some one amongthem is seized with the desire toawaken. Then this little seed willstretch itself and begin--timidly atfirst--to push a charming little spriginoffensively upward toward thesun. If it is only a sprout of radish orthe sprig of a rose-bush, one wouldlet it grow wherever it might wish.But when it is a bad plant, one mustdestroy it as soon as possible, thevery first instant that one recognizes

it.

Now there were some terribleseeds on the planet that was thehome of the little prince; and thesewere the seeds of the baobab. Thesoil of that planet was infested with

them. A baobab is something youwill never, never be able to get rid ofif you attend to it too late. It spreadsover the entire planet. It bores clearthrough it with its roots. And if theplanet is too small, and the baobabsare too many, they split it in pieces .. .

"It is a question of discipline," thelittle prince said to me later on."When you've finished your owntoilet in the morning, then it is timeto attend to the toilet of your planet,just so, with the greatest care. Youmust see to it that you pull upregularly all the baobabs, at the veryfirst moment when they can be

distinguished from the rosebusheswhich they resemble so closely intheir earliest youth. It is very tediouswork," the little prince added, "butvery easy."

And one day he said to me: "Youought to make a beautiful drawing,so that the children where you livecan see exactly how all this is. Thatwould be very useful to them if theywere to travel some day.Sometimes," he added, "there is noharm in putting off a piece of workuntil another day. But when it is amatter of baobabs, that alwaysmeans a catastrophe. I knew aplanet that was inhabited by a lazy

man. He neglected three littlebushes . . ."

So, as the little prince described itto me, I have made a drawing of thatplanet. I do not much like to take thetone of a moralist. But the danger ofthe baobabs is so little understood,and such considerable risks wouldbe run by anyone who might get loston an asteroid, that for once I ambreaking through my reserve."Children," I say plainly, "watch outfor the baobabs!"

My friends, like myself, have beenskirting this danger for a long time,without ever knowing it; and so it isfor them that I have worked so hard

over this drawing. The lesson whichI pass on by this means is worth allthe trouble it has cost me.

Perhaps you will ask me, "Whyare there no other drawing in thisbook as magnificent and impressiveas this drawing of the baobabs?"

The reply is simple. I have tried.But with the others I have not beensuccessful. When I made thedrawing of the baobabs I wascarried beyond myself by theinspiring force of urgent necessity.

6

Oh, little prince! Bit by bit I came tounderstand the secrets of your sadlittle life . . . For a long time you hadfound your only entertainment in thequiet pleasure of looking at thesunset. I learned that new detail onthe morning of the fourth day, whenyou said to me:

"I am very fond of sunsets. Come,let us go look at a sunset now."

"But we must wait," I said.

"Wait? For what?""For the sunset. We must wait until

it is time."At first you seemed to be very

much surprised. And then youlaughed to yourself. You said to me:

"I am always thinking that I am athome!"

Just so. Everybody knows thatwhen it is noon in the United Statesthe sun is setting over France.

If you could fly to France in oneminute, you could go straight intothe sunset, right from noon.Unfortunately, France is too faraway for that. But on your tiny

planet, my little prince, all you needdo is move your chair a few steps.You can see the day end and thetwilight falling whenever you like . . .

"One day," you said to me, "I sawthe sunset forty-four times!"

And a little later you added:"You know--one loves the sunset,

when one is so sad . . .""Were you so sad, then?" I asked,

"on the day of the forty-foursunsets?"

But the little prince made no reply.

7

On the fifth day--again, as always,it was thanks to the sheep--thesecret of the little prince's life wasrevealed to me. Abruptly, withoutanything to lead up to it, and as ifthe question had been born of longand silent meditation on hisproblem, he demanded:

"A sheep--if it eats little bushes,does it eat flowers, too?"

"A sheep," I answered, "eats

anything it finds in its reach.""Even flowers that have thorns?""Yes, even flowers that have

thorns.""Then the thorns--what use are

they?"I did not know. At that moment I

was very busy trying to unscrew abolt that had got stuck in my engine.I was very much worried, for it wasbecoming clear to me that thebreakdown of my plane wasextremely serious. And I had so littledrinking-water left that I had to fearfor the worst.

"The thorns--what use are they?"

The little prince never let go of aquestion, once he had asked it. Asfor me, I was upset over that bolt.And I answered with the first thingthat came into my head:

"The thorns are of no use at all.Flowers have thorns just for spite!"

"Oh!"There was a moment of complete

silence. Then the little princeflashed back at me, with a kind ofresentfulness:

"I don't believe you! Flowers areweak creatures. They are naïve.They reassure themselves as bestthey can. They believe that their

thorns are terrible weapons . . ."I did not answer. At that instant I

was saying to myself: "If this bolt stillwon't turn, I am going to knock it outwith the hammer." Again the littleprince disturbed my thoughts:

"And you actually believe that theflowers--"

"Oh, no!" I cried. "No, no, no! Idon't believe anything. I answeredyou with the first thing that came intomy head. Don't you see--I am verybusy with matters of consequence!"

He stared at me, thunderstruck."Matters of consequence!"He looked at me there, with my

hammer in my hand, my fingersblack with engine-grease, bendingdown over an object which seemedto him extremely ugly . . .

"You talk just like the grown-ups!"That made me a little ashamed.

But he went on, relentlessly:"You mix everything up together . .

. You confuse everything . . ."He was really very angry. He

tossed his golden curls in thebreeze.

"I know a planet where there is acertain red-faced gentleman. Hehas never smelled a flower. He hasnever looked at a star. He has never

loved any one. He has never doneanything in his life but add upfigures. And all day he says overand over, just like you: 'I am busywith matters of consequence!' Andthat makes him swell up with pride.But he is not a man--he is amushroom!"

"A what?""A mushroom!"The little prince was now white

with rage."The flowers have been growing

thorns for millions of years. Formillions of years the sheep havebeen eating them just the same.

And is it not a matter ofconsequence to try to understandwhy the flowers go to so muchtrouble to grow thorns which arenever of any use to them? Is thewarfare between the sheep and theflowers not important? Is this not ofmore consequence than a fat red-faced gentleman's sums? And if Iknow--I, myself--one flower which isunique in the world, which growsnowhere but on my planet, butwhich one little sheep can destroyin a single bite some morning,without even noticing what he isdoing--Oh! You think that is notimportant!"

His face turned from white to redas he continued:

"If some one loves a flower, ofwhich just one single blossomgrows in all the millions and millionsof stars, it is enough to make himhappy just to look at the stars. Hecan say to himself, 'Somewhere, myflower is there . . .' But if the sheepeats the flower, in one moment allhis stars will be darkened . . . Andyou think that is not important!"

He could not say anything more.His words were choked by sobbing.

The night had fallen. I had let mytools drop from my hands. Of what

moment now was my hammer, mybolt, or thirst, or death? On one star,one planet, my planet, the Earth,there was a little prince to becomforted. I took him in my arms,and rocked him. I said to him:

"The flower that you love is not indanger. I will draw you a muzzle foryour sheep. I will draw you a railingto put around your flower. I will--"

I did not know what to say to him. Ifelt awkward and blundering. I didnot know how I could reach him,where I could overtake him and goon hand in hand with him oncemore.

It is such a secret place, the landof tears.

8

I soon learned to know this flowerbetter. On the little prince's planetthe flowers had always been verysimple. They had only one ring ofpetals; they took up no room at all;they were a trouble to nobody. Onemorning they would appear in thegrass, and by night they would havefaded peacefully away. But one day,from a seed blown from no oneknew where, a new flower hadcome up; and the little prince had

watched very closely over this smallsprout which was not like any othersmall sprouts on his planet. It might,you see, have been a new kind ofbaobab.

The shrub soon stopped growing,and began to get ready to produce aflower. The little prince, who was

present at the first appearance of ahuge bud, felt at once that some sortof miraculous apparition mustemerge from it. But the flower wasnot satisfied to complete thepreparations for her beauty in theshelter of her green chamber. Shechose her colors with the greatestcare. She dressed herself slowly.She adjusted her petals one by one.She did not wish to go out into theworld all rumpled, like the fieldpoppies. It was only in the fullradiance of her beauty that shewished to appear. Oh, yes! She wasa coquettish creature! And hermysterious adornment lasted for

days and days.Then one morning, exactly at

sunrise, she suddenly showedherself.

And, after working with all this

painstaking precision, she yawnedand said:

"Ah! I am scarcely awake. I begthat you will excuse me. My petalsare still all disarranged . . ."

But the little prince could notrestrain his admiration:

"Oh! How beautiful you are!""Am I not?" the flower responded,

sweetly. "And I was born at thesame moment as the sun . . ."

The little prince could guesseasily enough that she was not anytoo modest--but how moving--andexciting--she was!

"I think it is time for breakfast," she

added an instant later. "If you wouldhave the kindness to think of myneeds--"

And the little prince, completelyabashed, went to look for asprinkling-can of fresh water. So, hetended the flower.

So, too, she began very quickly totorment him with her vanity--whichwas, if the truth be known, a littledifficult to deal with. One day, forinstance, when she was speaking of

her four thorns, she said to the littleprince:

"Let the tigers come with theirclaws!"

"There are no tigers on myplanet," the little prince objected.

"And, anyway, tigers do not eatweeds."

"I am not a weed," the flowerreplied, sweetly.

"Please excuse me . . .""I am not at all afraid of tigers," she

went on, "but I have a horror ofdrafts. I suppose you wouldn't havea screen for me?"

"A horror of drafts--that is bad luck,for a plant," remarked the littleprince, and added to himself, "Thisflower is a very complex creature . .."

"At night I want you to put me

under a glass globe. It is very coldwhere you live. In the place I camefrom--"

But she interrupted herself at thatpoint. She had come in the form of aseed. She could not have knownanything of any other worlds.Embarassed over having let herselfbe caught on the verge of such anaïve untruth, she coughed two orthree times, in order to put the littleprince in the wrong.

"The screen?""I was just going to look for it when

you spoke to me . . ."Then she forced her cough a little

more so that he should suffer fromremorse just the same.

So the little prince, in spite of allthe good will that was inseparablefrom his love, had soon come todoubt her. He had taken seriouslywords which were withoutimportance, and it made him veryunhappy.

"I ought not to have listened toher," he confided to me one day."One never ought to listen to theflowers. One should simply look atthem and breathe their fragrance.Mine perfumed all my planet. But I

did not know how to take pleasurein all her grace. This tale of claws,which disturbed me so much,should only have filled my heartwith tenderness and pity."

And he continued his confidences:"The fact is that I did not know

how to understand anything! I oughtto have judged by deeds and not bywords. She cast her fragrance andher radiance over me. I ought neverto have run away from her . . . Iought to have guessed all theaffection that lay behind her poorlittle strategems. Flowers are soinconsistent! But I was too young toknow how to love her . . ."

9

I believe that for his escape hetook advantage of the migration of aflock of wild birds. On the morning ofhis departure he put his planet inperfect order. He carefully cleanedout his active volcanoes. Hepossessed two active volcanoes;and they were very convenient forheating his breakfast in the morning.He also had one volcano that wasextinct. But, as he said, "One neverknows!" So he cleaned out the

extinct volcano, too. If they are wellcleaned out, volcanoes burn slowlyand steadily, without any eruptions.Volcanic eruptions are like fires in achimney.

On our earth we are obviouslymuch too small to clean out ourvolcanoes. That is why they bringno end of trouble upon us.

The little prince also pulled up,with a certain sense of dejection,the last little shoots of the baobabs.He believed that he would neverwant to return. But on this lastmorning all these familiar tasksseemed very precious to him. Andwhen he watered the flower for thelast time, and prepared to place herunder the shelter of her glass globe,he realized that he was very closeto tears.

"Goodbye," he said to the flower.But she made no answer."Goodbye," he said again.The flower coughed. But it was not

because she had a cold."I have been silly," she said to

him, at last. "I ask your forgiveness.Try to be happy . . ."

He was surprised by this absenceof reproaches. He stood there allbewildered, the glass globe heldarrested in mid-air. He did notunderstand this quiet sweetness.

"Of course I love you," the flowersaid to him. "It is my fault that youhave not known it all the while. Thatis of no importance. But you--youhave been just as foolish as I. Try tobe happy . . . Let the glass globe be.I don't want it any more."

"But the wind--""My cold is not so bad as all that . .

. The cool night air will do me good.I am a flower."

"But the animals--""Well, I must endure the presence

of two or three caterpillars if I wish tobecome acquainted with thebutterflies. It seems that they arevery beautiful. And if not thebutterflies--and the caterpillars--whowill call upon me? You will be faraway . . . As for the large animals--Iam not at all afraid of any of them. Ihave my claws."

And, naïvely, she showed her four

thorns. Then she added:"Don't linger like this. You have

decided to go away. Now go!"For she did not want him to see

her crying. She was such a proudflower . . .

10

He found himself in theneighborhood of the asteroids 325,326, 327, 328, 329, and 330. Hebegan, therefore, by visiting them, inorder to add to his knowledge.

The first of them was inhabited bya king. Clad in royal purple andermine, he was seated upon athrone which was at the same timeboth simple and majestic.

"Ah! Here is a subject," exclaimedthe king, when he saw the littleprince coming.

And the little prince asked himself:"How could he recognize me

when he had never seen mebefore?"

He did not know how the world issimplified for kings. To them, allmen are subjects.

"Approach, so that I may see youbetter," said the king, who feltconsumingly proud of being at last aking over somebody.

The little prince lookedeverywhere to find a place to sit

down; but the entire planet wascrammed and obstructed by theking's magnificent ermine robe. Sohe remained standing upright, and,since he was tired, he yawned.

"It is contrary to etiquette to yawnin the presence of a king," themonarch said to him. "I forbid you todo so."

"I can't help it. I can't stop myself,"replied the little prince, thoroughlyembarrassed. "I have come on along journey, and I have had nosleep . . ."

"Ah, then," the king said. "I orderyou to yawn. It is years since I have

seen anyone yawning. Yawns, tome, are objects of curiosity. Come,now! Yawn again! It is an order."

"That frightens me . . . I cannot,any more . . ." murmured the littleprince, now completely abashed.

"Hum! Hum!" replied the king."Then I--I order you sometimes toyawn and sometimes to--"

He sputtered a little, and seemedvexed.

For what the king fundamentallyinsisted upon was that his authorityshould be respected. He toleratedno disobedience. He was anabsolute monarch. But, because he

was a very good man, he made hisorders reasonable.

"If I ordered a general," he wouldsay, by way of example, "if I ordereda general to change himself into asea bird, and if the general did notobey me, that would not be the faultof the general. It would be my fault."

"May I sit down?" came now atimid inquiry from the little prince.

"I order you to do so," the kinganswered him, and majesticallygathered in a fold of his erminemantle.

But the little prince was wondering. . . The planet was tiny. Over what

could this king really rule?"Sire," he said to him, "I beg that

you will excuse my asking you aquestion--"

"I order you to ask me a question,"the king hastened to assure him.

"Sire--over what do you rule?""Over everything," said the king,

with magnificent simplicity."Over everything?"The king made a gesture, which

took in his planet, the other planets,and all the stars.

"Over all that?" asked the littleprince.

"Over all that," the king answered.For his rule was not only absolute:

it was also universal."And the stars obey you?""Certainly they do," the king said.

"They obey instantly. I do not permitinsubordination."

Such power was a thing for thelittle prince to marvel at. If he hadbeen master of such completeauthority, he would have been ableto watch the sunset, not forty-fourtimes in one day, but seventy-two,or even a hundred, or even twohundred times, without ever havingto move his chair. And because he

felt a bit sad as he remembered hislittle planet which he had forsaken,he plucked up his courage to askthe king a favor:

"I should like to see a sunset . . .Do me that kindness . . . Order thesun to set . . ."

"If I ordered a general to fly fromone flower to another like a butterfly,or to write a tragic drama, or tochange himself into a sea bird, andif the general did not carry out theorder that he had received, whichone of us would be in the wrong?"the king demanded. "The general,or myself?"

"You," said the little prince firmly."Exactly. One must require from

each one the duty which each onecan perform," the king went on."Accepted authority rests first of allon reason. If you ordered yourpeople to go and throw themselvesinto the sea, they would rise up inrevolution. I have the right to requireobedience because my orders arereasonable."

"Then my sunset?" the little princereminded him: for he never forgot aquestion once he had asked it.

"You shall have your sunset. Ishall command it. But, according to

my science of government, I shallwait until conditions are favorable."

"When will that be?" inquired thelittle prince.

"Hum! Hum!" replied the king; andbefore saying anything else heconsulted a bulky almanac. "Hum!Hum! That will be about--about--thatwill be this evening about twentyminutes to eight. And you will seehow well I am obeyed!"

The little prince yawned. He wasregretting his lost sunset. And then,too, he was already beginning to bea little bored.

"I have nothing more to do here,"

he said to the king. "So I shall setout on my way again."

"Do not go," said the king, whowas very proud of having a subject."Do not go. I will make you aMinister!"

"Minister of what?""Minster of--of Justice!""But there is nobody here to

judge!""We do not know that," the king

said to him. "I have not yet made acomplete tour of my kingdom. I amvery old. There is no room here for acarriage. And it tires me to walk."

"Oh, but I have looked already!"

said the little prince, turning aroundto give one more glance to the otherside of the planet. On that side, ason this, there was nobody at all . . .

"Then you shall judge yourself,"the king answered. "that is the mostdifficult thing of all. It is much moredifficult to judge oneself than tojudge others. If you succeed injudging yourself rightly, then you areindeed a man of true wisdom."

"Yes," said the little prince, "but Ican judge myself anywhere. I do notneed to live on this planet.

"Hum! Hum!" said the king. "I havegood reason to believe that

somewhere on my planet there is anold rat. I hear him at night. You canjudge this old rat. From time to timeyou will condemn him to death.Thus his life will depend on yourjustice. But you will pardon him oneach occasion; for he must betreated thriftily. He is the only onewe have."

"I," replied the little prince, "do notlike to condemn anyone to death.And now I think I will go on myway."

"No," said the king.But the little prince, having now

completed his preparations for

departure, had no wish to grieve theold monarch.

"If Your Majesty wishes to bepromptly obeyed," he said, "heshould be able to give me areasonable order. He should beable, for example, to order me to begone by the end of one minute. Itseems to me that conditions arefavorable . . ."

As the king made no answer, thelittle prince hesitated a moment.Then, with a sigh, he took his leave.

"I make you my Ambassador," theking called out, hastily.

He had a magnificent air of

authority."The grown-ups are very strange,"

the little prince said to himself, as hecontinued on his journey.

11

The second planet was inhabitedby a conceited man.

"Ah! Ah! I am about to receive avisit from an admirer!" he exclaimedfrom afar, when he first saw the little

prince coming.For, to conceited men, all other

men are admirers."Good morning," said the little

prince. "That is a queer hat you arewearing."

"It is a hat for salutes," theconceited man replied. "It is to raisein salute when people acclaim me.Unfortunately, nobody at all everpasses this way."

"Yes?" said the little prince, whodid not understand what theconceited man was talking about.

"Clap your hands, one against theother," the conceited man now

directed him.The little prince clapped his

hands. The conceited man raisedhis hat in a modest salute.

"This is more entertaining than thevisit to the king," the little prince saidto himself. And he began again toclap his hands, one against theother. The conceited man againraised his hat in salute.

After five minutes of this exercisethe little prince grew tired of thegame's monotony.

"And what should one do to makethe hat come down?" he asked.

But the conceited man did not

hear him. Conceited people neverhear anything but praise.

"Do you really admire me verymuch?" he demanded of the littleprince.

"What does that mean--'admire'?""To admire means that you regard

me as the handsomest, the best-dressed, the richest, and the mostintelligent man on this planet."

"But you are the only man on yourplanet!"

"Do me this kindness. Admire mejust the same."

"I admire you," said the littleprince, shrugging his shoulders

slightly, "but what is there in that tointerest you so much?"

And the little prince went away."The grown-ups are certainly very

odd," he said to himself, as hecontinued on his journey.

12

The next planet was inhabited bya tippler. This was a very short visit,but it plunged the little prince intodeep dejection.

"What are you doing there?" hesaid to the tippler, whom he foundsettled down in silence before acollection of empty bottles and alsoa collection of full bottles.

"I am drinking," replied the tippler,with a lugubrious air.

"Why are you drinking?"demanded the little prince.

"So that I may forget," replied thetippler.

"Forget what?" inquired the littleprince, who already was sorry forhim.

"Forget that I am ashamed," thetippler confessed, hanging his head.

"Ashamed of what?" insisted thelittle prince, who wanted to helphim.

"Ashamed of drinking!" The tiplerbrought his speech to an end, andshut himself up in an impregnablesilence.

And the little prince went away,puzzled.

"The grown-ups are certainly very,very odd," he said to himself, as he

continued on his journey.

13

The fourth planet belonged to abusinessman. This man was somuch occupied that he did not evenraise his head at the little prince'sarrival.

"Good morning," the little princesaid to him. "Your cigarette hasgone out."

"Three and two make five. Fiveand seven make twelve. Twelveand three make fifteen. Good

morning. FIfteen and seven maketwenty-two. Twenty-two and sixmake twenty-eight. I haven't time tolight it again. Twenty-six and fivemake thirty-one. Phew! Then thatmakes five-hundred-and-onemillion, six-hundred-twenty-two-thousand, seven-hundred-thirty-one."

"Five hundred million what?"asked the little prince.

"Eh? Are you still there? Five-hundred-and-one million--I can'tstop . . . I have so much to do! I amconcerned with matters ofconsequence. I don't amuse myselfwith balderdash. Two and five make

seven . . .""Five-hundred-and-one million

what?" repeated the little prince,who never in his life had let go of aquestion once he had asked it.

The businessman raised his head."During the fifty-four years that I

have inhabited this planet, I havebeen disturbed only three times.The first time was twenty-two yearsago, when some giddy goose fellfrom goodness knows where. Hemade the most frightful noise thatresounded all over the place, and Imade four mistakes in my addition.The second time, eleven years ago,

I was disturbed by an attack ofrheumatism. I don't get enoughexercise. I have no time for loafing.The third time--well, this is it! I wassaying, then, five-hundred-and-onemillions--"

"Millions of what?"The businessman suddenly

realized that there was no hope ofbeing left in peace until heanswered this question.

"Millions of those little objects," hesaid, "which one sometimes sees inthe sky."

"Flies?""Oh, no. Little glittering objects."

"Bees?""Oh, no. Little golden objects that

set lazy men to idle dreaming. As forme, I am concerned with matters ofconsequence. There is no time foridle dreaming in my life."

"Ah! You mean the stars?""Yes, that's it. The stars.""And what do you do with five-

hundred millions of stars?""Five-hundred-and-one million,

six-hundred-twenty-two thousand,seven-hundred-thirty-one. I amconcerned with matters ofconsequence: I am accurate."

"And what do you do with these

stars?""What do I do with them?""Yes.""Nothing. I own them.""You own the stars?""Yes.""But I have already seen a king

who--""Kings do not own, they reignover. It is a very different matter."

"And what good does it do you toown the stars?"

"It does me the good of making merich."

"And what good does it do you to

be rich?""It makes it possible for me to buy

more stars, if any are discovered.""This man," the little prince said to

himself, "reasons a little like mypoor tippler . . ."

Nevertheless, he still had somemore questions.

"How is it possible for one to ownthe stars?"

"To whom do they belong?" thebusinessman retorted, peevishly.

"I don't know. To nobody.""Then they belong to me, because

I was the first person to think of it."

"Is that all that is necessary?""Certainly. When you find a

diamond that belongs to nobody, itis yours. When you discover anisland that belongs to nobody, it isyours. When you get an idea beforeany one else, you take out a patenton it: it is yours. So with me: I ownthe stars, because nobody elsebefore me ever thought of owningthem."

"Yes, that is true," said the littleprince. "And what do you do withthem?"

"I administer them," replied thebusinessman. "I count them and

recount them. It is difficult. But I ama man who is naturally interested inmatters of consequence."

The little prince was still notsatisfied.

"If I owned a silk scarf," he said, "Icould put it around my neck andtake it away with me. If I owned aflower, I could pluck that flower andtake it away with me. But youcannot pluck the stars from heaven .. ."

"No. But I can put them in thebank."

"Whatever does that mean?""That means that I write the

number of my stars on a little paper.And then I put this paper in a drawerand lock it with a key."

"And that is all?""That is enough," said the

businessman."It is entertaining," thought the little

prince. "It is rather poetic. But it is ofno great consequence."

On matters of consequence, thelittle prince had ideas which werevery different from those of thegrown-ups.

"I myself own a flower," hecontinued his conversation with thebusinessman, "which I water every

day. I own three volcanoes, which Iclean out every week (for I alsoclean out the one that is extinct; onenever knows). It is of some use tomy volcanoes, and it is of some useto my flower, that I own them. Butyou are of no use to the stars . . ."

The businessman opened hismouth, but he found nothing to sayin answer. And the little prince wentaway.

"The grown-ups are certainlyaltogether extraordinary," he saidsimply, talking to himself as hecontinued on his journey.

14

The fifth planet was very strange.It was the smallest of all. There wasjust enough room on it for a streetlamp and a lamplighter. The littleprince was not able to reach anyexplanation of the use of a streetlamp and a lamplighter, somewherein the heavens, on a planet whichhad no people, and not one house.But he said to himself, nevertheless:

"It may well be that this man isabsurd. But he is not so absurd as

the king, the conceited man, thebusinessman, and the tippler. For atleast his work has some meaning.When he lights his street lamp, it isas if he brought one more star to life,or one flower. When he puts out hislamp, he sends the flower, or thestar, to sleep. That is a beautifuloccupation. And since it is beautiful,it is truly useful."

When he arrived on the planet he

respectfully saluted the lamplighter."Good morning. Why have you

just put out your lamp?""Those are the orders," replied the

lamplighter. "Good morning.""What are the orders?""The orders are that I put out my

lamp. Good evening."And he lighted his lamp again."But why have you just lighted it

again?""Those are the orders," replied the

lamplighter."I do not understand," said the

little prince.

"There is nothing to understand,"said the lamplighter. "Orders areorders. Good morning."

And he put out his lamp.Then he mopped his forehead

with a handkerchief decorated withred squares.

"I follow a terrible profession. Inthe old days it was reasonable. I putthe lamp out in the morning, and inthe evening I lighted it again. I hadthe rest of the day for relaxation andthe rest of the night for sleep."

"And the orders have beenchanged since that time?"

"The orders have not been

changed," said the lamplighter."That is the tragedy! From year toyear the planet has turned morerapidly and the orders have notbeen changed!"

"Then what?" asked the littleprince.

"Then--the planet now makes acomplete turn every minute, and I nolonger have a single second forrepose. Once every minute I have tolight my lamp and put it out!"

"That is very funny! A day lastsonly one minute, here where youlive!"

"It is not funny at all!" said the

lamplighter. "While we have beentalking together a month has goneby."

"A month?""Yes, a month. Thirty minutes.

Thirty days. Good evening."And he lighted his lamp again.As the little prince watched him,

he felt that he loved this lamplighterwho was so faithful to his orders. Heremembered the sunsets which hehimself had gone to seek, in otherdays, merely by pulling up his chair;and he wanted to help his friend.

"You know," he said, "I can tellyou a way you can rest whenever

you want to. . .""I always want to rest," said the

lamplighter.For it is possible for a man to be

faithful and lazy at the same time.The little prince went on with his

explanation:"Your planet is so small that three

strides will take you all the wayaround it. To be always in thesunshine, you need only walk alongrather slowly. When you want torest, you will walk--and the day willlast as long as you like."

"That doesn't do me much good,"said the lamplighter. "The one thing

I love in life is to sleep.""Then you're unlucky," said the

little prince."I am unlucky," said the

lamplighter. "Good morning."And he put out his lamp."That man," said the little prince to

himself, as he continued farther onhis journey, "that man would bescorned by all the others: by theking, by the conceited man, by thetippler, by the businessman.Nevertheless he is the only one ofthem all who does not seem to meridiculous. Perhaps that is becausehe is thinking of something else

besides himself."He breathed a sigh of regret, and

said to himself, again:"That man is the only one of them

all whom I could have made myfriend. But his planet is indeed toosmall. There is no room on it for twopeople. . ."

What the little prince did not dareconfess was that he was sorry mostof all to leave this planet, because itwas blest every day with 1440sunsets!

15

The sixth planet was ten timeslarger than the last one. It wasinhabited by an old gentleman whowrote voluminous books.

"Oh, look! Here is an explorer!" heexclaimed to himself when he sawthe little prince coming.

The little prince sat down on thetable and panted a little. He hadalready traveled so much and so far!

"Where do you come from?" the

old gentleman said to him."What is that big book?" said the

little prince. "What are you doing?""I am a geographer," said the old

gentleman."What is a geographer?" asked

the little prince."A geographer is a scholar who

knows the location of all the seas,rivers, towns, mountains, anddeserts."

"That is very interesting," said thelittle prince. "Here at last is a manwho has a real profession!" And hecast a look around him at the planetof the geographer. It was the most

magnificent and stately planet thathe had ever seen.

"Your planet is very beautiful," hesaid. "Has it any oceans?"

"I couldn't tell you," said thegeographer.

"Ah!" The little prince wasdisappointed. "Has it anymountains?"

"I couldn't tell you," said thegeographer.

"And towns, and rivers, anddeserts?"

"I couldn't tell you that, either.""But you are a geographer!"

"Exactly," the geographer said."But I am not an explorer. I haven't asingle explorer on my planet. It isnot the geographer who goes out tocount the towns, the rivers, themountains, the seas, the oceans,and the deserts. The geographer ismuch too important to go loafingabout. He does not leave his desk.But he receives the explorers in hisstudy. He asks them questions, andhe notes down what they recall oftheir travels. And if the recollectionsof any one among them seeminteresting to him, the geographerorders an inquiry into that explorer'smoral character."

"Why is that?""Because an explorer who told

lies would bring disaster on thebooks of the geographer. So wouldan explorer who drank too much."

"Why is that?" asked the littleprince.

"Because intoxicated men seedouble. Then the geographer wouldnote down two mountains in a placewhere there was only one."

"I know some one," said the littleprince, "who would make a badexplorer."

"That is possible. Then, when themoral character of the explorer is

shown to be good, an inquiry isordered into his discovery."

"One goes to see it?""No. That would be too

complicated. But one requires theexplorer to furnish proofs. Forexample, if the discovery inquestion is that of a large mountain,one requires that large stones bebrought back from it."

The geographer was suddenlystirred to excitement.

"But you--you come from far away!You are an explorer! You shalldescribe your planet to me!"

And, having opened his big

register, the geographer sharpenedhis pencil. The recitals of explorersare put down first in pencil. Onewaits until the explorer hasfurnished proofs, before puttingthem down in ink.

"Well?" said the geographerexpectantly.

"Oh, where I live," said the littleprince, "it is not very interesting. It isall so small. I have three volcanoes.Two volcanoes are active and theother is extinct. But one neverknows."

"One never knows," said thegeographer.

"I have also a flower.""We do not record flowers," said

the geographer."Why is that? The flower is the

most beautiful thing on my planet!""We do not record them," said the

geographer, "because they areephemeral."

"What does that mean--'ephemeral'?"

"Geographies," said thegeographer, "are the books which,of all books, are most concernedwith matters of consequence. Theynever become old-fashioned. It isvery rarely that a mountain changes

its position. It is very rarely that anocean empties itself of its waters.We write of eternal things."

"But extinct volcanoes may cometo life again," the little princeinterrupted. "What does that mean--'ephemeral'?"

"Whether volcanoes are extinct oralive, it comes to the same thing forus," said the geographer. "The thingthat matters to us is the mountain. Itdoes not change."

"But what does that mean--'ephemeral'?" repeated the littleprince, who never in his life had letgo of a question, once he had asked

it."It means, 'which is in danger of

speedy disappearance.'""Is my flower in danger of speedy

disappearance?""Certainly it is.""My flower is ephemeral," the little

prince said to himself, "and she hasonly four thorns to defend herselfagainst the world. And I have lefther on my planet, all alone!"

That was his first moment ofregret. But he took courage oncemore.

"What place would you advise meto visit now?" he asked.

"The planet Earth," replied thegeographer. "It has a goodreputation."

And the little prince went away,thinking of his flower.

16

So then the seventh planet wasthe Earth.

The Earth is not just an ordinaryplanet! One can count, there, 111kings (not forgetting, to be sure, theNegro kings among them), 7000geographers, 900,000businessmen, 7,500,000 tipplers,311,000,000 conceited men--that isto say, about 2,000,000,000 grown-ups.

To give you an idea of the size ofthe Earth, I will tell you that beforethe invention of electricity it wasnecessary to maintain, over thewhole of the six continents, averitable army of 462,511lamplighters for the street lamps.

Seen from a slight distance, thatwould make a splendid spectacle.The movements of this army wouldbe regulated like those of the balletin the opera. First would come theturn of the lamplighters of NewZealand and Australia. Having settheir lamps alight, these would gooff to sleep. Next, the lamplighters ofChina and Siberia would enter for

their steps in the dance, and thenthey too would be waved back intothe wings. After that would come theturn of the lamplighters of Russiaand the Indies; then those of Africaand Europe; then those of SouthAmerica; then those of SouthAmerica; then those of NorthAmerica. And never would theymake a mistake in the order of theirentry upon the stage. It would bemagnificent.

Only the man who was in chargeof the single lamp at the North Pole,and his colleague who wasresponsible for the single lamp atthe South Pole--only these two

would live free from toil and care:they would be busy twice a year.

17

When one wishes to play the wit,he sometimes wanders a little fromthe truth. I have not been altogetherhonest in what I have told you aboutthe lamplighters. And I realize that Irun the risk of giving a false idea ofour planet to those who do not knowit. Men occupy a very small placeupon the Earth. If the two billioninhabitants who people its surfacewere all to stand upright andsomewhat crowded together, as

they do for some big publicassembly, they could easily be putinto one public square twenty mileslong and twenty miles wide. Allhumanity could be piled up on asmall Pacific islet.

The grown-ups, to be sure, will notbelieve you when you tell them that.They imagine that they fill a great

deal of space. They fancythemselves as important as thebaobabs. You should advise them,then, to make their owncalculations. They adore figures,and that will please them. But do notwaste your time on this extra task. Itis unnecessary. You have, I know,confidence in me.

When the little prince arrived onthe Earth, he was very muchsurprised not to see any people. Hewas beginning to be afraid he hadcome to the wrong planet, when acoil of gold, the color of themoonlight, flashed across the sand.

"Good evening," said the littleprince courteously.

"Good evening," said the snake."What planet is this on which I

have come down?" asked the littleprince.

"This is the Earth; this is Africa,"the snake answered.

"Ah! Then there are no people onthe Earth?"

"This is the desert. There are nopeople in the desert. The Earth islarge," said the snake.

The little prince sat down on astone, and raised his eyes towardthe sky.

"I wonder," he said, "whether thestars are set alight in heaven so thatone day each one of us may find hisown again . . . Look at my planet. Itis right there above us. But how faraway it is!"

"It is beautiful," the snake said."What has brought you here?"

"I have been having some troublewith a flower," said the little prince.

"Ah!" said the snake.And they were both silent."Where are the men?" the little

prince at last took up theconversation again. "It is a littlelonely in the desert . . ."

"It is also lonely among men," thesnake said.

The little prince gazed at him for along time.

"You are a funny animal," he saidat last. "You are no thicker than afinger . . ."

"But I am more powerful than thefinger of a king," said the snake.

The little prince smiled."You are not very powerful. You

haven't even any feet. You cannoteven travel . . ."

"I can carry you farther than anyship could take you," said thesnake.

He twined himself around the littleprince's ankle, like a goldenbracelet.

"Whomever I touch, I send back tothe earth from whence he came,"the snake spoke again. "But you areinnocent and true, and you comefrom a star . . ."

The little prince made no reply."You move me to pity--you are so

weak on this Earth made of granite,"the snake said. "I can help you,some day, if you grow too homesickfor your own planet. I can--"

"Oh! I understand you very well,"said the little prince. "But why do

you always speak in riddles?""I solve them all," said the snake.And they were both silent.

18

The little prince crossed the desertand met with only one flower. It wasa flower with three petals, a flowerof no account at all.

"Good morning," said the littleprince.

"Good morning," said the flower."Where are the men?" the little

prince asked, politely.The flower had once seen a

caravan passing."Men?" she echoed. "I think there

are six or seven of them inexistence. I saw them, several yearsago. But one never knows where tofind them. The wind blows themaway. They have no roots, and thatmakes their life very difficult."

"Goodbye," said the little prince."Goodbye," said the flower.

19

After that, the little prince climbeda high mountain. The onlymountains he had ever known werethe three volcanoes, which came upto his knees. And he used theextinct volcano as a footstool. "Froma mountain as high as this one," hesaid to himself, "I shall be able tosee the whole planet at one glance,and all the people . . ."

But he saw nothing, save peaks ofrock that were sharpened like

needles."Good morning," he said

courteously."Good morning--Good morning--

Good morning," answered the echo."Who are you?" said the little

prince."Who are you--Who are you--Who

are you?" answered the echo."Be my friends. I am all alone," he

said."I am all alone--all alone--all

alone," answered the echo."What a queer planet!" he thought.

"It is altogether dry, and altogetherpointed, and altogether harsh and

forbidding. And the people have noimagination. They repeat whateverone says to them . . . On my planet Ihad a flower; she always was thefirst to speak . . ."

20

But it happened that after walkingfor a long time through sand, androcks, and snow, the little prince atlast came upon a road. And allroads lead to the abodes of men.

"Good morning," he said.He was standing before a garden,

all a-bloom with roses.

"Good morning," said the roses.The little prince gazed at them.

They all looked like his flower."Who are you?" he demanded,

thunderstruck."We are roses," the roses said.And he was overcome with

sadness. His flower had told him

that she was the only one of herkind in all the universe. And herewere five thousand of them, allalike, in one single garden!

"She would be very muchannoyed," he said to himself, "if sheshould see that . . . She wouldcough most dreadfully, and shewould pretend that she was dying,to avoid being laughed at. And Ishould be obliged to pretend that Iwas nursing her back to life--for if Idid not do that, to humble myselfalso, she would really allow herselfto die. . ."

Then he went on with hisreflections: "I thought that I was rich,

with a flower that was unique in allthe world; and all I had was acommon rose. A common rose, andthree volcanoes that come up to myknees--and one of them perhapsextinct forever . . . That doesn'tmake me a very great prince . . ."

And he lay down in the grass andcried.

21

It was then that the fox appeared."Good morning," said the fox."Good morning," the little prince

responded politely, although whenhe turned around he saw nothing.

"I am right here," the voice said,"under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the littleprince, and added, "You are verypretty to look at."

"I am a fox," the fox said."Come and play with me,"

proposed the little prince. "I am sounhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the foxsaid. "I am not tamed."

"Ah! Please excuse me," said thelittle prince.

But, after some thought, he added:"What does that mean--'tame'?""You do not live here," said the

fox. "What is it that you are lookingfor?"

"I am looking for men," said thelittle prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"

"Men," said the fox. "They haveguns, and they hunt. It is verydisturbing. They also raisechickens. These are their onlyinterests. Are you looking forchickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I amlooking for friends. What does thatmean--'tame'?"

"It is an act too often neglected,"said the fox. It means to establishties."

"'To establish ties'?""Just that," said the fox. "To me,

you are still nothing more than alittle boy who is just like a hundred

thousand other little boys. And Ihave no need of you. And you, onyour part, have no need of me. Toyou, I am nothing more than a foxlike a hundred thousand otherfoxes. But if you tame me, then weshall need each other. To me, youwill be unique in all the world. Toyou, I shall be unique in all theworld . . ."

"I am beginning to understand,"said the little prince. "There is aflower . . . I think that she has tamedme . . ."

"It is possible," said the fox. "Onthe Earth one sees all sorts ofthings."

"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!"said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, andvery curious.

"On another planet?""Yes."

"Are there hunters on that planet?""No.""Ah, that is interesting! Are there

chickens?""No."

"Nothing is perfect," sighed thefox.

But he came back to his idea."My life is very monotonous," the

fox said. "I hunt chickens; men huntme. All the chickens are just alike,and all the men are just alike. And,in consequence, I am a little bored.But if you tame me, it will be as if thesun came to shine on my life. I shallknow the sound of a step that will bedifferent from all the others. Othersteps send me hurrying backunderneath the ground. Yours willcall me, like music, out of myburrow. And then look: you see thegrain-fields down yonder? I do not

eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me.The wheat fields have nothing tosay to me. And that is sad. But youhave hair that is the color of gold.Think how wonderful that will bewhen you have tamed me! Thegrain, which is also golden, willbring me back the thought of you.And I shall love to listen to the windin the wheat . . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince,for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said."I want to, very much," the little

prince replied. "But I have not muchtime. I have friends to discover, anda great many things to understand."

"One only understands the thingsthat one tames," said the fox. "Menhave no more time to understandanything. They buy things all ready

made at the shops. But there is noshop anywhere where one can buyfriendship, and so men have nofriends any more. If you want afriend, tame me . . ."

"What must I do, to tame you?"asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," repliedthe fox. "First you will sit down at alittle distance from me--like that--inthe grass. I shall look at you out ofthe corner of my eye, and you willsay nothing. Words are the sourceof misunderstandings. But you willsit a little closer to me, every day . .."

The next day the little prince came

back."It would have been better to come

back at the same hour," said the fox."If, for example, you come at fouro'clock in the afternoon, then atthree o'clock I shall begin to behappy. I shall feel happier andhappier as the hour advances. Atfour o'clock, I shall already beworrying and jumping about. I shallshow you how happy I am! But ifyou come at just any time, I shallnever know at what hour my heart isto be ready to greet you . . . Onemust observe the proper rites . . ."

"What is a rite?" asked the littleprince.

"Those also are actions too oftenneglected," said the fox. "They arewhat make one day different fromother days, one hour from otherhours. There is a rite, for example,among my hunters. Every Thursdaythey dance with the village girls. SoThursday is a wonderful day for me!I can take a walk as far as thevineyards. But if the hunters dancedat just any time, every day would belike every other day, and I shouldnever have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox.And when the hour of his departure

drew near--"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry.""It is your own fault," said the little

prince. "I never wished you any sortof harm; but you wanted me to tameyou . . ."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox."But now you are going to cry!"

said the little prince."Yes, that is so," said the fox."Then it has done you no good at

all!""It has done me good," said the

fox, "because of the color of thewheat fields." And then he added:

"Go and look again at the roses.

You will understand now that yoursis unique in all the world. Thencome back to say goodbye to me,and I will make you a present of asecret."

The little prince went away, to lookagain at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose,"he said. "As yet you are nothing. Noone has tamed you, and you havetamed no one. You are like my foxwhen I first knew him. He was onlya fox like a hundred thousand otherfoxes. But I have made him myfriend, and now he is unique in all

the world."And the roses were very much

embarassed."You are beautiful, but you are

empty," he went on. "One could notdie for you. To be sure, an ordinarypasserby would think that my roselooked just like you--the rose thatbelongs to me. But in herself aloneshe is more important than all thehundreds of you other roses:because it is she that I havewatered; because it is she that Ihave put under the glass globe;because it is she that I havesheltered behind the screen;because it is for her that I have

killed the caterpillars (except thetwo or three that we saved tobecome butterflies); because it isshe that I have listened to, whenshe grumbled, or boasted, or eversometimes when she said nothing.Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox."Goodbye," he said."Goodbye," said the fox. "And now

here is my secret, a very simplesecret: It is only with the heart thatone can see rightly; what isessential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible tothe eye," the little prince repeated,so that he would be sure toremember.

"It is the time you have wasted foryour rose that makes your rose soimportant."

"It is the time I have wasted for myrose--" said the little prince, so thathe would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth,"said the fox. "But you must notforget it. You become responsible,forever, for what you have tamed.You are responsible for your rose . .."

"I am responsible for my rose," thelittle prince repeated, so that hewould be sure to remember.

22

"Good morning," said the littleprince.

"Good morning," said the railwayswitchman.

"What do you do here?" the littleprince asked.

"I sort out travelers, in bundles of athousand," said the switchman. "Isend off the trains that carry them:now to the right, now to the left."

And a brilliantly lighted express

train shook the switchman's cabinas it rushed by with a roar likethunder.

"They are in a great hurry," saidthe little prince. "What are theylooking for?"

"Not even the locomotive engineerknows that," said the switchman.

And a second brilliantly lightedexpress thundered by, in theopposite direction.

"Are they coming back already?"demanded the little prince.

"These are not the same ones,"said the switchman. "It is anexchange."

"Were they not satisfied wherethey were?" asked the little prince.

"No one is ever satisfied where heis," said the switchman.

And they heard the roaringthunder of a third brilliantly lightedexpress.

"Are they pursuing the firsttravelers?" demanded the littleprince.

"They are pursuing nothing at all,"said the switchman. "They areasleep in there, or if they are notasleep they are yawning. Only thechildren are flattening their nosesagainst the windowpanes."

"Only the children know what theyare looking for," said the little prince."They waste their time over a ragdoll and it becomes very importantto them; and if anybody takes itaway from them, they cry . . ."

"They are lucky," the switchmansaid.

23

"Good morning," said the littleprince.

"Good morning," said themerchant.

This was a merchant who soldpills that had been invented toquench thirst. You need onlyswallow one pill a week, and youwould feel no need of anything todrink.

"Why are you selling those?"

asked the little prince."Because they save a tremendous

amount of time," said the merchant."Computations have been made byexperts. With these pills, you savefifty-three minutes in every week."

"And what do I do with those fifty-three minutes?"

"Anything you like . . .""As for me," said the little prince to

himself, "if I had fifty-three minutesto spend as I liked, I should walk atmy leisure toward a spring of freshwater."

24

It was now the eighth day since Ihad had my accident in the desert,and I had listened to the story of themerchant as I was drinking the lastdrop of my water supply.

"Ah," I said to the little prince,"these memories of yours are verycharming; but I have not yetsucceeded in repairing my plane; Ihave nothing more to drink; and I,too, should be very happy if I couldwalk at my leisure toward a spring

of fresh water!""My friend the fox--" the little

prince said to me."My dear little man, this is no

longer a matter that has anything todo with the fox!"

"Why not?""Because I am about to die of

thirst . . ."He did not follow my reasoning,

and he answered me:"It is a good thing to have had a

friend, even if one is about to die. I,for instance, am very glad to havehad a fox as a friend . . ."

"He has no way of guessing the

"He has no way of guessing thedanger," I said to myself. "He hasnever been either hungry or thirsty.A little sunshine is all he needs . . ."

But he looked at me steadily, andreplied to my thought:

"I am thirsty, too. Let us look for awell . . ."

I made a gesture of weariness. It isabsurd to look for a well, at random,in the immensity of the desert. Butnevertheless we started walking.

When we had trudged along forseveral hours, in silence, thedarkness fell, and the stars began tocome out. Thirst had made me alittle feverish, and I looked at them

as if I were in a dream. The littleprince's last words came reelingback into my memory:

"Then you are thirsty, too?" Idemanded.

But he did not reply to myquestion. He merely said to me:

"Water may also be good for theheart . . ."

I did not understand this answer,but I said nothing. I knew very wellthat it was impossible to cross-examine him.

He was tired. He sat down. I satdown beside him. And, after a littlesilence, he spoke again:

"The stars are beautiful, becauseof a flower that cannot be seen."

I replied, "Yes, that is so." And,without saying anything more, Ilooked across the ridges of sandthat were stretched out before us inthe moonlight.

"The desert is beautiful," the littleprince added.

And that was true. I have alwaysloved the desert. One sits down ona desert sand dune, sees nothing,hears nothing. Yet through thesilence something throbs, andgleams . . .

"What makes the desert beautiful,"

said the little prince, "is thatsomewhere it hides a well . . ."

I was astonished by a suddenunderstanding of that mysteriousradiation of the sands. When I was alittle boy I lived in an old house, andlegend told us that a treasure wasburied there. To be sure, no onehad ever known how to find it;perhaps no one had ever evenlooked for it. But it cast anenchantment over that house. Myhome was hiding a secret in thedepths of its heart . . .

"Yes," I said to the little prince."The house, the stars, the desert--what gives them their beauty is

something that is invisible!""I am glad," he said, "that you

agree with my fox."As the little prince dropped off to

sleep, I took him in my arms and setout walking once more. I felt deeplymoved, and stirred. It seemed to methat I was carrying a very fragiletreasure. It seemed to me, even, thatthere was nothing more fragile onall Earth. In the moonlight I lookedat his pale forehead, his closedeyes, his locks of hair that trembledin the wind, and I said to myself:"What I see here is nothing but ashell. What is most important isinvisible . . ."

invisible . . ."As his lips opened slightly with the

suspicion of a half-smile, I said tomyself, again: "What moves me sodeeply, about this little prince who issleeping here, is his loyalty to aflower--the image of a rose thatshines through his whole being likethe flame of a lamp, even when heis asleep . . ." And I felt him to bemore fragile still. I felt the need ofprotecting him, as if he himself werea flame that might be extinguishedby a little puff of wind . . .

And, as I walked on so, I found thewell, at daybreak.

25

"Men," said the little prince, "setout on their way in express trains,but they do not know what they arelooking for. Then they rush about,and get excited, and turn round andround . . ."

And he added:"It is not worth the trouble . . ."The well that we had come to was

not like the wells of the Sahara. Thewells of the Sahara are mere holes

dug in the sand. This one was like awell in a village. But there was novillage here, and I thought I must bedreaming . . .

"It is strange," I said to the littleprince. "Everything is ready for use:the pulley, the bucket, the rope . . ."

He laughed, touched the rope,and set the pulley to working. Andthe pulley moaned, like an oldweathervane which the wind haslong since forgotten.

"Do you hear?" said the littleprince. "We have wakened the well,and it is singing . . ."

I did not want him to tire himself

with the rope."Leave it to me," I said. "It is too

heavy for you."I hoisted the bucket slowly to the

edge of the well and set it there--happy, tired as I was, over myachievement. The song of the pulleywas still in my ears, and I could seethe sunlight shimmer in the stilltrembling water.

"I am thirsty for this water," saidthe little prince. "Give me some of itto drink . . ."

And I understood what he hadbeen looking for.

I raised the bucket to his lips. He

drank, his eyes closed. It was assweet as some special festival treat.This water was indeed a differentthing from ordinary nourishment. Itssweetness was born of the walkunder the stars, the song of thepulley, the effort of my arms. It wasgood for the heart, like a present.When I was a little boy, the lights ofthe Christmas tree, the music of theMidnight Mass, the tenderness ofsmiling faces, used to make up, so,the radiance of the gifts I received.

"The men where you live," saidthe little prince, "raise five thousandroses in the same garden--and theydo not find in it what they are

looking for.""They do not find it," I replied."And yet what they are looking for

could be found in one single rose,or in a little water."

"Yes, that is true," I said.And the little prince added:"But the eyes are blind. One must

look with the heart . . ."

I had drunk the water. I breathedeasily. At sunrise the sand is thecolor of honey. And that honey colorwas making me happy, too. Whatbrought me, then, this sense of

grief?"You must keep your promise,"

said the little prince, softly, as he satdown beside me once more.

"What promise?""You know--a muzzle for my

sheep . . . I am responsible for thisflower . . ."

I took my rough drafts of drawingsout of my pocket. The little princelooked them over, and laughed ashe said:

"Your baobabs--they look a littlelike cabbages."

"Oh!"I had been so proud of my

baobabs!"Your fox--his ears look a little like

horns; and they are too long."And he laughed again."You are not fair, little prince," I

said. "I don't know how to drawanything except boa constrictorsfrom the outside and boaconstrictors from the inside."

"Oh, that will be all right," he said,"children understand."

So then I made a pencil sketch ofa muzzle. And as I gave it to him myheart was torn.

"You have plans that I do notknow about," I said.

But he did not answer me. He saidto me, instead:

"You know--my descent to theearth . . . Tomorrow will be itsanniversary."

Then, after a silence, he went on:"I came down very near here."And he flushed.And once again, without

understanding why, I had a queersense of sorrow. One question,however, occurred to me:

"Then it was not by chance that onthe morning when I first met you--aweek ago--you were strolling along

like that, all alone, a thousand milesfrom any inhabited region? Youwere on the your back to the placewhere you landed?"

The little prince flushed again.And I added, with some hesitancy:"Perhaps it was because of the

anniversary?"The little prince flushed once

more. He never answeredquestions--but when one flushesdoes that not mean "Yes"?

"Ah," I said to him, "I am a littlefrightened--"

But he interrupted me."Now you must work. You must

return to your engine. I will bewaiting for you here. Come backtomorrow evening . . ."

But I was not reassured. Iremembered the fox. One runs therisk of weeping a little, if one letshimself be tamed . . .

26

Beside the well there was the ruinof an old stone wall. When I cameback from my work, the nextevening, I saw from some distanceaway my little price sitting on top ofa wall, with his feet dangling. And Iheard him say:

"Then you don't remember. This isnot the exact spot."

Another voice must haveanswered him, for he replied to it:

"Yes, yes! It is the right day, butthis is not the place."

I continued my walk toward thewall. At no time did I see or hearanyone. The little prince, however,replied once again:

"--Exactly. You will see where mytrack begins, in the sand. You havenothing to do but wait for me there. Ishall be there tonight."

I was only twenty meters from thewall, and I still saw nothing.

After a silence the little princespoke again:

"You have good poison? You aresure that it will not make me suffer

too long?"I stopped in my tracks, my heart

torn asunder; but still I did notunderstand.

"Now go away," said the littleprince. "I want to get down from thewall."

I dropped my eyes, then, to thefoot of the wall--and I leaped into theair. There before me, facing the little

prince, was one of those yellowsnakes that take just thirty secondsto bring your life to an end. Even asI was digging into my pocked to getout my revolver I made a runningstep back. But, at the noise I made,the snake let himself flow easilyacross the sand like the dying sprayof a fountain, and, in no apparenthurry, disappeared, with a lightmetallic sound, among the stones.

I reached the wall just in time tocatch my little man in my arms; hisface was white as snow.

"What does this mean?" Idemanded. "Why are you talkingwith snakes?"

I had loosened the golden mufflerthat he always wore. I hadmoistened his temples, and hadgiven him some water to drink. Andnow I did not dare ask him any morequestions. He looked at me verygravely, and put his arms around myneck. I felt his heart beating like theheart of a dying bird, shot withsomeone's rifle . . .

"I am glad that you have foundwhat was the matter with yourengine," he said. "Now you can goback home--"

"How do you know about that?"I was just coming to tell him that

my work had been successful,

my work had been successful,beyond anything that I had dared tohope.

He made no answer to myquestion, but he added:

"I, too, am going back home today. . ."

Then, sadly--"It is much farther . . . It is much

more difficult . . ."I realized clearly that something

extraordinary was happening. I washolding him close in my arms as ifhe were a little child; and yet itseemed to me that he was rushingheadlong toward an abyss fromwhich I could do nothing to restrain

him . . .His look was very serious, like

some one lost far away.

"I have your sheep. And I have the

sheep's box. And I have the muzzle. . ."

And he gave me a sad smile.I waited a long time. I could see

that he was reviving little by little."Dear little man," I said to him,

"you are afraid . . ."He was afraid, there was no doubt

about that. But he laughed lightly."I shall be much more afraid this

evening . . ."Once again I felt myself frozen by

the sense of something irreparable.And I knew that I could not bear thethought of never hearing thatlaughter any more. For me, it was

like a spring of fresh water in thedesert.

"Little man," I said, "I want to hearyou laugh again."

But he said to me:"Tonight, it will be a year . . . My

star, then, can be found right abovethe place where I came to the Earth,a year ago . . ."

"Little man," I said, "tell me that itis only a bad dream--this affair of thesnake, and the meeting-place, andthe star . . ."

But he did not answer my plea. Hesaid to me, instead:

"The thing that is important is the

thing that is not seen . . .""Yes, I know . . .""It is just as it is with the flower. If

you love a flower that lives on a star,it is sweet to look at the sky at night.All the stars are a-bloom withflowers . . ."

"Yes, I know . . .""It is just as it is with the water.

Because of the pulley, and the rope,what you gave me to drink was likemusic. You remember--how good itwas."

"Yes, I know . . .""And at night you will look up at

the stars. Where I live everything is

so small that I cannot show youwhere my star is to be found. It isbetter, like that. My star will just beone of the stars, for you. And so youwill love to watch all the stars in theheavens . . . they will all be yourfriends. And, besides, I am going tomake you a present . . ."

He laughed again."Ah, little prince, dear little prince! I

love to hear that laughter!""That is my present. Just that. It

will be as it was when we drank thewater . . ."

"What are you trying to say?""All men have the stars," he

answered, "but they are not thesame things for different people. Forsome, who are travelers, the starsare guides. For others they are nomore than little lights in the sky. Forothers, who are scholars, they areproblems. For my businessman theywere wealth. But all these stars aresilent. You--you alone--will have thestars as no one else has them--"

"What are you trying to say?""In one of the stars I shall be

living. In one of them I shall belaughing. And so it will be as if allthe stars were laughing, when youlook at the sky at night . . . You--onlyyou--will have stars that can laugh!"

And he laughed again."And when your sorrow is

comforted (time soothes all sorrows)you will be content that you haveknown me. You will always be myfriend. You will want to laugh withme. And you will sometimes openyour window, so, for that pleasure . .. And your friends will be properlyastonished to see you laughing asyou look up at the sky! Then you willsay to them, 'Yes, the stars alwaysmake me laugh!' And they will thinkyou are crazy. It will be a veryshabby trick that I shall have playedon you . . ."

And he laughed again.

"It will be as if, in place of thestars, I had given you a greatnumber of little bells that knew howto laugh . . ."

And he laughed again. Then hequickly became serious:

"Tonight--you know . . . Do notcome."

"I shall not leave you," I said."I shall look as if I were suffering. I

shall look a little as if I were dying. Itis like that. Do not come to see that.It is not worth the trouble . . ."

"I shall not leave you."But he was worried."I tell you--it is also because of the

snake. He must not bite you.Snakes--they are maliciouscreatures. This one might bite youjust for fun . . ."

"I shall not leave you."But a thought came to reassure

him:"It is true that they have no more

poison for a second bite."

That night I did not see him set outon his way. He got away from mewithout making a sound. When Isucceeded in catching up with himhe was walking along with a quick

and resolute step. He said to memerely:

"Ah! You are there . . ."And he took me by the hand. But

he was still worrying."It was wrong of you to come. You

will suffer. I shall look as if I weredead; and that will not be true . . ."

I said nothing."You understand . . . it is too far. I

cannot carry this body with me. It istoo heavy."

I said nothing."But it will be like an old

abandoned shell. There is nothingsad about old shells . . ."

I said nothing.He was a little discouraged. But

he made one more effort:"You know, it will be very nice. I,

too, shall look at the stars. All thestars will be wells with a rustypulley. All the stars will pour outfresh water for me to drink . . ."

I said nothing."That will be so amusing! You will

have five hundred million little bells,and I shall have five hundred millionsprings of fresh water . . .

And he too said nothing more,becuase he was crying . . .

"Here it is. Let me go on bymyself."

And he sat down, because he wasafraid. Then he said, again:

"You know--my flower . . . I amresponsible for her. And she is soweak! She is so naïve! She has fourthorns, of no use at all, to protectherself against all the world . . ."

I too sat down, because I was notable to stand up any longer.

"There now--that is all . . ."He still hesitated a little; then he

got up. He took one step. I could notmove.

There was nothing but a flash ofyellow close to his ankle. Heremained motionless for an instant.

He did not cry out. He fell as gentlyas a tree falls. There was not evenany sound, because of the sand.

27

And now six years have alreadygone by . . . I have never yet told thisstory. The companions who met meon my return were well content tosee me alive. I was sad, but I toldthem: "I am tired."

Now my sorrow is comforted alittle. That is to say--not entirely. ButI know that he did go back to hisplanet, because I did not find hisbody at daybreak. It was not such aheavy body . . . and at night I love to

listen to the stars. It is like fivehundred million little bells . . .

But there is one extraordinarything . . . when I drew the muzzle forthe little prince, I forgot to add theleather strap to it. He will neverhave been able to fasten it on hissheep. So now I keep wondering:what is happening on his planet?Perhaps the sheep has eaten theflower . . .

At one time I say to myself: "Surelynot! The little prince shuts his flowerunder her glass globe every night,and he watches over his sheep verycarefully . . ." Then I am happy. Andthere is sweetness in the laughter of

all the stars.But at another time I say to myself:

"At some moment or other one isabsent-minded, and that is enough!On some one evening he forgot theglass globe, or the sheep got out,without making any noise, in thenight . . ." And then the little bellsare changed to tears . . .

Here, then, is a great mystery. Foryou who also love the little prince,and for me, nothing in the universecan be the same if somewhere, wedo not know where, a sheep that wenever saw has--yes or no?--eaten a

rose . . .Look up at the sky. Ask

yourselves: is it yes or no? Has thesheep eaten the flower? And youwill see how everything changes . . .

And no grown-up will everunderstand that this is a matter of somuch importance!

This is, to me, the loveliest andsaddest landscape in the world. It isthe same as that on the precedingpage, but I have drawn it again to

impress it on your memory. It is herethat the little prince appeared onEarth, and disappeared.

Look at it carefully so that you willbe sure to recognize it in case youtravel some day to the Africandesert. And, if you should comeupon this spot, please do not hurryon. Wait for a time, exactly under thestar. Then, if a little man appearswho laughs, who has golden hairand who refuses to answerquestions, you will know who he is.If this should happen, pleasecomfort me. Send me word that hehas come back.