1
Once when I was six years
old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories
from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a
boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy
of the drawing.
In the book it said: "Boa
constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After
that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six
months that they need for digestion."
I pondered deeply, then,
over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a
colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing
Number One. It looked something like this:
I showed my masterpiece to
the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.
But they answered:
"Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?"
My drawing was not a
picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an
elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I
made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa constrictor, so
that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have
things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this:
The grown-ups' response,
this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa
constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote
myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That
is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a
magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the
failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two.
Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is
tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to
them.
So then I chose another
profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little
over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been
very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona.
If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.
In the course of this life
I have had a great many encounters with a great many people who have
been concerned with matters of consequence. I have lived a great
deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately, close at hand.
And that hasn't much improved my opinion of them.
Whenever I met one of them
who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of
showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have always kept. I would
try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding.
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, or primeval forests, or stars. I
would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about
bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would
be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.
2
So I lived my life alone,
without anyone that I could really talk to, until I had an accident
with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago. Something was
broken in my engine. And as I had with me neither a mechanic nor any
passengers, I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs all alone.
It was a question of life or death for me: I had scarcely enough
drinking water to last a week.
The first night, then, I
went to sleep on the sand, a thousand miles from any human
habitation. I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft
in the middle of the ocean. Thus you can imagine my amazement, at
sunrise, when I was awakened by an odd little voice. It said:
"If you please--draw me a
sheep!"
"What!"
"Draw me a sheep!"
I jumped to my feet,
completely thunderstruck. I blinked my eyes hard. I looked carefully
all around me. And I saw a most extraordinary small person, who
stood there examining me with great seriousness. Here you may see
the best portrait that, later, I was able to make of him. But my
drawing is certainly very much less charming than its model.
That, however, is not my
fault. The grown-ups discouraged me in my painter's career when I
was six years old, and I never learned to draw anything, except boas
from the outside and boas from the inside.
Now I stared at this sudden
apparition with my eyes fairly starting out of my head in
astonishment. Remember, I had crashed in the desert a thousand miles
from any inhabited region. And yet my little man seemed neither to
be straying uncertainly among the sands, nor to be fainting from
fatigue or hunger or thirst or fear. Nothing about him gave any
suggestion of a child lost in the middle of the desert, a thousand
miles from any human habitation. When at last I was able to speak, I
said to him:
"But--what are you doing
here?"
And in answer he repeated,
very slowly, as if he were speaking of a matter of great
consequence:
"If you please--draw me a
sheep . . ."
When a mystery is too
overpowering, one dare not disobey. Absurd as it might seem to me, a
thousand miles from any human habitation and in danger of death, I
took out of my pocket a sheet of paper and my fountain-pen. But then
I remembered how my studies had been concentrated on geography,
history, arithmetic and grammar, and I told the little chap (a
little crossly, too) that I did not know how to draw. He answered
me:
"That doesn't matter. Draw
me a sheep . . ."
But I had never drawn a
sheep. So I drew for him one of the two pictures I had drawn so
often. It was that of the boa constrictor from the outside. And I
was astounded to hear the little fellow greet it with,
"No, no, no! I do not want
an elephant inside a boa constrictor. A boa constrictor is a very
dangerous creature, and an elephant is very cumbersome. Where I
live, everything is very small. What I need is a sheep. Draw me a
sheep."
So then I made a drawing.
He looked at it carefully,
then he said:
"No. This sheep is already
very sickly. Make me another."
So I made another drawing.
My friend smiled gently and
indulgently.
"You see yourself," he
said, "that this is not a sheep. This is a ram. It has horns."
So then I did my drawing
over once more.
But it was rejected too,
just like the others.
"This one is too old. I
want a sheep that will live a long time."
By this time my patience
was exhausted, because I was in a hurry to start taking my engine
apart. So I tossed off this drawing.
And I threw out an
explanation with it.
"This is only his box. The
sheep you asked for is inside."
I was very surprised to see
a light break over the face of my young judge:
"That is exactly the way I
wanted it! Do you think that this sheep will have to have a great
deal of grass?"
"Why?"
"Because where I live
everything is very small . . ."
"There will surely be
enough grass for him," I said. "It is a very small sheep that I have
given you."
He bent his head over the
drawing.
"Not so small that--Look!
He has gone to sleep . . ."
And that is how I made the
acquaintance of the little prince.
3
It took me a long time to
learn where he came from. The little prince, who asked me so many
questions, never seemed to hear the ones I asked him. It was from
words dropped by chance that, little by little, everything was
revealed to me.
The first time he saw my
airplane, for instance (I shall not draw my airplane; that would be
much too complicated 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, which irritated me very much. I like
my misfortunes 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 of light in the impenetrable mystery of his presence; and I
demanded, abruptly:
"Do you come from another
planet?"
But he did not reply. He
tossed his head gently, without taking his eyes from my plane:
"It is true that on that
you can't have come from very far away . . ."
And he sank into a reverie,
which lasted a long time. Then, taking my sheep out of his pocket,
he buried himself in the contemplation of his treasure.
You can imagine how my
curiosity was aroused by this half-confidence about the "other
planets." I made a great effort, therefore, to find out more on this
subject.
"My little man, where do
you come from? What is this 'where I live,' of which you speak?
Where do you want to take your sheep?"
After a reflective silence
he answered:
"The thing that is so good
about the box you have given me is that at night he can use it as
his house."
"That is so. And if you are
good I will give you a string, too, so that you can tie him during
the day, and a post to tie him to."
But the little prince
seemed shocked by this offer:
"Tie him! What a queer
idea!"
"But if you don't tie him,"
I said, "he will wander off somewhere, and get lost."
My friend broke into
another peal of laughter:
"But where do you think he
would go?"
"Anywhere. Straight ahead
of him."
Then the little prince
said, earnestly:
"That doesn't matter. Where
I live, everything is so small!"
And, with perhaps a hint of
sadness, he added:
"Straight ahead of him,
nobody can go very far . . ."
4
I had thus learned a
second fact of great importance: this was that the planet the little
prince came from was scarcely any larger than a house!
But that did not really
surprise me much. I knew very well that in addition to the great
planets--such as 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 them through the telescope.
When an astronomer discovers one of these he does not give it a
name, but only a number. He might call it, for example, "Asteroid
325."
I have serious reason to
believe that the planet from which the little prince came is the
asteroid known as B-612.
This asteroid has only once
been seen through the telescope. That was by a Turkish astronomer,
in 1909.
On making his discovery,
the astronomer had presented it to the International Astronomical
Congress, in a great demonstration. But he was in Turkish costume,
and so nobody would believe what he said.
Grown-ups are like that . .
.
Fortunately, however, for
the reputation of Asteroid B-612, a Turkish dictator made a law that
his subjects, under pain of death, should change to European
costume. So in 1920 the astronomer gave his demonstration all over
again, dressed with impressive style and elegance. And this time
everybody accepted his report.
If I have told you these
details about the asteroid, and made a note of its number for you,
it is on account of the grown-ups and their ways. When you tell them
that you have made a new friend, they never ask you any questions
about essential matters. They never say to you, "What does his voice
sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect
butterflies?" Instead, they demand: "How old is he? How many
brothers has he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his
father make?" Only from these figures do they think they have
learned anything about him.
If you were to say to the
grown-ups: "I saw a beautiful house made of rosy brick, with
geraniums in the windows and doves on the roof," they would not be
able to get any idea of that house at all. You would have to say to
them: "I saw a house that cost $20,000." Then they would exclaim:
"Oh, what a pretty house that is!"
Just so, you might say to
them: "The proof that the little prince existed is that he was
charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If
anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists." And what
good would it do to tell them that? They would shrug their
shoulders, and treat you like a child. But if you said to them: "The
planet he came from is Asteroid B-612," then they would be
convinced, and leave you in peace from their questions.
They are like that. One
must not hold it against them. Children should always show great
forbearance toward grown-up people.
But certainly, for us who
understand life, figures are a matter of indifference. I should have
liked to begin this story in the fashion of the fairy-tales. I
should have like to say: "Once upon a time there was a little prince
who lived on a planet that was scarcely any bigger than himself, and
who had need of a sheep . . ."
To those who understand
life, that would have given a much greater air of truth to my story.
For I do not want any one
to read my book carelessly. I have suffered too much grief in
setting down these memories. Six years have already passed since my
friend went away from me, with his sheep. If I try to describe him
here, it is to make sure that I shall not forget him. To forget a
friend is sad. Not every one has had a friend. And if I forget him,
I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in
anything but figures . . .
It is for that purpose,
again, that I have bought a box of paints and some pencils. It is
hard to take up drawing again at my age, when I have never made any
pictures except those of the boa constrictor from the outside and
the boa constrictor from the inside, since I was six. I shall
certainly try to make my portraits as true to life as possible. But
I am not at all sure of success. One drawing goes along all right,
and another has no resemblance to its subject. I make some errors,
too, in the little prince's height: in one place he is too tall and
in another too short. And I feel some doubts about the color of his
costume. So I fumble along as best I can, now good, now bad, and I
hope generally fair-to-middling.
In certain more important
details I shall make mistakes, also. But that is something that will
not be my fault. My friend never explained anything to me. He
thought, perhaps, that I was like himself. But I, alas, do not know
how to see sheep 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 little prince's planet, his
departure from it, his journey. The information would come very
slowly, as it might chance to fall from his thoughts. It was in this
way that I heard, on the third day, about the catastrophe of the
baobabs.
This time, once more, I had
the sheep to thank for it. For the little prince 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 little bushes. But the little
prince added:
"Then it follows that they
also eat baobabs?"
I pointed out to the little
prince that baobabs were not little bushes, but, on the contrary,
trees as big as castles; and that even if he took a whole herd of
elephants away with him, the herd would not eat up one single
baobab.
The idea of the herd of
elephants made the little prince laugh.
"We would have to put them
one on 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 to eat the little baobabs?"
He answered me at once,
"Oh, come, come!", as if he were speaking of something that was
self-evident. And I was obliged to make a great mental effort to
solve this problem, without any assistance.
Indeed, as I learned, there
were on the planet where the little prince lived--as on all
planets--good plants and bad plants. In consequence, there were good
seeds from good plants, and bad seeds from bad plants. But seeds are
invisible. They sleep deep in the heart of the earth's darkness,
until some one among them is seized with the desire to awaken. Then
this little seed will stretch itself and begin--timidly at first--to
push a charming little sprig inoffensively upward toward the sun. If
it is only a sprout of radish or the sprig of a rose-bush, one would
let it grow wherever it might wish. But when it is a bad plant, one
must destroy it as soon as possible, the very first instant that one
recognizes it.
Now there were some
terrible seeds on the planet that was the home of the little prince;
and these were the seeds of the baobab. The soil of that planet was
infested with them. A baobab is something you will never, never be
able to get rid of if you attend to it too late. It spreads over the
entire planet. It bores clear through it with its roots. And if the
planet is too small, and the baobabs are too many, they split it in
pieces . . .
"It is a question of
discipline," the little prince said to me later on. "When you've
finished your own toilet in the morning, then it is time to attend
to the toilet of your planet, just so, with the greatest care. You
must see to it that you pull up regularly all the baobabs, at the
very first moment when they can be distinguished from the rosebushes
which they resemble so closely in their earliest youth. It is very
tedious work," the little prince added, "but very easy."
And one day he said to me:
"You ought to make a beautiful drawing, so that the children where
you live can see exactly how all this is. That would be very useful
to them if they were to travel some day. Sometimes," he added,
"there is no harm in putting off a piece of work until another day.
But when it is a matter of baobabs, that always means a catastrophe.
I knew a planet that was inhabited by a lazy man. He neglected three
little bushes . . ."
So, as the little prince
described it to me, I have made a drawing of that planet. I do not
much like to take the tone of a moralist. But the danger of the
baobabs is so little understood, and such considerable risks would
be run by anyone who might get lost on an asteroid, that for once I
am breaking through my reserve. "Children," I say plainly, "watch
out for the baobabs!"
My friends, like myself,
have been skirting this danger for a long time, without ever knowing
it; and so it is for them that I have worked so hard over this
drawing. The lesson which I pass on by this means is worth all the
trouble it has cost me.
Perhaps you will ask me,
"Why are there no other drawing in this book as magnificent and
impressive as this drawing of the baobabs?"
The reply is simple. I have
tried. But with the others I have not been successful. When I made
the drawing of the baobabs I was carried beyond myself by the
inspiring force of urgent necessity.
6
Oh, little prince! Bit by
bit I came to understand the secrets of your sad little life . . .
For a long time you had found your only entertainment in the quiet
pleasure of looking at the sunset. I learned that new detail on the
morning of the fourth day, when you 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 you laughed to yourself. You said to
me:
"I am always thinking that
I am at home!"
Just so. Everybody knows
that when it is noon in the United States the sun is setting over
France.
If you could fly to France
in one minute, you could go straight into the sunset, right from
noon. Unfortunately, France is too far away for that. But on your
tiny planet, my little prince, all you need do is move your chair a
few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever
you like . . .
"One day," you said to me,
"I saw the 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-four sunsets?"
But the little prince made
no reply.
7
On the fifth day--again,
as always, it was thanks to the sheep--the secret of the little
prince's life was revealed to me. Abruptly, without anything to lead
up to it, and as if the question had been born of long and silent
meditation on his problem, 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 a bolt that had got stuck
in my engine. I was very much worried, for it was becoming clear to
me that the breakdown of my plane was extremely serious. And I had
so little drinking-water left that I had to fear for the worst.
"The thorns--what use are
they?"
The little prince never let
go of a question, once he had asked it. As for me, I was upset over
that bolt. And I answered with the first thing that 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 prince flashed back at me, with a
kind of resentfulness:
"I don't believe you!
Flowers are weak creatures. They are naпve. They reassure themselves
as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible
weapons . . ."
I did not answer. At that
instant I was saying to myself: "If this bolt still won't turn, I am
going to knock it out with the hammer." Again the little prince
disturbed my thoughts:
"And you actually believe
that the flowers--"
"Oh, no!" I cried. "No, no,
no! I don't believe anything. I answered you with the first thing
that came into my head. Don't you see--I am very busy with matters
of consequence!"
He stared at me,
thunderstruck.
"Matters of consequence!"
He looked at me there, with
my hammer in my hand, my fingers black with engine-grease, bending
down over an object which seemed to 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 the breeze.
"I know a planet where
there is a certain red-faced gentleman. He has never smelled a
flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved any one.
He has never done anything in his life but add up figures. And all
day he says over and over, just like you: 'I am busy with matters of
consequence!' And that makes him swell up with pride. But he is not
a man--he is a mushroom!"
"A what?"
"A mushroom!"
The little prince was now
white with rage.
"The flowers have been
growing thorns for millions of years. For millions of years the
sheep have been eating them just the same. And is it not a matter of
consequence to try to understand why the flowers go to so much
trouble to grow thorns which are never of any use to them? Is the
warfare between the sheep and the flowers not important? Is this not
of more consequence than a fat red-faced gentleman's sums? And if I
know--I, myself--one flower which is unique in the world, which
grows nowhere but on my planet, but which one little sheep can
destroy in a single bite some morning, without even noticing what he
is doing--Oh! You think that is not important!"
His face turned from white
to red as he continued:
"If some one loves a
flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions
and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look
at the stars. He can say to himself, 'Somewhere, my flower is there
. . .' But if the sheep eats the flower, in one moment all his stars
will be darkened . . . And you think that is not important!"
He could not say anything
more. His words were choked by sobbing.
The night had fallen. I had
let my tools drop from my hands. Of what moment now was my hammer,
my bolt, or thirst, or death? On one star, one planet, my planet,
the Earth, there was a little prince to be comforted. I took him in
my arms, and rocked him. I said to him:
"The flower that you love
is not in danger. I will draw you a muzzle for your sheep. I will
draw you a railing to put around your flower. I will--"
I did not know what to say
to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not know how I could
reach him, where I could overtake him and go on hand in hand with
him once more.
It is such a secret place,
the land of tears
8
I soon learned to know
this flower better. On the little prince's planet the flowers had
always been very simple. They had only one ring of petals; they took
up no room at all; they were a trouble to nobody. One morning they
would appear in the grass, and by night they would have faded
peacefully away. But one day, from a seed blown from no one knew
where, a new flower had come up; and the little prince had watched
very closely over this small sprout which was not like any other
small sprouts on his planet. It might, you see, have been a new kind
of baobab.
The shrub soon stopped
growing, and began to get ready to produce a flower. The little
prince, who was present at the first appearance of a huge bud, felt
at once that some sort of miraculous apparition must emerge from it.
But the flower was not satisfied to complete the preparations for
her beauty in the shelter of her green chamber. She chose her colors
with the greatest care. She dressed herself slowly. She adjusted her
petals one by one. She did not wish to go out into the world all
rumpled, like the field poppies. It was only in the full radiance of
her beauty that she wished to appear. Oh, yes! She was a coquettish
creature! And her mysterious adornment lasted for days and days.
Then one morning, exactly
at sunrise, she suddenly showed herself.
And, after working with all
this painstaking precision, she yawned and said:
"Ah! I am scarcely awake. I
beg that you will excuse me. My petals are still all disarranged . .
."
But the little prince could
not restrain his admiration:
"Oh! How beautiful you
are!"
"Am I not?" the flower
responded, sweetly. "And I was born at the same moment as the sun .
. ."
The little prince could
guess easily enough that she was not any too modest--but how
moving--and exciting--she was!
"I think it is time for
breakfast," she added an instant later. "If you would have the
kindness to think of my needs--"
And the little prince,
completely abashed, went to look for a sprinkling-can of fresh
water. So, he tended the flower.
So, too, she began very
quickly to torment him with her vanity--which was, if the truth be
known, a little difficult to deal with. One day, for instance, when
she was speaking of her four thorns, she said to the little prince:
"Let the tigers come with
their claws!"
"There are no tigers on my
planet," the little prince objected. "And, anyway, tigers do not eat
weeds."
"I am not a weed," the
flower replied, sweetly.
"Please excuse me . . ."
"I am not at all afraid of
tigers," she went on, "but I have a horror of drafts. I suppose you
wouldn't have a screen for me?"
"A horror of drafts--that
is bad luck, for a plant," remarked the little prince, and added to
himself, "This flower is a very complex creature . . ."
"At night I want you to put
me under a glass globe. It is very cold where you live. In the place
I came from--"
But she interrupted herself
at that point. She had come in the form of a seed. She could not
have known anything of any other worlds. Embarassed over having let
herself be caught on the verge of such a naпve untruth, she coughed
two or three times, in order to put the little prince 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 from remorse just the same.
So the little prince, in
spite of all the good will that was inseparable from his love, had
soon come to doubt her. He had taken seriously words which were
without importance, and it made him very unhappy.
"I ought not to have
listened to her," he confided to me one day. "One never ought to
listen to the flowers. One should simply look at them and breathe
their fragrance. Mine perfumed all my planet. But I did not know how
to take pleasure in all her grace. This tale of claws, which
disturbed me so much, should only have filled my heart with
tenderness and pity."
And he continued his
confidences:
"The fact is that I did not
know how to understand anything! I ought to have judged by deeds and
not by words. She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I
ought never to have run away from her . . . I ought to have guessed
all the affection that lay behind her poor little strategems.
Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love
her . . ."
9
I believe that for his
escape he took advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds.
On the morning of his departure he put his planet in perfect order.
He carefully cleaned out his active volcanoes. He possessed two
active volcanoes; and they were very convenient for heating his
breakfast in the morning. He also had one volcano that was extinct.
But, as he said, "One never knows!" So he cleaned out the extinct
volcano, too. If they are well cleaned out, volcanoes burn slowly
and steadily, without any eruptions. Volcanic eruptions are like
fires in a chimney.
On our earth we are
obviously much too small to clean out our volcanoes. That is why
they bring no 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 never want to return. But
on this last morning all these familiar tasks seemed very precious
to him. And when he watered the flower for the last time, and
prepared to place her under the shelter of her glass globe, he
realized that he was very close to 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
absence of reproaches. He stood there all bewildered, the glass
globe held arrested in mid-air. He did not understand this quiet
sweetness.
"Of course I love you," the
flower said to him. "It is my fault that you have not known it all
the while. That is of no importance. But you--you have been just as
foolish as I. Try to be 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 to become acquainted
with the butterflies. It seems that they are very beautiful. And if
not the butterflies--and the caterpillars--who will call upon me?
You will be far away . . . As for the large animals--I am not at all
afraid of any of them. I have my claws."
And, naпvely, 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 proud flower . . .
10
He found himself in the
neighborhood of the asteroids 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, and 330. He
began, therefore, by visiting them, in order to add to his
knowledge.
The first of them was
inhabited by a king. Clad in royal purple and ermine, he was seated
upon a throne which was at the same time both simple and majestic.
"Ah! Here is a subject,"
exclaimed the king, when he saw the little prince coming.
And the little prince asked
himself:
"How could he recognize me
when he had never seen me before?"
He did not know how the
world is simplified for kings. To them, all men are subjects.
"Approach, so that I may
see you better," said the king, who felt consumingly proud of being
at last a king over somebody.
The little prince looked
everywhere to find a place to sit down; but the entire planet was
crammed and obstructed by the king's magnificent ermine robe. So he
remained standing upright, and, since he was tired, he yawned.
"It is contrary to
etiquette to yawn in the presence of a king," the monarch said to
him. "I forbid you to do so."
"I can't help it. I can't
stop myself," replied the little prince, thoroughly embarrassed. "I
have come on a long journey, and I have had no sleep . . ."
"Ah, then," the king said.
"I order you to yawn. It is years since I have seen anyone yawning.
Yawns, to me, are objects of curiosity. Come, now! Yawn again! It is
an order."
"That frightens me . . . I
cannot, any more . . ." murmured the little prince, now completely
abashed.
"Hum! Hum!" replied the
king. "Then I--I order you sometimes to yawn and sometimes to--"
He sputtered a little, and
seemed vexed.
For what the king
fundamentally insisted upon was that his authority should be
respected. He tolerated no disobedience. He was an absolute monarch.
But, because he was a very good man, he made his orders reasonable.
"If I ordered a general,"
he would say, by way of example, "if I ordered a general to change
himself into a sea bird, and if the general did not obey me, that
would not be the fault of the general. It would be my fault."
"May I sit down?" came now
a timid inquiry from the little prince.
"I order you to do so," the
king answered him, and majestically gathered in a fold of his ermine
mantle.
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 a question--"
"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
little prince.
"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 permit insubordination."
Such power was a thing for
the little prince to marvel at. If he had been master of such
complete authority, he would have been able to watch the sunset, not
forty-four times in one day, but seventy-two, or even a hundred, or
even two hundred times, without ever having to move his chair. And
because he felt a bit sad as he remembered his little planet which
he had forsaken, he plucked up his courage to ask the king a favor:
"I should like to see a
sunset . . . Do me that kindness . . . Order the sun to set . . ."
"If I ordered a general to
fly from one flower to another like a butterfly, or to write a
tragic drama, or to change himself into a sea bird, and if the
general did not carry out the order that he had received, which one
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 one can perform," the king went
on. "Accepted authority rests first of all on reason. If you ordered
your people to go and throw themselves into the sea, they would rise
up in revolution. I have the right to require obedience because my
orders are reasonable."
"Then my sunset?" the
little prince reminded him: for he never forgot a question once he
had asked it.
"You shall have your
sunset. I shall command it. But, according to my science of
government, I shall wait until conditions are favorable."
"When will that be?"
inquired the little prince.
"Hum! Hum!" replied the
king; and before saying anything else he consulted a bulky almanac.
"Hum! Hum! That will be about--about--that will be this evening
about twenty minutes to eight. And you will see how well I am
obeyed!"
The little prince yawned.
He was regretting his lost sunset. And then, too, he was already
beginning to be a little bored.
"I have nothing more to do
here," he said to the king. "So I shall set out on my way again."
"Do not go," said the king,
who was very proud of having a subject. "Do not go. I will make you
a Minister!"
"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 a complete tour of my
kingdom. I am very old. There is no room here for a carriage. And it
tires me to walk."
"Oh, but I have looked
already!" said the little prince, turning around to give one more
glance to the other side of the planet. On that side, as on this,
there was nobody at all . . .
"Then you shall judge
yourself," the king answered. "that is the most difficult thing of
all. It is much more difficult to judge oneself than to judge
others. If you succeed in judging yourself rightly, then you are
indeed a man of true wisdom."
"Yes," said the little
prince, "but I can judge myself anywhere. I do not need to live on
this planet.
"Hum! Hum!" said the king.
"I have good reason to believe that somewhere on my planet there is
an old rat. I hear him at night. You can judge this old rat. From
time to time you will condemn him to death. Thus his life will
depend on your justice. But you will pardon him on each occasion;
for he must be treated thriftily. He is the only one we have."
"I," replied the little
prince, "do not like to condemn anyone to death. And now I think I
will go on my way."
"No," said the king.
But the little prince,
having now completed his preparations for departure, had no wish to
grieve the old monarch.
"If Your Majesty wishes to
be promptly obeyed," he said, "he should be able to give me a
reasonable order. He should be able, for example, to order me to be
gone by the end of one minute. It seems to me that conditions are
favorable . . ."
As the king made no answer,
the little prince hesitated a moment. Then, with a sigh, he took his
leave.
"I make you my Ambassador,"
the king called out, hastily.
He had a magnificent air of
authority.
"The grown-ups are very
strange," the little prince said to himself, as he continued on his
journey.
11
The second planet was
inhabited by a conceited man.
"Ah! Ah! I am about to
receive a visit from an admirer!" he exclaimed from 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 are wearing."
"It is a hat for salutes,"
the conceited man replied. "It is to raise in salute when people
acclaim me. Unfortunately, nobody at all ever passes this way."
"Yes?" said the little
prince, who did not understand what the conceited man was talking
about.
"Clap your hands, one
against the other," the conceited man now directed him.
The little prince clapped
his hands. The conceited man raised his hat in a modest salute.
"This is more entertaining
than the visit to the king," the little prince said to himself. And
he began again to clap his hands, one against the other. The
conceited man again raised his hat in salute.
After five minutes of this
exercise the little prince grew tired of the game's monotony.
"And what should one do to
make the hat come down?" he asked.
But the conceited man did
not hear him. Conceited people never hear anything but praise.
"Do you really admire me
very much?" he demanded of the little prince.
"What does that
mean--'admire'?"
"To admire means that you
regard me as the handsomest, the best-dressed, the richest, and the
most intelligent man on this planet."
"But you are the only man
on your planet!"
"Do me this kindness.
Admire me just the same."
"I admire you," said the
little prince, shrugging his shoulders slightly, "but what is there
in that to interest you so much?"
And the little prince went
away.
"The grown-ups are
certainly very odd," he said to himself, as he continued on his
journey.
12
The next planet was
inhabited by a tippler. This was a very short visit, but it plunged
the little prince into deep dejection.
"What are you doing there?"
he said to the tippler, whom he found settled down in silence before
a collection of empty bottles and also a 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 the tippler.
"Forget what?" inquired the
little prince, who already was sorry for him.
"Forget that I am ashamed,"
the tippler confessed, hanging his head.
"Ashamed of what?" insisted
the little prince, who wanted to help him.
"Ashamed of drinking!" The
tipler brought his speech to an end, and shut himself up in an
impregnable silence.
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 a businessman. This man was so much occupied that he did not even
raise his head at the little prince's arrival.
"Good morning," the little
prince said to him. "Your cigarette has gone out."
"Three and two make five.
Five and seven make twelve. Twelve and three make fifteen. Good
morning. FIfteen and seven make twenty-two. Twenty-two and six make
twenty-eight. I haven't time to light it again. Twenty-six and five
make thirty-one. Phew! Then that makes five-hundred-and-one million,
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't stop . . . I have so much to
do! I am concerned with matters of consequence. I don't amuse myself
with 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 a question once he had asked it.
The businessman raised his
head.
"During the fifty-four
years that I have inhabited this planet, I have been disturbed only
three times. The first time was twenty-two years ago, when some
giddy goose fell from goodness knows where. He made the most
frightful noise that resounded all over the place, and I made four
mistakes in my addition. The second time, eleven years ago, I was
disturbed by an attack of rheumatism. I don't get enough exercise. I
have no time for loafing. The third time--well, this is it! I was
saying, then, five-hundred-and-one millions--"
"Millions of what?"
The businessman suddenly
realized that there was no hope of being left in peace until he
answered this question.
"Millions of those little
objects," he said, "which one sometimes sees in the sky."
"Flies?"
"Oh, no. Little glittering
objects."
"Bees?"
"Oh, no. Little golden
objects that set lazy men to idle dreaming. As for me, I am
concerned with matters of consequence. There is no time for idle
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 am concerned with matters of consequence: 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 reign over. It is a very different matter."
"And what good does it do
you to own the stars?"
"It does me the good of
making me rich."
"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 my poor tippler . .
."
Nevertheless, he still had
some more questions.
"How is it possible for one
to own the stars?"
"To whom do they belong?"
the businessman 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, it is yours. When you discover an
island that belongs to nobody, it is yours. When you get an idea
before any one else, you take out a patent on it: it is yours. So
with me: I own the stars, because nobody else before me ever thought
of owning them."
"Yes, that is true," said
the little prince. "And what do you do with them?"
"I administer them,"
replied the businessman. "I count them and recount them. It is
difficult. But I am a man who is naturally interested in matters of
consequence."
The little prince was still
not satisfied.
"If I owned a silk scarf,"
he said, "I could put it around my neck and take it away with me. If
I owned a flower, I could pluck that flower and take it away with
me. But you cannot pluck the stars from heaven . . ."
"No. But I can put them in
the bank."
"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 drawer and 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 of no
great consequence."
On matters of consequence,
the little prince had ideas which were very different from those of
the grown-ups.
"I myself own a flower," he
continued his conversation with the businessman, "which I water
every day. I own three volcanoes, which I clean out every week (for
I also clean out the one that is extinct; one never knows). It is of
some use to my volcanoes, and it is of some use to my flower, that I
own them. But you are of no use to the stars . . ."
The businessman opened his
mouth, but he found nothing to say in answer. And the little prince
went away.
"The grown-ups are
certainly altogether extraordinary," he said simply, talking to
himself as he continued on his journey.
14
The fifth planet was very
strange. It was the smallest of all. There was just enough room on
it for a street lamp and a lamplighter. The little prince was not
able to reach any explanation of the use of a street lamp and a
lamplighter, somewhere in the heavens, on a planet which had no
people, and not one house. But he said to himself, nevertheless:
"It may well be that this
man is absurd. But he is not so absurd as the king, the conceited
man, the businessman, and the tippler. For at least his work has
some meaning. When he lights his street lamp, it is as if he brought
one more star to life, or one flower. When he puts out his lamp, he
sends the flower, or the star, to sleep. That is a beautiful
occupation. 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 are orders. Good
morning."
And he put out his lamp.
Then he mopped his forehead
with a handkerchief decorated with red squares.
"I follow a terrible
profession. In the old days it was reasonable. I put the lamp out in
the morning, and in the evening I lighted it again. I had the rest
of the day for relaxation and the rest of the night for sleep."
"And the orders have been
changed since that time?"
"The orders have not been
changed," said the lamplighter. "That is the tragedy! From year to
year the planet has turned more rapidly and the orders have not been
changed!"
"Then what?" asked the
little prince.
"Then--the planet now makes
a complete turn every minute, and I no longer have a single second
for repose. Once every minute I have to light my lamp and put it
out!"
"That is very funny! A day
lasts only one minute, here where you live!"
"It is not funny at all!"
said the lamplighter. "While we have been talking together a month
has gone by."
"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 lamplighter who was so
faithful to his orders. He remembered the sunsets which he himself
had gone to seek, in other days, merely by pulling up his chair; and
he wanted to help his friend.
"You know," he said, "I can
tell you 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 way around it. To be always
in the sunshine, you need only walk along rather slowly. When you
want to rest, you will walk--and the day will last 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 on his journey, "that man
would be scorned by all the others: by the king, by the conceited
man, by the tippler, by the businessman. Nevertheless he is the only
one of them all who does not seem to me ridiculous. Perhaps that is
because he 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 my friend. But his planet is
indeed too small. There is no room on it for two people. . ."
What the little prince did
not dare confess was that he was sorry most of all to leave this
planet, because it was blest every day with 1440 sunsets!
15
The sixth planet was ten
times larger than the last one. It was inhabited by an old gentleman
who wrote voluminous books.
"Oh, look! Here is an
explorer!" he exclaimed to himself when he saw the little prince
coming.
The little prince sat down
on the table and panted a little. He had already 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,
and deserts."
"That is very interesting,"
said the little prince. "Here at last is a man who has a real
profession!" And he cast a look around him at the planet of the
geographer. It was the most magnificent and stately planet that he
had ever seen.
"Your planet is very
beautiful," he said. "Has it any oceans?"
"I couldn't tell you," said
the geographer.
"Ah!" The little prince was
disappointed. "Has it any mountains?"
"I couldn't tell you," said
the geographer.
"And towns, and rivers, and
deserts?"
"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 a single explorer on my
planet. It is not the geographer who goes out to count the towns,
the rivers, the mountains, the seas, the oceans, and the deserts.
The geographer is much too important to go loafing about. He does
not leave his desk. But he receives the explorers in his study. He
asks them questions, and he notes down what they recall of their
travels. And if the recollections of any one among them seem
interesting to him, the geographer orders an inquiry into that
explorer's moral character."
"Why is that?"
"Because an explorer who
told lies would bring disaster on the books of the geographer. So
would an explorer who drank too much."
"Why is that?" asked the
little prince.
"Because intoxicated men
see double. Then the geographer would note down two mountains in a
place where there was only one."
"I know some one," said the
little prince, "who would make a bad explorer."
"That is possible. Then,
when the moral character of the explorer is shown to be good, an
inquiry is ordered into his discovery."
"One goes to see it?"
"No. That would be too
complicated. But one requires the explorer to furnish proofs. For
example, if the discovery in question is that of a large mountain,
one requires that large stones be brought back from it."
The geographer was suddenly
stirred to excitement.
"But you--you come from far
away! You are an explorer! You shall describe your planet to me!"
And, having opened his big
register, the geographer sharpened his pencil. The recitals of
explorers are put down first in pencil. One waits until the explorer
has furnished proofs, before putting them down in ink.
"Well?" said the geographer
expectantly.
"Oh, where I live," said
the little prince, "it is not very interesting. It is all so small.
I have three volcanoes. Two volcanoes are active and the other is
extinct. But one never knows."
"One never knows," said the
geographer.
"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 are ephemeral."
"What does that
mean--'ephemeral'?"
"Geographies," said the
geographer, "are the books which, of all books, are most concerned
with matters of consequence. They never become old-fashioned. It is
very rarely that a mountain changes its position. It is very rarely
that an ocean empties itself of its waters. We write of eternal
things."
"But extinct volcanoes may
come to life again," the little prince interrupted. "What does that
mean-- 'ephemeral'?"
"Whether volcanoes are
extinct or alive, it comes to the same thing for us," said the
geographer. "The thing that matters to us is the mountain. It does
not change."
"But what does that
mean--'ephemeral'?" repeated the little prince, who never in his
life had let go 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 has only four thorns to
defend herself against the world. And I have left her on my planet,
all alone!"
That was his first moment
of regret. But he took courage once more.
"What place would you
advise me to visit now?" he asked.
"The planet Earth," replied
the geographer. "It has a good reputation."
And the little prince went
away, thinking of his flower.
16
So then the seventh planet
was the Earth.
The Earth is not just an
ordinary planet! One can count, there, 111 kings (not forgetting, to
be sure, the Negro kings among them), 7000 geographers, 900,000
businessmen, 7,500,000 tipplers, 311,000,000 conceited men--that is
to say, about 2,000,000,000 grown-ups.
To give you an idea of the
size of the Earth, I will tell you that before the invention of
electricity it was necessary to maintain, over the whole of the six
continents, a veritable army of 462,511 lamplighters for the street
lamps.
Seen from a slight
distance, that would make a splendid spectacle. The movements of
this army would be regulated like those of the ballet in the opera.
First would come the turn of the lamplighters of New Zealand and
Australia. Having set their lamps alight, these would go off to
sleep. Next, the lamplighters of China and Siberia would enter for
their steps in the dance, and then they too would be waved back into
the wings. After that would come the turn of the lamplighters of
Russia and the Indies; then those of Africa and Europe; then those
of South America; then those of South America; then those of North
America. And never would they make a mistake in the order of their
entry upon the stage. It would be magnificent.
Only the man who was in
charge of the single lamp at the North Pole, and his colleague who
was responsible for the single lamp at the South Pole--only these
two would live free from toil and care: they would be busy twice a
year.
When one wishes to play
the wit, he sometimes wanders a little from the truth. I have not
been altogether honest in what I have told you about the
lamplighters. And I realize that I run the risk of giving a false
idea of our planet to those who do not know it. Men occupy a very
small place upon the Earth. If the two billion inhabitants who
people its surface were all to stand upright and somewhat crowded
together, as they do for some big public assembly, they could easily
be put into one public square twenty miles long and twenty miles
wide. All humanity could be piled up on a small Pacific islet.
The grown-ups, to be sure,
will not believe you when you tell them that. They imagine that they
fill a great deal of space. They fancy themselves as important as
the baobabs. You should advise them, then, to make their own
calculations. They adore figures, and that will please them. But do
not waste your time on this extra task. It is unnecessary. You have,
I know, confidence in me.
When the little prince
arrived on the Earth, he was very much surprised not to see any
people. He was beginning to be afraid he had come to the wrong
planet, when a coil of gold, the color of the moonlight, flashed
across the sand.
"Good evening," said the
little prince courteously.
"Good evening," said the
snake.
"What planet is this on
which I have come down?" asked the little prince.
"This is the Earth; this is
Africa," the snake answered.
"Ah! Then there are no
people on the Earth?"
"This is the desert. There
are no people in the desert. The Earth is large," said the snake.
The little prince sat down
on a stone, and raised his eyes toward the sky.
"I wonder," he said,
"whether the stars are set alight in heaven so that one day each one
of us may find his own again . . . Look at my planet. It is right
there above us. But how far away it is!"
"It is beautiful," the
snake said. "What has brought you here?"
"I have been having some
trouble with 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 the conversation again. "It is a
little lonely in the desert . . ."
"It is also lonely among
men," the snake said.
The little prince gazed at
him for a long time.
"You are a funny animal,"
he said at last. "You are no thicker than a finger . . ."
"But I am more powerful
than the finger of a king," said the snake.
The little prince smiled.
"You are not very powerful.
You haven't even any feet. You cannot even travel . . ."
"I can carry you farther
than any ship could take you," said the snake.
He twined himself around
the little prince's ankle, like a golden bracelet.
"Whomever I touch, I send
back to the earth from whence he came," the snake spoke again. "But
you are innocent and true, and you come from 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 homesick for 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 desert and met with only one flower. It was a flower with three
petals, a flower of no account at all.
"Good morning," said the
little prince.
"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 in existence. I saw them, several
years ago. But one never knows where to find them. The wind blows
them away. They have no roots, and that makes their life very
difficult."
"Goodbye," said the little
prince.
"Goodbye," said the flower.
19
After that, the little
prince climbed a high mountain. The only mountains he had ever known
were the three volcanoes, which came up to his knees. And he used
the extinct volcano as a footstool. "From a mountain as high as this
one," he said to himself, "I shall be able to see the whole planet
at one glance, and all the people . . ."
But he saw nothing, save
peaks of rock 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 altogether pointed, and
altogether harsh and forbidding. And the people have no imagination.
They repeat whatever one says to them . . . On my planet I had a
flower; she always was the first to speak . . ."
20
But it happened that after
walking for a long time through sand, and rocks, and snow, the
little prince at last came upon a road. And all roads 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 her
kind in all the universe. And here were five thousand of them, all
alike, in one single garden!
"She would be very much
annoyed," he said to himself, "if she should see that . . . She
would cough most dreadfully, and she would pretend that she was
dying, to avoid being laughed at. And I should be obliged to pretend
that I was nursing her back to life--for if I did not do that, to
humble myself also, she would really allow herself to die. . ."
Then he went on with his
reflections: "I thought that I was rich, with a flower that was
unique in all the world; and all I had was a common rose. A common
rose, and three volcanoes that come up to my knees--and one of them
perhaps extinct forever . . . That doesn't make me a very great
prince . . ."
And he lay down in the
grass and cried.
21
It was then that the fox
appeared.
"Good morning," said the
fox.
"Good morning," the little
prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw
nothing.
"I am right here," the
voice said, "under the apple tree."
"Who are you?" asked the
little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."
"I am a fox," the fox said.
"Come and play with me,"
proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you,"
the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me,"
said the little 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 looking for?"
"I am looking for men,"
said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"
"Men," said the fox. "They
have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise
chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for
chickens?"
"No," said the little
prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"
"It is an act too often
neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"
"Just that," said the fox.
"To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just
like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of
you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing
more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame
me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all
the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."
"I am beginning to
understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I
think that she has tamed me . . ."
"It is possible," said the
fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."
"Oh, but this is not on the
Earth!" said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed,
and very curious.
"On another planet?"
"Yes."
"Are there hunters on that
planet?"
"No."
"Ah, that is interesting!
Are there chickens?"
"No."
"Nothing is perfect,"
sighed the fox.
But he came back to his
idea.
"My life is very
monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. 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 the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a
step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me
hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music,
out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down
yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat
fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair
that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you
have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back
the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in 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 much time. I have friends to
discover, and a great many things to understand."
"One only understands the
things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to
understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops.
But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so
men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
"What must I do, to tame
you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient,"
replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from
me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner
of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of
misunderstandings. But you will sit 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 four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall
begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour
advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping
about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any
time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to
greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . ."
"What is a rite?" asked the
little prince.
"Those also are actions too
often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day
different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a
rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with
the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take
a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just
any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should
never 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 sort of harm; but
you wanted me to tame you . . ."
"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 the wheat fields." And then he
added:
"Go and look again at the
roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the
world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a
present of a secret."
The little prince went
away, to look again at the roses.
"You are not at all like my
rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and
you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He
was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made
him my friend, 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 not die for you. To be sure, an
ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the
rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important
than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I
have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass
globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen;
because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except
the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is
she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever
sometimes 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 simple secret: It is only with
the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible
to the eye."
"What is essential is
invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would
be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have
wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have
wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be
sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this
truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become
responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible
for your rose . . ."
"I am responsible for my
rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to
remember.
22
"Good morning," said the
little prince.
"Good morning," said the
railway switchman.
"What do you do here?" the
little prince asked.
"I sort out travelers, in
bundles of a thousand," said the switchman. "I send off the trains
that carry them: now to the right, now to the left."
And a brilliantly lighted
express train shook the switchman's cabin as it rushed by with a
roar like thunder.
"They are in a great
hurry," said the little prince. "What are they looking for?"
"Not even the locomotive
engineer knows that," said the switchman.
And a second brilliantly
lighted express thundered by, in the opposite direction.
"Are they coming back
already?" demanded the little prince.
"These are not the same
ones," said the switchman. "It is an exchange."
"Were they not satisfied
where they were?" asked the little prince.
"No one is ever satisfied
where he is," said the switchman.
And they heard the roaring
thunder of a third brilliantly lighted express.
"Are they pursuing the
first travelers?" demanded the little prince.
"They are pursuing nothing
at all," said the switchman. "They are asleep in there, or if they
are not asleep they are yawning. Only the children are flattening
their noses against the windowpanes."
"Only the children know
what they are looking for," said the little prince. "They waste
their time over a rag doll and it becomes very important to them;
and if anybody takes it away from them, they cry . . ."
"They are lucky," the
switchman said.
23
"Good morning," said the
little prince.
"Good morning," said the
merchant.
This was a merchant who
sold pills that had been invented to quench thirst. You need only
swallow one pill a week, and you would feel no need of anything to
drink.
"Why are you selling
those?" asked the little prince.
"Because they save a
tremendous amount of time," said the merchant. "Computations have
been made by experts. With these pills, you save fifty-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 minutes to spend as
I liked, I should walk at my leisure toward a spring of fresh
water."
24
It was now the eighth day
since I had had my accident in the desert, and I had listened to the
story of the merchant as I was drinking the last drop of my water
supply.
"Ah," I said to the little
prince, "these memories of yours are very charming; but I have not
yet succeeded in repairing my plane; I have nothing more to drink;
and I, too, should be very happy if I could walk 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 to do 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 have had a fox as a friend . . ."
"He has no way of guessing
the danger," I said to myself. "He has never been either hungry or
thirsty. A little sunshine is all he needs . . ."
But he looked at me
steadily, and replied to my thought:
"I am thirsty, too. Let us
look for a well . . ."
I made a gesture of
weariness. It is absurd to look for a well, at random, in the
immensity of the desert. But nevertheless we started walking.
When we had trudged along
for several hours, in silence, the darkness fell, and the stars
began to come out. Thirst had made me a little feverish, and I
looked at them as if I were in a dream. The little prince's last
words came reeling back into my memory:
"Then you are thirsty,
too?" I demanded.
But he did not reply to my
question. He merely said to me:
"Water may also be good for
the heart . . ."
I did not understand this
answer, but I said nothing. I knew very well that it was impossible
to cross-examine him.
He was tired. He sat down.
I sat down beside him. And, after a little silence, he spoke again:
"The stars are beautiful,
because of a flower that cannot be seen."
I replied, "Yes, that is
so." And, without saying anything more, I looked across the ridges
of sand that were stretched out before us in the moonlight.
"The desert is beautiful,"
the little prince added.
And that was true. I have
always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees
nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs,
and gleams . . .
"What makes the desert
beautiful," said the little prince, "is that somewhere it hides a
well . . ."
I was astonished by a
sudden understanding of that mysterious radiation of the sands. When
I was a little boy I lived in an old house, and legend told us that
a treasure was buried there. To be sure, no one had ever known how
to find it; perhaps no one had ever even looked for it. But it cast
an enchantment over that house. My home was hiding a secret in the
depths 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 set out walking once
more. I felt deeply moved, and stirred. It seemed to me that I was
carrying a very fragile treasure. It seemed to me, even, that there
was nothing more fragile on all Earth. In the moonlight I looked at
his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled
in the wind, and I said to myself: "What I see here is nothing but a
shell. What is most important is invisible . . ."
As his lips opened slightly
with the suspicion of a half-smile, I said to myself, again: "What
moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here,
is his loyalty to a flower--the image of a rose that shines through
his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep . .
." And I felt him to be more fragile still. I felt the need of
protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be
extinguished by a little puff of wind . . .
And, as I walked on so, I
found the well, at daybreak.
24
It was now the eighth day
since I had had my accident in the desert, and I had listened to the
story of the merchant as I was drinking the last drop of my water
supply.
"Ah," I said to the little
prince, "these memories of yours are very charming; but I have not
yet succeeded in repairing my plane; I have nothing more to drink;
and I, too, should be very happy if I could walk 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 to do 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 have had a fox as a friend . . ."
"He has no way of guessing
the danger," I said to myself. "He has never been either hungry or
thirsty. A little sunshine is all he needs . . ."
But he looked at me
steadily, and replied to my thought:
"I am thirsty, too. Let us
look for a well . . ."
I made a gesture of
weariness. It is absurd to look for a well, at random, in the
immensity of the desert. But nevertheless we started walking.
When we had trudged along
for several hours, in silence, the darkness fell, and the stars
began to come out. Thirst had made me a little feverish, and I
looked at them as if I were in a dream. The little prince's last
words came reeling back into my memory:
"Then you are thirsty,
too?" I demanded.
But he did not reply to my
question. He merely said to me:
"Water may also be good for
the heart . . ."
I did not understand this
answer, but I said nothing. I knew very well that it was impossible
to cross-examine him.
He was tired. He sat down.
I sat down beside him. And, after a little silence, he spoke again:
"The stars are beautiful,
because of a flower that cannot be seen."
I replied, "Yes, that is
so." And, without saying anything more, I looked across the ridges
of sand that were stretched out before us in the moonlight.
"The desert is beautiful,"
the little prince added.
And that was true. I have
always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees
nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs,
and gleams . . .
"What makes the desert
beautiful," said the little prince, "is that somewhere it hides a
well . . ."
I was astonished by a
sudden understanding of that mysterious radiation of the sands. When
I was a little boy I lived in an old house, and legend told us that
a treasure was buried there. To be sure, no one had ever known how
to find it; perhaps no one had ever even looked for it. But it cast
an enchantment over that house. My home was hiding a secret in the
depths 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 set out walking once
more. I felt deeply moved, and stirred. It seemed to me that I was
carrying a very fragile treasure. It seemed to me, even, that there
was nothing more fragile on all Earth. In the moonlight I looked at
his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled
in the wind, and I said to myself: "What I see here is nothing but a
shell. What is most important is invisible . . ."
As his lips opened slightly
with the suspicion of a half-smile, I said to myself, again: "What
moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here,
is his loyalty to a flower--the image of a rose that shines through
his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep . .
." And I felt him to be more fragile still. I felt the need of
protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be
extinguished by a little puff of wind . . .
And, as I walked on so, I
found the well, at daybreak.
26
Beside the well there was
the ruin of an old stone wall. When I came back from my work, the
next evening, I saw from some distance away my little price sitting
on top of a wall, with his feet dangling. And I heard him say:
"Then you don't remember.
This is not the exact spot."
Another voice must have
answered him, for he replied to it:
"Yes, yes! It is the right
day, but this is not the place."
I continued my walk toward
the wall. At no time did I see or hear anyone. The little prince,
however, replied once again:
"--Exactly. You will see
where my track begins, in the sand. You have nothing to do but wait
for me there. I shall be there tonight."
I was only twenty meters
from the wall, and I still saw nothing.
After a silence the little
prince spoke again:
"You have good poison? You
are sure that it will not make me suffer too long?"
I stopped in my tracks, my
heart torn asunder; but still I did not understand.
"Now go away," said the
little prince. "I want to get down from the wall."
I dropped my eyes, then, to
the foot of the wall--and I leaped into the air. There before me,
facing the little prince, was one of those yellow snakes that take
just thirty seconds to bring your life to an end. Even as I was
digging into my pocked to get out my revolver I made a running step
back. But, at the noise I made, the snake let himself flow easily
across the sand like the dying spray of a fountain, and, in no
apparent hurry, disappeared, with a light metallic sound, among the
stones.
I reached the wall just in
time to catch my little man in my arms; his face was white as snow.
"What does this mean?" I
demanded. "Why are you talking with snakes?"
I had loosened the golden
muffler that he always wore. I had moistened his temples, and had
given him some water to drink. And now I did not dare ask him any
more questions. He looked at me very gravely, and put his arms
around my neck. I felt his heart beating like the heart of a dying
bird, shot with someone's rifle . . .
"I am glad that you have
found what was the matter with your engine," he said. "Now you can
go back home--"
"How do you know about
that?"
I was just coming to tell
him that my work had been successful, beyond anything that I had
dared to hope.
He made no answer to my
question, 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 was holding him close in my
arms as if he were a little child; and yet it seemed to me that he
was rushing headlong toward an abyss from which 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 the thought of never hearing that laughter any more.
For me, it was like a spring of fresh water in the desert.
"Little man," I said, "I
want to hear you laugh again."
But he said to me:
"Tonight, it will be a year
. . . My star, then, can be found right above the place where I came
to the Earth, a year ago . . ."
"Little man," I said, "tell
me that it is only a bad dream--this affair of the snake, and the
meeting-place, and the star . . ."
But he did not answer my
plea. He said 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 with flowers
. . ."
"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 like music. You remember--how good it was."
"Yes, I know . . ."
"And at night you will look
up at the stars. Where I live everything is so small that I cannot
show you where my star is to be found. It is better, like that. My
star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so you will love to
watch all the stars in the heavens . . . they will all be your
friends. And, besides, I am going to make 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 the water . . ."
"What are you trying to
say?"
"All men have the stars,"
he answered, "but they are not the same things for different people.
For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they
are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are
scholars, they are problems. For my businessman they were wealth.
But all these stars are silent. You--you alone--will have the stars
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 be laughing. And so it will
be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at
night . . . You--only you--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
have known me. You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh
with me. And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that
pleasure . . . And your friends will be properly astonished to see
you laughing as you look up at the sky! Then you will say to them,
'Yes, the stars always make me laugh!' And they will think you are
crazy. It will be a very shabby trick that I shall have played on
you . . ."
And he laughed again.
"It will be as if, in place
of the stars, I had given you a great number of little bells that
knew how to laugh . . ."
And he laughed again. Then
he quickly became serious:
"Tonight--you know . . . Do
not come."
"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. It is 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
malicious creatures. This one might bite you just 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 out on his way. He got away from me without making a sound.
When I succeeded in catching up with him he was walking along with a
quick and resolute step. He said to me merely:
"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 were dead; and that will
not be true . . ."
I said nothing.
"You understand . . . it is
too far. I cannot carry this body with me. It is too heavy."
I said nothing.
"But it will be like an old
abandoned shell. There is nothing sad 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 the stars will be wells
with a rusty pulley. All the stars will pour out fresh 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 million springs of fresh water . . .
And he too said nothing
more, becuase he was crying . . .
"Here it is. Let me go on
by myself."
And he sat down, because he
was afraid. Then he said, again:
"You know--my flower . . .
I am responsible for her. And she is so weak! She is so naпve! She
has four thorns, of no use at all, to protect herself against all
the world . . ."
I too sat down, because I
was not able 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 not move.
There was nothing but a
flash of yellow close to his ankle. He remained motionless for an
instant. He did not cry out. He fell as gently as a tree falls.
There was not even any sound, because of the sand.
27
And now six years have
already gone by . . . I have never yet told this story. The
companions who met me on my return were well content to see me
alive. I was sad, but I told them: "I am tired."
Now my sorrow is comforted
a little. That is to say--not entirely. But I know that he did go
back to his planet, because I did not find his body at daybreak. It
was not such a heavy body . . . and at night I love to listen to the
stars. It is like five hundred million little bells . . .
But there is one
extraordinary thing . . . when I drew the muzzle for the little
prince, I forgot to add the leather strap to it. He will never have
been able to fasten it on his sheep. So now I keep wondering: what
is happening on his planet? Perhaps the sheep has eaten the flower .
. .
At one time I say to
myself: "Surely not! The little prince shuts his flower under her
glass globe every night, and he watches over his sheep very
carefully . . ." Then I am happy. And there is sweetness in the
laughter of all the stars.
But at another time I say
to myself: "At some moment or other one is absent-minded, and that
is enough! On some one evening he forgot the glass globe, or the
sheep got out, without making any noise, in the night . . ." And
then the little bells are changed to tears . . .
Here, then, is a great
mystery. For you who also love the little prince, and for me,
nothing in the universe can be the same if somewhere, we do not know
where, a sheep that we never saw has--yes or no?--eaten a rose . . .
Look up at the sky. Ask
yourselves: is it yes or no? Has the sheep eaten the flower? And you
will see how everything changes . . .
And no grown-up will ever
understand that this is a matter of so much importance!
This is, to me, the
loveliest and saddest landscape in the world. It is the same as that
on the preceding page, but I have drawn it again to impress it on
your memory. It is here that the little prince appeared on Earth,
and disappeared.
Look at it carefully so
that you will be sure to recognize it in case you travel some day to
the African desert. And, if you should come upon this spot, please
do not hurry on. Wait for a time, exactly under the star. Then, if a
little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair and who refuses
to answer questions, you will know who he is. If this should happen,
please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back.
