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 littl e 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 t he walls of boxes.
Perhaps I am a little
like the grown-ups. I have had to grow old.
[ Chapter 5 ]
　　
　　　　　　 - we are warned as to the dangers of the baobabs
　　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 d
ay. 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.
[ Chapter 6 ]
　　　　 　　- the little prince and the narrator talk about sunsets
　　Oh, little prince! Bit by bit I came to understand the secrets of your s
ad 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.
[ Chapter 7 ]
　　　　 　　- the narrator learns about the secret of the little prince‘s life
　　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 name. 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 o
f 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.
[ Chapter 8 ]
　　　　 　　- the rose arrives at the little prince‘s planet
　　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 princ
e 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 colours with the greatest care.
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 mysteriou
a
dornment 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 na飗e 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..."
[ Chapter 9 ]
　　　　 　　- the little prince leaves his planet
　　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.