The Little Prince | 小王子

The Little Prince — Chapter 27 (Final Chapter)
It has been six years now. I have never told anyone this story. But when I came back, I was comforted a little—though not entirely. I knew he had gotten back to his planet; for at dawn, his body was gone. It was not really so heavy a body, after all. And now I love to listen to the stars at night. They are 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. So he could never have fastened it on the sheep. And now I wonder: "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 its glass globe every night, and he watches over his sheep very carefully..." Then I am happy. And all the stars laugh sweetly.
But at another time I say to myself: "At some moment or other one is absent-minded, and that is enough! If one evening he forgot the glass globe, or if the sheep slipped out without making any noise during the night..." Then all 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. I have drawn it again to impress it on your memory. It is here that the little prince appeared on Earth, and then 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.

The Little Prince — Chapter 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 prince 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 metres 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 pocket 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 prince in my arms; his face was as white as snow.
"What is this?" I said to him. "What are you doing talking with snakes?"
I loosened his golden scarf that was always about his neck; I moistened his temples with a little water, and I made him drink some. Now I dared not ask him any more questions. He looked at me very gravely, and put his arms around my neck. I could feel his heart beating like the heart of a bird dying after being shot by a bullet.
He said to me:
"I am glad that you have found what was the matter with your engine. Now you can go back home—"
"How do you know about that?"
I had just come to tell him the good news: that, contrary to all expectations, I had been able to repair my machine.
He made no answer to my question, but added:
"I too, am going back home today..."
Then he said 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 someone 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, and 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 abloom with flowers..."
"Yes, I know..."
I looked at the sands stretching away into the darkness. We were not far from the well.
"I am going to have," he said, "look at the snake again. I am afraid of its teeth..."
I felt a pang of anguish. But he added:
"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, because he was crying.
Here it is. Let me go on by myself."
He sat down because he was afraid.
He still hesitated a little. Then he got up. He took one step. But I could not move.
There was nothing but a flash of yellow close to his ankle. After that he stood there motionless, and did not make any sound; then he fell gently to the ground, as softly as a tree falls, without even making a sound from the sand.
I have never since found the place where he fell.

The Little Prince — Chapter 25
"Men," said the little prince, "set out on their way in express trains, but they do not know what they are looking for. Then they rush about, and get excited, and turn round and round..."
And he added:
"It is not worth the trouble..."
The well that we had come to was not like the wells of the Sahara. The wells of the Sahara are mere holes dug in the sand. This one was like a well in a village. But there was no village here, and I thought I must be dreaming...
"It is strange," I said to the little prince. "Everything is ready for use: the pulley, the bucket, the rope..."
He laughed, touched the rope, and set the pulley to working. And the pulley moaned, like an old weathervane which the wind has long since forgotten.
"Do you hear?" said the little prince. "We have wakened the well, and it is singing..."
I did not want him to tire himself with the rope.
"Leave it to me," I said. "It is too heavy for you."
I hoisted the bucket slowly to the edge of the well and set it there—happy, tired as I was, over my achievement. The song of the pulley was still in my ears, and I could see the sunlight shimmer in the still trembling water.
"I am thirsty for this water," said the little prince. "Give me some of it to drink..."
And I understood what he had been looking for.
I raised the bucket to his lips. He drank, his eyes closed. It was as sweet as some special festival treat. This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms. It was good for the heart, like a present. When I was a little boy, the lights of the Christmas tree, the music of the Midnight Mass, the tenderness of smiling faces, used to make up, so, the radiance of the gifts I received.
"The men where you live," said the little prince, "raise five thousand roses in the same garden—and they do not find in it what they are looking for."
"They do not find it," I replied.
"And yet what they are looking for could be found in one single rose, or in a little water."
"Yes, that is true," I said.
And the little prince added:
"But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart..."
I had drunk the water. I breathed easily. At sunrise the sand is the color of honey. And that honey color was making me happy, too. What brought me, then, this sense of grief?
"You must keep your promise," said the little prince, softly, as he sat down beside me once more.
"What promise?"
"You know—a muzzle for my sheep. I am responsible for this flower."
I took my rough drafts of drawings out of my pocket. The little prince looked them over, and laughed as he said:
"Your baobabs—they look a little like cabbages."
"Oh!" I had been so proud of my baobabs!
"Your fox—his ears look a little like horns; and they are too long."
And he laughed again.
"You are not fair, little prince," I said. "I don't know how to draw anything except boa constrictors from the outside and boa constrictors from the inside."
"Oh, that will be all right," he said, "children understand."
So then I made a pencil sketch of a muzzle. And as I gave it to him, my heart ached.
"You have plans that I do not know about," I said.
But he did not answer me. He said, instead:
"You know, my fall to earth was a year ago."
He was silent again, and then added:
"I fell down near here."
And he blushed.
For some reason, I felt a strange and sorrowful emotion. But I thought of something else.
"Then it was not by chance that on the morning when I first met you—a week ago—you were wandering, all alone, a thousand miles from any inhabited region! You were on your way back to the place where you fell?"
The little prince blushed again.
And I added, hesitatingly:
"Perhaps because of the anniversary?"
The little prince blushed once more. He never answered questions—but when one blushes, does that not mean "Yes"?
"Ah!" I said. "I am afraid..."
But he answered me:
"You must work. You must go back to your engine. I am waiting for you here. Come back tomorrow evening..."
But I was not reassured. I remembered the fox. One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed...

The Little Prince — Chapter 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 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 made the house itself enchanting. 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 as if I were 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.

The Little Prince — Chapter 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."