I
When I was six years old I saw a magnificent image in a book about the virgin jungle entitled “True Stories.” It depicted a boa eating a beast. Here is a copy of the drawing.
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The book stated, “The boa swallows its pray whole, without chewing it. Afterwards it can no longer move, so it sleeps the six months that it takes to digest.”
At that time, I thought a lot about the adventures of the jungle and I managed to draw my first drawing with a coloring pencil. My first drawing looked like this:
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I showed my piece of art to the grown-ups and asked them if my drawing scared them.
“Why would we be scared of a hat?” They responded.
My drawing was not of a hat. It was of a boa digesting an elephant. So I drew the inside of the boa so that the grown-ups could understand, but these people always had a need for explanations. My second drawing looked like this:
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The grown-ups suggested that I leave behind the drawings of boas, whether they be opened or closed, and to shift my interest to geography, history, calculus, and grammar. And in that way, at the age of six, I abandoned a career as a painter. I had been left disillusioned after the failure of both my drawings. Grown-ups can never understand something by themselves and it is very boring for kids to have to explain things to them over and over again.
I had to, then, choose another career and so I learned to pilot planes. I have flown all over the world and the geography has actually helped me a lot; at first glance I could distinguish perfectly between China and Arizona. This is very useful, especially if one gets lost at night.
Throughout my life I have had many encounters with many serious people. I have lived with many grown-ups and I have known them very closely, but this has not changed my opinion about them.
When I meet someone who seemed a bit lucid I always test them by showing them my Drawing Number 1, which I have always kept. I wanted to find out if they were in fact a person who would understand. But, invariably, they would respond, “It’s a hat.” I would stop myself from talking about the boa, the virgin jungle, and the stars. I would bring myself down to their level, I would talk about bridge, golf, politics, and ties. And my interlocutor would be happy to have met such a reasonable man.
II
I lived that way, alone, with no one to truly talk to, until six years ago when my plane broke down over the Sahara desert. Something in the motor had malfunctioned. Since I was alone, with no mechanic or passengers, I set out to attempt a difficult reparation. It was a matter of life and death since I only had with me enough water to last 8 days.
The first night I slept on the sand, a thousand miles away from the closest inhabited location. I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Imagine, then, my surprise when at sunrise I was awakened by a strange little voice that said:
“Please… draw me a lamb!”
“What?”
“Draw me a lamb!”
I got up with one jump as if struck by lightning. I rubbed my eyes. I looked around me. I saw an extraordinary little boy who looked up at me with a serious expression. Here you have the best portrait that I was later able to make, although my drawing is less enchanting than the model, but that is not my fault. The grown-ups had discouraged me from my future as a painter at the age of six so I had never learned to draw anything other than closed boas and opened boas.
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So I looked at that apparition with eyes round with admiration. Let’s not forget that I was about one thousand miles from the closest inhabited location. And the little boy did not seem lost, nor dying of tiredness, hunger, thirst, or fear. He did not have the appearance of a boy lost in the desert one thousand miles away from the closest inhabited location. When I was finally able to articulate words, I said, “But… what are you doing around here?”
And he responded then, softly, as if it was something of great importance, “Please…draw me a lamb.”
When the mystery is too impressive, it’s impossible to disobey. As absurd as that request sounded, a thousand miles from any inhabited location and in imminent peril, I took out of my pocket a sheet of paper and a pen. I remembered that I had studies geography, history, calculus, and grammar and I told the little boy (now a little crabby), that I did not know how to draw.
“It does not matter,” he responded, “draw me a lamb.”
Since I had never drawn a lamb before I made for him one of the only two drawing I was able to complete, that of the closed boa. And I was stunned when I heard the little man say, “No,no! I don’t want an elephant inside a snake. A snake is too dangerous and the elephant takes up too much space. On my planet everything is very small. I need a lamb. Draw me a lamb.”
I drew a lamb. He looked at it closely and said, “No! This one is too sick. Draw another.”
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I tried again.
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My friend smiled a sweet smile, indulgently.
“This is not a lamb, it’s a ram. It has horns…”
I redid my picture once again, it was rejected like the others.
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“This one is too old. I want a lamb that will live a long time.”
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Lacking patience and eager to begin dismantling the engine, I quickly scribbled this drawing and showed it to him. I added, “this is a box. The lamb you want is inside.” Much to my surprise his face lit up.
“This is exactly what I wanted! Do you think this lamb will eat a lot?”
“Why?”
“Cause on my planet everything is small.” He leaned into the drawing and exclaimed, “Well, not that small! It’s asleep.” And that is how I met the little prince.
III
It took me a while to understand where he came from. The little prince, who always seemed to be full of questions, could not listen to those I had for him. It was words spoken here and there that little by little revealed everything to me. When he first saw my plane he asked, “What is that thing?”
“That is not a thing. It flies. It’s a plane, my plane.”
I felt proud to tell him that it flew. He then yelled, “What? You have fallen from the sky?”
“Yes,” I told him modestly.
“How curious!”
The little prince let out a big laugh which irritated me. I like me grievances to be taken seriously. I added, “So, do you also come from the sky? What planet are you from?”
I saw a light in the mystery of his presence and I sharply asked, “Do you come from another planet?”
But he did not answer, he moved his head slowly looking at the plane.
“You can’t have come from too far.”
He sunk into a daydream for a long period of time. Then, taking the drawing of the lamb out of his pocket, he began to admire his treasure.
Imagine how much this semi confidence about other planets intrigued me. I became determined to learn more.
“Where do you come from, little boy? Where is your home? Where will you be taking my lamb?”
After meditating quietly he responded, “The good think about the box you have given me is that during night time it can function as a house.”
“Of course, and if you are good then I will also give you rope and a pole to tie him during the day.”
The little prince did not seem to like this idea.
“Tie him up? What a strange idea!”
“Well if you don’t tie him then he will leave and get lost.”
My friend once again started laughing. “And where do you think he will go?”
“I don’t know, any place. He could walk straight ahead…”
“It does not matter, my land is so small!” And he added, with a bit of sadness, “Walking straight ahead…you cannot get very far.”
IV
In this way I learned another important fact, his home planet was no bigger than a house.
This did not surprise me much. I knew that apart from the bigger planets like Earth, Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, which have been named, there are hundreds of others which are so small that it is often hard to see them even with the help of a telescope. When an astronomer discovers one of these planets he names it with a number. He will name it, for example, “asteroid 3251.”
I have strong reason to believe that the planet that the little prince came from was Asteroid B 612. This asteroid has only been seen once with a telescope, in 1909 by a Turkish astronomer.
This astronomer made a huge presentation of his findings at the International Conference of Astronomy. But no one believed him because of the way he was dressed. Grown-ups are like that. Fortunately for Asteroid B 612, a Turkish dictator imposed upon his people, on penalty of death, a policy that forced them to wear European clothing. So the astronomer tried once again to give the presentation of his discovery in 1920, and since he sported a very nice suit, everyone listened to what he had to say.
I have only told you all about Asteroid B 612 and even given you its number so that the grown-ups would understand. Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them of your new friend they never ask about his personality. They never ask “What is the tone of his voice? What’s his favorite game? Does he collect butterflies?” Instead they ask “How old is he? How many siblings does he have? How much does he weigh? How much do his parents make?” Only with these fact do they think they really know him. If you tell grown-ups “I have seen a beautiful house made of red brick with geraniums on the windowsills and doves on the roof,” they will never be able to envision the house. You must tell them “I have seen a house that is worth 100,000 dollars.” Then they will exclaim enthusiastically, “Oh, how beautiful it must be!”
So if you tell them “the proof that the little prince exist is that he was an enchanting little boy, who laughed and wanted a pet lamb. Wanting a lamb is proof that he existed,” grown-ups would shrug their shoulders and tell you, you are childish. But if you tell them, “the planet that the little prince came from is Asteroid B 612,” they would be convinced and would not ask other questions. That is how they are, there is no need to resent them. Children should be very understanding with grown-ups.
But us, who understand the world, we mock numbers. I would have much rather have started this story in the style of fairy tales. I would like to have said, “Once upon a time there was a little prince who lived on a planet only slightly bigger than himself and who was in need of a friend.” For those who understand life, this would have seemed more real.
I do not want anyone to read my book carelessly. I have felt much grief in telling these memories. It has been six years since my friend left with his lamb. If I try to describe him here it is only because I do not want to forget him. It is very sad to forget a friend. Not everyone has had a friend. I could come to become a grown-up that only cares about numbers. To prevent this I have bought a box of colored pencils. It is very hard, at my age, to learn to draw, when your whole life you have only drawn an open boa and a closed boa at the age of six.
I will try to make portraits as accurately as possible, but I am not sure that I will be able to. Some will come out good and others will not have any resemblance. I often make mistakes in proportions. Here the little prince is too big and there he is too small. I am also unsure of the color of his outfit. It is possible that I might make mistakes about certain important details. But you must forgive me because my little friend did not give me much explanation. He thought me to be similar to him, but unfortunately I do not know how to see a lamb inside a box. It is possible that I am a bit like the grown-ups. I must have grown up.