Chapter 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 sans préambule
sin preámbulo

, 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 dévisser un boulon
destornillar un perno

that had got stuck in my engine. I was very much worried, for it was becoming clear to me that the

breakdown panne
avería

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 ne renonçait jamais à
nunca renunciaba / abandonaba

a question, once he had asked it.

As for me quant à moi, pour ma part
en cuanto a mi, por mi parte

, 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 méchanceté
maldad

!"

"Oh!"

There was a moment of complete silence. Then the little prince

flashed back interpeller, s’adresser
dirigirse, interpelar

at me, with a kind of

resentfulness rancune
rencor, amargura

:

"I don't believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are

naive naïves
ingenuas

. They

reassure se rassurer
reconfortarse, tranquilizarse

themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible

weapons arme
arma

…"

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 vraiment, en réalité
de verdad

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 importance
importancia

!"

He stared at me, thunderstruck il me regarda stupéfiait
me miró estupefacto

.

"Matters of consequence!"

He looked at me there, with my hammer in my hand, my fingers black with engine-grease,

bending down over penché sur
inclinado sobre

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 il secouait au vent ses cheveux tout dorés
agitaba al viento sus cabellos dorados

.

"I know a planet where there is a certain

red-faced rouge foncé, cramoisi
colorado

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 additionner des chiffres
sumar cifras, dígitos

. And all day he says over and over, just like you: 'I am busy with matters of consequence!' And that makes him

swell up gonfler
incharse

with pride. But he is not a man--he is a

mushroom champignon
hongo

!"

"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 guerre, lutte
conflicto, guerra, lucha

between the sheep and the flowers not important? Is this not of more consequence than a fat red-faced gentleman's

sums additions
sumas

? 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 fleur
flor

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 sanglots
sollozos

.

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 bercer
mecer

him. I said to him:

"The flower that you love is not in danger. I will draw you a

muzzle muselière
bozal

for your sheep. I will draw you a

railing balustrade
baranda

to put around your flower. I will--"

I did not know what to say to him. I felt

awkward inconfortable, gêné
incomodo, contrariado

and

blundering maladroit
torpe

. 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 c'est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes
es tan misterioso el país de las lágrimas

.

chapter 6            en anglais           chapter 8