12

The next planet was inhabited by a tippler. This was a very short visit, but it made the little prince very sad.

“What are you doing there?” he said to the tippler. The tippler was sitting in silence before a collection of empty bottles and also a collection of full bottles.

“I am drinking,” replied the tippler.

“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 answered.

“Ashamed of what?” insisted the little prince, who wanted to help him.

“Ashamed of drinking!” The tippler brought his speech to an end.

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 busy that he did not even raise his head at the little prince’s arrival.

“Good morning,” the little prince said to him. “Your cigarette went 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 have no 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 hate balderdash. Two and five make seven.”

“Five-hundred-and-one million what?” repeated the little prince.

The businessman raised his head.

“During the fifty-four years I was disturbed only three times. The first time was twenty-two years ago, when a cockchafer fell down. 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. The third time—well, this is it! I was saying, then, five-hundred-and-one millions—”

“Millions of what?”

Finally the businessman answered this question.

“Millions of those little objects,” he said, “which one sometimes sees in the sky.”

“Flies?”

“Oh, no. Little golden objects.”

“Bees?”

“Oh, no. Little glittering 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?”

“I am rich because of it.”

“And what good does it do you to be rich?”

“It makes it possible for me to buy more stars.”

“This man,” the little prince said to himself, “is like my poor tippler.”

Nevertheless, he had 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 write a patent: it is yours. So with me: I own the stars, because nobody else before me ever thought of 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 own a silk scarf,” he said, “I can put it around my neck and take it away with me. If I own a flower, I can 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 not serious.”

The little prince’s ideas 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 (I also clean out the one that is extinct; one never knows). It is good for my volcanoes, and it is good for my flower, I really own them. But there is no good for your 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 extraordinary,” he said simply 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:

“Maybe 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 brings 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 did you 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 did you light 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.

“My profession is terrible. 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 were changed?”

“The orders were not changed,” said the lamplighter. “That is the tragedy! From year to year the planet turns more rapidly and the orders are not 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 must 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 were talking together a month passed 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 wanted to help him.

“You know,” he said, “I can tell you how 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 very small. 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 is impossible,” 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 will 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 because he is thinking of something else besides himself.”

He said to himself, again:

“That man is the only one of them all whom I can make my friend. But his planet is indeed too small. There is no room on it for two people.”

The little prince was sorry to leave this planet, because every day it was possible to watch 1440 sunsets!