Explore Chapter 7 of 'The Little Prince' with the original English text, English translation, detailed IELTS vocabulary and explanations, and audio of the English original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
After thinking about his question for a while, he asked:
"If a sheep eats small bushes, does it also eat flowers?"
"A sheep," I replied, "eats whatever it can reach."
"Even flowers with thorns?"
I didn't know. At that moment, I was very busy trying to loosen a bolt that was stuck in my plane's engine. I was worried because my plane seemed badly damaged, and I had little drinking water left. I had good reason to fear the worst.
The little prince never gave up on a question once he asked it. I was annoyed by the bolt and answered with the first thing that came to mind:
"The thorns are useless. Flowers grow thorns just to be mean!"
After a moment of silence, he snapped at me, sounding resentful:
"I don't believe you! Flowers are weak. They are innocent. They try to make themselves feel safe. They think their thorns are powerful weapons..."
I didn't answer. I was thinking: 'If this bolt won't turn, I'll hit it with a hammer.' Again, the little prince interrupted my thoughts:
"Oh, no!" I shouted. "No! I don't believe anything. I just said the first thing that came to mind. Can't you see? I'm busy with important matters!"
He stared at me, shocked.
He looked at me holding my hammer, my fingers dirty with engine grease, bent over something he thought was very ugly...
That made me feel a bit ashamed. But he continued, firmly: "You mix everything up... You confuse everything..." He was truly angry. He shook his golden hair in the breeze.
"I know of a planet where there is a red-faced man. He has never smelled a flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved anyone. He has done nothing but add numbers all his life. And all day he repeats, just like you: 'I'm busy with important matters!' That makes him proud. But he is not a man—he's a mushroom!"
The little prince was now pale with anger.
"For millions of years, flowers have been growing thorns. For millions of years, sheep have been eating them. Isn't it important to understand why flowers bother growing thorns that never help them? Isn't the fight between sheep and flowers important? Isn't that more important than a fat red-faced man's calculations? And if I know—I myself—of a flower that is unique in the world, that grows only on my planet, but which a little sheep could destroy in one bite one morning, without even realizing it—Oh! You think that's not important!"
"If someone loves a flower that is the only one of its kind among millions of stars, just looking at the stars makes him happy. He can tell himself: 'My flower is out there somewhere...' But if the sheep eats the flower, suddenly all his stars go dark... And you think that's not important!"
He couldn't say more. His words were choked by tears.
Night had fallen. I dropped my tools. What did my hammer, my bolt, my thirst, or even death matter now? On one star, one planet, my planet Earth, the little prince needed comfort! I held him in my arms and rocked him. I told him:
"The flower you love is safe. I'll draw a muzzle for your sheep. I'll draw a fence for your flower. I'll—"
I didn't know what else to say. I felt clumsy and unsure. I didn't know how to connect with him, how to catch up and walk hand in hand with him again.