We had been walking in the desert for eight days. My water was gone. The prince's feet were tired. But he held my hand, and we walked on.
After a while he said: I am thirsty too. Let us look for a well.
I made a gesture of weariness. It is silly to look for a well in the desert. But we started walking anyway.
When we had walked for several hours, in silence, the darkness fell and the stars began to shine. I looked down at them as if in a dream, feeling a little feverish because of my thirst. The prince's words were dancing up and down in my mind. You are thirsty too? I asked him.
He did not answer. He only said, very simply: Water may also be good for the heart.
I did not understand. But I said nothing. I knew, by now, that one does not question him.
And the little prince said: The stars are beautiful because of a flower that cannot be seen.
And a little later: What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.
I was surprised by a sudden understanding of that mysterious light that came from the sand. When I was a little boy I lived in an old house, and a legend said there was a treasure buried in it somewhere. Of course, no one was ever able to find it. Perhaps no one even looked for it. But it put a spell on the whole house. My home was hiding a secret in the depths of its heart.
Yes, I said, whether it is a house, or the stars, or the desert — what makes them beautiful is invisible.
At dawn, we found the well. It was not like the wells of the Sahara. The wells of the Sahara are simple holes dug in the sand. This was like a village well. But there was no village here, and I thought I was dreaming.
The prince pulled the bucket up. The pulley sang. I lifted the bucket to my lips. The water was sweet. It was not only a drink. It was sweet from the long walk under the stars, from the song of the pulley, from the effort of my arms. It was like a gift given to the heart.
Men have forgotten this truth, said the fox. But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.
