wind sand and stars st.antoine de saint-exupery-第14章

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over　an　alembic。　Lucas　had　e　with　me；　and　we　stared　together　at　the　curving　lines　marking　the　new…sprung　winds。　With　their　tiny　flying　arrows；　they　put　me　in　mind　of　curving　tendrils　studded　with　thorns。　All　the　atmospheric　depressions　of　the　world　were　charted　on　this　enormous　map；　ochre…colored；　like　the　earth　of　Asia。　
　　〃Here　is　a　storm　that　we'll　not　hear　from　before　Monday；〃　Monsieur　Viaud　pointed　out。　
　　Over　Russia　and　the　Scandinavian　peninsula　the　swirling　lines　took　the　form　of　a　coiled　demon。　Out　in　Iraq；　in　the　neighborhood　of　Basra；　an　imp　was　whirling。　
　　〃That　fellow　worries　me　a　little；〃　said　Monsieur　Viaud。　
　　〃Sand…storm；　is　it？〃　
　　I　was　not　being　idly　curious。　Day　would　not　yet　be　breaking　when　I　reached　Basra　and　I　was　fearful　of　flying　at　night　in　one　of　those　desert　storms　that　turn　the　sky　into　a　yellow　furnace　and　wipe　out　hills；　towns；　and　river…banks；　drowning　earth　and　sky　in　one　great　conflagration。　It　would　be　bad　enough　to　fly　in　daylight　through　a　chaos　in　which　the　very　elements　themselves　were　indistinguishable。　
　　〃Sand…storm？　No；　not　exactly。〃　
　　〃So　much　the　better；〃　I　said　to　myself；　and　I　looked　round　the　room。　I　liked　this　laboratory　atmosphere。　Viaud；　I　felt；　was　a　man　escaped　from　the　world。　When　he　came　in　here　and　hung　up　his　hat　and　coat　on　the　peg；　he　hung　up　with　them　all　the　confusion　in　which　the　rest　of　mankind　lived。　Family　cares；　thoughts　of　ine；　concerns　of　the　heart　…　all　that　vanished　on　the　threshold　of　this　room　as　at　the　door　of　a　hermit's　cell；　or　an　astronomer's　tower；　or　a　radio　operator's　shack。　Here　was　one　of　those　men　who　are　able　to　lock　themselves　up　in　the　secrecy　of　their　retreat　and　hold　discourse　with　the　universe。　
　　Gently；　for　he　was　reflecting；　Monsieur　Viaud　rubbed　the　palms　of　his　hands　together。　
　　〃No；　not　a　sand…storm。　See　here。〃　
　　His　finger　traveled　over　the　map　and　pointed　out　why。　
　　At　four　in　the　morning　Lucas　shook　me　into　consciousness。　
　　〃Wake　up！〃　
　　And　before　I　could　so　much　as　rub　my　eyes　he　was　saying；　〃Look　here；　at　this　report。　Look　at　the　moon。　You　won't　see　much　of　her　tonight。　She's　new；　not　very　bright；　and　she'll　set　at　ten　o'clock；　And　here's　something　else　for　you：　sun…rise　in　Greenwich　Meridian　Time　and　in　local　time　as　well。　And　here：　here　are　your　maps；　with　your　course　all　marked　out。　And　here　…〃　
　　〃…　is　your　bag　packed　for　Saigon；〃　my　wife　broke　in。　
　　A　razor　and　a　change　of　shirt。　He　who　would　travel　happily　must　travel　light。　
　　We　got　into　a　car　and　motored　out　to　Le　Bourget　while　Fate　spying　in　ambush　put　the　finishing　touches　to　her　plans。　Those　favorable　winds　that　were　to　wheel　in　the　heavens；　that　moon　that　was　to　sink　at　ten　o'clock；　were　so　many　strategic　positions　at　which　Fate　was　assembling　her　forces。　。　
　　It　was　cold　at　the　airport；　and　dark。　The　Simoon　was　wheeled　out　of　her　hangar。　I　walked　round　my　ship；　stroking　her　wings　with　the　back　of　my　hand　in　a　caress　that　I　believe　was　love。　Eight　thousand　miles　I　had　flown　in　her；　and　her　engines　had　not　skipped　a　beat；　not　a　bolt　in　her　had　loosened。　This　was　the　marvel　that　was　to　save　our　lives　the　next　night　by　refusing　to　be　ground　to　powder　on　meeting　the　upsurging　earth。　
　　Friends　had　turned　up。　Every　long　flight　starts　in　the　same　atmosphere；　and　nobody　who　has　experienced　it　once　would　ever　have　it　otherwise：　the　wind；　the　drizzle　at　daybreak；　the　engines　purring　quietly　as　they　are　warmed　up；　this　instrument　of　conquest　gleaming　in　her　fresh　coat　of　〃dope''　…　all　of　it　goes　straight　to　the　heart。　
　　Already　one　has　a　foretaste　of　the　treasures　about　to　be　garnered　on　the　way　…　the　green　and　brown　and　yellow　lands　promised　by　the　maps；　the　rosary　of　resounding　names　that　make　up　the　pilot's　beads　；　the　hours　to　be　picked　up　one　by　one　on　the　eastward　flight　into　the　sun。　
　　There　is　a　particular　flavor　about　the　tiny　cabin　in　which；　still　only　half　awake；　you　stow　away　your　thermos　flasks　and　odd　parts　and　over…night　bag；　in　the　fuel　tanks　heavy　with　power；　and　best　of　all；　forward；　in　the　magical　instruments　set　like　jewels　in　their　panel　and　glimmering　like　a　constellation　in　the　dark　of　night。　The　mineral　glow　of　the　artificial　horizon；　these　stethoscopes　designed　to　take　the　heartbeat　of　the　heavens；　are　things　a　pilot　loves。　The　cabin　of　a　plane　is　a　world　unto　itself；　and　to　the　pilot　it　is　home。　
　　I　took　off；　and　though　the　load　of　fuel　was　heavy；　I　got　easily　away。　I　avoided　Paris　with　a　jerk　and　up　the　Seine；　at　Melun；　I　found　myself　flying　very　low　between　showers　of　rain。　I　was　heading　for　the　valley　of　the　Loire。　Nevers　lay　below　me；　and　then　Lyon。　Over　the　Rhone　I　was　shaken　up　a　bit。　Mt。　Ventoux　was　capped　in　snow。　There　lies　Marignane　and　here　es　Marseille。　
　　The　towns　slipped　past　as　in　a　dream。　I　was　going　so　far　…　or　thought　I　was　going　so　far　…　that　these　wretched　little　distances　were　covered　before　I　was　aware　of　it。　The　minutes　were　flying。　So　much　the　better。　There　are　times　when；　after　a　quarter…hour　of　flight；　you　look　at　your　watch　and　find　that　five　minutes　have　gone　by；　other　days　when　the　hands　turn　a　quarter　of　an　hour　in　the　wink　of　an　eye。　This　was　a　day　when　time　was　flying。　A　good　omen。　I　started　out　to　sea。　
　　Very　odd；　that　little　stream　of　vapor　rising　from　the　fuel　gauge　on　my　port　wing！　It　might　almost　be　a　plume　of　smoke。　
　　〃Prevot！〃　
　　My　mechanic　leaned　towards　me。　
　　〃Look！　Isn't　that　gas？　Seems　to　me　it's　leaking　pretty　fast。〃　
　　He　had　a　look　and　shook　his　head。　
　　〃Better　check　our　consumption；〃　I　said。　
　　I　wasn't　turning　back　yet。　My　course　was　still　get　for　Tunis。　I　looked　round　and　could　see　Prevot　at　the　gauge　on　the　second　fuel　tank　aft。　He　came　forward　and　said：　
　　〃You've　used　up　about　fifty　gallons。〃　
　　Nearly　twenty　had　leaked　away　in　the　wind！　That　was　serious。　I　put　back　to　Marignane　where　I　drank　a　cup　of　coffee　while　the　time　lost　hurt　like　an　open　wound。　Flyers　in　the　Air　France　service　wanted　to　know　whether　I　was　bound　for　Saigon　or　Madagascar　and　wished　me　luck。　The　tank　was　patched　up　and　refilled；　and　I　took　off　once　more　with　a　full　load；　again　without　mishap　despite　a　bit　of　rough　going　over　the　soggy　field。　Title：　Wind；　Sand；　and　Stars　
　　Author：　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery　
　　Translator：　Lewis　Galantiere　
　　Publisher：　Harcourt　Brace　Javanovich；　New　York；　1967　
　　Date　first　posted：　February　2000　
　　Date　most　recently　updated：　January　2006　
　　XML　markup　by　Wesman　02/23/2000。　
　　Wind　Sand　and　Stars
　　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery
　　9
　　Barcelona　and　Madrid　（1936）
　　0NCE　again　I　had　found　myself　in　the　presence　of　a　truth　and　had　failed　to　recognize　it。　Consider　what　had　happened　to　me：　I　had　thought　myself　lost；　had　touched　the　very　bottom　of　despair；　and　then；　when　the　spirit　of　renunciation　had　filled　me；　I　had　known　peace。　I　know　now　what　I　was　not　conscious　of　at　the　time…that　in　such　an　hour　a　man　feels　that　he　has　finally　found　himself　and　has　bee　his　own　friend。　An　essential　inner　need　has　been　satisfied；　and　against　that　satisfaction；　that　self…fulfilment；　no　external　power　can　prevail。　Bonnafous；　I　imagine；　he　who　spent　his　life　racing　before　the　wind；　was　acquainted　with　this　serenity　of　spirit。　Guillaumet；　too；　in　his　snows。　Never　shall　I　forget　that；　lying　buried　to　the　chin　in　sand；　strangled　slowly　to　death　by　thirst；　my　heart　was　infinitely　warm　beneath　the　desert　stars。　
　　What　can　men　do　to　make　known　to　themselves　this　sense　of　deliverance？　Everything　about　mankind　is　paradox。　He　who　strives　and　conquers　grows　soft。　The　magnanimous　man　grown　rich　bees　mean。　The　creative　artist　for　whom　everything　is　made　easy　nods。　Every　doctrine　swears　that　it　can　breed　men；　but　none　can　tell　us　in　advance　what　sort　of　men　it　will　breed。　Men　are　not　cattle　to　be　fattened　for　market。　In　the　scales　of　life　an　indigent　Newton　weighs　more　than　a　parcel　of　prosperous　nonentities。　All　of　us　have　had　the　experience　of　a　sudden　joy　that　came　when　nothing　in　the　world　had　forewarned　us　of　its　ing…a　joy　so　thrilling　that　if　it　was　born　of　misery　we　remembered　even　the　misery　with　tenderness。　All　of　us；　on　seeing　old　friends　…　I　again；　have　remembered　with　happiness　the　trials　we　lived　through　with　those　friends。　Of　what　can　we　be　certain　except　this…that　we　are　fertilized　by　mysterious　circumstances？　Where　is　man's　truth　to　be　found　1　
　　Truth　is　not　that　which　can　be　demonstrated　by　the　aid　of　logic。　If　orange…trees　are　hardy　and　rich　in　fruit　in　this　bit　of　soil　and　not　that；　then　this　bit　of　soil　is　what　is　truth　for　orange…trees。　If　a　particular　religion；　or　culture；　or　scale　of　values；　if　one　form　of　activity　rather　than　another；　brings　self…fulfilment　to　a　man；　releases　the　prince　asleep　within　him　unknown　to　himself；　then　that　scale　of　values；　that　culture；　that　form　of　activity；　constitute　his　truth。　Logic；　you　say？　Let　logic　wangle　its　own　explanation　of　life。　
　　Because　it　is　man　and　not　flying　that　concerns　me　most；　I　shall　close　this　book　with　the　story　of　man's　gropings　towards　self…fulfilment　as　I　witnessed　them　in　the　early　months　of　the　civil　war　in　Spain；　One　year　after　crashing　in　the　desert　I　made　a　tour　of　the　Catalan　front　in　order　to　learn　what　happe