Quantcast

Happy 111th Birthday, Little Prince Author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry!

june29antoine.jpg
The author and his most famous work

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, author of The Little Prince, who once wrote, "Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them," would have been 111 years old today. And while Saint-Exupéry was undeniably French, he did most of the work on his most famous book right here in New York.

In 1942, after a successful career as a pilot both with French Air Force and on his own—complete with a dramatic crash-landing in the Sahara Desert—Saint-Exupéry and his wife, Consuelo, moved to New York. They lived in a penthouse at 240 Central Park South, and later at 35 Beekman, before moving out to a rented mansion in Asharoken, Long Island. Saint-Exupéry wrote the manuscript for The Little Prince during his time in New York, drawing upon his time in the Sahara. The original autographed manuscript of the novella is held by the Morgan Library, which also has several watercolor illustrations from Saint-Exupéry that weren't included in later published versions.

in 1944, Saint-Exupéry disappeared in a mysterious plane crash over the Mediterranean. In 2009, the remains of his aircraft were finally found off the coast of France, a discovery described as "the holy grail" of aviation mysteries. Happy would-be birthday, Antoine!

Contact the author of this article or email tips@gothamist.com with further questions, comments or tips.

Comments [rss]

  • jibbly

    I think his finest writing was the final passage in Wind Sand Stars, about when he and his copilot were saved from certain death by passing Bedouins after crashing in the desert.

    Here's my favorite part:

    You, Bedouin of Libya who saved our lives, though you will dwell forever in my memory yet I shall never be able to recapture your features.  You are Humanity and your face comes into my mind simply as man incarnate.  You, our beloved fellowman, did not know who we might be, and yet you recognized us without fail.  And I, in my turn, shall recognize you in the faces of all mankind.  You came towards me in an aureole of charity and magnanimity bearing the gift of water.  All my friends and all my enemies marched towards me in your person.  it did not seem to me that you were rescuing me: rather did it seem that you were forgiving me.  And I felt I had no enemy left in all the world.

    Hot damn, that is magic, folks.

    (And major credit should be given to Lewis Galantiere who translated it from french beautifully.)

  • jibbly

    Oh nice, you can also read it on google books!

    http://books.google.com/books?...

blog comments powered by Disqus

send a tip

tips@gothamist.com