译林“有声双语经典”原版引进美国教育专家特为学生编写的英语名著，精选贴近中国学生英语习得水平的经典作品。丛书甄选优质中文译本，配以导读、作家作品简介和插图，并聘请资深高考听力卷主播朗读英语有声书。有声书播放平台操作便捷，只需扫描书中二维码，即可收听、下载。丛书选目涵盖各国经典文学作品，让孩子在阅读中提高文学鉴赏能力和英语听读能力。著名儿童文学作家黄蓓佳长文导读推荐。

《小王子》初版于1943年，是法国飞行员、著名作家圣埃克苏佩里的经典作品，已被译作三百多种语言，不断被拍成电影、舞台剧，深受全世界读者的喜爱，是有史以来最畅销的图书之一。故事所蕴含的关于人类面临爱情、友谊和失去的思考，获得了哲学家萨特和海德格尔的盛赞。法国人投票将这本书选为“20世纪法国最伟大的书”，许多国家发行了有圣埃克苏佩里头像的邮票；他的名字被用来命名街道、山峰和行星；世界各国都有关于小王子和他的展览和博物馆。

一位飞行员被困沙漠，遇见了来自B-612星的小王子。在他们相处的八天里，飞行员一边修理飞机，一边听小王子讲述了他在不同星球旅行的见闻。小王子在地球遇到了玫瑰花和狐狸，由此思念起自己星球上那朵珍贵的玫瑰花，最终离开了地球。《小王子》是一则诗意而富有哲理的童话，迄今已被译为三百多种语言，打动了全世界无数读者，多次被改编为戏剧、影视作品。

圣埃克苏佩里（Saint-Exupéry，1900—1944），法国作家、诗人、记者、飞行家，著有《夜航》《风沙星辰》《战机飞行员》《堡垒》等，《小王子》是他的代表作。1940年，纳粹德国入侵法国，法国投降，圣埃克苏佩里愤而离开祖国前往美国纽约。1942年，流亡在异国的圣埃克苏佩里精神抑郁，健康也出现了问题。他一位出版社朋友的妻子劝说他写一部给孩子看的书，于是他创作了《小王子》，并绘制了插图。1943年，圣埃克苏佩里与一支美国飞行中队前往北非战场，在阿尔及尔与自由法国空军共同作战。他总共执行了八次侦察任务，在最后一次，他的飞机消失在夜空，毫无踪迹。

1

六岁那一年，我在一本描写原始森林的书里看见一幅扣人心弦的图画。那本书的书名叫《丛林奇遇记》。图中画的是正在吞吃野兽的蟒蛇。下面是这幅画的摹仿件。

书中说：“蟒蛇囫囵吞下猎物，肚子撑得它不能动弹，要躺六个月才能把猎物消化掉。”

从此，我对丛林的种种奇事产生了无穷尽的遐想。我也用彩色铅笔绘下我的第一幅画。我称它为一号画。

我把我的杰作拿给大人看，还问他们，我的画是否吓坏了他们。

他们回答我说：“一顶帽子有什么可怕的？”

我画的不是一顶帽子，而是一条正在消化大象的蟒蛇啊。我又画了一张画，画的是蟒蛇和它肚子里的大象，好让大人看懂我的画。他们总是需要我们给他们解释的。

大人们劝我，别画这些肚子没打开或打开了的蟒蛇了，把心思放到地理、历史、算术、语法上去吧。就这样，我在六岁这一年放弃了画家的光辉生涯。一号画、二号画的失败令我垂头丧气。大人们老是需要孩子们费尽唇舌，给他们再三解释，不然就一窍不通，真把我们累得够呛。

我只好选择另一门职业。我学会了驾驶飞机，几乎跑遍了世界各地。地理确实帮了我的大忙。

在空中，我一眼就能认出中国和亚利桑那，这样的本领很管用——如果夜航时迷了路。

我一生与许多重要人物打过交道，我在大人当中生活了很长时间，我仔细地观察过他们，然而我对他们的看法没有多大的改善。

每当遇到一个我认为略为懂事的大人，我就用我的一号画做试验，看他是否真的懂事，但他们总是这样回答我：“这是一顶帽子。”

听了这样的话，我就不再与他们谈蟒蛇、原始森林、星星了。我谈他们能理解的事情，例如桥牌啦，高尔夫球啦，政治啦，领带啦。大人们便很满意，以为他们认识了一个通情达理、善解人意的人。

2

从此我孤独地生活着，没有一个可以推心置腹的朋友。这种状况一直延续至六年前。六年前，我的飞机出了故障，发动机里的某个部件被撞坏了，我被迫在撒哈拉沙漠降落。我只能自己动手，试着修理部件。我带的水仅够喝一个星期，能否修好飞机，关系到我的生死存亡了。

第一夜，我在远离人烟、千里之遥的沙漠上睡觉。比起那些乘着木排，在茫茫大洋中挣扎漂浮的遇险者，我更显得孤独无助。朝霞初露的时候，一个细细的奇妙的声音把我唤醒。你不难想象我当时有多惊讶了。这细细的奇妙的声音说：

“劳驾……请你给我画一只绵羊吧！”

“你说什么？”

“给我画一只绵羊！”

我吃惊地一跃而起。我使劲眨了眨眼睛，仔细看了看，只见一个很奇特的小小的人儿，他正在那儿注视我呢。下面就是以后我给他画的最为成功的一幅肖像画。当然，它没有他本人可爱俊美。

这可不能怪我，该怪大人，是他们在我六岁那年葬送了我的画家生涯。除了画打开肚子和没打开肚子的蟒蛇之外，我没有画过一张画。

我大吃一惊，眼睛瞪得溜圆，看着他。你们可别忘了，这儿是远离人烟、千里之遥的地方啊。他一点不像迷失于沙漠中的孩子，不像远离人烟、千里之遥的孩子。我终于能够张口说话了，我问他：

“……你在这儿干什么？”

他不慌不忙地重述他的要求：

“请你给我画一只绵羊……”

I

Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.

In the book it said: “Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion.”

I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. My Drawing Number One.

I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them.

But they answered: “Frighten? Why should any one be frightened by a hat?”

My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained.

The grown-ups’ response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.

So then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes. I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true that geography has been very useful to me.

At a glance I can distinguish China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge is valuable.

In the course of this life I have had a great many encounters with a great many people. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups. I have seen them intimately. And that hasn’t much improved my opinion of them.

Whenever I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would always say: “That is a hat.”

Then I would never talk to that person about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge, and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.

II

So I lived my life alone, without anyone that I could really talk to, until I had an accident with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago. Something was broken in my engine. And I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs all alone. It was a question of life or death for me: I had scarcely enough drinking water to last a week.

The first night, then, I went to sleep on the sand, a thousand miles from any human habitation. I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Thus you can imagine my amazement, at sunrise, when I was awakened by an odd little voice. It said:

“If you please—draw me a sheep!”

“What!”

“Draw me a sheep!”

I jumped to my feet. I blinked my eyes hard. I looked carefully all around me. And I saw a most extraordinary small person, who stood there examining me with great seriousness. Here you may see the best portrait that, later, I was able to make of him. But my drawing is certainly very much less charming than its model.

That, however, is not my fault. The grown-ups discouraged me in my painter’s career when I was six years old, and I never learned to draw anything, except boas from the outside and boas from the inside.

Now I stared at him with my eyes fairly starting out of my head in astonishment. Remember, I had crashed in the desert a thousand miles from any inhabited region. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost in the middle of the desert, a thousand miles from any human habitation. When at last I was able to speak, I said to him: