wind sand and stars st.antoine de saint-exupery-第5章

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a　is　like　a　splintered　mirror。　But　the　hydroplane　pilot　knows　there　is　no　landing　here。　
　　The　hours　during　which　a　man　flies　over　this　mirror　are　hours　in　which　there　is　no　assurance　of　the　possession　of　anything　in　the　world。　These　palms　beneath　the　plane　are　so　many　poisoned　flowers。　And　even　when　the　flight　is　an　easy　one；　made　under　a　shining　sun；　the　pilot　navigating　at　some　point　on　the　line　is　not　gazing　upon　a　scene。　These　colors　of　earth　and　sky；　these　traces　of　wind　over　the　face　of　the　sea；　these　clouds　golden　in　the　afterglow；　are　not　objects　of　the　pilot's　admiration；　but　of　his　cogitation。　He　looks　to　them　to　tell　him　the　direction　of　the　wind　or　the　progress　of　the　storm；　and　the　quality　of　the　night　to　e。　
　　Even　as　the　peasant　strolling　about　his　domain　is　able　to　foresee　in　a　thousand　signs　the　ing　of　the　spring；　the　threat　of　frost；　a　promise　of　rain；　so　all　that　happens　in　the　sky　signals　to　the　pilot　the　oning　snow；　the　expectancy　of　fog；　or　the　peace　of　a　blessed　night。　The　machine　which　at　first　blush　seems　a　means　of　isolating　man　from　the　great　problems　of　nature；　actually　plunges　him　more　deeply　into　them。　As　for　the　peasant　so　for　the　pilot；　dawn　and　twilight　bee　events　of　consequence。　His　essential　problems　are　set　him　by　the　mountain；　the　sea；　the　wind。　Alone　before　the　vast　tribunal　of　the　tempestuous　sky；　the　pilot　defends　his　mails　and　debates　on　terms　of　equality　with　those　three　elemental　divinities。　
　　The　mail　pouches　for　which　he　is　responsible　are　stowed　away　in　the　after　hold。　They　constitute　the　dogma　of　the　religion　of　his　craft；　the　torch　which；　in　this　aerial　race；　is　passed　from　runner　to　runner。　What　matter　though　they　hold　but　the　scribblings　of　tradesmen　and　nondescript　lovers。　The　interests　which　dictated　them　may　very　well　not　be　worth　the　embrace　of　man　and　storm；　but　I　know　what　they　bee　once　they　have　been　entrusted　to　the　crew；　taken　over；　as　the　phrase　is。　The　crew　care　not　a　rap　for　banker　or　tradesman。　If；　some　day；　the　crew　are　hooked　by　a　cliff　it　will　not　have　been　in　the　interest　of　tradespeople　that　they　will　have　died；　but　in　obedience　to　orders　which　ennoble　the　sacks　of　mail　once　they　are　on　board　ship。　
　　What　concerns　us　is　not　even　the　orders　…　it　is　the　men　they　cast　in　their　mould。　
　　Wind；　Sand　and　Stars　by　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery　
　　Chapter　1　…　The　CraftTitle：　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
　　2
　　The　Men
　　Mermoz　is　one　airline　pilot；　and　Guillaumet　another；　of　whom　I　shall　write　briefly　in　order　that　you　may　see　clearly　what　I　mean　when　I　say　that　in　the　mould　of　this　new　profession　a　new　breed　of　men　has　been　cast。　
　　I　
　　A　handful　of　pilots；　of　whom　Mermoz　was　one；　surveyed　the　CasabIanca…Dakar　line　across　the　territory　inhabited　by　the　refractory　tribes　of　the　Sahara。　Motors　in　those　days　being　what　they　were；　Mermoz　was　taken　prisoner　one　day　by　the　Moors。　The　tribesmen　were　unable　to　make　up　their　minds　to　kill　him；　kept　him　a　captive　a　fortnight；　and　he　was　eventually　ransomed。　Whereupon　he　continued　to　fly　over　the　same　territory。　
　　When　the　South　American　line　was　opened　up　Mermoz；　ever　the　pioneer；　was　given　the　job　of　surveying　the　division　between　Buenos　Aires　and　Santiago　de　Chile。　He　who　had　flung　a　bridge　over　the　Sahara　was　now　to　do　the　same　over　the　Andes。　They　had　given　him　a　plane　whose　absolute　ceiling　was　sixteen　thousand　feet　and　had　asked　him　to　fly　it　over　a　mountain　range　that　rose　more　than　twenty　thousand　feet　into　the　air。　His　job　was　to　search　for　gaps　in　the　Cordilleras。　He　who　had　studied　the　face　of　the　sands　was　now　to　learn　the　contours　of　the　peaks；　those　crags　whose　scarfs　of　snow　flutter　restlessly　in　the　winds；　whose　surfaces　are　bleached　white　in　the　storms；　whose　blustering　gusts　sweep　through　the　narrow　walls　of　their　rocky　corridors　and　force　the　pilot　to　a　sort　of　hand…to…hand　bat。　Mermoz　enrolled　in　this　war　in　plete　ignorance　of　his　adversary；　with　no　notion　at　all　of　the　chances　of　ing　forth　alive　from　battle　with　this　enemy。　His　job　was　to　〃try　out〃　for　the　rest　of　us。　And；　〃trying　out〃　one　day；　he　found　himself　prisoner　of　the　Andes。　
　　Mermoz　and　his　mechanic　had　been　forced　down　at　an　altitude　of　twelve　thousand　feet　on　a　table…land　at　whose　edges　the　mountain　dropped　sheer　on　all　sides。　For　two　mortal　days　they　hunted　a　way　off　this　plateau。　But　they　were　trapped。　Everywhere　the　same　sheer　drop。　And　so　they　played　their　last　card。　
　　Themselves　still　in　it；　they　sent　the　plane　rolling　and　bouncing　down　an　incline　over　the　rocky　ground　until　it　reached　the　precipice；　went　off　into　air；　and　dropped。　In　falling；　the　plane　picked　up　enough　speed　to　respond　to　the　controls。　Mermoz　was　able　to　tilt　its　nose　in　the　direction　of　a　peak；　sweep　over　the　peak；　and；　while　the　water　spurted　through　all　the　pipes　burst　by　the　night　frost；　the　ship　already　disabled　after　only　seven　minutes　of　flight；　he　saw　beneath　him　like　a　promised　land　the　Chilean　plain。　
　　And　the　next　day　he　was　at　it　again。　
　　When　the　Andes　had　been　thoroughly　explored　and　the　technique　of　the　crossings　perfected；　Mermoz　turned　over　this　section　of　the　line　to　his　friend　Guillaumet　and　set　out　to　explore　the　night。　The　lighting　of　our　airports　had　not　yet　been　worked　out。　Hovering　in　the　pitch　black　night；　Mermoz　would　land　by　the　faint　glimmer　of　three　gasoline　flares　lined　up　at　one　end　of　the　field。　This　trick；　too；　he　taught　us；　and　then；　having　tamed　the　night；　he　tried　the　ocean。　He　was　the　first；　in　1931；　to　carry　the　mails　in　four　days　from　Toulouse　to　Buenos　Aires。　On　his　way　home　he　had　engine　trouble　over　a　stormy　sea　in　mid…Atlantic。　A　passing　steamer　picked　him　up　with　his　mails　and　his　crew。　
　　Pioneering　thus；　Mermoz　had　cleared　the　desert；　the　mountains；　the　night；　and　the　sea。　He　had　been　forced　down　more　than　once　in　desert；　in　mountain；　in　night；　and　in　sea。　And　each　time　that　he　got　safely　home；　it　was　but　to　start　out　again。　Finally；　after　a　dozen　years　of　service；　having　taken　off　from　Dakar　bound　for　Natal；　he　radioed　briefly　that　he　was　cutting　off　his　rear　right…hand　engine。　Then　silence。　
　　There　was　nothing　particularly　disturbing　in　this　news。　Nevertheless；　when　ten　minutes　had　gone　by　without　report　there　began　for　every　radio　station　on　the　South　Atlantic　line；　from　Paris　to　Buenos　Aires；　a　period　of　anxious　vigil。　It　would　be　ridiculous　to　worry　over　someone　ten　minutes　late　in　our　day…to…day　existence；　but　in　the　air…mail　service　ten　minutes　can　be　pregnant　with　meaning。　At　the　heart　of　this　dead　slice　of　time　an　unknown　event　is　locked　up。　Insignificant；　it　may　be；　a　mishap；　possibly：　whatever　it　is；　the　event　has　taken　place。　Fate　has　pronounced　a　decision　from　which　there　is　no　appeal。　An　iron　hand　has　guided　a　crew　to　a　sea…landing　that　may　have　been　safe　and　may　have　been　disastrous。　And　long　hours　must　go　by　before　the　decision　of　the　gods　is　made　known　to　those　who　wait。　
　　We　waited。　We　hoped。　Like　all　men　at　some　time　in　their　lives　we　lived　through　that　inordinate　expectancy　which　like　a　fatal　malady　grows　from　minute　to　minute　harder　to　bear。　Even　before　the　hour　sounded；　in　our　hearts　many　among　us　were　already　sitting　up　with　the　dead。　All　of　us　had　the　same　vision　before　our　eyes。　It　was　a　vision　of　a　cockpit　still　inhabited　by　living　men；　but　the　pilot's　hands　were　telling　him　very　little　now；　and　the　world　in　which　he　groped　and　fumbled　was　a　world　he　did　not　recognize。　Behind　him；　in　the　glimmer　of　the　cabin　light；　a　shapeless　uneasiness　floated。　The　crew　。moved　to　and　fro；　discussed　their　plight；　feigned　sleep。　A　restless　slumber　it　was；　like　the　stirring　of　drowned　men。　The　only　element　of　sanity；　of　intelligibility；　was　the　whirring　of　the　three　engines　with　its　reassuring　evidence　that　time　still　existed　for　them。　
　　We　were　haunted　for　hours　by　this　vision　of　a　plane　in　distress。　But　the　hands　of　the　clock　were　going　round　and　little　by　li