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Lon Werth (1878 in Remiremont, Vosges 1955) was a French writer and art
critic, a friend of Octave Mirbeau, then of Antoine de Saint-Exupry.
Lon Werth wrote critically and with great precision on French society through
World War I, colonization, and on French "collaboration" during World War II.
Saint-Exupry met Werth in 1931. He soon became Saint-Exupery's closest friend
outside of his flying group of Aeropostale. Werth did not have much in common with
Saint-Exupry; he was an anarchist, his father was a Jew, and a left Bolshevik
supporter. Being twenty-two years older than Saint-Exupry, with a surrealistic
writing style as well as the author of twelve volumes and many magazine pieces, he
was Saint-Exupry's very opposite.
Saint-Exupry dedicated two books to him, ("Letter to a Hostage" and "The Little
Prince"), and referred to Werth in three more. At the beginning of World War II,
while writing "The Little Prince", Saint-Exupry lived in his downtown New York
City apartment, thinking about his native France and his friends. Lon Werth spent
the war unobtrusively in Saint-Amour, his village in the Jura, a mountainous region
near Switzerland where he "was alone, cold and hungry", and had few nice words on
French refugees. Saint-Exupry returned to Europe in early 1943, rationalizing, "I
cannot bear to be far from those who are hungry... I am leaving in order to suffer and
thereby be united with those who are dear to me."
At the end of World War II, which Antoine de Saint-Exupry didn't live to see,
Lon Werth said: "Peace, without Tonio (Saint-Exupry) isn't entirely peace." Leon
Werth did not see the text for which he was so responsible until five months after his
friend's death, when Gallimard sent him a special edition.

The Little Prince dedication

To Leon Werth
I ask children to forgive me for dedicating this book to a grown-up. I have a
serious excuse: this grown-up is the best friend I have in the world. I have another
excuse: this grown-up can understand everything, even books for children. I have a
third excuse: he lives in France where he is hungry and cold. He needs to be
comforted. If all these excuses are not enough then I want to dedicate this book to the
child whom this grown-up once was. All grown-ups were children first. (But few of
them remember it.) So I correct my dedication:
To Leon Werth, When he was a little boy

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