Tale

 

 

A Prince was vexed at having devoted himself only to the perfection of

ordinary generosities. He foresaw astonishing revolutions of love and

suspected his women of being able to do better than their habitual

acquiescence embellished by heaven and luxury. He wanted to see the

truth, the hour of essential desire and gratification. Whether this was

an abberation of piety or not, that is what he wanted. Enough worldly

power, at least, he had.

 

All the women who had known him were assasinated; what havoc in the

garden of beauty! At the point of the sword they blessed him. He did not

order new ones.-- The women reappeared.

 

He killed all those who followed him, after the hunt or the libations.--

All followed him.

 

He amused himself cutting the throats of rare animals. He set palaces on

fire. He would rush upon people and hack them to pieces.-- The throngs,

the gilded roofs, the beautiful animals still remained.

 

Can one be in ecstacies over destruction and by cruelty rejuvenated! The

people did not complain. No one offered him the benefit of his views.

 

One evening he was proudly galloping. A Genie appeared, of ineffable

beauty, unavowable even. In his face and in his bearing shone the promise

of a complex and multiple love! of an indescribable happiness,

unendurable, even. The Prince and the Genie annihilated each other

probably in essential health. How could they have helped dying of it?

Together then they died.

 

But this Prince died in his palace at an ordinary age, the Prince was the

Genie, the Genie was the Prince.-- There is no sovereign music for our

desire.