A Prince was vexed at having devoted himself only to the perfection of ordinary generosities. He foresaw astonishing revolutions of love and suspected his lovers of being able to do better than their habitual acquiescence embellished by momentary tendencies and sophisticated styles. He wanted to see the truth of puberty, the hour of essential desire and gratification. Whether this was an aberration of piety or not, that is what he wanted. Enough worldly power, at least, he had.

All the young who had known him were assassinated; what havoc in the garden of beauty! At the point of the sword these adolescents blessed him. He did not order new ones: but the heads of their exquisite corpses reappeared, with vegetal locks of the finest and most delicate kind sprouting from their beautiful faces.

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

Wild Gardens