Le prince charmant est un crapaud

"

[Louveciennes]

[March 2, 1932]

[Henry : ]

The woman will sit eternally in the tall black armchair. I will be the one woman you will never have... excessive living weighs down the imagination : we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails. "

[Anaïs] "

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"

[Clichy, ]
[March 21.1932]

This is a little drunken, Anaïs. I am saying to myself " here is the first woman with whom I can be absolutely sincere. " I remember your saying - " You could fool me. I wouldn't know it. " When I walk along the boulevards and think of that. I can't fool you - and yet I would like to. I mean that I can never be absolutely loyal - i's not in me. I love women, or life, too much - which it is, I don't know. But laugh, Anaïs, I love to hear you laugh. You are the only woman who has had a sense of gaiety, a wise tolerance - no more, you seem to urge me to betray you. I love you for that. And what makes you do that - love ? Oh, it is beautiful to love and be free at the same time.

I don't know what I expect of you, but it is something in the way of a miracle. I am going to demand everything of you - even the impossible, because you encourage it. You are really strong. I like even your deceit, your treachery. It seems aristocratic to me. (Does " aristocratic " sound wrong in my mouth ? )
Yes, Anaïs, I was thinking how I could betray you, but I can't. I want you. I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit - ah, I don't know what I am saying. I am a little drunk because you are not here. I would like to clap my hands and, voilà - Anaïs ! I want to own you, use you, I want to fuck you, I want to teach you things. No, I don't appreciate you - God forbid ! Perhaps I even want to humiliate you a little - why, why ? Why don't I get down on my knees and just worship you ? I can't. I love you laughingly.


Do you like that ?


And, dear Anaïs, I am so many things. You see only the good things now - or at least you lead me to believe so. I want you for a whole day at least. I want to go places with you - possess you. You don't know how insatiable I am. Or how dastardly. And how selfish !


I have been on my good behavior with you. But I warn you I am no angel. I think principally that I am a little drunk. I love you. I go to bed now - it is too painful to stay awake. I love you. I am insatiable. I will ask you to do the impossible. What it is I don't know. You will tell me probably. You are faster than I am. I love your cunt, Anaïs - it drives me crazy. And the way you say my name ! God, it's unreal. Listen, I am very drunk. I am hurt to be here alone. I need you. Can I say anything to you ? I can, can't I ?


Come quickly then and screw me. Shoot with me. Wrap your legs around me. Warm me.

[Henry] "

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"

[Louveciennes]
Saturday morning [March 26, 1932]

Do you think we're happy together because we feel we are " getting somewhere ", whereas you had the feeling that with June you were being led into more and more obscurity, mystery, entanglements ? And suppose the " getting somewhere feeling " meant simply reaching a clarity, a knowledge, the very opposite of Dostoevsky - and that the clarity I have I may throw away, discard, repudiate entirely... You see, I often return to this conflict - the passion for truth, and also the passion for darkness.

[Anaïs] "

A literate Passion, Letters of Anais Nin and Henry Miller, 1932-19523