Miss AP's Diary

Belle de Nuit

Belle de Nuit

No one ever really knows the Belle de Nuit. Her allure is overpowering, her presence intoxicating. ‘Why are you watching me?’ she asks with her eyes when you stare at her slowly smoking a cigarette in a dark corner of the room, ‘is there something you are trying to find out?’

To men she is an irresistible force, oozing with the potential for their own undoing. She taunts them to try and resist.

Try to think of the Belles de Nuit you have known in your life and I guarantee you’ll come up short: they are as rare as the blue moon. Which is why the best way I can think of to explain to you how this woman works is through the words of a man who is under her spell. The words are those of Henry Miller, in fact – a man who fell helplessly and hopelessly in love with one of the greatest Belles de Nuit of the twentieth century – the novelist Anais Nin, whose beautiful erotic scriptures should be on every womans’ bedside table.

Read Henry Miller’s words to her (I’ve shortened the letter but do treat yourself to reading the full thing) , and understand the true power of this kind of woman. She is enough to shatter a man to pieces.


 

August 14, 1932

Anais:

Don’t expect me to be sane anymore. Don’t let’s be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can’t dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage…I can’t see how I can go on living away from you—these intermissions are death…

Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger.

I say this is a wild dream—but it is this dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon’s soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, willfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience.

Henry

 


 

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