There is no question that Germaine Cellier was a formidable woman and an innovative perfumer mapping history with her Balmain and Piguet creations. Hers is nevertheless the lesser known, but none the less majestic, La Fuite des Heures (pronounced la-fou-EET dez-erh and translating as Fleeting Moment) for Balenciaga in 1949; a Provençal herbs and jasmine formula of great radiance and tenacity. There is an interesting snippet of fashion and perfume history pertaining to this Balenciaga fragrance, which was the second to be issued by the house: Initially composed by Cellier at Roure for the French market, it was modeled after the aldehydics established at the time (and hence in chasm with her bombastic creations for Piguet such as Fracas and Bandit).
Why is that? No.5 by Chanel was the prototype of the genre (and still is) due to its commercial success, especially after WWII when soldiers returning from the European battle-fronts had popularised it in the conscience of American bourgeoisie as the pinacle of French chic and the porthole of aspirational status. Let's not forget that even historic French houses, such as Guerlain, had followed the paradigm with their own creations, namely Liù (although the latter's history is a little more gossipy that that!). Balenciaga had already issued a fragrance, Le Dix (10), his first foray into scent, named after the address of his couture studio at 10 Avenue George V. Not unexpectedly, that one also happened to be a floral aldehydic! Another version of La Fuite des Heures, specifically aimed at the American market, was issued in the beginning of the 1960s, the Camelot days of the USA when "Parisian" didn't seem as far fetched as before. And as they say the rest is history...
The fragrance was available as an Eau de Cologne in tall cylindrical ribbed bottles with simple pastic caps and black labels with white simple lettering. My own extrait de parfum of Balenciaga's La Fuite des Heures in its shagreen container, (probably from the 60s) is well aged, thick and dark as its blobs ooze from the crystal stoppered flacon. Yet the suave jasmine and ylang-ylang glory with sweet accents of light amber in the base is still there. The piquant herbs (anise? thyme?) and greens notes (vetiver?) along with an aldehydic vibrance (a little soapy & orris powdery the way Chanel No.5 is soapy & powdery) have mellowed significantly; they give way to the more tenacious woody and above all musky elements, a reality all too often met with when dealing with vintage perfumes. The drydown is fused with some of the most glorious musks this side of pre-banning of several valuable ingredients. Despite its approximation to vintage forms of No.5 (such as the magnificent Eau de Cologne version), La Fuite des Heures stands alone sufficiently well and even presents itself as a most wearable specimen of an elegant creation of yore. Like a couture gown by the great Spanish master himself, lose the hat, the gloves and the pose and you might wear the lace ruffled dress with your modern stilettos soled in red and an air of bon chic bon genre socialite.
In the pantheon of great modern perfumers it is not often that we come across women, at least during the first half of the 20th century. Amongst them, one star shines brightest, that of Germaine Cellier; untrammeled by convention, free-spirited in an era that frowned upon most of her customs, but which could not deny her bold, ebullient approach to perfumery. It is no accident that Guy Robert's book, Les Sens du Parfum, himself the stuff of legend, dedicates precious space to her opus.
Her wit wondrously helped her into coming up with stunning compositions: The galbanum-souled Vent Vert by Balmain with its biting verdancy forever changing the visage of florals, the knife-scathing outlaw of Banditwith its intense leathery bitterness of quinolines in 1944, the oriental passport of Visa in 1946, the buttery radiance of tuberose in 1948'sFracas (all three for Robert Piguet), the nostalgic violet chypre Jolie Madamefor Balmain (1953) which reworked the Bandit theme in more muted tones, as well as the masculine Monsieur Balmain which proved a success with both sexes.
One of her mysteriously disappearing acts is "Elysées 63.84" for Balmain, the name standing for the telephone number of the couture house, as well as a geranium-based Eau which Pierre Balmain fiercely guarded for his own use. For Nina Ricci she collaborates with Christian Bérard who designed the romantic heart flacon inCoeur Joie, an elegant and uncharacteristically delicate floral aldehydic of great refinement (1946). For Nina Ricci she also composes Fille d'Eve, with its "dirty hair" cistus note. Hers is the lesser known, but none the less majestic, La Fuite des Heures for Balenciaga in 1949, a Provençal herbs and jasmine formula of great radiance and tenacity. Among her portfolio there is also the agrestic Eau d'Herbes (Herbal Water) conceived for Hermès at an unspecified date during the 1950s meant to recreate just cut herbs, which remains an enigma, and several compositions for Elizabeth Arden for distribution in the USA during the 1950s and 1960s. (Click the links for my reviews on the scents) ....
This is part of a fuller article that was published on Fragrantica.com. For a comprehensive glimpse into one of the truly great perfumers of modern perfumery, please read my full article on this permalink.
My maternal grandmother had a Louis XVI vanity with silk damask that had a interlay of glass vitrine within the wood panel back, behind which small precious flacons from Paris hid. They seemed to flirt with each other at nights and I imagined them having spirited conversations when I was little. The square-shouldered Balmain extrait was the masculine counterpoint leaning seductively close to the smoothly countoured L'Air du temps and close to them a bottle of Coeur Joie seemed to proclaim by its very name the romanticism which those perfumes aimed to provoke. Perfume was a reverie back then, a daydream and a longing, more than a mere accessory and my grandmother brought them all to life. I was watching an Angela Lansbury film, in which she travelled to Paris and had a gown made at the famous Nina Ricci atelier and what stayed was the palpable feeling of her intoxication of becoming another person through this chrysallis transformation; or rather the person which she used to be as a young girl; optmistic and hopeful, before the vagaries of life had crushed her dreams. In retrospect I believe Coeur Joie would have been an excellent scent choice to accompany this elegant vision! Its understated luxury of its feminine bouquet of subdued, cooly whispering flowers transports us into an early evening reverie someplace where Chopin Nocturnes can be heard through ajar French windows and ball-gowned debutantes are casting their dreams on the flip of a wrist during a waltz.
Robert Ricci, the son of fashion designer Nina Ricci and head of development at parfums Ricci, took an unconventional approach when visualising how he wanted Coeur Joie to be, the first Nina Ricci perfume to diversify from clothing, in 1946. Despite it being a creation of Germaine Cellier, a perfumer with a daring and unapologetic streak of rebellion, then working at the famous Roure company, this Ricci perfume comes off as a comparatively soft fragrance; delicate and low-key floral, with an elegant polish rendering it suitable for a Grace Kelly type rather than the more daring amazones of Cellier's. Germaine Cellier was quite formidable herself, a great beauty of alleged lesbian tendencies, smoking a chimney, eating garlic with other famous couturiers, violently clashing with Roure's acclaimed perfumer Jean Carles, briefly acting as a functional scents composer for Colgate-Palmolive soaps (a stint which lasted but three months) and gingerly mixing perfumers' "bases" wondoursly resulting into stunning compositions such as the first "green" fragrance (the galbanum-souled Vent Vert), the knife-scathing outlaw of Banditwith its leathery bitterness of quinolines of 1944, the buttery radiance of tuberose in 1948's Fracas (both for Robert Piguet), the nostalgic violet chypre Jolie Madame for Balmain (1953) and the lesser known La Fuite des Heures for Balenciaga in 1949. There is also the enigmatic Eau d'Herbes (Herbal Water) conceived for Hermes at an unspecified date during the 1950s, which remains an enigma, and several compositions for Elizabeth Arden during the same time-frame. The solution to her Roure disputes presented by Louis Amic was to set Cellier up in her own laboratory in Paris (baptized Exarome), a place of her own where she could create her perfumes and meet her clients.
Nina Ricci on the other hand is best remembered for L'Air du Temps, the romantic lactonic floral with a carnation accent by Fabric Fabron in the emblematic flacon crowned with doves, but she has had a line-up of several less popular classic fragrances. Among them Coeur Joie (1946), Fille d'Eve (1952), Capricci (1961), the masculine Signoricci (1965), the orange-rich Bigarade (1971)and the spicy carnation aldehydic Farouche (1973) all the way to the original green Nina in the frosted bottle in 1987 (the name has been reprised for the gourmand in the apple-shaped bottle of 2006), the playful fruity chypre Deci-Dela and the trio of Les Belles de Ricci, all the way into the recent years when the company was bought by Puig. Marie Adélaïde Nielli (nickenamed Nina when she was but a mere girl) was married to Louis Ricci, to whom she bore a son, Robert. Nina Ricci relocated to Monte Carlo first and ultimately in Paris in 1932 when Robert was 27 years old, working as a model maker. But her son's motivation instilled into her the desire to open a fashion house one year short of her 50th birthday and the rest is, as they say, history.
The polished feel of the fragrance is immediately apparent, from its fresh, greenish opening oscilating between neroli and cool iris tonalities to the discreet, slightly warm and reassuring drydown which shares elements with the original Nina by the same designer, while being as waxy woody as the legendary Dior Dior. Despite scents of that time being usually powdery, Coeur joie stops short of producing this effect and does not smell old-fashioned in the least, although modern noses might be disappointed at the lack of overt sweetness. As someone at Fragrantica put it: "Launched just two years prior to Nina Ricci's renowned L'Air du Temps, Coeur Joie is L'air du Temps with a whiskey chaser -- a lilting, cool, pretty-as-a-princess floral with a knowing, silken drydown befitting an empress. Wear this when you want to promise nothing but deliver everything". I'd substitute whiskey with champagne, but the rest rings quite true.
The bottle, designed by Marc Lalique with whom the Ricci family enjoyed a close relationship since childhood, reprised the romantic theme into a garlanded tube that was heart-shaped. Extremely costly due to its rarity nowadays, yet there are round canisters of Eau de Toilette, holding big quantities appearing now and then on Ebay auctions and on online discounters; these harken back to the 1960s. There is a rumour circulating that they were especially made for the Greek market where Ricci perfumes were especially popular at the time and well-to-do ladies used them for refreshment on warm spring days.
Notes for Nina Ricci Coeur Joie: Top: neroli, bergamot, orange blossom Middle: iris, violet, hyacinth, jasmine, gardenia, and rose Base: woods
Leopold Godowsky (1870-1938) plays Frédéric Chopin: Nocturne nr. 12 in G, opus 37 no. 2, composed in 1839. Recorded in 1928. Originally uploaded by pianopera on Youtube
Fashion photo of Van Cleef & Arpels jewels by Bert Stern. Nina Ricci atelier via nytimes. bottle pics via parfumgott/flickr and ebay
"A writer should write with his eyes and a painter paint with his ears".
~Getrude Stein
It is perhaps fitting that a review of Jolie Madame, the leathery fragrance by Germain Cellier created for couturier Pierre Balmain in 1953 should start with a quote by one of his famous clients who graced this perfume with her preference over others* [*actually this last bit isn't conclusive as Stein died in 1946 as pointed out by our readers, assuming the fragrance was originally created in 1953, and not before, for her own use].
Like Stein herself, Jolie Madame bypasses jolie (=pretty) for stunning and makes you experience it with other senses than the designated one.
I personally remember first smelling it from an almost empty little bottle of parfum on my grandmother’s dresser: a woman who had a way with poetry as well and spoke no less than 7 languages.
On meeting Stein, Alice B.Toklas, her longtime companion and her Paris confidante, wrote:
“She was a golden brown presence, burned by the Tuscan sun and with a golden glint in her warm brown hair. She was dressed in a warm brown corduroy suit. She wore a large round coral brooch and when she talked, very little, or laughed, a good deal, I thought her voice came from this brooch. It was unlike anyone else's voice--deep, full, velvety, like a great contralto's, like two voices”.
~Mellow, 1974, p. 107-08
It is this sound coming in a stream of conciousness as I think of the sonorous merging of violets and leather that is at the verdant core of Jolie Madame: two voices, the pitch of a deep contralto. Cellier was an iconoclast working with essences and concepts that were rejected by other perfumers because they weren’t au goût du jour: her hyperbole of galbanum dosage in the vintage Vent Vert (a Balmain creation that trully is the antipode of everything Jolie Madame stands for), the assertion of isobutyl quinoline rendering the leathery note in Bandit, the rubbery nuances of tuberose in Fracas that has an almost trigeminal effect to our brain.
Directly inspired by her previous work in Bandit and to a lesser degree in Fracas, Cellier set out to create something for Balmain that would smother leather with an unexpected accord: the duskiness and powderiness of violet. Violet has an old-fashioned, Victorian connotation, because historically that was the zenith of their popularity. Violets also have a reputation of an aphrodisiac effect, albeit a tempered one. And for that reason they have been featured in pastilles as well as other edible treats. However the surprising fact is that it was the sweet, powdery flowers which were prized then, whereas it is the greener-smelling leaves which are now used in commercial perfumery. As the floral absolute is labour intensive and therefore prohibitedly expensive the recreation of a violet accord is composed with 2,6-nonadienal, beta-ionone, dihydro-beta-ionone and alpha-ionone in addition to other elements.
Jolie Madame marries violet with the ingredient which lends Bandit its harsh, demonic character: quinoline. But whereas Bandit is un parfum figuratif, trying to give the rendition of quinoline’s acid pungency, Jolie Madame is not as much. Instead alongside violets it takes some elements of the gardenia chypres that were popular at the times, yet pushing the envelope all the way. Lots of the chypres in that genre began as a mossy composition embracing a heart of gardenia rendered by styrallyl acetate, a substance naturally found in gardenia buds. Featured in Ma Griffe, which was at the time considered the pre-eminent debutante fragrance, as well as in Miss Dior, it bestows its feminine, oily fattiness to the proceedings attracting women who still kept a little girl hiding someplace in their hearts. Leather scents, on the other hand, whether they were strictly adhering to the chypre structure or not, were not as well-received and popular in a time of traditional values and fashion sense (the 1950s) as the gardenia chypres.
Jolie Madame therefore took a risk: a calculated one, given Balmain’s fashion apotheosis in that decade in the halcyon days of Paris fashion dominance, but still a dare. It was unapologetically the scent of a woman, not a debutante, and it mirrored Stein’s words who claimed Paris was her hometown as much as America was her country:
“…in our American life where there is no coercion in custom and it is our right to change our vocation so often as we have desire and opportunity, it is a common experience that our youth extends through the whole first twenty-nine years of our life and it is not till we reach thirty that we find at last that vocation for which we feel ourselves fit and to which we willingly devote continued labor”.
~Mellow, 1974, p.67-68
Indeed, much as I try, I would find some difficulty in gifting a very young woman with the wonder that is Jolie Madame. The acrid opening of artemisia that vibrates at an emerald frequency is otherworldly and trully awesome. It has a passing resemblance to the minty top of Halston, a scent that came two decades later, at the time of the resurgence of emancipated chypres. Less strident than brigant Bandit, not as dry as Chanel’s Cuir de Russie but with a more animalic streak running into alleys of deep castoreum and womanly civet, Jolie Madame opens up to reveal a vista of patchouli and moss-laden powdered hides. Its roguish leatheriness stays on throughout, lasting exeptionally well even in the modern eau de toilette. To reference Luca Turin, everything in Jolie Madame is mature, powdery, evolved.
On that note it bears mentioning that the reformulations have not been tremendously respectful to the original and in fact there have been at least two of those: one occuring about 3 years ago and one in the late 90s. I can’t profess an opinion on the most recent edition other than I have heard it described as more aldehydic and with a more pronounced iris heart while trully different than the version which I enjoy; the latter is deeply mossy and leathery, uninhibited rather than demure. The lighter-coloured version comes in the rectangular bottle with grey label surfacing on many online stores. The vintage is coloured like fine thyme honey and encased in a bottle as the one depicted.
It was 1944, when WWII was at its most crucial stages with the battle of Monte Cassino, the fall of Rome to the Allies, the maiden flight of the Bristol Brigand and subsequently D-day that Robert Piguet had sent his models down the runway brandishing knives, toy revolvers and masks like highwaymen, like outlaws. And it was this occasion that prompted Germaine Cellier to grab the models’ knickers after they had walked the catwalk, reputedly studying their scent in an effort to “capture the best of their femininity” for the couturier’s first foray into fragrance. Whether she did and how one defines femininity in the first place is food for thought.
Cellier herself was outwardly conforming to all the perceived ideas of it: beautiful, slim, blond and tall, she exuded an air of elegance. Yet her reputation was tinged with shades of unconventionality and homosexuality and her creations were aiming to reflect different perceptions of Yin and Yang.Fracas was made for the femmes, Bandit was for the dykes.
In those times of closeted sexuality, these were hints that never left the inner sanctum and remained under wraps. Today it is a matter of playful reversal of roles, when women are freer with their sexual identity and image and are conscious of how they can juggle both sides. In saying that however I realize that both of those sides are dark and dangerous and not to be trifled with: both Fracas and Bandit pack a punch and are smirking with the knowledge of their own sinister powers. To Fracas’s torrid tuberose that makes you either fall madly in love with or shun forever, Bandit juxtaposes daring, bitter green leather which, according to a male admirer smelling it, exudes aloofness, rebellious intellectuality and absolutely requires an expanse of skin to show for its sensuality to bloom.
Classified as a leather chypré, Bandit manages to pose a glorious riddle that has a resonance even to today’s sensibilities, staying resolutely, brilliantly modern and quite young in spirit, contrary to many chypres and leather scents. There is simply nothing like it on the market, although many have drawn inspiration from its complex leather and greens accord.
“Beautiful but brutal” is how the perfumer Guy Robert described it and he couldn’t be more accurate about a scent that opens on the intense slap of galbanum greeted by hazy blossoms on a bed of raw hide, rendered by 1% of isobutyl quinoline!
A woman has seized her boyfriend’s bomber jacket, which has rolled into mud and grass and bitter Artemisia and still holds the remnants of that contraband cigarette he smoked (or some weed, according to some!) when he was waiting for the call for action. Her own female scent has permeated the lining with warmth, her floral-laced soap and powder, her brunette feral muskiness and the mossy feel of wet earth underneath. There is an androgynous energy travelling throughout the scent with a hint of S/M which addresses our need to reassess how we view women and their role. Bandit’s copious sillage and intense bitterness will surely make eyebrows rise and mother-in-laws shake with trepidation upon meeting you; unless they’re elegant and mischievous themselves, in which case they will reply with a wink.
It is of interest to note that men could carry off Bandit admirably and in fact lots of older gentlemen apparently do, according to French sales assistants working for the brand! Also interesting is that there an eau de toilette of Bandit is/was aimed at men, sold at Fragancenet.com: the main difference being it is very rough, with a distinct lineage to Aramis and a golden cap instead of the usual black one for the ladies.
Bandit had stayed in the shadows for long, before the fashion hysteria for Fracas in the 1990s brought deserved attention to the forgotten house of Piguet again. Indeed it was upon re-seizure of the Piguet house by Fashion Fragrances and Cosmetics that it got re-issued by Givaudan’s nose Delphine Lebeau.
The matter of its various concentrations and shades of difference betweeen different batches within the same concentration merrited its own research.
Therefore, for clarity we state the following: The original vintage composition came in parfum, eau de toilette and eau de cologne. The eau de toilette is the sharper of the lot, while the eau de parfum is greener. Parfum is sublime and smooth, but I am perfectly happy with my eau de parfum. This was a later, indeterminate addition, resulting in two versions of Bandit eau de parfum circulating in the market: one is the certified "new" version (which I have) which is close to the original, vintage formula that bears a certification on the box; and the other is the "reformulated" version that got issued before 1996 under Andrian Arpel. That intermediary version manufactured by Adrian Arpel is the one that was sold until 1996/1997 and older stock on etailers might be it. The bottles do not present visual differences in their opaque black with yellow edge around the label, apart from the box.
The certification on the box reads:
"Certification
This is the original formula for Bandit
created by this company with Robert Piguet
for the introduction of the perfume in 1944
Errol G.W.Stafford
President
Givaudan perfume corporation"
To help matters more, the “original” version also states “made in France”, while the other does not.
The eau de toilette that circulated under Andrian Arpel (Alfin inc. being his previous company name) bears this label:
“Parfums ROBERT PIGUET
Made in France
For Alfin.inc
New York NY
10019”
The official Piguet site does not mention eau de toilette at all. However they do mention a body lotion available. Bandit is available online at Barneys, Bergdorf Goodman, Nordstrom, First in Fragrance and various online stores (just keep an eye for all the different batches!)
Notes for Robert Piguet Bandit:galbanum, artemisia, neroli, orange, ylang ylang, jasmine, rose, tuberose, carnation, leather, vetiver, oakmoss, musk, patchouli.
And a lucky draw for our readers: if you want to be elligible for a sample of the Eau de Parfum, to see what all the fuss is about, please state so in the comments!
EDIT TO ADD: As of late 2012, a new reformulation of Bandit is under way by perfumer Aurelien Guichard to comply with latest IFRA allergens restrictions in fragranced products. Please note that the review refers to previous to that reformulation batches. We will update with a comparison as soon as a sample of the reformulated lands on our lap.
Pic of Bandit ad by okadi. Painting of Sappho by Mengin courtesy of perso.orange.fr. Pic of Bandit Eau de toilette from Fragrancenet.com
.jpg)
.jpg)
There is an interesting snippet of fashion and perfume history pertaining to this Balenciaga fragrance, which was the second to be issued by the house: Initially composed by Cellier at Roure for the French market, it was modeled after the aldehydics established at the time (and hence in chasm with her bombastic creations for Piguet such as Fracas and Bandit).
The fragrance was available as an Eau de Cologne in tall cylindrical ribbed bottles with simple pastic caps and black labels with white simple lettering. My own extrait de parfum of Balenciaga's La Fuite des Heures in its shagreen container, (probably from the 60s) is well aged, thick and dark as its blobs ooze from the crystal stoppered flacon. Yet the suave jasmine and ylang-ylang glory with sweet accents of light amber in the base is still there.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
