Baccarat Trio: Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes, Une Nuit Etoilee au Bengale, Un Certain Ete a Livadia

Although only one out of the triad issued by Baccarat is known among perfume aficionados, Les Larmes Sacrées de Thèbes, the collection by the venerable verrerie (crystal makers) included two other worthy specimens: Un Certain été à Livadia and Une Nuit Étoilée au Bengale. All three formed Les Contes d'Ailleurs trilogy (Tales from Faraway lands) which reprised oriental themes, seducing and enrapturing, allowing the perfumer unrestrained choice in materials and composition. The occasion was to commemorate the new millenium and thus Baccarat commissioned three precious limited edition perfumes that would honour their patrimony in flacons of heavy crystal. Christine Nagel undertook the task of formula creation, at the time just entering Quest France and given carte blanche as to the commerciability of the fragrances: These were going to be Limited Editions for collectors and not focus-group marketing productions! Colombian-born Fédérico Restrepo was the flacon designer for the parfum bottles and each parfum bottle bore its own certificate of authenticity and lot number. There were only 1500 specimens issued for each of the Baccarat perfumes. Original prices were 880 euros for 30ml/1oz of pure parfum/extrait de parfum. All three fragrances however also had an Eau de Parfum version in a plainer bottle, as depicted on the bottom of this article, retailing for 400$ for 75ml/2.5oz, at the time available at Bergdorf's and Harrods (they are now discontinued and out of stock). Please note that the design of the EDP bottle has been accused of aiding evaporation.



Une Nuit Étoilée au Bengale (A Starry Night in Bengal) was the first perfume, inspired by India palaces and gardens, issued in 1997. The bottle is a blue-shaped heart with an outsprout of green, like curling stems of a mysterious plant or water sprouting out of an exotic garden fountain. The whole is resting inside a Π-shaped construction of transparent crystal with stars of gold designed on it. The whole is encased in a deep blue box with zigurat steps on it, recalling the maharajahs palaces of India (the maharajahs had been great crystal customers in their time).
The fragrance itself is an ambery floriental with spicy accents: Une Nuit Étoilée au Bengale is comprised of a citrus top of bergamot, segueing into rose, with a cluster of spices: ginger, cinnamon, and Ceylon "spice bouquet". The bottom is rich and sumptuous with notes of Mysore sandalwood, amber and vanilla.
There are no samples available for purchase at the moment, as far as I know. Apart from the ultra costly parfum version, there was the Eau de Parfum concentration circulating in a plainer bottle with a drop-style applicator (pic below). Both are discontinued and very rare.

Les Larmes Sacrées de Thèbes (Sacred Tears of Thebes) was inspired by Egypt and the wares of King Tut's tomb and was issued in 1998. The bottle is ~predictably~ a puramidal structure capped in amethyst crystal, with a fine "bubble" of yellow crystal blown into it, which houses the scent. It sits on amethyst cushion feet on the four edges. The whole is encased in a square bottle of egg yolk yellow for the innner carton and amethyst for the outer carton (see pic at the beginning of the article).
The fragrance, although an homage to Egyptian rituals, is by no means a replication of those alloys like other projects (see this one on Kyphi and others by Sandrine Videault) but a modern perfume. It is however predominantly resinous and balsamic with a peppery top note, focusing on intense myrrh, frankincense and a deep amber mix, flanked by jasmine, geranium, ylang ylang, cardamon, basil, myrtle, sandalwood and musk. Although compared to Parfum Sacré by Caron (1990), the resemblance is only passing, Les Larmes being much more balsamic with less of a rosy heart than the Caron.
Les Larmes is the best-known fragrance in the Baccarat triptych, possibly due to its optically approachable, exquisite bottle and the fact that it has been repeatedly hailed as among the most expensive perfumes in the world at 6,800$ in the press; largely thanks to the bottle.
Harrods Haute Parfumerie stocked a few remaining specimens, although info claims that reserves have been by now dried up. The Perfumed Court has samples of the Eau de Parfum concentration for sale for those curious to investigate for themselves.
Please be aware that the hereby pictured exquisite presentation isn't the only one: There is an EDP bottle (click on this link) with a plainer design which retailed for 400$ for 75ml/2.5oz of Eau de Parfum at Bergdorf's in the past, as noted for the rest of the trio as well.

Un Certain été à Livadia (A Certain Summer in Livadia) was inspired by Russia and the Imperial Court and was issued in 1999. The bottle takes on the "onion"-shaped domes of classic Russian Orthodox churches, with a starry " gold cross" on top and green crystal, and superimposes it on a red "body", housing the perfume, which rests in turn on a curved "boomerang" shaped crustal base with Russian lettering. The whole rests on a red base, encased in a red round box. Livadia is of course was the place in the Crimea where the palace of the last tsar Nicholas II was situated, later seized by the Bolsheviks and now transformed into a museum.
Un Certain été à Livadia received the prize of Best Perfume of 1999 for Christine Nagel 's work, awarded by a jury of French journalists (info according to her mentor's, Jean Claude Ellena, archives). The fragrance is centered around a blooming orientalised/musky heart of seringat (i.e. Philadelphus, a plant of white-petaled blossoms with a scent between orange blossom and jasmine; also known as "jasmin des poètes"). The top introduces complimentary hesperidic notes of citruses while the base is comprised by a soft, enveloping musk accord.
There are no samples available for purchase as of this moment. Rare specimens of the bottle crop up online from time to time, with an estimate of between 500-700$ for a bottle, although Ebay auctions have occasionally demanded 1200euros with ambiguous results. Also circulated in Eau de Parfum concentration as seen below. It is of course discontinued and out of stock.




pics via ebay, gazette drouot, parisparfum and parfumini

Do We Rely on "Rumours"? Or More?

Quite often on Perfume Shrine we break some news before they become "official" (We tag them under the label "rumour"). Before sales associates and even distributors hear about them. Before there is any corroboration from other sources. Some readers in the past have doubted some rumours, yet we have been proven correct time and again. And again. And again. Rumours which we report prematurely, often backed up with photographic proof later. Rumours which we arrive at through snippets of information from our inside connections , reportage and logical syllogisms.

Today we reply to the naysayers of last February when we first broke the news on discontinuations of several Lutens scents from the export line, therefore in essence from the international market circuit, forgive the pun. Four of them are to exit the export line of the oblong bottles, finally becoming Parisian exclusives in the beautiful "bell" shaped jars: Miel de Bois, Chypre Rouge, Santal Blanc and Douce Amère. (This seems to have been in the cards long ago, apparently, I should have seen it long ago). If you didn't stock up when you had the chance all these months ago, well, I'd hate to say we told you so. But I did.
Today I will leave the photographs do the talking...






Photos from the official Lutens page.

Why French (and European) people grow up to love scents while Americans don't

One of the most frequent and controversial divides among Europeans and Americans has to do with the scope of this venue: smell! The things we like to smell, the way we smell, the cultural milieu in which this function happens, our perception on it and the reaction to the olfactory environment. Why are the French (and most Europeans grosso modo) so much more attuned to smells and more receptive of them, even when they tether on the edge of the unpleasant, than North Americans? Before anyone says that this is not true, let me state: There are of course exceptions, on both sides. And I bet our American readers are here exactly because they belong to that percentage of exception; even though they are numerous, let's admit it, on the grander scale of things, perfume is only a small niche. But incidents like trying to ban scented products from public spaces in a whole city or refusing to carry a passenger in public transport in Calgary, Canada, because her perfume is disagreeable, not to mention the augmenting complaints of real and imaginary "allergies" to perfume which we discussed recently, tend to happen across the pond mostly. Why is that?

Certainly one cannot in any sanity of mind even entertain the thought that there is some inherent, chromosome-induced difference in olfactory perception or reception, because a)that would sound completely Nazi-like and b)both North America and Europe consist of largely mixed populations which have effaced lots of their indigenous DNA makeup through centuries of intermingling. We all, more or less, start from the same standpoint, but we tend to diverge early on. So, if it's not nature, it's got to be nurture. Education, to be exact. It's not just a 9-letter word, you know.

This train of thought lagging at the back of my brain was sent to the forefront again when I came across a post on Sylvaine Delacourte's blog, the artistic directress of parfums Guerlain, who elaborated on how they actually organise special "workshops" led by Marie Birin (in two levels, mind you!) for children starting from the age of seven (!) so they can learn how to organise smells in their mind, see the perfume creation logic at work and therefore appreciate scents better. One might cynically exclaim that this is a tool to convert children into little consumers. And in some part it does create an affinity for the brand, I suppose, when they grow up. Wouldn't you have fond memories of a brand who allowed you to get your hands dirty with all kinds of smell stuff and got you out in the garden to sniff flowers and wet earth? Yet I wouldn't wager this is intended with that objective to begin with (they also host workshops for adults anyway). No other society on the entire planet is more consumer-and-business driven than the American one and I have yet to hear of children's perfume appreciation workshops there. The powers that by do try to make them little consumers, all right, what with the Disney cartoon characters embossed on innocuous "waters" for playing dress up and what not, but is this really on a par with sitting down and educating them about smells and raw materials? I don't think so.

Ask what perfume signifies across different cultures and you will hear interesting differences of perception, converging on its overall goodness: To some it's a pick-me-up, a moment of freshness and joyful, frank pleasure, a smile at both yourself and the world, if you will. Think of the Spanish, the Greeks and the Italians who use literally liters of eaux fraiches and Eaux de Cologne throughout hot summers both on themselves and on children. To others, it's part of a glamorous living in which they can indulge into after decades of being deprived of these luxuries. Think of the Russians and the formely communist Eastern Europeans who had no varied access to perfume for decades, because it was seen as a decadent representation of capitalism. To others, still, it's a nostalgic representation of nature scenes for when the sky is all gloomy and overcast making them dream (think of the Victoriana English perfume scene before the advent of niche in the last decade) or an accessory which is providing a tie with both long tradition and latest fashion (think of the numerous German and Dutch apothecaries, or the au courant designers' scene hailing from North Italy, Austria or the Netherlands). And of course there is that special intimate rapport between a person and their chosen perfume; the latter standing as an extendable, inviting aura for the revelation of the former, which is so well met au valeur (put to its besty advantage) in France...

These are so much ingrained to children from an early age that they grow up to view them as perfectly natural, expected, par for the course: An experienced pedagogist was telling me the other day regarding potty training that she recommends when a toddler is successful to congratulate them with "well done" and a drop of their parent's cologne or perfume on their hands. An Austrian acquintance of elementary school age came back from a trip grabbing not only chocolates, but also minis of 4711 Eau de Cologne. For herself and for her friends I might add. Relatives give small sips of red wine to their little kids so they develop the palate to appreciate them at a later age. French friends routinely give camembert (a non pasteurised cheese) to their small children without as much as raising an eyebrow as to any microbe scare. Heidi, in the famous Yohana Spiri novel, a Swiss child, was accustomed to drink goat's milk (a quite smelly kind of milk in its raw form) straight after the milking off the animal. The antithesis in the form of revolted apostasis to that was Miss Rottenmeier, the austere, dried-up sprinster who was responsible for the kids at her German friend's home in Frankfurt. European children in short are taught from the craddle onwards that smells are not a bad thing on the whole. Sure, some are more likeable than others and everyone has personal preferences, but they form part of the sensual world. And the sensual world is something to embrace and indulge in, rather than reject and demonise.

Contrast with the American reality and lore, where smelly stuff is (seemingly inherently) bad and many things having to do with the body are demonized by the status quo. Even the phrase "it smells" usually has a negative connotation: Putting perfume on small children is generally seen as sexualising the child, even by people who themselves are responsive to perfumes. The value of keeping childhood innocence for as long as possible in nowhere more pronounced than in American culture, as attested by children's fairy tales of local origin, films and prototypes which, enthused as they are into passing the best possibly intented pedagogical messages, sometimes tend to overexaggerate in their zest. If Snow White was an American tale, she would never have eaten the poisoned apple but instead would have responded to the wiles of the evil stepmother with a "This isn't washed nor peeled, talk to the hand!".
Flowers are increasingly grown devoid of any particular smell, as if they are meant to look nice and just play the virgin. Come to think of it: Why was it such a big deal that Brooke Shields and Britney Spears were presented as virgins at the time of their prime? I have never heard such claims by any aspiring or established star in Europe (and if they did dare bring this up, it would be confusing and ridiculed, like "what the hell does this has to do with what your job is"?)
Urban kids eat chicken drumsticks coming out of a pack of 6, almost never having the experience of seeing someone defeather a real chicken (never mind a rooster) and seeing the guts discarded in a plate, unless they live on a farm of course. If you showed them or if you mention that process in a classroom full of kids, they would sooner respond "eww, don't gross us out" than make appreciative noises at the inherent violence (yes, children do embrace violence in healthy, necessary ways too) and curiously "dirty" satisfaction that such an act produces (Have you ever cooked a mean coq au vin having just received a rooster from a small supplier at the village? Do try it and then tell me!).

Therefore, if this talk among perfume enthusiasts about "stopping the madness of banning perfume and scented products" is to be taken seriously, then people, please try starting at the source: at the hand that rocks the craddle. It is the hand that rules the world. In the foreseeable future, at the very least.

Photo Erich Comeriner Petit Mannequin, Anonymous Weight Problems.

Carven Bought Out

The historic brand of Carven (founded by Madame Carmen de Tommaso in 1945 with an atelier on the Champs-Élysées) has been snatched by the group Jacques Bogart (owning Naf Naf, Chevignon, Ted Lapidus, the French cosmeceuticals Jeanne Piaubert, Lee Copper etc), after being abandonded by the group Béranger. The new owners are intent on relaunching the brand, with an emphasis on reintroducing their perfumes and cosmetics, repositioning Carven on the market map and taking advantage of new imagery. New products will be launched as well, in both cosmetics and perfumery, first in France and then internationally.


In short, you know what that means, right? Reformulations, possibly discontinuations, revamped packaging etc etc. So if there is anything Carven you like in its current version, from the classic Vetiver ,which introduced the green schema to all vetiver fragrances, to the multiple times changed already Ma Griffe, this is the time to stock up!

photo of Madame Carven at work courtesy of the New York Times

How are Chanel Perfumes Composed?

The order in which all Chanel perfume formulae are made, according to head perfumer Jacques Polge in this little interview of course, since usually perfume is composed the other way around, a propos the launch of the latest Bleu de Chanel for men, are:

1. Fresh top notes (think of traditional citrus and herbal scents like mint)
2. Fruity notes
3. Spicy notes
4. Jasmine notes
5. Rose notes
6. White flowers notes (tuberose, orange blossom absolute etc)
7. Woody notes
8. Amber notes
9. Musks

Corresponds pretty much to the volatility charts for specific ingredients hereby grouped into the larger "families" above. Interesting, no?



Please note I followed the order and context of meaning from the French; I found the English subtitles occasionally confused what was (meant to be) simple clarification on some points...I have to say Jacques did repeat twice "spicy notes" though, before and after jasmine. I'm sure it was merely a lapse of the tongue.