Hyemalis Anthelia 1848

Hyemalis Anthelia by Guerlain, launched in 1848 as part of the Jardin d’Hiver Collection, was a poetic reflection of winter’s fragile beauty. The name itself is steeped in classical elegance: Hyemalis (pronounced “hee-eh-MA-lis”) derives from Latin and means of winter, while Anthelia (pronounced “an-THEE-lee-ah”) comes from the Greek anti (against) and helios (sun), literally meaning “against the sun.” Together, they evoke the image of a luminous flower that dares to bloom during the coldest, dimmest days of the year — a symbol of endurance, quiet strength, and renewal.

To mid-19th century audiences, such a name would have carried both intellectual charm and poetic depth. This was an age when classical education and scientific curiosity intertwined with aesthetics — when botany, mythology, and art were united in a single romantic vision of nature. “Hyemalis Anthelia” would have conjured a sense of cultivated refinement: the imagery of pale yellow blossoms gleaming through frost, or sunlight refracted through the glass panes of a winter conservatory. The women who wore it likely saw in it an emblem of grace and inner radiance — the ability to remain serene and luminous, even amid the chill of social or seasonal constraint.

The year 1848 was a period of immense cultural change. Europe was swept by revolutions, yet Paris — the epicenter of refinement and fashion — continued to be captivated by beauty and innovation. Guerlain’s Jardin d’Hiver Collection perfectly mirrored this duality: a yearning for natural simplicity expressed through the sophistication of perfumery. Fashion at the time favored demure silhouettes, pale colors, and delicate fabrics — a restrained elegance that echoed the same balance of purity and sensuality embodied by “Hyemalis Anthelia.”

In scent, the perfume would likely have interpreted its name through radiant yellow florals and tender greenery, capturing the promise of spring emerging from the winter earth. The inspiration flower, Eranthis hyemalis (winter aconite), carries a soft pollen-like aroma with nuances of honey, buttercup, and fresh sap. Guerlain might have rendered this impression with mimosa, jonquil, and heliotrope, accenting their powdery sweetness with subtle herbal and green facets — perhaps galbanum or violet leaf to suggest the chill of early dawn.

A faint citrus or aldehydic brightness could have been woven in to symbolize sunlight striking snow, while orris or benzoin would lend a powdery warmth beneath, creating an elegant transition from icy freshness to gentle warmth. The result would have been a floral-green fragrance dusted with golden light — refined, uplifting, and quietly luminous.

In the context of mid-19th century perfumery, Hyemalis Anthelia would have stood out for its delicate, botanical naturalism. Where many perfumes still leaned heavily on animalic or amber bases, Guerlain’s creation celebrated freshness and light. It was a fragrance of intellectual grace — the scent of an awakening world, of cultured femininity poised between nature and art. To wear it would have been to embody the very spirit of resilience and renewal that the name so poetically proclaimed.

Jardin d’Hiver Collection:

Guerlain’s Jardin d’Hiver Collection, launched in 1848, represents a remarkable celebration of botanical singularity and refined artistry. Each fragrance within the collection is devoted to a single floral or plant note, captured with painstaking care to highlight its unique character and essence. The collection’s Latin-styled names—Tilia microphylla, Lathyrus odorans, Mimosa fragrans, Cyperus ruber, and the most recent addition (1853), Mimosa Esterhazya—lend an air of classical sophistication, evoking the scholarly prestige and aristocratic refinement associated with the study of plants and natural sciences. These names, both precise and exotic, signal the high level of craft and attention devoted to each fragrance, appealing to a clientele who valued knowledge, taste, and exclusivity.

At the 1851 Universal Exposition, these perfumes competed not merely as products of luxury, but as demonstrations of technical mastery and artistic innovation. Each extrait is a distillation of a single botanical note, conveying the essence of the plant in a way that is at once vivid, nuanced, and enduring. Tilia microphylla, for instance, would have unfolded with the delicate, honeyed softness of its linden blossoms, while Mimosa fragrans exudes a sunlit, powdery warmth, evocative of early spring mornings. Cyperus ruber, with its earthy, subtly green facets, contrasts with the intensely floral sweetness of Lathyrus odorans, creating a spectrum of olfactory experiences within a unified concept.

The collection was designed for the highest echelons of society, intended for women who were not merely consumers of fragrance but arbiters of taste and refinement. These perfumes were not relegated to the dressing table as casual adornments; they were worn as statements of identity and prestige, perfuming the air with subtlety and elegance. In essence, the Jardin d’Hiver Collection embodies the aristocratic ethos of mid-19th century Paris—a union of botanical scholarship, artistic sophistication, and the cultivated elegance expected of the queens of fashion and fortune. Each fragrance is an intimate portrait of a singular flower, captured with the utmost care, and presented as a jewel of olfactory refinement.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? If one could smell Hyemalis Anthelia today, it would likely unfold like a delicate painting of winter giving way to spring — a luminous floral-green composition that captures the quiet radiance of sunlight filtering through frost-covered glass. Its aroma would be gentle yet complex, balancing crisp freshness with tender warmth, like breathing in the cool morning air of a winter garden where the first flowers have dared to bloom.

At first inhale, you might detect a sparkling brightness, suggesting the glint of sunlight on snow. This could have been created through bergamot, bitter orange, or perhaps a note resembling frozen lemon peel, lending an initial clarity and purity to the air. These light, volatile top notes would mimic the sharp chill of early morning, awakening the senses much like a sudden shaft of light in a dim conservatory.

Almost immediately, the heart of the fragrance would begin to soften — a delicate bouquet evoking winter aconite’s golden blossoms. The central accord might have blended mimosa and jonquil for their honeyed, pollen-rich character, gently sweet and softly powdery. A hint of heliotrope could have deepened this floral warmth, adding its creamy, almond-like nuance that bridges the cool florals to a sunlit tenderness.

Threaded through this golden heart would be green and earthy notes, perhaps violet leaf or galbanum, capturing the scent of damp soil just beginning to thaw — the living breath of nature stirring beneath the frost. These green tones would have lent realism and freshness, ensuring that the composition never grew too heavy or cloying.

As the perfume settled, its base would reveal a quiet, comforting warmth. Orris root would provide a velvety, powdery finish, softly reminiscent of the texture of flower petals and fine suede gloves. Benzoin or styrax might add a faint resinous sweetness, echoing the gentle amber light of a late winter sun. Together, they would create a halo of warmth around the cool florals, evoking that moment when winter begins to surrender and light returns.

The overall impression would be delicate yet luminous — a harmony of cool air and golden bloom. It would not shout its beauty, but rather whisper it: refined, quietly optimistic, and deeply feminine. Hyemalis Anthelia would smell of new beginnings — of silk gowns rustling through winter salons, of pale flowers arranged in porcelain urns beside frosted windows, of serenity touched by sunlight. It would embody Guerlain’s early genius for turning nature’s fleeting grace into timeless elegance.

Bottle:

Presented in the carre flacon.

Petit courrier des dames: Journal des modes, 1848:

"By creating the Château des Fleurs, inventing the Jardin d’Hiver, and making flowers fashionable in all the salons of Paris, the trend of perfumery simultaneously returned—after having been somewhat neglected due to the overuse of amber, musk, and vetiver. Yet the perfumes that reappear today bear no resemblance to those bourgeois emanations of old-fashioned coquetry. At Guerlain, 11 Rue de la Paix, however, belongs the right to this thoroughly modern renewal, offering compositions more delicate, more suave, more gentle on the nerves, and more voluptuous to the sense of smell than any other.

Ladies of good society are recognized by these perfumes, just as the high lineage of noble families is recognized by their coats of arms; and when a lock of hair flutters near you, when a magnificent handkerchief falls beside you, or when a fresh, coquettish glove happens to brush near your lips, you can judge by the fragrance emanating from that hair, that handkerchief, or those gloves whether the woman to whom they belong has received at Guerlain the mark of good taste, fashion, and refinement.

New odors composed by Guerlain:

• Extrait de Lolium agriphyllum 
• Extrait de Phlomis asplenia, 
• Extrait d'Azalea melaleuca
• Extrait de Cyparisse Elaidon
• Extrait d'Hyemalis anthelia
• Extrait de Cytise sylvaria 
• Extrait d'Anthemia nobilis 
• Extrait de Cyperus ruber  
• Extrait de Tilia micropluilla
• Extrait d'Hymenaea nitida 
• Extrait de Mimosa fragrans
• Extrait de Caryophilus album 
• Extrait d'Amyris Polyolens 
• Extrait de Polyanthe suaveolens  
• Extrait de Lathyrus odorans  
• Extrait d'Ocymum dulce 

By bringing to light these entirely new perfumes, Guerlain points out that they can only be found at home, and recommends to be on guard against the imitations that one will try to make."

Aubepine 1839

Launched in 1839, Aubépine — pronounced "oh-bay-peen" — takes its name from the French word for hawthorn, a flowering shrub known for its delicate white or pink blossoms and softly sweet, almond-like fragrance. The name itself conjures an image of springtime awakening, when hedgerows burst into bloom and the air fills with a gentle, powdery sweetness. In the Victorian language of flowers, hawthorn symbolized hope, love, and the arrival of happiness, though it also carried an old-world mystique: in folklore, hawthorn was considered both a charm of protection and a symbol of chastity. By choosing this name, Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain celebrated nature’s quiet elegance and emotional depth — qualities that appealed to the refined sensibilities of 19th-century women.

In perfumery, hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna) is valued for its soft, creamy floralcy with a faint bitter-green undertone, reminiscent of almond blossoms and new spring leaves. Its scent contains naturally occurring anisic aldehyde and phenylacetic compounds, which lend it that slightly spicy, powdery sweetness often found in vintage floral bouquets. In Guerlain’s time, true hawthorn tinctures were derived from blossoms harvested in rural France and England, where hedgerows were abundant and fragrant in late spring. Later, as perfumery advanced, synthetic notes such as benzyl acetate, rhodinyl butyrate, and phenyl ethyl acetate became essential to recreating and enhancing the scent of hawthorn. These compounds deepened its creamy, petal-like nuances and added luminosity — a perfect harmony of nature and innovation that Guerlain himself pioneered.

The year 1839 places Aubépine in the Romantic era, a period that prized sentiment, poetry, and nature’s beauty. This was a time when personal fragrance became an intimate expression of refinement and emotional sensibility rather than a mere mask for unpleasant odors. Fashion favored femininity and grace — gowns of soft silks and gauzes, adorned with floral trims, delicate lace, and pastel shades that echoed the natural world. Perfumes followed suit, drawing inspiration from gardens and woodlands. A fragrance named Aubépine would have felt at once fresh, romantic, and genteel — a portrait of the ideal Victorian woman: demure, sensitive, and connected to nature’s purity.

 

Olfactorily, the name Aubépine translates into a floral oriental (floral amber) composition — a luminous blend of airy blossoms resting on a warm, resinous base. The fragrance likely opened with a touch of orange flower and bergamot, unfolding into a heart of hawthorn, jasmine, and rose, and settling into a gentle base of tonka bean, vanilla, and balsam. The warmth of the oriental base would have softened the brightness of the floral heart, creating an aura that was both tender and sensual.

By the mid-19th century, Aubépine had become a perfumery classic. Nearly every perfume house of note — from Paris to London — offered its own interpretation of a “hawthorn bouquet.” Formulas appeared in trade manuals and perfumers’ notebooks, each slightly altered to display the maker’s personal touch. Guerlain’s version, however, stood out for its refinement and its ability to bridge tradition with innovation. In later decades, when perfumers began experimenting with synthetic aroma molecules like heliotropin, which mimics almond blossom and soft powder, the scent of hawthorn evolved into something even more dreamy and abstract — yet its emotional essence remained unchanged.

Thus, Aubépine represents not only one of Guerlain’s earliest floral masterpieces but also an important link in the evolution of perfumery itself — a fragrance that captured the poetry of spring, the innocence of love, and the promise of renewal, all distilled into a bottle of 19th-century charm.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Aubépine is classified as a floral oriental (also known as a floral amber) fragrance.

• Top notes: neroli, orange, cassie, benzyl acetate, rhodinyl butyrate, phenyl ethyl acetate 
• Middle notes: anisic aldehyde, jasmine, tuberose, hawthorn, heliotropin
• Base notes: almond, tonka bean, civet, storax, costus, benzoin, rosewood, vetiver

Scent Profile:

To experience Aubépine is to step into an early spring morning somewhere in the French countryside of the 1830s—where hedgerows bloom with hawthorn, sunlight filters through new green leaves, and the air carries the promise of warmth after a long winter. Classified as a floral oriental, the fragrance unfolds like a slow waltz between delicate blossoms and soft resins, capturing both purity and sensuality in perfect balance.

The opening greets the senses with a sparkling neroli, distilled from the bitter orange blossoms of Tunisia or Italy. Its radiant, honeyed aroma—rich in linalool and nerolidol—evokes sunlight diffused through lace curtains, both fresh and calming. Paired with orange oil, it offers a citrus sweetness that is rounder and more natural than lemon, softened by the golden warmth of the Mediterranean. Into this light steps cassie, the fragrant mimosa-like bloom from southern France, its scent powdery and green with a faint touch of violet leaf. Cassie adds a textured, nostalgic sweetness—like crushed petals mingling with pollen in the breeze. Synthetic esters such as benzyl acetate, rhodinyl butyrate, and phenyl ethyl acetate lend dimension and harmony here. Each of these molecules replicates facets of natural flowers—fruitiness, honey, and green freshness—and heightens the composition’s naturalism. They give body and radiance to the floral opening, making it shimmer and last beyond the fleeting moment of real citrus blossoms.

The heart is where Aubépine truly lives. The namesake hawthorn reveals itself in full bloom—soft, creamy, slightly sweet, and faintly bitter, a note hovering between fresh-cut almond and wildflower honey. Its unique character comes from anisic aldehyde and phenylacetic compounds, naturally present in hawthorn blossoms, which create that tender, powdery-almond aroma so beloved in 19th-century perfumery. Jasmine from Egypt adds a narcotic, opulent warmth—its benzyl acetate and indole giving a sensual undertone that contrasts beautifully with the innocent hawthorn. Tuberose, rich and creamy, brings a luxurious depth, while heliotropin introduces a velvety sweetness, reminiscent of sugared almonds and sunlit petals. The balance between these florals and the gentle almond-like nuances creates a romantic softness, at once intimate and ethereal.

As the fragrance settles, the base unfurls like antique silk. Almond and tonka bean blend seamlessly, their shared molecule, coumarin, infusing the perfume with a comforting, powdery warmth that feels like a whisper of nostalgia. Storax and benzoin, resins once traded along ancient spice routes, give a balsamic richness—ambery, slightly smoky, and enveloping—binding the floral notes in a golden haze. The presence of rosewood adds polish and grace, while vetiver, likely from Haiti, lends a subtle dryness that grounds the composition, preventing it from becoming overly sweet. In the background, civet and costus contribute the faintest animalic hum—never overt, but enough to suggest skin and intimacy, transforming the airy bouquet into something quietly sensual.

This interplay of natural extracts and early synthetics marks Aubépine as a bridge between eras—rooted in the romantic naturalism of the early 19th century yet already embracing the technical sophistication that would define modern perfumery. The synthetics—delicate esters, heliotropin, and anisic aldehyde—serve not to replace the natural materials but to amplify and perfect them, preserving the fleeting beauty of flowers that fade too quickly in their natural state.

Smelling Aubépine today is like uncovering a forgotten letter pressed between the pages of an old book—a memory of spring, innocence, and early perfumery’s artistry. It speaks of youth and refinement, of women in pastel silks and lace gloves, their perfumes as gentle as their whispered confidences. The scent of Aubépine lingers softly, like the last light of afternoon—a floral sigh warmed by amber and memory.

Bottle:

Aubepine was housed in the Carre flacon starting in 1870.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Aubépine was eventually discontinued, though the exact date remains unknown. What is known is that it was still being produced and sold as late as 1887, more than forty years after its debut — a testament to its enduring popularity and refined composition. Its long lifespan reflects both the craftsmanship of Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain and the continued appeal of soft floral perfumes in 19th-century France. During this period, Aubépine had become a familiar favorite among women of taste — a fragrance that bridged generations, retaining its romantic charm even as perfumery evolved toward more complex, modern creations.

That Aubépine remained on sale well into the late 19th century also highlights Guerlain’s reputation for timelessness and quality. While other perfumers moved quickly from one fashionable scent to the next, Guerlain’s creations often lingered for decades, cherished by loyal clients who valued consistency and refinement over novelty. By the 1880s, when synthetic aroma materials were beginning to revolutionize the art of perfumery, Aubépine stood as a graceful survivor from an earlier, more romantic era — a scent of pure blossoms, tender warmth, and quiet sophistication.

In this way, the perfume’s longevity serves as both a marker of its success and a symbol of Guerlain’s early mastery. Though eventually discontinued, Aubépine left behind an olfactory legacy: it captured the essence of 19th-century femininity and foreshadowed the floral oriental harmony that would become one of Guerlain’s enduring signatures.

Preparations Thermales

In the 1878 Guerlain catalog, under the section Préparations Thermales par bouteilles dosées pour un bain (“Thermal Preparations in Measured Bottles for the Bath”), the house offered a collection of specialized liquid bath treatments. Each formula was prepared with the same care as a fine perfume—precisely dosed, elegantly bottled, and designed to transform the bath into both a therapeutic ritual and a luxurious sensory experience. During the late nineteenth century, hydrotherapy and perfumed bathing were highly fashionable, blending notions of hygiene, health, and pleasure. Guerlain’s bains dosés reflected this dual purpose: to beautify the skin and restore vitality to body and spirit.

Bain rafraîchissant aux Quatre Semences

(Refreshing Bath with the Four Seeds)

The Bain aux Quatre Semences—literally “bath of the four seeds”—was inspired by traditional apothecary and herbalist remedies. The “four seeds” (quatre semences) typically referred to the cooling seeds of melon, cucumber, pumpkin, and gourd, all valued for their soothing and softening properties. When infused in warm water, these seeds released a mild, green, nutty aroma reminiscent of fresh cucumber and damp linen. Guerlain’s interpretation likely incorporated a light floral note or citrus accent to enhance the freshness. The bath would have felt cooling, calming, and slightly emollient, ideal for summer use or to soothe irritated skin. Such a preparation was believed to refresh the complexion, reduce redness, and restore balance to overheated or fatigued skin.

Bain aromatique fortifiant

(Aromatic Fortifying Bath)

This preparation drew upon aromatic botanicals known for their invigorating properties—likely including rosemary, thyme, sage, lavender, and perhaps pine or juniper. These ingredients, often sourced from Provence and the Alps, were rich in essential oils containing camphor, cineole, and borneol, which stimulated circulation and cleared the respiratory system. The scent would have been bright, herbaceous, and resinous, filling the bath with an almost medicinal clarity. The Bain aromatique fortifiant was designed to revitalize the body, strengthen the nerves, and combat fatigue, echoing the curative principles of spa bathing then popular in Europe’s thermal towns such as Vichy and Aix-les-Bains.

Bain détersif au Savon de Naples

(Cleansing Bath with Neapolitan Soap)

The Savon de Naples (soap of Naples) referred to a pure, olive oil–based soap originating from southern Italy. Renowned for its gentleness, it produced a rich, creamy lather and a faintly green, soapy scent with hints of lemon and olive wood. Guerlain’s Bain détersif used this ingredient to create a deeply cleansing yet non-irritating bath. The preparation likely contained a mild alkaline base combined with aromatic waters or essential oils to purify the skin without stripping it. Its benefit was both hygienic and cosmetic—to cleanse, soften, and prepare the skin for perfumed powders or lotions. This bath would have left the body delicately scented and refreshed, a refinement beyond ordinary washing.

Bain cosmétique au Baume de Judée

(Cosmetic Bath with Balm of Judea)

Baume de Judée (Balm of Judea) was an exotic, resinous substance—closely associated with balsam of Mecca or opobalsam, historically harvested from trees in the region of Judea (present-day Israel and Palestine). This precious ingredient exuded a warm, sweet, and slightly spicy aroma, similar to benzoin or myrrh. In Guerlain’s Bain cosmétique, it would have been blended with other resins such as styrax or tolu balsam, creating a luxurious, ambered perfume that lingered on the skin. Beyond its beautiful scent, the balm was reputed to have healing and rejuvenating properties, softening the skin and promoting a radiant complexion. It was the bath of choice for those seeking to nourish dry skin and indulge in a sensuous, oriental atmosphere—an echo of the biblical “balm of Gilead.”

Bain adoucissant au Lait de Roses

(Softening Bath with Milk of Roses)

Perhaps the most romantic of the collection, the Bain au Lait de Roses combined rosewater, almond milk, and fine oils to create a delicately scented emulsion. The “milk of roses” was a time-honored cosmetic lotion known for its emollient and whitening qualities. Guerlain’s version would have carried the tender fragrance of fresh Damask roses, sourced from Grasse or Bulgaria, with soft powdery undertones of orris or vanilla. When poured into the bath, it transformed the water into a velvety, opalescent infusion that left the skin supple, smooth, and faintly perfumed. Its benefit was both aesthetic and sensory—to soothe dryness, calm sensitivity, and impart a glow of refinement associated with the toilette of elegant women.

Eau aromatique pour le Bain

(Aromatic Water for the Bath)

This was a more versatile, all-purpose bath additive, composed of fragrant distillates such as orange blossom, bergamot, lavender, rosemary, and thyme—an olfactory bridge between cologne and hydrotherapy. The scent was likely brisk, sparkling, and clean, reminiscent of Guerlain’s early Eaux de Cologne. When added to the bath, it offered an instant burst of freshness, gently toning the skin while perfuming the water with a luminous, invigorating aroma. Such aromatic waters were also believed to stimulate the senses, aid digestion, and improve circulation, combining pleasure with subtle health benefits.

Taken together, these six Préparations Thermales from Guerlain’s 1878 catalog reflect a time when bathing was not merely hygienic, but ritualistic and medicinal—a moment of luxury designed to purify, beautify, and restore harmony between body and spirit. Each bottle represented the house’s blend of pharmacy, perfumery, and art, transforming the private bath into a sanctuary of scent and well-being.

Senteurs des Champs c1828

Senteurs des Champs, launched in 1828, was one of the earliest creations of Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain, the founder of the house. Its name, in French, translates to “Scents of the Fields” and is pronounced as “Sahn-turr day Shahn.” The title conjures images of pastoral beauty—meadows kissed by sunlight, wildflowers scattered across rolling hills, and the gentle sweetness of freshly cut hay carried on a summer breeze. In choosing this name, Guerlain tapped into the Romantic era’s fascination with nature, nostalgia, and the simple poetry of rural life.

The fragrance appeared during the early 19th century, a period known as the Romantic era, when society embraced both refinement and a longing for natural purity. Fashion favored high-waisted Empire gowns and delicate fabrics that echoed classical antiquity, while literature and the arts celebrated the sublime and pastoral. In perfumery, bouquets inspired by the countryside—such as Field Bouquet, Prairie Flowers, or Bouquet du Champ—were popular, reflecting an escape from the industrialized city into the idealized charm of nature. For women of the time, a perfume called Senteurs des Champs would have carried the allure of both elegance and innocence, suggesting refinement blended with fresh, wholesome beauty.

Olfactorily, Senteurs des Champs was built around the warm, hay-like sweetness of tonka bean extract, which was the leading natural ingredient used to recreate the smell of newly mown hay, a scent deeply cherished by lovers of the pastoral ideal. Early formulas relied on tinctures, infusions, and absolutes from natural materials, but as the century advanced, discoveries such as coumarin—first isolated in 1868—allowed perfumers to enhance and refine this impression with greater clarity and intensity. Coumarin’s warm, almond-hay aroma intensified the tonka’s natural sweetness, giving the composition more radiance and staying power.

In this sense, Guerlain’s Senteurs des Champs was both of its time and ahead of it. It aligned with contemporary tastes for pastoral-inspired perfumes, yet it also foreshadowed the evolving technical artistry of modern perfumery, where natural extracts and new synthetics would blend to create increasingly evocative scents. For women in 1828, wearing Senteurs des Champs was not just a gesture of personal adornment, but a way of carrying the countryside’s tranquility and charm into the salons and drawing rooms of Paris.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Senteur de Champs is classified as a floral fragrance for women.  

• Top notes: cassie, bergamot, verbena, geranium, neroli, petitgrain, sweet orange, lemon
• Middle notes:  lavender, rose, jasmine, orange blossom, orris, violet, tuberose 
• Base notes: tonka bean, civet, musk, ambergris, Peru balsam 

  

Scent Profile:

The first impression of Senteurs des Champs bursts forth with a vibrant green brightness, like stepping into a sunlit meadow after morning dew. The sharp citrus sparkle of bergamot from Calabria introduces a clean, slightly floral zest, softened by the green, lemony freshness of verbena. Lemon and sweet orange add juiciness and radiance, conjuring a sense of open air and wide skies. Petitgrain, distilled from the twigs and leaves of the bitter orange tree, lends a crisp, slightly woody bitterness that balances the fruits and grounds them in earth. The unusual, powdery sweetness of cassie (from acacia blossoms in Provence) contributes a honeyed, violet-like nuance, while geranium from Egypt introduces a rosy, minty coolness that foreshadows the floral heart. Neroli from Tunisia, distilled from orange blossoms, rounds out the top with its delicate white-petal brightness, tying the citrus and florals together in a radiant pastoral prelude.

The heart blossoms into a full bouquet, unfolding as though the countryside itself is in bloom. Lavender from Provence releases its aromatic, herbal calm—floral yet resinous—layered seamlessly with rose, whose velvety sweetness forms the core of the bouquet. Jasmine from Grasse adds opulence, a narcotic warmth that deepens the romance, while orange blossom carries forward the honeyed lightness from the top notes. Orris, derived from aged iris rhizomes, lends a powdery, buttery softness—an echo of refined elegance. Violet leaf contributes a green, slightly cucumber-like freshness, while violet flower creates a candied, nostalgic powder note, evoking pressed blossoms in a book. At its height, tuberose blooms with creamy, intoxicating lushness, lending sensual weight to the heart. Together, these florals weave an impression of fields alive with wildflowers, both delicate and luxuriant.

As the fragrance settles, the base anchors the pastoral freshness with depth and warmth. The hay-like sweetness of tonka bean from Venezuela, rich in natural coumarin, creates a soft almond-vanilla warmth that recalls new-mown hay in summer sunlight. Musk adds an intimate, skin-like softness, while civet, used sparingly, lends a subtle animalic warmth, like the lingering heat of the body after a day outdoors. The marine, amber-salted richness of ambergris expands the composition, giving it both diffusion and a touch of mystery. Finally, Peru balsam brings a resinous, slightly smoky sweetness, blending vanilla, cinnamon, and amber facets into a resinous embrace that enriches the tonka and balances the florals with lasting depth.

What makes Senteurs des Champs remarkable is its balance of natural essences with the beginnings of synthetic artistry. The natural extracts of orange, rose, violet, and tonka create the impression of a real field, while coumarin, later isolated and refined, would give perfumers the ability to heighten and prolong this hay-like warmth. The synthetic element did not erase the natural—it amplified it, transforming the fleeting freshness of flowers and grasses into a lasting memory on the skin.

This perfume does not simply suggest a bouquet; it tells a story of stepping into a countryside alive with blossoms, warmed by the sun, with the sweetness of cut hay rising from the earth. It embodies a Romantic vision of nature—one that is fleeting, nostalgic, and yet made eternal through scent.

Bottles:

Launched as an extrait and presented in the Carre flacon.

Fate of the Fragrance:

In 1883, Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain created Arôme Synthétique de Fleurs des Champs, a perfume that marked an important step in the evolution of perfumery. At a time when chemistry was opening new frontiers, Guerlain embraced the use of synthetics—then a novel and daring innovation—to enhance and extend the freshness of natural floral extracts. Its name, which translates to “Synthetic Aroma of Field Flowers,” reflects both its pastoral inspiration and its modernity, combining the romanticism of meadows with the scientific progress of the late 19th century.

The fragrance was housed in the Carré flacon, a simple yet elegant square bottle whose clean geometry matched the forward-thinking character of the perfume. While the precise date of its discontinuation is unknown, Arôme Synthétique de Fleurs des Champs holds historical significance as one of Guerlain’s earliest experiments with synthetic notes—ushering in a new era where man-made molecules could not only imitate but also magnify the beauty of nature.

Although it eventually vanished from Guerlain’s catalogue, this creation remains a testament to the house’s pioneering spirit: a perfume that bridged the artistry of natural fields with the innovation of modern science, capturing both nostalgia and progress in a single bottle.

Aqua Allegoria Winter Delice c2005

Launched in 2005 as part of Guerlain’s Aqua Allegoria collection, Winter Delice immediately evokes a sense of cozy indulgence amidst crisp winter landscapes. The name—Winter Delice, pronounced as "WIN-ter de-LEECE"—translates from French as “Winter Delight” or “Winter Treat”. It conjures images of snow-dusted pine forests, warm fires, and the comforting scents of festive kitchens, suggesting both sensory richness and seasonal celebration. The word carries a playful elegance, balancing the freshness of winter with the luxurious warmth of indulgence, making the fragrance both inviting and sophisticated.

The early 2000s, when Winter Delice was introduced, was a period of innovation and experimentation in perfumery. Consumers were increasingly drawn to fragrances that transcended gender, combined natural and gourmand elements, and evoked clear seasonal or experiential narratives. Fashion and lifestyle trends embraced layered textures and contrasts—warm knits with sleek outerwear, crisp air with cozy interiors—which mirrored the olfactory duality of this fragrance: crisp, resinous wood notes tempered by sweet, spicy gourmand accords. For women and men alike, a perfume named Winter Delice would have suggested warmth, festivity, and an embrace of seasonal luxury, aligning with the era’s growing interest in narrative-driven, emotionally evocative fragrances.

Olfactorily, Winter Delice is classified as a woody oriental, with a sophisticated interplay of nature and gourmand warmth. Scotch pine opens the fragrance with a crisp, resinous green bite, evoking frozen forests dusted with snow. Firm balsam resin adds richness and depth, creating a luminous, slightly sticky warmth reminiscent of a glowing hearth. At its heart lies a gingerbread accord, sweet, spicy, and comforting, evoking holiday kitchens and nostalgic pleasures. The composition balances the freshness of resinous woods with the soft, edible allure of baked spice, resulting in a fragrance that is at once invigorating and comforting.

In the context of 2005, Winter Delice was both in line with and slightly ahead of contemporary trends. The early 21st century saw a rise in gourmand and seasonal fragrances, but Guerlain distinguished this creation by fusing naturalistic forest notes with a meticulously crafted sweet-spicy accord, resulting in a perfume that felt artisanal, evocative, and timeless. It invited wearers to experience a winter narrative, a sensorial escape that was simultaneously playful and luxurious, embodying the Aqua Allegoria ethos of natural freshness elevated by artistry and imagination.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Aqua Allegoria Winter Delice is classified as a woody oriental fragrance for women and men.

• Top notes: labdanum, Scotch pine
• Middle notes: fir balsam resin, rose
• Base notes: gingerbread accord, Somalian opoponax incense, sugar and vanilla

Scent Profile:

From the very first inhalation, Aqua Allegoria Winter Delice opens with the deep, resinous warmth of labdanum, its balsamic richness exuding a honeyed, slightly smoky sweetness that immediately conjures cozy interiors and festive winter nights. Layered with the crisp, aromatic bite of Scotch pine, sourced from the forests of Scotland, the top notes create a fresh yet grounding introduction, evoking snow-dusted pine trees and the invigorating scent of the outdoors. The pine has a resinous sharpness that contrasts beautifully with the soft, ambered sweetness of the labdanum, creating a luminous opening that feels both bright and enveloping.

As the fragrance unfolds, the heart reveals a harmonious blend of resin and floral warmth. Fir balsam resin, harvested from North American or European fir trees, lends a dense, green-woody richness, evoking winter forests under the morning sun. This resin, deep and sticky with natural sweetness, bridges the opening woods with the gentle floral lift of rose, which adds a familiar elegance and subtle warmth. The rose, likely drawn from Bulgarian or Turkish varieties, is soft and luminous, complementing the resin’s earthiness while introducing a hint of powdery sophistication. The use of aroma chemicals such as linalool may subtly enhance the rose, amplifying its brightness without overpowering the resinous backdrop, ensuring that the heart maintains both clarity and depth.

The base notes unfold with gourmand warmth and sensual richness, balancing the crisp, aromatic top and green heart. A gingerbread accord emerges first, sweet, spicy, and comforting, conjuring freshly baked treats spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. This edible warmth is intertwined with Somalian opoponax incense, a balsamic, ambered resin with a slightly smoky, exotic depth that enhances the fragrance’s oriental character. Sugar and vanilla soften the composition further, wrapping the resins and spices in a smooth, creamy sweetness that lingers on the skin. The vanilla, possibly from Madagascar, adds a warm, rounded finish, while the sugar note heightens the gourmand effect, giving the perfume a playful, festive character. The careful integration of synthetics here—such as ethyl maltol in the gingerbread accord—serves to intensify the natural sweetness and harmonize it with the resins, ensuring the fragrance maintains both projection and longevity.

Altogether, Winter Delice is a masterful woody oriental, balancing crisp winter woods with sweet, spicy, and resinous warmth. The top notes of labdanum and Scotch pine evoke the brisk, invigorating freshness of winter forests, while the fir balsam and rose heart provide rich, natural warmth. Finally, the gourmand base of gingerbread, opoponax, sugar, and vanilla leaves a lingering trail of festive comfort and exotic opulence, making it a fragrance that feels simultaneously refreshing, cozy, and celebratory—a sensory portrait of winter in a bottle.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued around 2010.

West End c1838

West End by Guerlain was launched in 1838, a year that places it in the early years of the celebrated Parisian house. The choice of name is intriguing: why “West End”? The term itself comes from English, pronounced simply as it is written—west end. It refers to the fashionable western district of London, synonymous with elegance, leisure, and high society. For a French audience of the 1830s, the words “West End” would have conjured images of sophistication, cosmopolitan flair, and the allure of England’s most glamorous quarter. It suggested refinement, luxury, and the glittering social world of theaters, ballrooms, and promenades.

The time of its launch—1838—falls within the early Victorian era in Britain, and the July Monarchy in France under King Louis-Philippe. Europe was in the midst of industrial and social change, but also a blossoming of the arts, literature, and luxury trades. Fashion in Paris leaned toward romanticism, with voluminous skirts supported by layers of petticoats, fitted bodices, and hairstyles adorned with ribbons and flowers. In perfumery, trends favored elegant florals, enriched with amber, musk, or spices, designed both to delight the senses and to assert refinement in a rapidly modernizing society.

For women of the period, a perfume called West End would have carried a cosmopolitan resonance. It was more than just a fragrance; it was an evocation of place, of an elite world of leisure and luxury across the Channel. To wear it might have been to signal sophistication and a fashionable awareness of international culture. The name itself would suggest a scent that is polished, urbane, and worldly, much like the district it references. In olfactory terms, one might imagine “West End” as translating into a perfume of floral brightness, enlivened with citrus for freshness, deepened with amber warmth, and accented by a touch of spice for elegance and intrigue.

Classified as a floral amber with citrus and spice, West End aligned with popular structures of the time while also standing apart through Guerlain’s refinement. During the 19th century, “West End” fragrances became something of a category unto themselves, with nearly every perfumery producing its own variation. Recipes appeared frequently in formularies, and while the basic composition remained recognizable, each perfumer sought to distinguish their version with small adjustments—an added note of orange blossom here, a stronger hint of clove or cinnamon there. Guerlain’s decision to introduce their version in 1838 positioned the house firmly within this trend while also allowing it to showcase its growing identity as a leader in Parisian perfumery.

At this time, formulas were built almost entirely from natural extracts, tinctures, and infusions, with perfumers relying on flowers, resins, woods, and spices. However, by the close of the century, modern synthetics began to revolutionize the art. These new materials offered affordable substitutes for rare ingredients and could highlight or extend natural accords in ways not possible before. Thus, while Guerlain’s West End was born of traditional methods, its longevity into the late 19th and even 20th centuries demonstrates how adaptable the fragrance family was, bridging the world of natural essences and the dawn of modern perfumery.

La Mode, 1845:

"Today, perfume cellars are being made much like those invented a few years ago for liqueurs, which were once served alongside Guerlain coffee. Designed as refined and luxurious gifts, these cellars are finely crafted—some in rosewood, adorned with porcelain or enamel medallions framed with pearls. Their true essence, however, is the spirit of flowers. When opened, they release the sweetest and most enchanting fragrances, filling the room with a delicate atmosphere.

From them exhale the pink lily, the Water of Judaea, the Water of Portugal, the Bouquet de Chantilly, and the Essence of the West End. At Guerlain, too, one finds charming boxes to hold the celebrated four-seed paste, the famous goose fat (which surpassed bear fat in popularity), and the violet rice powder—applied with a tuft of swan’s down mounted on a silver-gilt handle to refresh a lady’s complexion. And then there are the incomparable bottles, where chiseled gold is married with luminous rock crystal.

The transition from flowers to perfume is a natural one. After speaking of spring and Cartier, one must also mention a name synonymous with fragrance: Guerlain. Of all the fashionable shops now frequented, none surpasses the beauty of the great perfumer’s establishment on the Rue de la Paix. Perfumes are among life’s greatest pleasures, and no one has made them more delicate, more refined, or more suitable for sensitive complexions than Guerlain. He understands the fragility of the skin and has measured his creations with exquisite care. With him, it is not only the sense of smell that is gratified—the eye, too, is charmed by bottles of exceptional beauty, elegant vases, and potpourris such as might have delighted Louis XIV or the amorous Louis XV.

Among the many bottles that bring freshness and relief in crowded, overheated places, Guerlain’s flacons of aromatic vinegar are especially renowned. This specialty alone provides endless possibilities for gift-giving. Yet beyond such luxuries, Guerlain also offers countless useful preparations: the most refreshing lotions, the richest soaps, the most emollient oleins, the softest pastes, and cold creams of unmatched benefit to the skin.

As wedding gifts, nothing could be finer than a magnificent Guerlain flacon of rock crystal and chiseled gold, holding one of the world’s most exquisite waters, or a Viennese box inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold containing a complete assortment of perfumes—Bouquet Victoria, Bouquet de West End, Bouquet de Chantilly, Bouquet de Portugal, and more."

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? West End is classified as a floral amber fragrance with elements of citrus and spice.

• Top notes: lemon, bergamot, cassie, limette, verbena, neroli, cloves, rose geranium, lavender
• Middle notes: jasmine, tuberose, violet, rose, orange blossom, orris, ylang ylang, benzoic acid
• Base notes: bitter almond, storax, ambergris, musk, cedar, tonka bean, civet, benzoin, vanilla, sandalwood

 

Scent Profile:

At the very first breath, West End opens with a sparkling citrus brightness. The crisp zest of Sicilian lemon brings a radiant clarity—its sharp, almost effervescent tang cutting through the air like sunlight striking glass. Calabrian bergamot, softer and rounder, lends a green, floral sweetness that balances the sharper lemon; it is prized above all other bergamots for its complexity, with a delicate interplay of citrus and tea-like facets. Then comes the aromatic snap of limette, or lime, more bitter and resinous than lemon, adding both vivacity and a slightly bitter greenness. Verbena, with its lemony-herbal character, contributes a fresh, grassy brightness, while neroli from Tunis or Morocco—distilled from orange blossoms—adds a delicate honeyed floralcy, its silken sweetness softening the brisk citrus.

The top accord is then warmed with spice and florals. A breath of clove from Zanzibar or Madagascar enters, dry and piquant, lending a shadowy depth beneath the brightness. The green, rosy sharpness of rose geranium adds a metallic sparkle, while the herbaceous Provençal lavender weaves its calming, aromatic character throughout, rounding the top with a touch of pastoral serenity. Cassie absolute from France—extracted from mimosa blossoms—adds a powdery, almond-like sweetness, its subtle animalic undertones hinting at what is to come. Together, these notes create a lively, cosmopolitan introduction: both elegant and assertive, like a walk through a London garden at the height of bloom, but enlivened with exotic spice.

The heart of West End reveals a lush bouquet of florals, sensuous and romantic. Jasmine from Grasse or India unfurls first—heady, narcotic, its velvety sweetness radiating warmth. Tuberose, creamy and voluptuous, joins it with its intoxicating blend of honeyed white petals and soft mentholic coolness. The soft powder of violet lends a shy, tender quality, evoking silk ribbons and pressed flowers. The ever-classic rose, likely of Bulgarian or Damask origin, is rich and opulent, weaving its deep, honeyed sweetness through the composition. Orange blossom, more luminous than neroli, amplifies the floral heart with a radiant, sunlit sweetness. Beneath them, orris root from Florence brings its violet-like powder and earthy creaminess, an expensive material treasured for its ability to give perfumes a velvety texture. Ylang ylang from the Comoros contributes its exotic creaminess, at once fruity, floral, and slightly leathery, lending sensual weight.

Supporting the florals is benzoic acid—a nod to perfumery’s early use of chemistry. Though it occurs naturally in balsams, here it heightens the balsamic, almond-like sweetness and serves as a fixative, anchoring the heart and extending the life of the delicate flowers. This was among the earliest examples of a natural isolate used to stabilize and enhance perfumery, bridging the gap between pure naturals and later synthetics.

As the perfume settles, the base emerges—warm, resinous, and enveloping. Bitter almond, with its sweet, marzipan-like aroma, adds a gourmand touch, blending into the balsamic depth of storax resin, dark and smoky with leathery undertones. Ambergris, the rare treasure of the sea, lends a salty, animalic smoothness, softening and radiating all the notes above. Musk, originally from Tonkin deer, would have added a deep, sensual warmth, almost skin-like in its intimacy, while civet—pungent and feral—brought an animalic bite that heightened the floral heart, transforming it into something more carnal.

Wood and spice anchor the base further. Cedarwood from Lebanon or Virginia offers dry, resinous clarity, while sandalwood from Mysore—the most coveted—imparts its creamy, milky sweetness, unmatched by any other origin. Tonka bean from Venezuela or Brazil, rich in natural coumarin, adds a hay-like warmth with facets of almond and vanilla, harmonizing beautifully with the sweet smoothness of benzoin resin from Siam. Finally, vanilla from Madagascar or Mexico, lush and gourmand, ties everything together with its golden sweetness.

The interplay of natural and early synthetic elements makes West End a bridge between tradition and innovation. The naturals—flowers, woods, resins—convey richness, complexity, and terroir. The isolates—benzoic acid, coumarin (from tonka), and eventually vanillin—added stability, longevity, and refinement, extending the life of volatile florals and enhancing their beauty. Together, they created a perfume that was not only fashionable in its day but also adaptable across generations, explaining why West End remained beloved well into the 20th century.

Bottle:

Presented in the elegant Carré flacon (parfum).

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown

Plagia c1895

When Plagia was launched in 1895, it emerged during a time of transition and modern awakening — the fin de siècle, when the 19th century was giving way to the modern sensibilities of the 20th. This was an age of discovery, of fascination with the natural world, botany, and exotic plant species newly arriving in Europe from faraway lands. It was also the height of the Belle Époque, when elegance, art, and sensuality merged in daily life, and fragrance was as much a statement of refinement as a reflection of mood.

The meaning of Plagia remains mysterious. Guerlain itself cannot offer an explanation, though several theories exist. One interpretation links it to the French word plagier — “to plagiarize” — an unlikely association for a fragrance, yet perhaps a tongue-in-cheek nod to imitation in art and perfumery. Another theory points toward Plagianthus, a genus of flowering shrubs native to New Zealand and southern Australia, known for their delicate, white, sweetly perfumed blossoms. The name derives from Greek roots — plagios, meaning “oblique,” and anthos, meaning “flower” — describing the uneven petals of the plant. Pronounced “PLAH-zhee-ah” in French, the name carries a soft, lilting rhythm that sounds both lyrical and exotic, perfectly suited to a late 19th-century fragrance steeped in natural romanticism.

If Plagia was indeed inspired by Plagianthus lyallii, introduced to Europe in 1871 as an ornamental greenhouse plant, the connection is fitting. Guerlain was deeply engaged in the art of extracting essences from plants, creating perfumes that captured the living breath of flowers. The small, drooping white blossoms of the Plagianthus were said to exude a light, musky sweetness — a quality that could easily have inspired a perfumer of Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain’s lineage. It’s possible that Plagia sought to recreate the delicate, creamy scent of these blossoms, blending it with the warmth of woods and spice to suggest both purity and sensuality.

 

The word Plagia evokes images of distant gardens — perhaps a conservatory filled with rare flora, their pale petals glowing under filtered sunlight. It conjures serenity and grace, a fragrance for a woman who favored subtlety over extravagance. At a time when perfumery was evolving from simple soliflores toward more complex compositions, Plagia’s description as a spicy, woody floral would have marked it as modern and refined.

The 1890s were a period when perfumes often reflected the sophistication of their wearers. Women of the era, dressed in flowing silks and corseted gowns, might have turned to Plagia for its understated sensuality. Unlike the overtly powdery or aldehydic perfumes that would dominate the decades to come, Plagia likely offered a more natural scent — something close to the skin, evoking polished wood, warm spice, and the softness of white petals. Its musky undertone would have suggested quiet intimacy rather than opulence, aligning with the restrained elegance of the period.

Interpreted in scent, Plagia would open with the freshness of delicate blooms touched by spice — perhaps a whisper of clove or cinnamon — before deepening into a heart of wood and musk, evocative of polished floors and fine furniture in a sunlit drawing room. The woody notes would lend grounding and warmth, while the spice added intrigue. It was likely both comforting and quietly sensual, a scent for women who appreciated grace, subtlety, and the quiet poetry of nature.

In the context of perfumery, Plagia stood at an intersection between old and new. While floral and musky compositions were not uncommon in the late 19th century, its woody-spicy character hinted at the evolving tastes that would later define Guerlain’s masterpieces — those fusions of warmth, depth, and natural beauty that became the house’s signature. Though its name may puzzle us today, Plagia remains a window into Guerlain’s early artistry — a perfume that captured the refinement of its time and the quiet intensity of a flower half-forgotten by history.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Plagia is classified as a spicy, woody floral fragrance for women.

• Top notes: ambrette, orange blossom, bergamot
• Middle notes: sandalwood, ylang ylang, Tonkin musk, spices and suede
• Base notes: orris, tonka bean, benzoin and vanilla

Scent Profile:

To smell Plagia is to step back into the elegance of the Belle Époque, where natural essences and hand-tinctured materials were transformed into poetry through scent. It opens with a delicate radiance — an interplay of ambrette, orange blossom, and bergamot — that feels both fresh and intimate, like the soft light filtering through lace curtains at dawn.

The ambrette seed, a natural musk derived from the seeds of Hibiscus abelmoschus, imparts a sensual warmth from the very beginning. Originating primarily from India, ambrette is valued for its rare ability to mimic animalic musk through plant origin — a quality owed to ambrettolide, a naturally occurring macrocyclic lactone that creates a silky, slightly fruity muskiness with undertones of pear and wine. This gentle, musky diffusion elevates the opening, giving the floral and citrus notes a sensual halo. The bergamot, likely sourced from Calabria, Italy, contributes brightness and sophistication. Its key aroma chemicals — linalyl acetate, limonene, and bergapten — lend a sparkling yet soft citrus accord, never sharp, but sun-warmed and aromatic. The orange blossom, perhaps from Neroli oil of Tunisia or Morocco, bridges the gap between the two: it smells honeyed, dewy, and luminous, containing linalool and nerolidol, molecules that bring both freshness and floral creaminess. A touch of synthetics such as Hedione or ethyl linalool may have been used to amplify this transparency, enhancing what nature provides with greater radiance and longevity.

As the heart unfolds, the perfume deepens into a luxurious tapestry of sandalwood, ylang-ylang, Tonkin musk, spices, and suede. The sandalwood, most likely Mysore sandalwood from India, would have been one of the most prized materials in 19th-century perfumery. Renowned for its creamy, milky texture and balanced sweetness, Mysore sandalwood contains santalols — aroma molecules that produce its iconic, long-lasting warmth. Unlike other varieties, its scent is soft yet tenacious, smooth as polished wood. The ylang-ylang, sourced from the Comoros or Madagascar, contributes an intoxicating floral dimension — heady and voluptuous, with natural molecules such as benzyl acetate and p-cresyl methyl ether that give it a creamy, banana-like richness interwoven with jasmine facets. In Plagia, it plays against the leathered softness of suede, possibly interpreted through a blend of isobutyl quinoline and natural labdanum, evoking the supple touch of fine gloves — an elegant nod to the late 19th century, when perfumed leather goods were a mark of refinement.

The inclusion of Tonkin musk — the legendary animal musk sourced from the musk deer of Tibet and Tonkin (northern Vietnam) — adds a haunting depth. At the time, this rare and costly material symbolized sensuality and luxury, its aroma both warm and faintly powdery, containing muscone and other macrocyclic ketones that diffuse a natural skin-like warmth. When blended with spices — perhaps a veil of cinnamon, clove, or cardamom — the effect becomes hypnotic: a balance of warmth, tenderness, and intrigue. The spicy heart of Plagia gives the perfume its “spicy-woody” classification, bridging its floral delicacy with the depth of its base.

The base of Plagia is a masterwork of comfort and sensuality. Here, orris, tonka bean, benzoin, and vanilla melt into one another, creating an aura that feels simultaneously powdered and resinous, soft yet enduring. The orris root, derived from the rhizome of the Iris pallida of Tuscany, releases its scent only after years of aging, when it develops irones — molecules that smell of violet, suede, and fine face powder. It lends a noble, vintage quality that was highly prized by perfumers like Guerlain. The tonka bean, sourced from Venezuela or Brazil, contributes coumarin, a naturally occurring aromatic compound that smells of hay, almond, and warm tobacco. Its sweetness supports the benzoin — a resin from the Styrax tree of Siam (Thailand) — whose benzoic acid derivatives create a balsamic, slightly vanillic aroma reminiscent of incense and polished amber.

Finally, vanilla, likely from Madagascar or Réunion, rounds the composition with a creamy, comforting sweetness. Natural vanilla contains over 250 aroma components, with vanillin and p-hydroxybenzaldehyde giving it its signature warmth and depth. To extend and amplify its richness, early synthetic vanillin or ethyl vanillin may have been incorporated — a hallmark of Guerlain’s pioneering style — reinforcing the natural note with precision and radiance.

To experience Plagia is to breathe in a story told in layers — from the bright whisper of citrus and floral musk, to the soft caress of sandalwood and suede, and finally the powdered warmth of orris and vanilla resins. It feels both intimate and refined, a perfume that could have graced a silk-clad woman of the Belle Époque as she strolled beneath gaslit arcades. The scent speaks of timeless elegance — at once natural and artful, tender and knowing — a fragrance where every note, both natural and synthetic, serves to illuminate the beauty of the other.

Bottle:

Presented in the Carre flacon.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown.