Mitsouko Guerlain 1919 Eau de Toilette

Strange how different the Rue du Thouron seemed that morning
seemed.
Now that she had decided to
put all that behind her leave behind, the trusted paths suddenly looked so different.
The whole town seemed even smaller to her than usual.
The Boulevard du Jeu de Ballon she crossed quickly and
a little way below the school at which she was to start in only a few
Weeks.
But it would not come to that, she had her own
Plans. And that didn't include following in her father's footsteps her father's footsteps. Or getting caught up in the town's age-old traditions ...by the town's ancient traditions She wanted to be free. To have her own experiences and to make up
the world, or just a little bit of it, blowing around her nose
With her nose, she had always loved
to discover the world discovered. As a little girl with her mother in the lavender
fields or in the hills of Tanneron, when the mimosas
were in bloom, in her grandmother's kitchen baking, in the
Streets and shops, in cellars and churches, on clothes,
Books, crayons, on flowers and trees as on furniture,
and also in her father's study.
Who knows - maybe she would even become a musician? First of all
to Paris, then on to London, where so
much was happening at the moment where punk was becoming new wave Her backpack didn't seem heavy, she had only packed the
Necessary packed and in addition her entire savings with it.
Relaxed, she put her hands in her pockets - and felt
something small and round that felt somehow familiar.
She pulled it out and held it on the flat of her hand in the
Morning light. A small perfume tube, on which was written in
fine letters "Mitsouko".
Of course, that told her something. But, although she knew many perfumes
she wasn't sure if she had ever smelled
this one before smelled this one before. How on earth had it got into her bag?
Alain, perhaps? Yes, that could be it, he had
he had talked to her a lot lately, and besides.. suited him quite well And it suited her desire for new things, her euphoric
Mood.
With a loose hand, she sprayed something right and left
on her neck.
A slightly citrusy, a little fruity and somehow
tingling scent rose to her nose and combined perfectly
with her joyful excitement.
She was now standing at the bus stop - for she had
opted for the cheaper option - it took
longer, but the train to Paris cost twice as much.
A slight astringency was now making itself felt in the scent
noticeable, also something rough-floral and vegetable-spicy,
which harmonized strangely with the slight wistfulness that
rose in her as she waited for the bus that was to take her
far away from all that was familiar to her.

She sat by the window, at the very back of the bus, which was now passing through the
mountainous landscape, glazed over by the morning sun.
Was her decision the right one? The question surfaced within her,
without her wanting it to. Paris she knew but little of and
London not at all. Both cities were infinitely
larger than her dreamy little hometown.
An almost austere spiciness now mingled with the flowers,
which she guessed to be lilacs, plus jasmine, some wild
Rose, too.
Generally there was a beautiful disorder in the fragrance, for the
Fruitiness had soon turned out to be peach or peach-
compote with cinnamon.
And that mixed with the untamed flowers.
The spiciness, reminiscent of dry herbs, soon relegated
soon put the florality in its place, so that the scent
now seemed almost masculine No, there was nothing sweetly conciliatory, no "All right,
you know what's best for me..."
Of course, her decision was the right one. She would go her
her own way. And not dutifully go to this school just
because her father was already at Roure and everyone
seemed to know what was good for her All at once the peach announced itself back.
Almost balmy it seemed now, the flowers and spices seemed
less severe, less authoritarian, more open.
"You've got this under control yourself," they seemed to
say, "you can do it, you'll show them."

Eventually she had dozed off, the steady rocking
and the more powerful sun had done its work
done.

When she opened her eyes again, she neither knew
where she was or how long she had been asleep Then she spotted a sign: Paris 625km. No indication of
the next town, but the exact distance to the capital.
As if all roads knew only one destination.
She felt more rested now, more alert.
And the scent seemed even more perky to her, too.
There was something about it that she so
in a perfume. It was like something alive, a tension
that came from contrasts.
You couldn't control it, the perfume seemed to do that
itself.
There was the almost harsh-lordly austerity, tart-spicy, rough,
untamed. And a balsamic softness, sometimes mossy,
sometimes vanilla-woody, also candied-fruity, cuddly
depth Depth, before which roughness and severity relativized.
Sometimes one, sometimes the other seemed to dominate.
Although the balmy-soft side was the dearer to her,
she found Mitsouko incredible. She felt that the scent
perhaps not quite captured her heart, but 100%
her head. And she was aware that many might have
Might have difficulty.
She, however, was able to look over the whole thing and thus appreciate the
artful, refined quality of the composition effortlessly
recognize.
They were approaching Montélimar. Like the perfume, the
Landscape had lovely and rugged sides.
Didn't it apply to so many things?
That a perfume could express such a thing was new to her.
It played with light and dark - which did not mean good and bad.
Both were equal, like day and night.
Had there ever been a scent like this before?
She might not have known enough perfumes to know.
But she felt a great desire to try new scent ways herself
to try them out. Didn't too many perfumes, mostly thought up by
Men, always went the same way?
Couldn't one try to create a fragrance,
that veered even more to the dark side - not evil,
but playful with soft, enveloping depth,
as some vetivers or woods could, dark,
but also shining, like night on a lake or
iridescent black ink. And weren't there more
Possibilities? Sensitive fragrances, with a life of their own, fragrances
that played on stereotypes of feminine and masculine...
She reached for the small bottle and sprayed herself again
something on. Gently, the scent rose to her, almost saucy,
tingling, but harmlessly pretending.
Mitsouko seemed to be singing softly to herself,
"I know there's more to me..."
In Montèlimar, the bus rolled into a side bay of the Avenue
Jean Jaurès, where it had a stop. On the same side
there was a small shop where one could get provisions.
Most of the passengers got off, she too rose
from her seat and stepped out into the warm,
southern French afternoon sun.
She had taken the backpack with her.
She glanced briefly at the shop from which the first
Passengers were emerging with baguettes.
Then, with a flourish, she threw her backpack over her
Shoulder, crossed the Avenue Jean Jaurès and walked
down towards Rue de Grèzes, where the stop of the
Counter bus was, which was going back to Grasse,
back to her future.