Madonna Lisa smiles. She has put on one of her fine dark velvet dresses. A saffron silk petticoat nestles close to her body, while the golden brocade borders from Persia, recently acquired from this cutthroat by merchants in Siena, complete the dark green velvet dress on the upper arm. She loves the fine pleating on her décolleté, and she loves her velum, her delicate, transparent veil that reveals more on her shiny, dark, carefully coiffed hair than it hides. As a married woman she must wear this veil, of course. But she knows how to use it in such a way that she follows the rules and can still be herself. Because that is what she wants: to be herself, to show how seductive she is. She hurries to this painter, who is a little suspicious of her because he so readily resists her charm, who concentrates only on showing her at her best. She likes him, this strange, spiritual, oddball who is so unresponsive to the female sex. They are both carved from the same wood: disinterested in the norms that regulate everyday life, always ready to break out, to realize themselves. He examines bodies, they say. At night he undertook anatomical studies of the dead, in secret, so as not to fall into the hands of the Inquisition's henchmen. There's no stopping him. They say he developed war machines and flying objects. She doesn't know anything about it - as a woman. She won't mind. She knows what skills she has. She is the beautiful one, with the seductive, enigmatic smile that she uses wherever she sees fit. What does her husband know about how often she used this smile to get everything she wanted from him. The finest silk fabrics, which he brings home again and again as a silk merchant, are only a small part of it. He is grateful to her, because she keeps up appearances, plays the perfect wife, even if this is often only appearances, like her velum. What's really going on in her life she won't tell anyone... like the painter... That's why she's smiling. She does not know this Leonardo too well, but they are both accomplices in this world of strict rules. You both live the life you want to live... Before she went to him to have herself painted for Francesco del Giocondo, her husband, she put on her perfume, that's also why she smiles.
This fragrance is intoxicatingly beautiful. Unbelievably tangy and fresh bergamot, tangerine and pepper as well as green ivy form the prelude, which works for minutes like a stimulant, invigorating and deliciously fresh and very tenderly juicy-sweet. Then the heart note penetrates, slowly and successively individual flowers come to the fore: a very moderate, delicate tuberose, a little heliotrope, without strong sweetness, with only minimal splashes of fresh fruit, blackcurrants that give the fragrance a little depth, and orange blossom. At this point there is still much of the prelude, the transition is completely fluid, nothing surprises, nothing overruns, a perfect harmony of the individual notes, the melody just gets fuller, more instruments come in, but the theme remains unchanged. Slowly, after several hours, a somewhat harsher, greener base emerges, which holds the delicate fragrance fabric together: unmistakably sandalwood and a minimal pinch of patchouli dance alongside oakmoss and vetiver.
"7753" is a beautiful, delicate, sparkling, fresh, flowery spring scent, which I had not imagined half as beautiful due to the green notes. The bottle, only part of the big one, is surprisingly well made - if you ever hold a 60 ml bottle in your hands, you know what I mean: It looks as if it has been cut in the middle, with a straight cut on the right side, so that the label is only visible a little more than half - it hasn't been cut in half completely, that wouldn't have been possible with the cap, and so you get 60 instead of 50 ml. I almost like this even better than the big bottle.
The name of the perfume is of course, as always with Histoire des Parfums, program: "7753" are the dimensions of Leonardo's painting, 77 by 53 centimetres, large enough to become probably the most famous and most seen painting in the world, and yet small enough to be hidden under the coat and stolen from the Louvre just like that, which happened in August 1911, when the simple worker Vincenzo Peruggia had the clever idea of getting himself locked in a cupboard in the Louvre in order to walk out of the museum the next day calmly with the Mona Lisa under his arm. For more than two years, he kept it hidden in his apartment at a ridiculous distance from the Louvre before offering it for sale to an art dealer, who took the necessary steps to finally bring the Mona Lisa back to her home. It had been on the road much longer than the German Wehrmacht confiscated it together with other paintings in 1940 and deposited first on Chambord and later on other places in France. It was not returned until 1944, and only in 1947 did she return to the Louvre after another small trip.
There, in the Louvre, is the great Leonardo exhibition this year. I already mentioned in my comment on Oud Satin Mood that the cards are really expensive. If you don't go to Paris this year and admire the Mona Lisa once again in its original version, you might want to consider purchasing "7753". The scent is not only cheaper than the museum ticket - you also get something for longer. You can let him accompany you through the spring and look at some nice illustrated books while you sniff his arm. That's a whole lot of Mona Lisa, I think
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