Pimm

... without indeed smelling of leather, particular resins, spices, herbs or woods, not clearly of cognac or vanilla and only briefly of orange. All the same, the whole of PB is very recognizable and memorable to me. I can picture a sort of fantasy forest created by cool herbal notes and warm moss, and purple streaks of clouds at sunset suggested by creamy, balsamic and boozy notes. Lately – having sprayed the fragrance occasionally over the course of a year, I must say that the first one or two hours feel decidedly too sweet to me, as if a metallic energy drink had been added to the mix – or had been spilled over those imaginary watercolor landscapes. The likeliest culprit would seem Ambroxide, which I apparently perceive as sugary and sterile when highly dosed (in particular in “Molecule 02”). I suspect that I'm becoming more bothered by this, even in fragrances like PB that have other prominent sweet notes. (Though I'm really not confident that PB does contain a lot of Ambroxide.) My perception of the dry-down hasn't changed much: moderately sweet, orange-chocolate-y creamy and a little spicy, not too overtly gourmand. Well, with or without the sugar water, I've always found the fragrance too pleasing, sentimental and warm for me to wear. For that reason, I also haven't paid great attention to its projection and longevity; seems decent in both respects.

Regarding olfactory notes, apart from the “cognac accord,” I don't find the pyramid provided by the Couvent terribly descriptive. Neither the sweet orange nor the frankincense are prominent by my reckoning. (Though I imagine that the incense plays an important role, perhaps indeed as a part of that cognac accord.) I guess the brand is following a pattern of two advertised natural materials per fragrance. I'm not sure what to make of the rarely used davana note. That plant is of the Artemisia genus, so I'd expect something herbal. An older pyramid appears to be preserved in an article [1] by Bella van der Weerd. Petitgrain and benzoin are included in that one. Petitgrain figures for me – though it's not overt –, benzoin perhaps if the (supposedly warmer, spicier) Sumatran kind is meant. That one could perhaps hide between labdanum and (synthetic) oakmoss, both of which I find quite apparent. I'm also suspecting a medium dose of patchouli among the green and chocolate-y notes.

Alternatives: Margiela's “Jazz Club” immediately reminded me of PB, the sweet notes (apart from the supposed Ambroxide), warm resins and moss are strikingly similar. JC has a different aesthetic, however, with concrete impressions of cigars, leather and rum. It's also much spicier, less green and more animalic than PB. “Side Effect” by Initio becomes somewhat similar to PB only late in its development: creamy, slightly sweet and smoky; (fruit) brandy, warm backdrop. I've seen Amouage fragrances mentioned, broadly, as being in a similar vein as PB. I'm still exploring that avenue, but it seems clear enough that those tend to be more oriental, more unusual and pricier. (Though the Couvent has been increasing its prices over the last few years and PB is now squarely mid-range.)

[1] B. van der Weerd: “A New Line from Le Couvent des Minimes: Parfums Remarquables,” 2019, user account required:
https://www.fragrantica.com/news/A-New-Line-from-Le-Couvent-des-Minimes-Parfums-Remarquables-11872.html

... that is, a lot of cinnamon, especially in the top note, an extra dose of coumarin; honeyed, a little buttery, somewhat dough-like, perhaps through some heliotropin – though not nearly as powdery as the remotely similar “Pi” by Givenchy. A fair amount of patchouli and a labdanum amber note also seem apparent to me. I know myrrh essential oil as a dark, mushroom-like licorice scent that brightens over time. This may well add to the vanillic dry-down of M&E, and, from the start, I do feel reminded specifically of German lebkuchen, which is frequently flavored with anise. Olibanum, similarly, is not all that prominent. Some days, I do smell its churchy, wafty bitterness clearly for a while. I suppose the resins add an important background of dark and sourish notes that save the fragrance from smelling stuffy or unrefined.

Having seen six slightly different versions of the olfactory pyramid (the packaging of my own bottle, archived versions of the 100BON web page, official-looking info sheets in sales listings), the notes that they all agree on are patchouli, myrrh, incense, tonka bean and a citrus top note (bergamot/ lemon/ various). I don't even notice that citrus note on my skin unless I spray twice. Most versions of the pyramid also include opoponax, which may help explain why this is a rather sweet myrrh fragrance. The papyrus note is not always present, sometimes notes like “amber wood” or “cashmere oud” seem to take its place. I'm suspecting that this refers to a woody-earthy accord involving cypriol. I think I'm familiar with that from oud fragrances and that it adds some dry bitterness here especially in the top note. Occasionally included top notes of “fraîcheur” and “sous-bois” (undergrowth) don't ring a bell for me.

I find M&E quite sweet, closer to an amber gourmand than to an exploration of (frank-)incense and (common) myrrh. In that latter vein, I appreciate how Dior's “Bois d'argent” brings out the subtle beauty of those resins. M&E is (very) mildly sickening to me, perhaps not so much because of the overall sweetness, which is balanced, to an extent, by bitterness, but rather because I seem to have trouble with highly dosed cinnamon or with cypriol or both.

The projection seems rather strong in the beginning and, at a close distance, the intensity rather too high; after an hour, it's perhaps already rather too discreet. I find that some projection – and the fragrance's essential character – is retained for some 8 hours. Whether M&E can be considered a cheapie would depend on local deals; the current 100BON asking price isn't far below mid-tier in my book.

Lastly, a note about the advertised “100% ingredients of natural origin”: My guess is – though I don't think it says so on the web page – that this refers to ISO 16128 or a similar standard for naturalness, and that a “natural origin” only rules out most petrochemicals. Which might avoid possible health risks from e.g. phthalates, but I certainly don't take that 100% figure to mean that unusually high amounts of natural fragrance materials are used or even that purely synthetic materials like Iso E Super are off-limits.

A lot of lemon and clove oil, is my impression. These materials are also mentioned by the label, along with rosemary. I think I can also smell orange oil. So quite culinary, which is why it doesn’t remind me of cleaning products, and I don’t perceive any bitter orange oils, making it not similar enough to 4711 to seem outdated. The combination of citrus oils with kitchen herbs seems to never have gone out of style. The top note of the Saint Helena Cologne is zesty, cheerful, and delicious. However, the essential oils are so volatile that the scent - on skin as well as on clothing - can only be perceived from close proximity after just a few minutes, and after an hour, hardly even that. This heart/base phase smells not only sour and spicy but also oily, perhaps due to the rosemary.

Regarding the historical background, the information on napoleon-cologne.fr is a bit confusing for me; I have laid out the following sequence: Napoleon arrived in his exile on Saint Helena in 1815 and used a Cologne imported from Europe, though it is unknown which one. In 1819, there was a supply gap - unclear why - and Napoleon's entourage, specifically his chamberlain and librarian Louis-Étienne Saint-Denis (known as Mamelouk Ali), created a Cologne on Saint Helena that was supposed to resemble the one imported until then. In the English text (usa.napoleon-cologne.com), it sounds as if local plants were used:

“Mameluke Ali pieced together the Eau de Cologne in a traditional way according to the local resources available on the island. Nearby, he mainly had access to citrus trees from which he extracted and collected the essences contained in the fruit peel, using compression with a natural sponge. He also harvested rosemary and cloves, which he distilled to extract their essence. These oils and some others were then mixed with wine spirit in good proportions.”

For practical reasons, I suspect that imported supplies of fruits and spices were used - the French text leaves this possibility open, as it speaks of “des citrus” instead of “citrus trees” and uses the more general “récolter” instead of “harvest.” It would be interesting to know, at least for me, which oils besides the explicitly mentioned ones were used. In any case, probably no special perfume ingredients like bergamot oil. The improvised distillation of any flower oils also seems unlikely to me. More conceivable are other herbs, perhaps in small quantities and therefore not easily identifiable by scent, which could also explain the Farnesol in the allergen list. The citrus fruits were probably simply lemons and oranges.

Napoleon died in 1821, so the Saint Helena Cologne was in use for a maximum of two years. The text mentions a temporary shortage (“disette momentanée,” “disette qui régnait à certains moments”) - so it is conceivable that even only a single batch was produced. The recipe eventually reached Jean Kerléo, co-founder of the Osmothèque in Versailles, from the estate of Saint-Denis, no earlier than 1991. What exact contribution he made is unclear to me. He must have interpreted the information on materials and quantities, and perhaps he also thought about the growing areas and extraction methods of that time. Soon after, marketing began as an olfactory reminiscence of Napoleon, possibly already in the square bottle that is currently shown in the Parfumo photo. “Les parfums historiques” assures, citing the Osmothèque, that the formula corresponds to the original and is “100% natural”; however, no information is provided regarding geographical origin and processing.

The cylindrical bottle advertised on napoleon-cologne.fr has apparently been available since 2020. The formula must have remained the same, but the price per milliliter has increased. The old bottle is still available in some French online shops, which is how I got my current 100-ml bottle in 2021 (for €54 with free shipping). A 25-ml size seems to have recently been added.

These are not prices at which one can spray oneself all over every hour with a clear conscience to survive hot weekends. For this purpose, one would also need to find more refreshing scents, perhaps more with bergamot or bitter orange and fresher spices. Well, spraying once to put oneself in the mindset of the exiled emperor is certainly justifiable. Otherwise, for me, it is a scent that one enjoys a little, briefly, from time to time. However, citrus oils are said not to last too long even in the -opened- bottle. As I understand it, these oils in modern perfumes are usually concentrated and thus more durable; in comparison, this historical Cologne could therefore age particularly quickly. On the skin, however, even modern fixatives seem not to make the most beautiful citrus aromas significantly longer-lasting. Since the suspected ingredients are all easily available as pure essential oils, a diffuser could be a cost-effective alternative with a longer duration of effect; I have no experience with that.

Personal background (for particularly leisurely readers): My parents brought back a bottle as a souvenir from France, probably in the late 90s, possibly with thoughts of our house cat Napoleon. In any case, the still-packaged bottle was displayed on a shelf near the cat litter for years before I had the idea to try the scent. At that time, I only knew various soapy men's fragrances, which I found unpleasant, but whose social function I understood. The Saint Helena Cologne, without a clear reference to gender, age, or social status and already through its very short-term external effect decidedly non-functional, offered me a completely different perspective. (To engage further with perfumes at that time, the Cologne perhaps seemed too much of an exception, and I lacked an idea of how such a hobby could be affordable.)