Have you ever contemplated a link
between perfumery and witchcraft? I presume it depends upon what your perception of
witchcraft actually is/was. I’ve long held a fascination with the concept of ‘the
witch’, indeed hailing from Lancashire, my county was famed for the notorious
Pendle witch trials in the early 1600s.
A rather romantic depiction of the witches of Macbeth
Witchcraft was feared as
an unholy power, an ability to charm something/someone, enabling it to flourish
or to wither, or to cast some personal wish. This was thought to be achieved by
some sort of devilish incantation, the aid of a ‘familiar’ (often an animal
spirit form such as the ubiquitous black cat) or the use of a magic potion
formed from all manner of herbs and voodoo-esque ephemera.
Ancient medicine relied
upon the potent power of herbaceous plants to aid recovery. Nicolas Culpeper’s ‘Complete
Herbal’ of 1653 gave ordinary folk advice about how to treat common illnesses
with easily foraged indigenous plants, a practice that had been going on for
many hundreds of years before the book was published. In the Complete Herbal,
in addition to treating physical ailments, plants were also recommended to
treat ailments of the mind or soul, much in the same way as they are used in
contemporary aromatherapy and psycho-aromatic perfumery. Next time you spritz
Penhaligon’s Lavandula consider Culpeper’s advice upon the lovely herb:
“Two spoonfuls of the distilled water of the
flowers taken, helps them that have lost their voice, as also the tremblings
and passions of the heart, and faintings and swooning, not only being drank,
but applied to the temples, or nostrils to be smelled unto”
So it doesn’t just smell
nice, it can also sort out untimely swoons and histrionics in the presence of
your beau.
Equally, as plants could
be used to heal, they could also be used to bring about demise. With no such
thing as forensic science, a down trodden and abused wife could be rid of her violent
husband with the careful administration of a poison over time, “Belladonna
apple pie my love?”
Frequently it was the
job of a woman to act as the village healer, midwife and general wise sage to
whom others could turn to for help. It’s no wonder that during the religious
confusion and superstition of the middle ages, she could be thought of as ‘against
god’ in that she held the power to give or take life. As Europe was transformed
into a superstitious and religiously vehement place during the Protestant
Reformation of the 1500s, the practices of a healer would no doubt be under
scrutiny as devilish activity.
My own maternal grandmother would have no doubt been
tried as a witch with her use of folklore remedies. My mother’s coughs and
colds were kept as secret as possible as my grandmother’s primary
remedy for this ailment was to wrap her chest in brown paper smeared in goose
fat, a grim cure. In her cellar brewed great vats of wines, dubiously created
from anything, be it elderflowers or potato peelings. Containing curious
detritus and cloudings they were possibly as poisonous as they were intoxicating!
Witches were thought to be able to create a potion, a
substance capable of bewitching a person to an ultimate aim such as making them
fall in love becoming fevered with amorous intention. Dsquared borrowed this idea to market their line of ‘Potion’
fragrances, suggesting that the wearer become infallibly attractive as if under
a spell. Dior of course utilized the idea of a witchy liquid in the creation of
‘Poison’, hinting at the notion of a dangerous seduction, the dark power of a
woman. The apple shaped bottle recalls the poisoned apple that bewitched Snow
White, the curse of a jealous vengeful hag. It’s glass was of a deep amethyst,
a colour associated with spirituality.
Those who’ve read Patrick Suskind’s fictitious novel ‘Perfume’
will remember the protagonist Grenouille’s grand feat of magic as he seduced
the crowd of bloodthirsty folk assembled to witness his execution. With an
application of his masterpiece perfume (created from the skin secretions of
beautiful young girls), he turned himself from murderer to angel, bewitching
those who sought his death into a writhing mass orgy of heaven sent love.
Which brings me to my favourite fragrant witch’s
brew, Ormonde Jayne’s Ormonde Woman.
Linda Pilkington, Creative Director of the Ormonde Jayne line
looks nothing like a fairy tale witch, with her expensively tailored clothes, bright
eyes and lush mane of hair, she is a far cry from a hooked nosed hag. However,
as a creator of potions she is a fine witch indeed.
Ormonde Woman, is a forest scent, loaded with earthly
pleasures. It is reminiscent of being deep in the woods where the sticky saps
and resins come forth from trees and bushes to grace the air with a pagan
whiff. The dominant note here is grass, softened by a magnificently earthy
vetiver. Indeed if Ormonde Woman holds the bewitching power of a love potion,
the carnal act will most certainly take place outdoors, there are no satin
sheets for the witch’s brew. This is ‘knickers full of ferns’ stuff.
A frolick in the woods
Grassy chypres can be a little cold and astringent
but this one projects warmth from it’s ambery base, again adding a sensuality
to the already heady concoction. We tend to associate a ‘sexy’ fragrance with
the inclusion of grand indolic notes of tuberose or jasmine, perhaps amped up
by a dose of animalic musk. This is the opposite. Ormonde Woman’s jasmine is
barely traceable, in fact I can’t smell it. I imagine it simply serves to round
off a little of the astringency of grass. We don’t need flowers, what could be
more arousing than the smell of the forest, where all manner of life abounds in
the flourishing vegetation?
The scent is famed for the inclusion of a rare note –
black hemlock (or Tsuga). The word hemlock itself connotes witchcraft, as we
associate it with ‘poison hemlock’ or Conium
maculatum. This herbaceous plant, when ingested in high quantities causes death
by paralysis, ultimately leading to respiratory failure, a fine way to see off
your accursed enemy! I’d like to see IFRA contend with that one.. Luckily,
black hemlock is an entirely different plant, in fact it’s an entirely harmless
tree from the conifer family. I couldn’t possibly tell you what it smells like
as the woody/grassy notes blend seamlessly into a harmonious brew where nothing
‘pokes out’ as unusual.
So dear readers, what is
your opinion? Have you cast a love spell with your fragrance? Or do you use
scent to evoke a spiritual meditation? I’d love to hear your thoughts..
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