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Showing results for tags 'Yule 2010'.
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AN ALTAR TO COLD, RIGID, DREADFUL DEATH He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language. The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man. Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge’s part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side. Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man’s. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal! No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge’s ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares? They have brought him to a rich end, truly! He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think. Black cedar, frankincense, and dust. I've tried two blends that reminded me of Cathedral today, but after smelling An Altar to Cold, Rigid, Dreadful Death, I had to do a side by side test. These two are incredibly alike. The main notes I get from Cathedral are the cedar and frankincense, which are the same two notes I get from this. However, this is better. There is a little bit of spiciness to this blend that you don't find in Cathedral. I'm not sure if it's the dust note, or something different about the cedar note, but this blend is exactly Cathedral with an extra kick of awesome and I absolutely LOVE IT. I have a full bottle of Cathedral on the way to share with my boyfriend, but I really do wish I'd gotten a full bottle of this instead now that I've smelled it. I don't know if I can justify having both because of my sucky financial situation right now, but I just might have to order this anyway. It is so good, I really can't say enough how much I love it.
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THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded. He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved. “I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge. The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand. “You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Scrooge pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?” The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received. Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The 70 Spirit paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover. But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black. “Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed, “I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?” It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them. “Lead on!” said Scrooge. “Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!” Blackcurrant, myrrh, and vetiver. Wet: stinky (slightly skunky) vetiver On skin: dirty vetiver and dusty myrrh are duking it out Half-hour later: ah, this is much nicer. The blackberry has appeared to sweeten things up a tad In conclusion: this is a moody and reflective blend, dark and appealing. The vetiver isn't stomping all over everything, and I really like the myrrh in this one, it's assertive and self-righteously wrathful like an evil preacher. I liked this a lot more than I thought I would.
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A GOLDEN IDOL For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall. He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past. “It matters little,” she said, softly. “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.” “What Idol has displaced you?” he rejoined. “A golden one.” “This is the even-handed dealing of the world!” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!” “You fear the world too much,” she answered, gently. “All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?” “What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you.” She shook her head. “Am I?” “Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man.” “I was a boy,” he said impatiently. “Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,” she returned. “I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you.” “Have I ever sought release?” “In words. No. Never.” “In what, then?” “In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!” He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, “You think not.” “I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she answered, “Heaven knows! When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were.” Glittering gold and loss beyond understanding: antiqued amber, English lavender, vetiver, and tea rose. Initially there's a lot of vetiver happening here. It's the most prominant note in the imp and wet on my skin. After a considerable amount of time the vetiver has mellowed out enough that the lavender and rose start to come forward. More lavender than rose. I'm not getting amber here, but I'm guessing it's blending with the vetiver. When everything has mellowed and softened up it becomes a rich, warm scent. This smells sophisticated and expensive.
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THE CLOCK STRIKES MIDNIGHT The moment of passage between the waking world and the swirling mist of dreams: black currant, frankincense, blue musk, mugwort, and wisteria. I didn't have high expectations for this scent. When my decants got here and I sniffed the imp I was surprised how much I liked it. In the imp it's very pretty in that musky-dusky floral kid of way. I smell quite a bit of frankincense and musk and a maybe spiced floral. I like this more than I anticipated. On my skin – this is sweet and resinous smelling. Something is reminding me of expensive hand soap. After dry down, this is soapy enough that is is outside of my range of preference but it is compelling and very pretty.
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SHADOWS OF WHAT MAY BE The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before—though at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the Future—into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit 82did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment. “This court,” said Scrooge, “through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come!” The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere. “The house is yonder,” Scrooge exclaimed. “Why do you point away?” The inexorable finger underwent no change. Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before. He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering. A churchyard. Here, then; the wretched man whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation’s death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place! The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He advanced towards it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape. “Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,” said Scrooge, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?” Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. “Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Scrooge. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!” The Spirit was immovable as ever. Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge. A deserted, dismal grave: upturned earth, overgrown grass, and dead weeds. In bottle: They aren’t kidding. Rich, damp loam with a mix of grass and weeds. It’s exactly as promised strong, sharp, viscous. I love this. Wet: The weeds get more interesting and complex, while the loam comes fully into it’s own. If you like dirt note scents, this would be a must have. There is a hint of something smokey in the greenery that emerges as it warms. Dry: Dirst and dried greenery. Mmmmm…. Nice.
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A WORLD OF FOOLS “A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach. “Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!” He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again. “Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?” “I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.” “Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough.” Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again; and followed it up with “Humbug.” “Don’t be cross, uncle!” said the nephew. “What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ’em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!” “Uncle!” pleaded the nephew. “Nephew!” returned the uncle, sternly, “keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.” Figgy pudding with a stake of holly through its heart. I don't actually get much fig from this figgy pudding-- just a general impression of spicy, cakey fruit. If I get any specific fruit, it might be pineapple. Go figure-- maybe my nose is broken. It's dark, dense, bready, dessert-like without being particularly sweet. It has a distinct pinch of warm, ruddy powdered ginger. I also feel like there's a hint of buttery nuts (maybe walnut)? I get evergreen in the beginning when it's wet, but it's swamped pretty quickly by the foodiness. I would have liked it to stick around to help balance out this extremely rich pudding, but it failed me. The further the oil dries, the more muddled it seems to become on my skin so that it ends up being a little generically "Christmasy" (not quite potpourri or holiday candle though). I'll keep my decant, but I don't think I need to upgrade this one.
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THE SCHOOL “The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.” Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed. They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were over-run with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast. There was an earthy savour in the air, a chilly bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by candle-light, and not too much to eat. They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he used to be. Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears. The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood. “Why, it’s Ali Baba!” Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. “It’s dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know! One Christmas time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,” said Scrooge, “and his wild brother, Orson; there they go! And what’s his name, who was put down in his drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don’t you see him! And the Sultan’s Groom turned upside down by the Genii; there he is upon his head! Serve him right. I’m glad of it. What business had he to be married to the Princess!” To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed. “There’s the Parrot!” cried Scrooge. “Green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again after sailing round the island. ‘Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe?’ The man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn’t. It was the Parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his life to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!” In the corner of a desolate, dismal schoolhouse, all lonely stone walls, beeswax, and dusty wooden writing desks, stirs the scent of gold coins hidden in forest outside Baghdad, waves crashing against the hull of a Salé pirate ship, the lofty halls of Pépin le Bossu’s court, and a wild child’s home in the woods. From the decant and wet on the skin, The School strikes me as a tad cologney. Not a terrible cologne, but definitely veering toward that territory. As it dries, it becomes more complex. I'm mostly smelling those writing desks. It's a very clear, strong note-- antique, darkly gleaming wood (at first I thought rosewood, but that dissipated almost immediately-- now it's more like mahogany or redwood) buffed with creamy, mild beeswax. The beeswax note reminds me of the type in Ichabod Crane, but it's much duller and more tempered. It's just a supporting note for that gorgeous wood. And I can't get over how "true" that note is-- when wood normally starts cologney and stays cologney on me. This one morphed, and it's great. I feel like there might be a dab of smoky patchouli leaf somewhere in this scent as well, but it's not strong. This is indeed an academic scent. I would love to study with this. It's rather serious, but deeply calming. It's what I wanted out of Miskatonic University nearly three years ago when I first found BPAL. I can see how this is a "memory" of a school, an unpopulated place. But it's not desolate or dismal or dusty. It's like finding a long abandoned study or library of some sort that may be lonely, but is also wondrous. It is somehow warmed by the gold and the pirate ship and such things even though I don't smell those literal notes. I love it. Masterpiece of the Yules for me so far, and I wasn't even expecting much from it! Bottle.
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THE NUTCRACKER Klara’s most prized Christmas gift. Broken by Fritz in a fit of jealousy, repaired by Drosselmeyer’s magic: frankincense, black mission fig, and galbanum. The first thing I think of when I apply The Nutcracker is frankincense and hot sugar. Like someone drizzled something sweet over smouldering incense. The frankincense is definitely the most prominent note here-- rich, earthy brown, faintly peppery. Stately and humble at the same time. But the sweetness in here is more surprising. It's seems linked to the fig for sure... chewy, purple, dried fig with a crust of sugar. These notes have a lot of depth and are very evocative. Definitely a purple-brown scent. Kind of bruise colored. It's a pleasant, warm and unusual scent. Despite having many other frankincense-heavy scents, I'm not sure I have anything that's really like this. (I still have never been able to figure out what galangal smells like, despite having tried it in probably a dozen scents. It's something that slips completely under my radar).
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INCESSANT TORTURE OF REMORSE “You are fettered,” said Scrooge, trembling. “Tell me why?” “I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?” Scrooge trembled more and more. “Or would you know,” pursued the Ghost, “the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!” Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see nothing. “Jacob,” he said, imploringly. “Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob!” “I have none to give,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house—mark me!—in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!” It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees. “You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,” Scrooge observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference. “Slow!” the Ghost repeated. “Seven years dead,” mused Scrooge. “And travelling all the time!” “The whole time,” said the Ghost. “No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.” “You travel fast?” said Scrooge. “On the wings of the wind,” replied the Ghost. “You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,” said Scrooge. The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance. “Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!” Life’s opportunity misused: opopponax, lavender, blackberry, patchouli, olive leaf, myrtle, and white cognac. There were a few moments of terror, when I first sniffed this from the bottle and when I first applied it. Lavender terror! It was incredibly strong, like single note lavender. And I like lavender, but not as a dominant note, so I was wondering if I had rolled the dice and lost. But then, after just a few minutes, the lavender fog lifted and this scent started to morph into what I wanted it to be. It is soft, a little sweet and a little woody - nicely anchored by the opoponax, with a hint of blackberry, a gentle and cooperative patchouli (as opposed to a raw and dominant one) and a little bit of a green feel. The cognac floats just on top and is also a gentle version as opposed to the in-your-face cognac note in The Imp of The Perverse. I really like this one & I am looking forward to seeing how it ages - hoping that sassy lavender will step back a little bit, but it's worth the few minutes of dominant lavender for the rest of the ride.
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THE ARABIAN DANCE Leather, coffee, hazelnut, tobacco, and Middle Eastern spices. I was looking at this and going...omg.... leather, coffee, hazelnut.....TOBACCO!! NO!!! Cause I amp tobacco in a horrible way......but I decided to gird my loins and try it. In the words of one of the fellow will call goers "You smell like sex."
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MOTHER GINGER From beneath her skirts emerge eight gingerbread children: gingerbread, French vanilla, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and marshmallow cream. Mother Ginger has an airy freshness and openness to it. I sometimes find the "baked goods" type of ginger scents a little heavy due to the butter, the batter, the other spices... This is unlike those, being smooth and light; in fact, an uplifting ginger. So good!
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If this had been sold on its own, I probably wouldn't have purchased it because although I like drinking ale, its not something I'd want to smell like. This, however, smells like fizzy berry (raspberry perhaps?) soda! The fizziness reminds me both of Geek Goth and Polynesian Pop. There might be a drop of mint in here too. This is really good, a pleasant surprise for me.
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CHRISTMAS EVE ON THE MOOR And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place of giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed, or would have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse rank grass. Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night. “What place is this?” asked Scrooge. “A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth,” returned the Spirit. “But they know me. See!” A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advanced towards it. Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man and woman, with their children and their children’s children, and another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song—it had been a very old song when he was a boy—and from time to time they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour sank again. Windswept moor grass, grey moss, mud, and stone warmed by a small, comfortable fire. This was a total risk for me based on the notes, but I got it because I love anything based on the Moors, since to me it's evocative of Wuthering Heights, my favorite novel. This starts out almost exactly how I imagined it would, and I don't think that's ever happened to me before! I get grass, ivy, sweet ozone, and some damp stone. As it dries I sadly start to amp the ozone, and as per usual, it turns into slightly sharp men's cologne, I also get something like lemony citrus. I don't get the warm fire, any smokiness or mud (but I'm not sure how mud smells like, to be honest), which I'm happy about. Though I really wish it would have stayed as it smelled in the beginning, I kind of like it (but I know I won't be able to wear it days were I'm headachy because it's a little too strong). More so than Scrooge, this makes me think of how Heathcliff would smell if he were running through the Moors looking for Catherine (yes, I'm a dork ). I find it masculine.
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THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm. Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For as its belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever. “Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge. “I am!” The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance. “Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.” “Long Past?” inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature. “No. Your past.” Shimmering white amber, voluminous vanilla, white musk, zdravetz, and summer flowers. This was the Christmas Carol scent that seemed made just for me and it's the first bottle that came out of the box! Geranium is a good note on my skin. It's depth blossoms so nicely. My impression, soft and pretty. Almost cozy. Whatever Amber went into this- no trace of powder. Whatever Vanilla went into this- no hint of gourmand. A lovely aromatic perfume just a touch on the herbal side. The Floral notes give this a golden glow we'd associate with the Spirit of Christmas Past. Thank Goodness! I was a bit apprehensive thinking the Floral notes might be White. Can easily see a guy or a gal wearing this. So fans who seek out Florals that aren't overtly "girlie" might want to try this.
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A GAME CALLED YES & NO “Here is a new game,” said Scrooge. “One half hour, Spirit, only one!” It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge’s nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn’t made a show of, and wasn’t led by anybody, and didn’t live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into a similar state, cried out: “I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!” “What is it?” cried Fred. “It’s your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!” Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to “Is it a bear?” ought to have been “Yes;” inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way. “He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure,” said Fred, “and it would be ungrateful not to drink his health. Here is a glass of mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment; and I say, ‘Uncle Scrooge!’ ” “Well! Uncle Scrooge!” they cried. “A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever he is!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “He wouldn’t take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!” Mulled wine and marzipan. In the bottle this is sweet and boozy and just a little bit spicy, with the sugary almond lying thickly underneath. The oil is perfectly clear, and once it's on my skin, it's warm and light, with the spices keeping the marzipan from making this overly sweet or foody. This is a great holiday scent! Wet, the fruitiness of the wine and sweetness of the marzipan come forward, but as it dries, the spices assert themselves, and the mulled wine is a little bit stronger than the marzipan. I had to get out my Gluhwein to compare, and I'd say that if you liked Gluhwein, this is going to be a win for you. The mulled wine is very similar, but the marzipan makes A Game Called Yes & No feel a little more seasonal, if that makes sense. They're both delicious mulled wine, but if you sniff them side by side, Gluhwein is winter-warm and AGCY&N is more holiday warm. Verdict: I'm in love, and a rare (for me) second bottle may be necessary!
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CHRISTMAS EVE IN THE COUNTING HOUSE It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already—it had not been light all day—and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale. Creaky wood, thick fog, and dying embers. This is so different from what I was expecting! In the bottle and on my skin, it is mostly slightly sweet aquatic-ozone. I think I was expecting the fog note to be slightly smoky and not as sweet, but I really don't get any fogginess from this at all. I also don't get any dying embers or smokiness on my skin. I do get some wood underneath it, but it's not prominent. I've been wearing it for a couple of hours now and it hasn't changed. I pulled this out of the mailbox last night, so I might let it settle for a week or so and then try it again.
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BOB CRATCHIT'S HEARTH At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed: “A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!” Which all the family re-echoed. “God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all. Glowing firewood and sherry-cobbler. Ack, I'm really awful at reviews, but we'll try this! In the bottle, this is really foody and sweet. I definitely got a slightly fruity cake or pie-like scent. (I can't differentiate between the different pastry/cake notes, so I can't be more specific.) I also got a bit of the "glowing firewood" in the background, but it was mostly foody. After it was on my skin for a while, the burning firewood note came out a lot more and the foodiness dropped to the background. Unfortunately, the burning scent was very strong and chemical on my skin, more like charcoal or something almost metallic. My skin can't handle metallics, and combined with the sweet background, it was pretty stomach-turning. After a while I had to wash it off. I think I was hoping for more of a smoky-woods note, but it wasn't a good combination for me. (This probably isn't helpful to anyone since I had a unique experience, but the reaction I had to this one was similar to the one I had with Blue Pumpkin Floss. It sounded simple enough, but on me BPF was sickly sweet + charred flesh, which isn't completely dissimilar to the way this one smelled on me. I'm wondering if they had a note in common that just doesn't like my skin. I doubt many people will find the blends at all similar but I thought I'd throw that out there anyway.)
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AUTUMN AND WINTER Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon Between two dates of death, while men were fain Yet of the living light that all too soon Three months bade wane. Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain, Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune That death smote silent when he smote again. First went my friend, in life's mid light of noon, Who loved the lord of music: then the strain Whence earth was kindled like as heaven in June Three months bade wane. A herald soul before its master's flying Touched by some few moons first the darkling goal Where shades rose up to greet the shade, espying A herald soul; Shades of dead lords of music, who control Men living by the might of men undying, With strength of strains that make delight of dole. The deep dense dust on death's dim threshold lying Trembled with sense of kindling sound that stole Through darkness, and the night gave ear, descrying A herald soul. One went before, one after, but so fast They seem gone hence together, from the shore Whence we now gaze: yet ere the mightier passed One went before; One whose whole heart of love, being set of yore On that high joy which music lends us, cast Light round him forth of music's radiant store. Then went, while earth on winter glared aghast, The mortal god he worshipped, through the door Wherethrough so late, his lover to the last, One went before. A star had set an hour before the sun Sank from the skies wherethrough his heart's pulse yet Thrills audibly: but few took heed, or none, A star had set. All heaven rings back, sonorous with regret, The deep dirge of the sunset: how should one Soft star be missed in all the concourse met? But, O sweet single heart whose work is done, Whose songs are silent, how should I forget That ere the sunset's fiery goal was won A star had set? Bitter currant and dry leaves. Winter wind at dusk. This one hasn't gotten any review love yet? I'm shocked. Now I am a sucker for anything involving dry or burning leaves, and the dry leaf aspect of this scent is amazing. It really is dry leaves--not rotting leaves, not wet leaves, just dry crackling leaves. The blackcurrant is the perfect type for this type of scent, dark and bittersweet. It adds a hint of sweetness (just like the sap note sweetens October a little), but isn't foody at all. While I love my foody scents I don't feel foody would be appropriate for this particular one. There is also somethign extra in there that indeed reminds me of cutting winter wind; it's very difficult to describe, but that wind during November/December has a distinct cold but dry smell it carries with it and I think Beth captured that perfectly in this blend. For anyone who loves dry leaf scents and October as much as I do, don't hesitate to pick up a bottle of this.
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WOODS IN WINTER When winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day! But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear Has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. Wild hemlock and juniper berries scattered in the snow beneath leafless trees bedecked with glittering icicles. In the bottle: It seems very aquatic and linen-y. And because of that perception, when I first accidentally got a teeny bit on my hand, that, too, smelled uber-aquatic. I was worried it might give me a headache! But I pressed on!! On skin: It starts off smelling a touch like pine or rosemary, but I guess that is the juniper or maybe the hemlock… It is very atmospheric - very light. It has a bit of sweetness (but it is not a sweet fragrance overall), a touch of spice and… perhaps a teensy bit of vanilla? It’s quite comforting. And strangely warm, even though it’s supposed to evoke, well, Woods in Winter! Maybe that tiny bit of sweetness is like marshmallows - light, fluffy, sweet, soft... That must be the snow on the ground Side note: When I first put it on, I was surprised that it really evoked some strange emotional feeling - brought tears to my eyes. (I’ll have to figure that out! ) I wore it overnight, and when I sniffed my wrists in the morning it was nearly gone, with just a hint remaining. It was back to smelling a bit aquatic. I think I’ll have to try again (and maybe add to this review later). Bottom line: It’s lovely. For me, it’s almost ethereal, and I find it appropriate that it’s based on a poem, because it has a poetic feel to it, if that makes any sense. I’m fairly certain I’ll be keeping my bottle (Edited to add in a piece I had forgotten before - sorry!)
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GROßVATER TANZ The evening’s celebration winds down with a traditional German folk song: rice porridge, candied fruits, heavy cream, powdered clove, and Lebkuchen. Yummy!!!!! This is exactly as I had hoped. It has the creamy, spicy, mealy scent of the porridge, and some candied citrus in there too. The cloves are not too strong, and overall It is very reminiscent of festive holiday cooking. It doesn't have huge throw on me, and has faded a bit in the 2 hours that I have had it on, but it is very delightful while it lasts.
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WHOOP “I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his stockings. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!” He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded. “There’s the saucepan that the gruel was in!” cried Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. “There’s the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat! There’s the window where I saw the wandering Spirits! It’s all right, it’s all true, it all happened. Ha ha ha!” Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs! “I don’t know what day of the month it is!” said Scrooge. “I don’t know how long I’ve been among the Spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!” He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious! Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious! “What’s to-day!” cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. “Eh?” returned the boy, with all his might of wonder. “What’s to-day, my fine fellow?” said Scrooge. “To-day!” replied the boy. “Why, Christmas Day.” Golden sunlight and sweet fresh air brightening a Heavenly sky on Christmas Day: crisp winter air, shimmering amber, sweet honey, with a touch of pumpkin pie, pine cone, cranberry, and bayberry. I just got Whoop in the mail and I must admit this is the blend I was most exited about and most apprehencive. I have only tested it on my hand for several hours, but a full trial still needs to be done. Having said that, to my nose, this is very wintry when wet. I get pine trees and winter snow, cold air. After it dries down, this just morphs just the right amount of right. I gets a little sweet on the pine, you still get the scent from a gorgeous snow day thats crisp and bright, and just a little sweetness towards the end which I imagine is the berries and pumpkin pie. This is gorgeous and a perfect Yule blend. Win for me! ETA: I gave this a full trial and my mind hasnt changed at all. This is a gorgeous scent and I am in love with it. Its not overpowering but has a nice and lasting throw. Its win for me! Although I dont detect any pumpkin pie whatsoever.
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HARLEQUIN AND COLUMBINE French vanilla, red currant, sage, balsam, rosewood, mandarin, lemon peel, pomegranate, and cedar. In the bottle: This is such a well-crafted blend that it's difficult to pick out individual notes. But the sweetness of the French vanilla and balsam are most obvious, with hints of the pome, the cedar, and the sage underneath. Wet: The sage, the rosewood, and the cedar all combine for a heady, woodsy aroma. But slowly the vanilla and balsam re-assert themselves and twine gently throughout. The dry-down: This has become a sweet, but not too sweet, wood and herbal blend, tempered by the fruit notes. Luckily, the currant does not try and stomp all over the scent, but hangs back with the other fruit notes. Later: The lemon peel and mandarin are coming forward now to give this a brightness which it did not have earlier. Citrus notes don't work on me as well as they used to. Still a nice scent, but I may wear this in the scent locket so as to escape the citrus note issue. Would have liked this better without the citrus.
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Wine grapes, pomegranate, myrrh, frankincense and olive leaf, and the warm scent of offertory cakes. In the bottle: There's a hint of all the notes, as though they had been mixed into a white wine (non-alcoholic) from those grapes (green, I suspect). Wet: Now the pomegranate comes bursting through, with the gentle olive leaf in its train. The cake note is rounding this out, so it's not too fruity. The dry-down: The myrrh and frankincense are present, but only in a mild fashion, and the grapes are combining with the pome for a lovely light fruit note. If you don't want to smell like winter holiday sweet heavy food and drink or snowy woods or the Christmas tree, but still want a lovely light scent for the winter holiday season, this may be a scent to try. ETA: It's a rather elegant scent.
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THE SOLDIER Red musk, vanilla cream, black tea, black pepper, leather, and pie. Creamy red musk, leather, and black tea are the strongest notes on my skin. The black pepper note give the scent a little snap to it. The more I smell this, the more I love it. I think this may be a very popular scent with the red musk & leather note lovers out there.
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A COLD, CLEAR WINTER DAY “Good Heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!” The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten! “Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?” Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would. “You recollect the way?” inquired the Spirit. “Remember it!” cried Scrooge with fervour; “I could walk it blindfold.” “Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost. “Let us go on.” They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it! Winter tuberoses bending gently in a crisp, cold breeze. The usual minty snow note mingled with tuberose with a creamy vanilla quality in the background. Just lovely.
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