Bal à Versailles

Rome January 1962, in the dark corners of the huge soundstage of Cinecittà Studios all eyes are on an extraordinary personage. The man is Welsh, and touted to be the new Olivier. With a good ten years of films behind him he has never really hit it big in the movies. Not like he has on the stage where he is considered a god. That is about to change. There is a small commotion in the shadows. He and everyone else on the set turn, and his eyes fall upon the luscious curves of the woman who has just unceremoniously sauntered into the pool of lights in the center of the stage. Sheathed in flowing canary yellow chiffon, her eyes of violet blue spangled with glitter and lined with black Egyptian kohl she is every inch a morsel for a monarch. Her eyes with veiled curiosity explore his handsome acne scarred face. She is not impressed and yet slightly apprehensive of his stage training. He takes in her dark glamour in and recalls being tuned to ice by her dismissive glance ten years earlier across a hot star encrusted swimming pool in smoggy Los Angeles. That was the first time Richard Burton laid eyes upon his destiny in the form of Elizabeth Taylor. This time in Rome was the second. The director, Joe Mankiewicz spoke briefly to both of them then went of to commiserate with the cinematographer and the assistant director leaving them awkwardly alone to make their own introductions. Burton turned and crookedly smiled to Elizabeth. He picked up a cup of coffee and spilled a little as his hand was seized by a hangover tremor. Instinctively she reached out and steadied the cup. Gently her hand cupped his and guided the coffee to his lips. His eyes fell into hers and locked there for eternity. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a very pretty girl?” He said. Her heart, imagination and life were changed forever by that simple cliché that fell in perfect calculated grace from the lips of perhaps the greatest Shakespearian actor of his generation. And so it began the scandal of the 1962 which shattered two marriages, nearly toppled a studio and ushered in the cannibalistic tabloid world of today. It was the romance of the century and inspired a generation of sexual revolutionaries. Not to be left out of the action the Pope got in on the act and branded Elizabeth Taylor a “Sexual Vagrant”. Now THAT is a Movie Star! What did this shattering moment smell like? Bal à Versailles is the answer. Many famous women from Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis to Queen Elizabeth have worn it, but none more famously than Elizabeth Taylor on the set of “Cleopatra” when she launched a thousand paparazzo’s in the arms of her Mark Antony. Created in 1962 by Jean Desprez Bal à Versailles is traditionally presented as a female fragrance. Well that was back in the old days of the 1900’s, welcome to the 21st century were such gender identities for fragrance are down right passé. This magnificent perfume fully rounded out by 350 essences is a monster of audacious panache and a masterpiece of design fit for anyone with the balls to wear it. It is bold, and huge in its opening of rosemary, orange blossom, mandarin orange, cassia, jasmine, rose, Neroli, bergamot, Bulgarian rose and lemon. Heavy hitters are the roses and the orange notes. We move in for our close-up with notes of sandalwood, patchouli, lilac, orris root, vetiver, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley and leather. The Leather dominates the heart of the fragrance. If you are a leather lover this is Oscar time at the Kodak Theater and Nicole Kidman has just called your name. When the dry down approaches it is a dramatic movie star fade out. Beautiful notes of tolu balsam, amber, musk, benzoin, civet, vanilla, cedar and resins hold court for the final long shot as Bal à Versailles rides off into the sunset captivating all it has touched with its smoky fingers of desire and fire. Bal à Versailles is a projection bomb. Once you have it on there is no going back. You commit to this one all the way or not at all. The silage is like incense burners pumping purple heaven full blast on Cleopatra’s barge. It lasts for days without the need for “retakes”. It is animalic, dirty, sexy and just a wonder of a scent that has me in its spell as surely as Elizabeth Taylor had Richard Burton just where she wanted him all those years ago in Rome, right in the palm of her hand. FIVE GOLD STARS *****

The Trivial Masterpiece by Jean Desprez Bal A Versaille is a perfume that challenges the wearer to question their assumptions, to explore their desires, and to embrace their contradictions. It is a perfume that celebrates the complexity and diversity of human nature, that acknowledges the beauty and the obscurity, the virtue and the vice, the order and the chaos. It is a perfume that reflects the philosophy of its creator, who said, "I do not make perfumes for the masses, but for the few who can appreciate them." Jean Desprez MY TAKE: unfolds in a dense amalgamation of resinous elements, initiating with a warm, spicy greeting. Subtle bergamot-like sparks add complexity to the cloves, which are initially dominant in a non-vanilllic amber accord. However, the cloves dissipate quickly, making way for the florals, predominantly rose and ylang, which merge seamlessly. The ylang imposes a smoothing of the boundaries, while a non-indolic tuberose and natural orris (Pallida) subtly emerge. As the citruses fade, a musky warmth reminiscent of cumin ascends, marking the midphase. The introduction of natural ambergris, castoreum, and potent civet heralds a dramatic shift. The cumin acts as a transitional bridge for the ensuing animalic phase. This transition resembles the multifaceted, genre-bending nature of Queen's music rather than the linear (yet successful) trajectory of the Beatles. It's complex, evasive, yet radically meaningful. The inclusion of high-quality labdanum abs. and benzoin, intermingled with ambergris and civet, evokes the fragrance of clean, perspiring human skin veiled in resins and lightly dusted with orris concrete. This stage resonates with the contemporaneity of artisanal perfumery, akin to scents like Salome, Musk Chypre, and Cuir de Russie (ALD), vintage Tabu or elements of early 90s Lou Lou all sharing a similarly structured profile. As the drydown progresses, complexities harmonize. The smooth, adhesive musky notes intensify, complementing the powdery, skin-like nuances of orris concrete, culminating in an aroma that resonates universally with pride. A minuscule dab on the wrist, and my entire room smells like BaV! This has been one of my all-time favourite perfumes for a very long time. Pretty much a mostly natural civet bomb with a staggering resin backdrop and a chypre drydown. I have my doubts if Sir J. Desprez relied heavily on synthetic elements. The animalic and floral notes exude a genuine, natural aura, mirroring the authenticity of their actual sources. Hence, the tag of being the "most expensive fragrance" of the 1960s (surpassing Joy) seems justified. This fragrance epitomises the pinnacle of 60s perfumery and still stands as the epitome of the art. Owning the original formulation of the extract feels like an esteemed privilege residing in Bangladesh. Exploring the diverse materials used in this fragrance could indeed generate extensive write-ups. My focus remained on the olfactory journey, skimming reformulations and batch variations. Notably, concentrations with white or yellow box packaging stand out for superior quality compared to the current gold-boxed bottles. Batch variations: Both the original 1968 and 1972 formulations of the parfum share a similar profile, boasting a stronger presence of civet and clove. Interestingly, hints of orris permeate throughout, an aspect conspicuously absent in the cologne. Despite its intricate complexity, the brighter elements manage to assert their presence. However, the Parfum de Toilette takes a divergent path, leaning more towards labdanum than accentuating animalics, creating an almost tamed-down rendition of the inherently bold composition. In contrast, the 1990s EDT I sampled aligns closer to contemporary EDTs, exhibiting a more pronounced vanillic essence over labdanum. There's a subtle resonance with modern Shalimar, an element noticeably absent in the higher concentrations. Among my collection, the EDC stands out as my second most used after the Parfum. It emanates a significantly brighter and more floral aura, coupled with an intensified funk. Interestingly, the animalic tones here bear an uncanny resemblance to the original parfums, albeit lacking the forceful impact, a discrepancy that's immediately noticeable.

When I first encountered this perfume a few years ago, I was deeply impressed by its complexity, yet at the same time overwhelmed by its strength. I never imagined I would wear it regularly. And yet, rather frighteningly, I now own nine bottles of Bal à Versailles, counting both miniature and full-sized bottles. Every single one of them is vintage parfum. Allow me to offer an explanation—or perhaps an excuse—to myself. The first bottles I owned were a tiny 2.4 ml miniature and a 4 ml mini bottle. As I learned more about Bal à Versailles, however, I discovered that it had passed through various owners over its long history, and that its composition had changed along the way. The 2.4 ml miniature I first smelled came in a dark blue box and dated from sometime after the 1990s. The other bottle, the 4 ml miniature, was older—probably from the late 1970s or early 1980s. When I smelled it, I found that, even allowing for bottle variation and aging, it was similar to the 2.4 ml version and yet fundamentally different. (Thin pale-yellow box printed with the rope wrapping design, simple ingredient listing, no barcode, trademark symbol present.) After experiencing the 4 ml version, the 2.4 ml miniature seemed to me little more than a strongly projecting, rather flat powdery fragrance. The older 4 ml bottle possessed a depth and completeness that felt far more accomplished as a perfume. As I became captivated by its scent, I learned that this particular version already belonged to a transitional period, after Jean Desprez and his family had relinquished ownership and the fragrance had begun to change little by little. If this transitional version was already this beautiful, then how extraordinary must the original have been? Driven by that question, I began searching for older bottles in the best condition I could find. Before I realized it, I had built an entire Bal à Versailles collection. Today I own several of the so-called "Bull's Eye" bottles from the earliest era, and personally I consider those early versions the pinnacle of Bal à Versailles. As perfumes, the late-1970s to early-1980s 4 ml bottles may actually feel more conventionally "perfume-like." Their layers are more clearly defined, and their structure is easier to perceive. The earliest bottles, however, create an entirely different experience. Rather than feeling like a perfume resting on the skin, they seem to sink into it and transform the scent of the skin itself. The sense of integration is astonishing. Whether this comes from the use of natural materials, from the artistry of the composition itself, or from some combination of both, I cannot say. The following impressions refer specifically to those earliest bottles. I have never detected the smell of urine or feces that some people describe. However, I completely agree that this is an animalic fragrance. After the initial tidal wave of florals and powder settles, what I smell is something quite unexpected: the scent of that "special blanket" a child becomes mysteriously attached to and cannot fall asleep without. A blanket worn far beyond cleanliness, saturated with the smells of skin, sweat, hair, and breath—human scent itself—so deeply absorbed that no amount of washing could ever completely remove it. It is animalic, profoundly intimate, and unimaginably comforting. If the aristocrats who danced through the night at Versailles returned home still carrying the scent of flowers and face powder in their perspiring bodies, cast aside their heavy corsets and elaborate garments, and collapsed into bed exhausted— wrapped not in a child's blanket, perhaps, but in the soft feather duvet of a grand canopied bed— I imagine this is the scent they would experience in that moment. And now, much like a child unable to part with a beloved blanket, I find myself attached to this fragrance. I even feel uneasy at the thought of being without it.

Bal a Versailles has an extreme beauty that rivals the original Shalimar. It's the most extravagant, fussy, almost morbid fragrance I've ever smelled, extremely pompous, even more so Shalimar. Designed for the hedonist who is greedy for a while and indulges in sensuality. Bal a Versailles is the perfect interpretation of the saying that the most flamboyant is the vulgar. The realistic depiction of aristocrats immersed in music, dance, wine, and beauties, their attendants pull up the curtain with tassel and gold embroidery, and the feast unfolds. When it came out in 1962, Bal a Versailles was a fragrance that was more expensive than Joy. Little is known about its founder and perfumer, Jean Desprez. In 1962, Jean Desprez was already a very large perfume company. It was founded by Jean Desprez back in 1939. The brand has changed hands several times, but no matter which company takes over, the consensus is to keep Bal a Versailles. Because consumers only recognize Bal a Versailles as a representative of Jean Desprez. It's selling well enough that Jean Desprez can run the business with a single item from Bal a Versailles. The fragrances of the time were either not bold enough, lacking courage, or lacking cost. The essence of animal glandular incense is fragrant. After you've tried Bal a Versailles, you'll agree that bonkers is definitely an overused adjective today. Full of strong, full-bodied animal glands, exuding their unique fishy smell. (Wouldn't it be to simulate the excrement and urine in the Palace of Versailles?) Both sloppy and decadent. A smell of moral rot. Rotten inside and outside, the empire will collapse completely in the near future. The sensual smell of civet cats and beavers seems to echo the culture of cheating in the seventeenth century. I'm in a world made by Bal a Versailles. Rich civet, beaver and leather are key to this (animal) section, and maybe some hyraxes, which smell like excrement. The resin base made of patchouli, lilac and amber is at the bottom of the firmness. Animals are like thick plush carpets covering this golden floor tile. The vanilla gives the base a dense and soft quality. Smelly and fragrant. The fusion of jasmine, rose, cinnamon, sandalwood and orange blossom can't wait to explode before it reaches the middle of the nose, indole sings, Bal a Versailles can't be quiet. When wearing it, I have to be in an air-conditioned environment. A bottle of incense in the private room. Are there any women who dare to wear this corset? Bal a Versailles is able to form itself in the chaos of chaos, magnificent and bright, which is what differentiates it from other luxury fragrances. Counting down the fragrances that have given me a profound experience, Bal a Versailles must be one of them. The grand occasion of the ball cannot be replicated, and Bal a Versailles eventually lost to time. From the end of the 17th century to the beginning of the 18th century, the French court was in decline. Aesthetics tend to be rich and ingenious, and art can also be said to be used to show off financial resources. Bal a Versailles is idealized art. Movies and dramas cannot convey the sense of smell truthfully. Words have this kind of magic, as if they would float out of a book. Kouros is not as feminine as Bal a Versailles, and Shalimar lacks the intricate ornamentation of Bal a Versailles. Bal a Versailles's sense of the times is its unique hallmark, and unlike Shalimar, it is older, less realistic, and nostalgic. It should have appeared in history, it is a fragment of history. I feel the ghosts of the past attach to me in the form of fragrance.

Bal a Versailles is a must-try if you fancy vintage perfumes, and I would suggest a must-try (along with other vintage scents of note) for anyone who is truly interested in the art/craft of perfumery. There are good reasons why some of the older perfumes remain sought after or in current production! And even if, after wearing a scent a few times, you decide that it's not one you enjoy, there is still an educational process that occurs during the experience. As in wine appreciation, or in trying new cuisines, our palates are broadened and our minds opened to new things; new notes/scents or flavors become part of our mental and sensual vocabulary. This is a good thing, not something to fear or approach with apprehension... BaV has a strong opening. If I say this, it is easy to see how the first couple of moments after applying BaV might send animalic-averse people running for the nearest sink! But a little patience will reveal something lovely. The first notes burst upon the nose in a cloud of musk and civet, underpinned with an almost candy-sweet scent which seems, as far as I can tease it out, to be a combination of the orris/iris root and the lilac and neroli. It quickly becomes very, very powdery. That is more off-putting to me than the animalics, as I'm not overly fond of powder notes. Wait. Breathe. Somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes into wearing, the gorgeous resins begin to appear, transforming the scent into something luscious. Benzoin, tolu, a very rich amber accord, a cognac-esque vanilla, fine woods---cedar, sandal---and some vetiver layer with the previous notes, changing them from a strident clanging of disparate scents into a warm, beautiful composition. All harshness is gone, the muskiness, sweetness and powder tempered into something beautiful and civilized, though with still a feral heart. I have a vintage EdC version, and the musk in it is rather extraordinary. If you appreciate good musks or civets, this is a must-try in the older version. Even if those are not your favorite notes, persistence may be rewarded if you like rich, complex scents. Think of the opening as the cacophonous tuning of an orchestra; you wouldn't think of leaving the concert hall because you know that will be followed by the exquisite sound of the actual music---the opening of a perfume can be similar, bearing little resemblance to the symphony that follows in the dry-down... BaV is eminently wearable today. I would say it is the great-grandmother of Mona di Orio's Nuit Noire, which I also love. Sillage is moderate on me, but definitely noticeable. Others may find it heavier. Duration is excellent. I plan to try the current formulation, but fear it cannot match the quality of the older one---it would be a hell of a find if it did. This is a magnetic, seductive, deliciously overblown, yet elegant perfume. Edit: the new version is, sadly, disappointing. Sweet as candy-floss, and lacking the animalic counterpoint of the old one. It was too good to be true...