Relique D'Amour

What can I say about Relique d'Amour that hasn't already been said over and over? Yes, it's like stepping into an abandoned chapel in a rainy forest, crumbling stone walls coated in moss and the memory of centuries of burning incense, a bouquet of dewy lilies left - by what hand? - on a linseed oil-waxed altar, yes, yes. We're surely all picturing a different chapel, but we've been there; the comparison is cliché at this point. It's what the scent sets out to do, and it does it with great success (or does it? More on this later.) What else to say, then? I first tried Relique d'Amour in Oriza's boutique on a June morning, when I had found myself stuck overnight in Paris after a medical appointment (train issues, last-minute hotel, impromptu vacation, etc.) and decided to visit as many local parfumeries as I could in a few hours. The shop is small, sumptuously decorated, and it was completely empty when I arrived soon after it opened. It was almost eleven, I had on the most decent change of clothes I'd managed to purchase the night prior for a modest sum, I'd walked a while to get there, and the yearly heat wave which starts as early as May had me already drenched in sweat; of course I had no scent on since I intended to try quite a few, and I had never felt like such a frumpy, unsightly, smelly beast as I did walking into that gorgeous little boutique and approaching the tidily dressed, elegant, soft-spoken young woman holding the counter (who was nevertheless very lovely and helpful). Still, I was excited to be there: when I started getting serious about fragrances, there were two scents I was desperate to try - Fils de Joie by Serge Lutens (which I tried later that same day), and Relique d'Amour. I'm not sure what drew me to those originally, when they didn't particularly fit my usual tastes, but something about them called out to me. As neither were sold anywhere locally, I had been longing for them for quite some time. It was therefore with some trepidation that I requested to try this scent. My immediate reaction (which is more or less what I said in a message to a friend later that day) was: "oh, this is a masterpiece, but I'm not sure it's for me". It is indeed a cold, melancholic, thoughtful scent; my tastes typically lie squarely within "rich, warm and spicy", and I'd be hard pressed to find any friend who would think to describe me as cold or melancholic (perhaps thoughtful, on my good days). Still, when I purchased a set of samples, I selected two of Relique d'Amour. I found myself gravitating to those samples again and again over months. I more often wore Empire des Indes, Rêve d'Ossian and Le Régent, but each time I tried Relique I became more enamored with it. As my samples grew smaller, I noticed odd thoughts cropping up: a sour dread when I looked at the ever-lowering level, a "God, I don't know what I'll do when I run out of these"... I kept talking about this scent, describing it, as I did above, over and over. I kept repeating how it wasn't "for me", but I couldn't seem to get away from it. In October, I took a short trip to Normandy to a friend's family home. We went for a long hike down a forested valley where, by a river, the ruins of an old stone church stood. As we reached it, I gasped, turned to my friend with great despair, and exclaimed: "oh no! I forgot to put on Relique d'Amour!". At this point, it became quite obvious that I would need to purchase a full bottle. If the scent wasn't "for me", then I felt I would need to become the sort of person who would wear it - it is simply that beautiful. And yet I can't give it only praise, because I did get that full bottle. I had noticed already that Oriza Legrand seem to be using a different concentration or formula in their samples and in their full bottles. When I bought Empire des Indes, it was obvious that the scent was harsher, the alcohol much more present, and when I apply it after a shower it makes my skin burn and sometimes makes me sneeze, which no other fragrance has so far. Still, I chalked it up to something else: maybe it was just that the sprays were bigger, or the bottle was too new, or I was just mistaken somehow... But when both I and a friend of mine purchased full bottles of Relique d'Amour, my suspicions were confirmed: we both noticed it's just not what's in the samples. My friend says the perfume is thinner and the scent lasts a lot less. Furthermore, I think something is just missing. Maybe it's the linseed oil note - I can't seem to pick up on it from the full bottle, even when I spray more than I would from a sample. Either way, there's a smoothness, a cohesion that's not there anymore. It's harsher, more alcoholic, and a lot less unique; if this is what I had tried first, I would have been quite underwhelmed. Whenever I use one of my samples (I'm on my fifth), there is that perfect smell again that makes me smile instantly, the memories of rainy afternoons in art school when, passing through the stone courtyard, I would catch the scent of linseed oil coming from the oil painting classroom! The full bottle is a simulacrum of it, close enough that I could trick myself into thinking it's the right scent, that I somehow overhyped it for all these months. It's good, but it's not perfect. That dewy chapel nestled in a green valley, those ruins I so love to picture, I can't find them anymore... Until I use the sample again, and oh! How lucky we are, how lucky we all are, to live in a world with such small beauties, such discreet delights! Each day the sun rises, clouds overhead dance into new shapes, and, somewhere in a forest, rain falls on a forgotten chapel where someone once prayed for love.

2026 update : Relique d'amour has been reformulated after I purchased my bottle in 2018. The opening is the same, but the rest of the development is quite different. the concentration has been lowered, so the effect is quite different. The old fashion and melancholic notes are almost absent now, a vanilla note in the base pops out. The following review is from a bottle I bought in 2017. ----- I consider this perfume to be a masterpiece because of its melancholic and meditative beauty, as well as its uniqueness. It is not a projection and longevity beast, as many point out, but it would not be logic for this perfume to be so—just meditate on its name. Relique d'amour. Love, as life, is a fleeting thing... And that might be where their preciousness lies. According to Oriza L. Legrand, the formulation of this perfume, originally launched in 1900, was significantly revised for the 2012 version. The lily-of-the-valley notes were reportedly too intense in the original, and a note of incense was added; an ingredient that was not used in fragrances at that time in France. The narrative that accompanies the perfume absolutely fits with the olfactive evolution of the perfume: a rare thing! Another reason for me to highly respect this perfume. The opening notes of offer an accord that one readily associates with the damp stone of an old stone chapel, or even the mold of a crypt. The damp note is used in a restraint manner, which create a subtle evocation. This initial effect gives way to floral notes that are both green and peppery. Then, the opening note that was initially perceived as subterranean has transformed into an impression of turpentine or wax, undoubtedly thanks to the terpenes of the pine essence, which can be detected in the background. The backbone of this perfume, the lily that is reconstructed here (ily is one of the "mute flowers", that is, flowers from which no essence or absolute can be extracted. Fragrances that claim lily in their notes are always composed from the essence of other white flowers - jasmine, orange blossom, tuberose, for example - and synthetic compounds such as eugenol for the spicy notes, indole for the "white flowers" effect, linalool for the lily of the valley facet, etc.), is a rather soft lily accord that I associate with Easter lily, undoubtedly influenced by the religious reference of the perfume. To add to this association, the frankincense and myrrh in the composition are also soft, although very present. The frankincense gives the perfume its slightly soapy, dry but also cold quality. Interestingly, this perfume echoes the dichotomy of wet/corruption versus dry/aromatic/rot-proof discussed above. Frankincense and myrrh, aromatic saps that dry, solidify, and preserve themselves, were used among other materials in the mummification process in Egypt. Relique d'amour, a melancholic and soothing fragrance, may seem old-fashioned: I regularly think of my grandmother when I wear it, perhaps because of the myrrh, an ingredient often used in the past for its antiseptic properties and which, when it's pure solidified sap is burned, evokes the old and dusty wood of my grandparents' attic. This fragrance, which evokes solitude, silence and meditation, blends well with the skin, particularly at it's heart stage notes, in which jasmine and/or indolic tuberose have undoubtedly been used, paradoxically recalls the carnal part of existence. Unlike the power and tenacity promised by the first incarnation of the fragrance in the eraly 2)th century, the current reincarnation offers a light and relatively ephemeral trail that, in my opinion, gives it a precious value and perhaps also contributes to its association with spirituality. It is of course the masterful top notes (if the vaguely musty smell of damp abbey stones speaks to you) that contribute to the "artistic" character of this fragrance, but the overall effect is most beautiful and it succeeds in painting a convincing portrait of a certain atmosphere, in a certain place, at a certain time. An article published in 1910 in a newspaper named “Comœdia Illustré” mentions: “Relique d’amour is a bouquet of rare subtlety — like a precious souvenir dedicated to the deep cult of memory.”

Hello I’m back to share the epiphany I had that Relique d’Amour is the fragrance twin of one of my favorite poems of all time. Here it is. :-) Church Going Philip Larkin Once I am sure there's nothing going on I step inside, letting the door thud shut. Another church: matting, seats, and stone, And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff Up at the holy end; the small neat organ; And a tense, musty, unignorable silence, Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off My cycle-clips in awkward reverence, Move forward, run my hand around the font. From where I stand, the roof looks almost new- Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't. Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce "Here endeth" much more loudly than I'd meant. The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence, Reflect the place was not worth stopping for. Yet stop I did: in fact I often do, And always end much at a loss like this, Wondering what to look for; wondering, too, When churches fall completely out of use What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep A few cathedrals chronically on show, Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases, And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep. Shall we avoid them as unlucky places? Or, after dark, will dubious women come To make their children touch a particular stone; Pick simples for a cancer; or on some Advised night see walking a dead one? Power of some sort or other will go on In games, in riddles, seemingly at random; But superstition, like belief, must die, And what remains when disbelief has gone? Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky, A shape less recognizable each week, A purpose more obscure. I wonder who Will be the last, the very last, to seek This place for what it was; one of the crew That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were? Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique, Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh? Or will he be my representative, Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt So long and equably what since is found Only in separation - marriage, and birth, And death, and thoughts of these - for whom was built This special shell? For, though I've no idea What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth, It pleases me to stand in silence here; A serious house on serious earth it is, In whose blent air all our compulsions meet, Are recognised, and robed as destinies. And that much never can be obsolete, Since someone will forever be surprising A hunger in himself to be more serious, And gravitating with it to this ground, Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in, If only that so many dead lie round.

The fragrance of an old chapel of a Cistercian abbey. Cold stone walls covered with damp moss. Waxed wood of the altar and old pews ornate with carvings. Linseed oil in lamps. Air smelling of incense and myrrh. But how fresh and spicy the smell of white royal lilies on this background! Subtle floral scent with green accents of leaves and powdery touches of yellow pollen. The beam of light breaks through the stained glass and illuminates this olfactory tumult of feelings varying from exaltation to humility and back. The silence which creates a sense of the divine call. This was the blurb presenting Relique when it was issued in 2012, adapting a formula of the very first 1900s. Why do I love it? Because it has the most interestingly weird Lutens's twist on white lily. At first sniff: olibanum! A white incense with a dusty and aloof very high church feeling. It is enriched by a HUGE dose of black pepper and very real and green pine note mixed with freshly crushed herbs and some floral notes, with the company of some aldehydes. I have to admit that this opening takes my breath away. IG @alexolympia6 The troop’s rear guard is quickly brought up by a tidal wave of dust and white incense: olibanum and opoponax infused with the dust of ages in a very old monastery filled with parchment scrolls. Black pepper is sprinkled all over the top of this ancient, olfactory tapestry, while underneath lurks the slow start of something floral. Suddenly, a wave of sweet, dewy, pollen-laden white lilies rolls over the intense cocktail of black pepper, dust motes, and dry, cold, white, slightly soapy High Church incense. Relique d’Amour is suddenly transformed into something very different, centered on a dewy, sometimes dry, sometimes metallic, lily infused with incense. To me, it’s unusual the way the traditionally indolent white flowers have had their syrupy sweetness and narcotic opulence dried out by cold incense. The combination of lilies blended with dust, sweet pollen, old wood, slightly honeyed, waxed wood, and undertones of soapiness feels like a complex set of astute blendings. Quite original.

This reminds me of my youth, when I used to attend the Catholic Church. I am no longer a Catholic, but those memories will always be beautiful and pleasant to me. There is an air of mysticism that a lot of people perhaps don’t see. Relique D’Amour captures that mysticism in such an utterly gorgeous way. This SMELLS like the mystic part of Catholicism. I wholeheartedly agree with what other reviewers say; this truly transports you to a beautiful chapel or church in the middle of the countryside. What’s beautiful about it is that it manages to capture everything about it. In the opening, you are still outside the chapel, approaching its doors. You can smell the pines and greenery in the cool air, and the old stones that make the chapel. As the perfume dries down and you enter the chapel, you smell the incensed air. Mind you, this perfume doesn’t smell directly of incense, or like the smoke of incense. It is more like incense that was long burned and whose scent lingers in the air. The memory of it. You can also smell some woodiness from the benches. And as it reaches it’s complete dry down and you’ve made it to the altar where you will kneel, you smell peppery and ethereal lilies, white and pure. Their clean and transparent scent will linger until you walk out of the church, until the perfume smells. This perfume is art, it is an experience. I don’t like to compare, but this is what I hoped Passage D’Enfer would smell like. That one is also beautiful, but Relique D’Amour took that idea to the next level and gave it dimension and more substance. Both light and ephemeral, but Relique D’ Amour, even though it stays very close to skin, projects more for a longer time and also lasts more on the skin even if it only stays close to it. It lingers like an ethereal memory until it fades. And it is so beautiful I am not even mad about it. This is truly exceptional and just gorgeously done. A perfect example of how perfume and scent can transport you to places and make you feel certain ways. Wearing this is embalming yourself with peace and beauty. Gorgeous, I never want to be without it.