From the diary of Jean Poivre, July 8, 1793
After a long hike, I spent the afternoon with the monk Immanuel in the garden of the imposing monastery on Île Saint-Honorat. He is a seeker—like me. The knowledge he has accumulated on his many travels is an inspiration to me. We sat under a centuries-old olive tree that protected us from the glaring sun and provided welcome shade. A gentle, warm breeze carried the scent of juicy, ripe fruit and resinous wood to my nose. On the table stood a jug from which wafted the intense, peppery-spicy aroma of the herbal wine for which the monastery was widely known. Although the monastery was no longer owned by the church, Immanuel tended the herb garden with great passion because of the many healing properties inherent in these plants. Sweet and spicy at the same time. That would be the perfume I would dedicate to my friend.
We stroll through the garden of a summer house in Provence. The family has gathered for a meal at a long table under old, gnarled olive trees. The mood is exuberant. Children romp in the garden, adults chat animatedly. Happiness is in the air. You enjoy the carefree nature of summer.
Grandmother's famous tart is on the table. Still warm from the oven, it exudes an irresistible aroma. There is an intense scent of delicious spices such as saffron, cardamom, and cinnamon. The sweetness of juicy fruits is mingled with delicate notes of rose and iris. Cedarwood and sandalwood, carried by a warm base of vanilla, tonka bean, and musk, complete this lush bouquet of oriental sensuality. You wish this summer would never end.
