Scented Snippets New Fragrance Review: Amouage Opus IX – La Divina as Dame aux Camélias

by: Ida Meister

“The Library Collection - OPUS IX. Premiering on 1st June 2015. Inspired by Maria Callas's 1958 Lisbon La Traviata.
Act I
Camellia Accord, Black Pepper, Jasmine
Act II
Gaiac Wood, Beeswax, Leather
Act III
Grey Amber, Vetiver, Civet”—Christopher Chong, Creative Director for Amouage

When one contemplates La Traviata, the Maria Callas/Alfredo Kraus performance in Lisbon, 1958 is a grand place to begin.

It was to be a defining career moment for them both. Kraus was elegant, suave, debonair; La Divina was possessed of a singular instrument, goddess-y aura, and magnificent acting skills.

The aria "Sempre Libera" is well-loved and well-known—and normally, I would have gone for a less obvious choice, but for the manner in which it illustrates the animalic aspects I love in fine perfumes [and especially in this one]. Opus IX vividly conjures a crowded cafe, filled to bursting with dancers, imbibers, overheated, quivering flesh pressed intimately and vigorously in the teeming throng of Bohemian humanity.

Alexandre Dumas fils penned the novel La Dame aux camélias in 1848; it became several plays, an opera, and was interpreted cinematically as well. The heroine, Marguerite Gaultier [Violette Valéry in the opera] was based upon Dumas' real-life lover, Marie Duplessis. She is a courtesan, a demi-mondaine suffering from tuberculosis [not unlike Mimi in La Bohème!] who gives up her lover for a noble cause and dies alone, in agony [in Traviata, the ending is altered to include a brief, poignant lovers' reconciliation].

That opera would resonate with Christopher Chong is no surprise. He has studied extensively, and opera is our mutual shared passion. The verismo of Verdi demands a boldness which Opus IX manifests brilliantly.

Act I: We have camellia, of course—that delicate, heady blossom which is Violetta's constant companion and trademark. Jasmine adds its feral beauty to the brash fire of black pepper in our first act: drama, beauty, intoxication set the stage for unbridled emotions and louche living.

The party at Violetta's house: La Traviata - Der Eklat am Spieltisch, Carl d'Unker

Don't be deluded by the seduction of the perfume's early unfurling.

Act II is fueled by smoky gaiacwood,  animalic beeswax's sweet decay and leather. It intimates the loving domesticity in which we initially find Alfredo and Violetta in the countryside three months after their first encounter. Alfredo is initially clueless regarding the sacrifices she has made in order to maintain this life for him: given up her old wanton ways, sold many worldly goods.

As the act progresses, these heart notes become just that—as Violetta meets Alfredo's father, who pleads for her to release him from their ardor: Alfredo has a young sister whose romantic prospects are endangered, sullied by his consorting with a demimondaine. For me, the leatheriness reflects Germont's highly polished boots, symbol of the upwardly mobile bourgeoisie. Reluctantly,Violetta tearfully and nobly agrees to relinquish all claim to Alfredo's affections.

Beeswax represents the polished floors at friend Flora's party, gaiac the smoky atmosphere of the gaming table in that scene. Alfredo spies Violetta on a Baron's arm; he is incensed, not knowing of her agreement with his father. Alfredo makes a scene and denounces her as she faints dead away; Germont, seeking his son, publicly denounces his churlish behavior. Violetta then tells Alfredo that he will never comprehend all the love in her heart ...

Act III: Wistful, mournful base notes reveal the extent of Violetta's illness: she is near death.

Tenebrous ambergris and the balsamic warmth of vetiver are a foreshadowing, with civet's depth underscoring the tragedy which is about to unfold.

Germont is grief-stricken with guilty conscience, has revealed Violetta's sacrifice and is sending Alfredo to her bedside. When he arrives, they fall into each others' arms and dream of leaving for Paris—but it is too late, and Violetta dies in his arms.

Opus IX is a potent Amouage creation; I didn't anticipate succumbing to its considerable charms.

Its floral tendrils reeled me in. I found myself reapplying Opus IX repeatedly, trying to grasp it more fully. And, as I often do—I decanted my sample into a 'dab' flacon, so that I didn't feel as if I were invading personal space with it.

Worldly, impassioned, animalic: Opus IX is mysterious and not for the timid soul.
It has a jolie-laide quality about it which is very compelling, much as Maria Callas was, with all her tragedies and joys emanating from her like an animus.

Thank you, Christopher Chong, for my sample. I'll treasure it.