Aqua Allegoria Lilia Bella by Guerlain

Bestial. I’m not a fan of hand cream or virginal lotion scents, but this was the sweet spot. Lilia Bella is probably the most natural lily of the valley I’ve ever smelled. It brings back memories of the Guerlain stand showcasing Aqua Allegoria novelties: Herba Fresca wasn’t that phosphorescent thing of today; it smelled of freshly cut grass and the future; also Gentiana and Lavender Velours, which drove you crazy. I was hooked on that first batch of Jean-Paul Guerlain, when the house gave you twice the value for every penny. The bottles were gorgeous, the boxes even prettier, with the main color note taking up almost the entire wrapping, beautiful, delicate, and modern—just the turn of the century, with the old Guerlain logo that today tells you it’s worth the price, unlike the Le Petit Fistro Sexuarl from the Prairie line. In Lilia Bella, a single touch on the hand reveals two notes: a cold jasmine, devoid of sexuality, green and natural as if coming from a vine with roots, alongside a hyper-realistic rose, smooth, young, and fresh, seeming to sway in a French meadow. The lily of the valley doesn’t make itself the owner; as La Dame de Noir says, it smells like old-school Nivea cream, but expensive and refined. I don’t recall hating that it carried lilacs, a note I love, but I do retain a low-level green floral tone that corresponds to the crunch of a freshly torn rose leaf, a very natural spicy green that goes unnoticed. Lilia Bella was magnificent. If someone is hooked on white hand lotions, non-erotic perfumes, the scent of the everyday, tranquil, peaceful, and contemplative, or even the smell of the Catholic God on Earth, here is one of its best representatives. Bottled innocence. P.S. Do you know those typical French and English chapels from the final days of the Middle Ages? Luminous crypts with the carved body of the deceased in white stone? Lilia Bella smelled exactly like that… like eternity.