Embrujo de Sevilla does not need a review. It needs a poem that only a compatriot of hers, with his heart ablaze of passion, could write. It needs an ode to praise her eternal beauty, or an elegy to lament that this beauty is forever gone. Something like the immortal words of Federico García Lorca, that sound as if they were written for this beauteous Hispalense...
"Then I realized I had been murdered.
They looked for me in cafes, cemeteries and churches
... but they did not find me.
They never found me?
No. They never found me."
Shortly afterwards our "handshake" which left me breathless, and after finally managing to put myself together, I got angry. I kept looking at the Lilliputian sample and asking: "Why did you do this to me? I was happy without you! I was happy in my ignorance! Now I'm obsessed! Now I have to have you at all costs! Now I must have a Spanish mistress, to send her search all over Spain for you! And if I'm not good enough for Spanish ladies, then I myself must move to Spain and dedicate the rest of my life gathering as many bottles of you as I can find!" But the little vial gave no response. It just sat there, showing the slight indifference that someone who is fed up with compliments usually shows.
But levity aside, what on earth is this? How could something so beautiful elude me for so many yeras? This devastating Spanish charm is one of the very best perfumes I have ever smelled. It succeeds so greatly in making it possible to enclose time, in this case the past, in a bottle, that it bends reason. It's so dreamy and so nostalgic, that for a while I was not sure if I would be able to even start writing a review about it. I doubted I could find the proper words to speak of how it speaks to me. But then she appeared...It was like a beautiful yet melancholic apparition of an once breathtakingly beautiful Spanish enchantress who slowly materialised in front of me, and started to tell me stories. Stories about how there was a time when men were drawing knives for her dark eyes, in the cobblestone alleys of Seville. Stories of how young artists, desperately and secretly in love with her, were singing passionate cantes jondos in Peñas Flamencas, about the way her raven hair shone under the bright Andalusian sun. Stories about how the flutter of her dress made men in taverns order one more glass of sherry, every time she passed in front of them during her Sunday strolls in Plaza de España.
This is elegance. This is passion. This is art. This is Perfume! If someone had to have a perfume as a reminder of what perfume truly is, Embrujo de Sevilla would be the only one needed. And if someone asked me "What is perfume?", this is what I'd give her/him to smell. It seems that the spell this sorceress has woven around me is slowly making me losing my mind...
The most difficult adversary to beat is not the one who attacks either your body or your mind. The most difficult adversary to beat is the one who attacks your heart. And this particular one had my heart shackled and on its knees within seconds.
I never thought that there would ever be a perfume which would seriously doubt the first by far place that Opium holds in my heart all these years. I thought that it was already too late for such a thing to happen. But this bewitching Doña of yore is making eyes at me from the very first moment I met her. And these eyes do not forgive.These eyes are the ones to be lost in and never be found again. Ever. Y madre de Dios, ellos son tan muy hermosos...