Hermann à mes cotés me paressaît une ombre

Chypre, Spicy

Your shadow could be your perfume. He is your alter ego. A modern and gothic chypre.

This perfume is the son and grandson of the XIX siècle of Lagarde and Michard.

It was born from the poem by Victor Hugo. A gothic and eternal seduction. To feel flesh and marble like a supine statue that has suffered so much over the centuries.

Nothing more, nothing less.
Dark was the night and the gloomy forest.
At my side Hermann was like a ghost.
The galloping horses. May God guide them!
The clouds in the sky looked like marble.
Stars flew through the crowns of trees
Like a flock of burning birds.

I am swollen with remorse. Broken in pain.
Hermann's spirit has lost hope.
I am swollen with remorse. My loves, sleep!
As we walked through this green desert,
Hermann told me: “I think of the graves ajar”;
“I think”, I replied, “To the now closed tombs”.

He looks forward and I look back,
Horses gallop in the middle of a clearing;
The wind carries the echo of a distant angelus
“I am thinking of those whom existence afflicts.
Those who still are, those who still live”.
“I think”, I answered him: “To those who are dead”.

The fountains sang. What words did they sing?
The oaks hummed. What were they muttering?
The shrubs whispered like old friends.
Hermann told me: "The living cannot sleep,
There are eyes that watch, there are eyes that cry”.
I answered him: “And others lie asleep”.

Hermann then resumed: “It is life's misfortune.
The dead no longer suffer. Finally I am at peace!
How I envy grass-covered graves
On which autumn leaves fall
And the night caresses with its sweet flames;
For the radiant sky soothes all souls in every grave!"

I answered him: “Silence, respect the great mystery!
The dead are stretched out in the earth you press.
The dead are the hearts that once loved you,
Your extinct angel! I am your father and your mother!
You don't have to sadden them with bitter irony.
As through a dream they hear us speak."