Master and Margarita. Set in 1930s Moscow, this is a satirical tale of good and evil, of power and corruption, and of human weakness and the strength of love. The cast includes the Devil himself, his posse that contains, among others, a beautiful naked witch Hella and a large vodka-drinking, pistol toting, black cat Behemoth; the beautiful Margarita, and a writer known as The Master. These characters are joined by Pontius Pilate and Yeshua (Jesus Christ) in an incredibly entertaining, imaginative, bizarre and yet brutally realistic parable. The Devil (Woland) and his gang wreck havoc in Moscow but in the end bring peace to two tragic lovers, Master and his Margarita. And if you ask Woland, just like Faust asked Mephistopheles, who is he after all, he will undoubtedly reply, that he is “part of the power which forever wills evil and forever works good.”
Passage d’Enfer. The overall impression is that of a "gray" scent, gray and melancholy, but also strangely comforting. This is my scent of choice on a gloomy rainy day, when I am stressed or sad. It brings me strange peace. A beautiful passage from Master and Margarita might illustrate that odd lightness of heart: “Gods, my gods! How sad the earth is at eventide! How mysterious are the mists over the swamps. Anyone who has wandered in these mists, who has suffered a great deal before death, or flown above the earth, bearing a burden beyond his strength knows this. Someone who is exhausted knows this. And without regret he forsakes the mists of the earth, its swamps and rivers, and sinks into the arms of death with a light heart, knowing that death alone…”
The scent does not evoke an image of an inside of a church, as most incense based scents do' what I do imagine is some otherworldly eternal creature perched on top of a tall gray cathedral (“With his sharp chin resting on his fist and one leg folded beneath him Woland sat hunched on the taboret, staring fixedly at the vast assortment of huge buildings, palaces, and shacks condemned to destruction”), surveying us mortals with disdainful pity, because he has seen it all so many times and knows that youth passes, hearta break, life ends and all our earthly pursuits are nothing but vain and clutching at the wind... Wearing Passage d'Enfer puts me in a mood to read Ecclesiastes. Or Bulgakov.
The wonderful photo is by Luciano Duse and is called The Protector of the City.