Sarrasins (2007)
by Serge Lutens Les Salons du Palais Royal Shiseido

My meeting with Sarassins was a moment of perfection, where everything feels as it should. The presence of the ceremonial bell jar, the mystical liquid coloration. The anticipation of a blind buy. And finally, the scent! Transparent jasmine. Not the scent of a flower when you move close to smell it. The smell of the night air as you pass outside a hidden garden of jasmine bushes in full bloom. There is no trace of the animalic side of the flower’s scent. The entire range of the perfume is transferred to an ethereal level over and above the actual flower. Difficult to isolate another note that obscures the brightness of the flower, at least to any appreciable extent. The feeling you have as you open the bottle is that it captures the night air from a secret garden. That perhaps explains the contradicting dark color that the creators decided to give this ethereal perfume (and here "ethereal" does not mean 'weak'). It is the color of the night sky, what you see when you pass outside this garden of jasmine and in order to enjoy the fleeting scent you inhale deeply tilting the head back.

Comparisons with the earlier À la Nuit are inevitable, but Sarrasins is its own scent. It is a less voluptuous, less indolic jasmine, and altogether more reserved – maybe even severe. I almost immediately get a very green and somehow austere jasmine out of Sarrasins. I also smell some hay and the merest touch of camphor or menthol. The camphor remains in the background, but it does put a cool edge on the central jasmine. Though I don’t find any actual tea in Sarrasins, it does leave an impression of green tea with jasmine.

Sarrasins continues in its green jasmine groove for some time, gradually growing sweeter and smoother as it develops. Then at length the floral accord sharpens, and in so doing begins to lead the scent in a new direction. Having grown sweeter, Sarrasins now becomes somewhat hard-edged as well, and then remains comparatively cool and aloof throughout its lifespan. Part of this increasing sharpness may be due to the spicy carnation middle note.

Sarrasins doesn’t so much alter as fade during its drydown. It clings stubbornly to its jasmine and reveals only a hint of sweet, powdery musk and creamy woods. I get nothing animalic, and certainly no civet or castoreum in the base. It’s also completely free of the sweet, syrupy base accord that’s common to many Sheldrake-Lutens fragrances. When applied very liberally, Sarrasins reveals some darker, leathery overtones, and more vanilla or coumarin in its base, but on the whole it’s a simple scent, and a remarkably straightforward one coming from the house that brought us Muscs Koublaï Khan, Ambre Sultan and Tubéreuse Criminelle.

In fact, with its camphoraceous, medicinal edge, Sarrasins could be taken as an attempt to do for jasmine what Tubéreuse Criminelle does for tuberose. If that’s the case, Sheldrake and Lutens have either miscalculated or lost their nerve, for Sarrasins is a far less challenging scent. If anything, it’s a sibling to Un Lys, or even Gris Clair, which are likewise crisp and clear. At no point does Sarrasins become thick or heady, and it wears quite close to the skin. I think ubuandibme is accurate in describing it as "sheer" and “transparent,” qualities that Sheldrake and Lutens have rarely achieved during their partnership. It conspicuously lacks the near-hallucinatory accuracy of Un Lys or Sa Majesté la Rose. In all of these respects it smells more like something L'Artisan Parfumeur or Hermèssence would do than what's expected out of Serge Lutens. Its limited projection and unusually crisp, green-tinted floral character make Sarrasins a “safer” scent than À la Nuit (or many other jasmines for that matter,) and I think it will work well for either gender.

Sarrasins is labeled as an eau de parfum, but on my skin at least, it’s a surprisingly mild scent. The lasting power is only fair – maybe about five hours. My verdict? An easy-to-wear jasmine, but too timid and bloodless to hold my interest.

Sarrasins reveals jasmine born out of clash from deep indolic leather and sweet apricot fruits. If you are accustomed to the most non-indolic jasmines in perfumes, you might find Sarrasins too dirty, animalic and heavy. But in fact, it shows a kind of exaggerated jasmine flower. Indole notes are supported with Castoreum giving a leather note. And the fruitiness turns into a sweet soft apricot accord.

On my skin it doesn't show much of leather or animalic indole - they make a background for the fruity notes. The apricot note dominates and gets sweeter and sweeter with time. It's pretty sweet and oriental. Wearing it is relaxing and makes the time slow down...

Ah, Sarrasins! The moment I received a sample of this fragrance, I immediately sought out a full bell jar (and nearly threw my checking account into the negative as a result!)
This fragrance IS nocturnal jasmine.
When I was in my teens my parents had jasmine growing over the trellises in their front yard. In the early summer months, all throughout the night, the fragrance of all those tiny white flowers wandered into every open window of the house. All the memories of teenage angst, young-dumb puppy love and small-world confusion were constantly intertwined with the haunting onslaught of mysterious perfume that crept from the jasmine vines on those long, sultry nights. This is Sarrasins.
Immature, raw and unchecked longing - a white night.

Beautiful rich and leathery jasmine reminiscent of a hot summer night on the mediterranean. However, it does not captivate me, despite what Luca Turin says. Certainly not a masterpiece. It stains like a bastard too.

Purely from a user's point of view, this is a very wearable scent, enjoyable in its progression and not overly clingy. Makes me feel good to wear it.

Perky and floral at first, a bit green, then dries down to creamy woodiness — actually, more like tree bark than wood somehow