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Fig is nearly always written as fruit. Trudon wrote it as the tree.
Émilie Bouge opened it on cedar leaf, fig leaves and ethereal humus, the smell of damp earth under broad leaves. Hyacinth, copaiba and a green bouquet make the heart. Sandalwood, tonka, patchouli and moss crystals sit underneath. She describes it as light and shadow, fresh green against deep wood.
The sweetness is held right back, so it smells of a garden in spring and not of a bowl of figs. Trudon sets it in the King's gardens at Versailles, where the fig trees catch the first sun of the year.
Fifty to fifty-five hours in glass from Vinci in Tuscany, finished by hand. The wick is straightened by hand as the wax sets. The Figuerie diffuser on our shelf carries the same composition in celadon glass. Once the wax is gone the glass suits a few short roses cut from the garden.
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I was given this candle for Mother’s Day from my favourite store on the peninsula. And it makes the whole room smell like France!
This is the most lovely candle from my favourite shop! Their perfume and clothing range is the absolute best on the peninsula.
