I went looking for the four houses in Paris where Isidore Ducasse lived, all of them in the streets north of the Palais Royal. The old buildings are gone. In one of the new buildings there’s a toy shop where you can buy Hello Kitty suitcases and Barbapapa lamps. I could imagine the deathless Maldoror going around destroying all of his creator(?)’s former habitations, erasing further the already nebulous traces of his brief and virtually undocumented life.

Wandering around, I found this door knocker:

This udderly intriguing lamp:

Joan of Arc:

A giant golden snail:

A taxidermist’s (stuffed lions not shown here):

And the Michelin Man:

He was in a shop in the Galerie Vivienne, which is a very attractive old arcade, though not on the scale of the Passage Pommeray. It runs off Rue Vivienne just north of the Palais Royal, which has two fountains like this in its courtyard - they brought back nostalgic memories of playing with ray tracers:

The Serge Lutens boutique in the palace’s arcaded cloister is a hushed, intimate cave decorated in varying shades of dark, dusky purple, with astrological motifs around the cornices and an atmosphere that made me think of a night of genteel bondage under a wisteria bower. The staff stand behind small tables on which the seductive bell-shaped bottles of eau de parfum are arranged, with papers already saturated for you to sniff. No hint here of a sales pitch. I appreciated the way the woman who served me offered to paint some on my skin before I even asked, and actually suggested that I go outside and wear it around for a while. My only small quibble was that there were no coffee beans to sniff between samples.

After much deliberation, I decided to try out Fumerie Turque, Cuir Mauresque, Muscs de Khoublai Khan and Tuberose Criminelle. I tried them on two separate days, one on either wrist each time. Cuir Mauresque was suave and, while very leathery, we’re talking super-soft leather. I immediately loved it, but my initial thought was that although it’s a unisex perfume I’d probably rather smell it on someone male than wear it myself. It held its complexity well and was still going strong seven hours later. Fumerie Turque was gorgeous, romantic, decadent and smoky, so I was surprised when I didn’t completely fall for it, especially as its longest-lingering note was Peru balsam, one of my favourite scents. Too feminine? I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I like to smell a hint of the devil in a perfume, and what I smelled in this one was a hookah, a feather boa and a box of old photographs - intriguing things, but not exactly satanic (whereas Mephistopheles might wear Cuir Mauresque).

I’d read one review of Muscs de Khoublai Khan calling it ‘eau de unwashed horse-warrior of the steppes’, while someone else found it completely inoffensive. Amongst those noses that pick up strongly on the animal (or manimal) smell, some love it, some hate it. I was prepared to love it, but my nose had other ideas. Yes, there was a puff of zoo aroma when it went on, as well as a strong blast of floral musk. However, it soon settled down to something that makes me think of a home for retired schoolmistresses - cloying musk and a whiff of litter box. I didn’t actually mind it, but I don’t especially want to smell like this, either.

Tuberose Criminelle started off as a gothic Lolita on the run – the loveliest tuberose I’ve ever smelled, overlaid with burning motorbike tires and a whiff of gasoline. This one also settled down quickly. The bike departed, leaving the flower and a faint presence of latex. Tuberose is a fragrance I adore, but it always goes revolting on my skin. This one didn’t, and it certainly smelled divine, but I wanted the naughty girl from the beginning to stick around.

These are all beautiful perfumes, but none of them is for me. I’ll have to stick with Bulgari Black and Timbuktu - or try Dzongkha when my current bottle of Timbuktu runs out. I also want to try some scents from BPAL - Laurie’s word-pictures have made me hanker to sample a few of their wares, especially Golachab, the one named after the same Qlipoth as Gwynn’s sword.

Would someone brew up a Maldoror perfume please?