Hermione and Her Little Group of Serious Thinkers/The Perfume Factory
THE PERFUME CONCERT
THE loveliest man gave us a talk the other evening—our Little Group of Serious Thinkers, you know—on the Art of the Future.
And what do you think it is to be? You'd never guess! Never!
The entertainment of the future will be a Perfume Concert!
Every scent, if you get what I mean, corresponds to some color, and every color corresponds to some sound, and every sound corresponds to some emotion.
And the truly esthetic person—the one who is Sensitized, if you get what I mean—will hear a tone on the violin, and see a color, and think passionately of the One he Loves, all at the same time, just through smelling a Rose.
Only, of course, it must be the right kind of a rose.
Papa—poor dear Papa is so coarse and crude sometimes in his attempts to be witty—Papa says it would be a fine idea to lead the man who talked to us into a boiled cabbage foundry and then watch him die of the noise. Papa is not Sensitized; he doesn't understand that the esthete really would die—Papa resists the vibrations of the esthetic environment with which I have striven to surround him, if you get what I mean.
Oh, to be Sensitized! To be Sensitized! To vibrate like a reed in the wind! To thrill like a petal in the sun!
I'm having a study of my aura made. You know, one's soul gives off certain colors, and if one's individuality is to be in tune with the Cosmic All, one must take care that the colors about one do not jar with one's own Psychic Hue.
And after one has found one's soul color, one can find the scent to match that color, if you get what I mean.
I am going to have the house re-decorated, with a sweet subtle blending of perfumes in every room!
I have always been good at matching things, anyhow—I perceive affinities at a glance. Psychic people do.
When I was quite a small child Mamma always used to take me with her to the shops if there were ribbons or anything like that to be matched.
I just loved it, even as a baby! And I think it is the greatest fun yet.
Often I go through half a dozen shops, not because I want to buy anything, but just to match colors, you know. It gives me a thrill that nothing else does.
Some of us are like that—some of us truly Sensitized Souls—we function, I mean, quite without being able to stop it—I hope you follow me. Isn't it wonderful to be in touch with the Universe in that way! Not, of course, that the shop girls who show you the fabrics and things are always understanding.
The working classes are so often ungrateful to us advanced thinkers. Sometimes I am almost provoked to the point of giving up my Social Betterment work when I think how ungrateful they are. But some of us, in every age, must suffer at the hands of the masses for the sake of the masses, if you know what I mean.