POSSESSED; Seduction's Earthy Scent

CHOOSE the right victim.

That is the first directive in the wicked and erudite guide ''The Art of Seduction,'' whose self-help virtues are rather oblique, as they lie in undoing the heartstrings of others. But when it comes to seduction, obliqueness -- as Robert Greene, the book's author, knows well -- is crucial. His second dictum is: Approach indirectly.

Those edicts, and the 22 others in the book, out next month in paperback, are borne out by the conquests of noted Don and Donna Juans of history and literature. But of the many routes that modern-day seducers can take to their victims' heads, Mr. Greene says that perhaps the most direct (that is, the most indirect) is through the nose. It's a view culled not just from history but experience, his having once been slowly but fatally undone by a woman's perfume.

The perfume is Caprifoglio (honeysuckle in Italian), an eau de cologne concocted a century ago by Santa Maria Novella, an esoteric perfumer and pharmacy founded in 16th-century Florence. ''I don't normally like perfume,'' Mr. Greene said. ''But this one-note thing really got under my skin.''

Indeed, years before he wrote his book, a certain Ms. X and her Caprifoglio embodied many of his future rules. ''There was a period where we were just friends,'' he recalled. ''It was only later, when things got physical, that I became aware of the perfume. It struck me after the fact, when it was all over my clothes.'' When it was too late.

As such, the cologne seemed to follow his Rule No. 3: Send mixed signals. ''There's something very clean and earthy about it,'' Mr. Greene said. ''But underneath there's something almost a little evil.'' Likewise with the girl, to whom he was attracted because of her innocent, easygoing quality. Later, he said obliquely, ''there were transgressive elements involved.''

He recalled Fred MacMurray in ''Double Indemnity,'' talking about Barbara Stanwyck's femme fatale: ''How could I have known that murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle?''

The fact that the cologne, despite its duality, is a one-note wonder -- no complex bouquet of neroli, rose and bergamot here -- adds to its allure. Paul Austin, a vice president at Quest International, a fragrance maker, explained that single-note scents have a certain ingenuous appeal.

''You know this didn't spring out of some marketing director's head,'' Mr. Austin said. He added that lately large perfume companies have found themselves competing with artisanal houses like Jo Malone, L'Artisan Parfumeur and Santa Maria Novella, whose Old World packaging has changed little in centuries. (To wit, Estée Lauder now owns Jo Malone.)

Recently, Mr. Greene found the cologne at Takashimaya in New York (it is also sold at Lafco, a new Santa Maria Novella shop in SoHo, for $65), and the moment he smelled it again, he was transported back more than 10 years. But he is happy to put the genie back in its bottle. His current sweetheart, to whom he has been attached, he said, for ''many years,'' does not wear perfume of any kind, nor does he.

''Never,'' he said firmly.

Nor is he worried -- well, not too worried -- about her knowing about his olfactory affair. ''She knows I'm a man with a past,'' he said. In other words, the reminder is a dab of Rule No. 4: Appear to be an object of desire.

As with Chanel No. 5, apply to pulse points for maximum effect.