The cheap perfumer goes about it in the same way. He analyzes, for instance, the otto or oil of roses which cost during the war $400 a pound—if you could get it at any price—and he finds that the chief ingredient is geraniol, costing only $5, and next is citronelol, costing $20; then comes nerol and others. So he makes up a cheap brand of perfumery out of three or four such compounds. But the genuine oil of roses, like other natural essences, contains a dozen or more constituents and to leave many of them out is like reducing an orchestra to a few loud-sounding instruments or a painting to a three-color print. A few years ago an attempt was made to make music electrically by producing separately each kind of sound vibration contained in the instruments imitated. Theoretically that seems easy, but practically the tone was not satisfactory because the tones and overtones of a full orchestra or even of a single violin are too numerous and complex to be reproduced individually. So the synthetic perfumes have not driven out the natural perfumes, but, on the contrary, have aided and stimulated the growth of flowers for essences. The otto or attar of roses, favorite of the Persian monarchs and romances, has in recent years come chiefly from Bulgaria. But wars are not made with rosewater and the Bulgars for the last five years have been engaged in other business than cultivating their own gardens. The alembic or still was invented by the Arabian alchemists for the purpose of obtaining the essential oil or attar of roses. But distillation, even with the aid of steam, is not altogether satisfactory. For instance, the distilled rose oil contains anywhere from 10 to 74 per cent. of a paraffin wax (stearopten) that is odorless and, on the other hand, phenyl-ethyl alcohol, which is an important constituent of the scent of roses, is broken up in the process of distillation. So the perfumer can improve on the natural or rather the distilled oil by leaving out part of the paraffin and adding the missing alcohol. Even the imported article taken direct from the still is not always genuine, for the wily Bulgar sometimes "increases the yield" by sprinkling his roses in the vat with synthetic geraniol just as the wily Italian pours a barrel of American cottonseed oil over his olives in the press.
Another method of extracting the scent of flowers is by enfleurage, which takes advantage of the tendency of fats to absorb odors. You know how butter set beside fish in the ice box will get a fishy flavor. In enfleurage moist air is carried up a tower passing alternately over trays of fresh flowers, say violets, and over glass plates covered with a thin layer of lard. The perfumed lard may then be used as a pomade or the perfume may be extracted by alcohol.
But many sweet flowers do not readily yield an essential oil, so in such oases we have to rely altogether upon more or less successful substitutes. For instance, the perfumes sold under the names of "heliotrope," "lily of the valley," "lilac," "cyclamen," "honeysuckle," "sweet pea," "arbutus," "mayflower" and "magnolia" are not produced from these flowers but are simply imitations made from other essences, synthetic or natural. Among the "thousand flowers" that contribute to the "Eau de Mille Fleurs" are the civet cat, the musk deer and the sperm whale. Some of the published formulas for "Jockey Club" call for civet or ambergris and those of "Lavender Water" for musk and civet. The less said about the origin of these three animal perfumes the better. Fortunately they are becoming too expensive to use and are being displaced by synthetic products more agreeable to a refined imagination. The musk deer may now be saved from extinction since we can make tri-nitro-butyl-xylene from coal tar. This synthetic musk passes muster to human nostrils, but a cat will turn up her nose at it. The synthetic musk is not only much cheaper than the natural, but a dozen times as strong, or let us say, goes a dozen times as far, for nobody wants it any stronger.
Such powerful scents as these are only pleasant when highly diluted, yet they are, as we have seen, essential ingredients of the finest perfumes. For instance, the natural oil of jasmine and other flowers contain traces of indols and skatols which have most disgusting odors. Though our olfactory organs cannot detect their presence yet we perceive their absence so they have to be put into the artificial perfume. Just so a brief but violent discord in a piece of music or a glaring color contrast in a painting may be necessary to the harmony of the whole.
It is absurd to object to "artificial" perfumes, for practically all perfumes now sold are artificial in the sense of being compounded by the art of the perfumer and whether the materials he uses are derived from the flowers of yesteryear or of Carboniferous Era is nobody's business but his. And he does not tell. The materials can be purchased in the open market. Various recipes can be found in the books. But every famous perfumer guards well the secret of his formulas and hands it as a legacy to his posterity. The ancient Roman family of Frangipani has been made immortal by one such hereditary recipe. The Farina family still claims to have the exclusive knowledge of how to make Eau de Cologne. This famous perfume was first compounded by an Italian, Giovanni Maria Farina, who came to Cologne in 1709. It soon became fashionable and was for a time the only scent allowed at some of the German courts. The various published recipes contain from six to a dozen ingredients, chiefly the oils of neroli, rosemary, bergamot, lemon and lavender dissolved in very pure alcohol and allowed to age like wine. The invention, in 1895, of artificial neroli (orange flowers) has improved the product.
French perfumery, like the German, had its origin in Italy, when Catherine de' Medici came to Paris as the bride of Henri II. She brought with her, among other artists, her perfumer, Sieur Toubarelli, who established himself in the flowery land of Grasse. Here for four hundred years the industry has remained rooted and the family formulas have been handed down from generation to generation. In the city of Grasse there were at the outbreak of the war fifty establishments making perfumes. The French perfumer does not confine himself to a single sense. He appeals as well to sight and sound and association. He adds to the attractiveness of his creation by a quaintly shaped bottle, an artistic box and an enticing name such as "Dans les Nues," "Le Coeur de Jeannette," "Nuit de Chine," "Un Air Embaumé," "Le Vertige," "Bon Vieux Temps," "L'Heure Bleue," "Nuit d'Amour," "Quelques Fleurs," "Djer-Kiss."
The requirements of a successful scent are very strict. A perfume must be lasting, but not strong. All its ingredients must continue to evaporate in the same proportion, otherwise it will change odor and deteriorate. Scents kill one another as colors do. The minutest trace of some impurity or foreign odor may spoil the whole effect. To mix the ingredients in a vessel of any metal but aluminum or even to filter through a tin funnel is likely to impair the perfume. The odoriferous compounds are very sensitive and unstable bodies, otherwise they would have no effect upon the olfactory organ. The combination that would be suitable for a toilet water would not be good for a talcum powder and might spoil in a soap. Perfumery is used even in the "scentless" powders and soaps. In fact it is now used more extensively, if less intensively, than ever before in the history of the world. During the Unwashed Ages, commonly called the Dark Ages, between the destruction of the Roman baths and the construction of the modern bathroom, the art of the perfumer, like all the fine arts, suffered an eclipse. "The odor of sanctity" was in highest esteem and what that odor was may be imagined from reading the lives of the saints. But in the course of centuries the refinements of life began to seep back into Europe from the East by means of the Arabs and Crusaders, and chemistry, then chiefly the art of cosmetics, began to revive. When science, the greatest democratizing agent on earth, got into action it elevated the poor to the ranks of kings and priests in the delights of the palate and the nose. We should not despise these delights, for the pleasure they confer is greater, in amount at least, than that of the so-called higher senses. We eat three times a day; some of us drink oftener; few of us visit the concert hall or the art gallery as often as we do the dining room. Then, too, these primitive senses have a stronger influence upon our emotional nature than those acquired later in the course of evolution. As Kipling puts it:
Smells are surer than sounds or sights
To make your heart-strings crack.