Two ounces of quicklime, half an ounce of orpiment and red arsenic; boil in one pint of alkaline lye, and try with a feather to see when it is strong enough. Touch the parts to be rid of hair, and wash with cold water. When we say that orpiment and realgar are deadly poisons, and add Madame Celnart’s remark that the mixture is of “une grande causticité,” often attacking the tissue of the skin, our readers will quite agree with her that it is only to be used with “la plus grande circonspection,” or, still better, not at all. The Crème Parisienne depilatoire is harmless, and is given for what it is worth: One eighth of an ounce of rye starch, and the same of sulphate of baryta (or heavy-spar), the juice of purslane, acacia, and milk-thistle, mixed with oil.
The high-sounding Paste of Venus, devised by a Parisian cosmetic artist, who shared the mythologic fancy which prevailed years ago, was spread over the skin to soften and perfume it. Esther herself might have used it, for its conjugation of spices would delight an Oriental. It was made of fat, butter, honey, and aromatics—the more the better; but as none of our belles wish to try the anointing bodily, I spare them the list, and give instead the Esprit de pyrêtre. The pyrethrum, or Spanish pellitory, is an herb highly valued by cosmetic artists, and appears in several recipes of the French:
Powdered cinnamon, one drachm; coriander, nineteen scruples; vanilla, the same; clove, eighteen grains; cochineal, mace, and saffron, the same; simple spirit of pyrethrum, one litre (about seven eighths of a quart). Let these ingredients digest for fifteen days, and add orange-flower water, half an ounce; oil of anise, eighteen drops; citron, ditto; oils of lavender and thyme, each nine drops; ambergris, three grains. Mix the ambergris with the pyrêtre, and put the two liquids together. Filter after two days. Use as a toilet water.
No wonder French cosmetics are so highly valued, when their composition embraces such a variety of pleasing ingredients. Thyme, anise, and saffron seem homely herbs for a woman’s use, but they assisted at every toilet among the Greek women of old; and Rhodora wove the crocus (meadow-saffron) with the rose, and fennel among her jasmines, without a thought such as these things give us of sick-teas and home-made dyes. Why should herbs of such excellent renown lose the poetry that belongs to them? Mingled in variety with ambergris and orange flowers, they give body to a perfume rich enough to have satisfied Cleopatra.
If this recipe is complicated, what will be said to the next, compounded by South American women, and fashionable in Paris not so very long after the time of Josephine, who may have patronized, or, indeed, introduced this souvenir of creole coquetry. Madame Celnart says of it, “Only the Tartuffes of coquetry could blame the Mexican pomade,” whose proportions indicate that the formula came straight from the perfumer’s hands, and is therefore correct. Any one who wishes to try it can reduce the measure to suit herself:
Extract of cocoa, sixty-four ounces; oil of noisette, thirty-two ounces; oil of ben, thirty-two ounces; oil of vanilla, two ounces; white balsam of Peru, one drachm; benzoin flowers, half a drachm; civet, ditto; neroli, one drachm; essence of rose, one drachm; oil of clove flowers, one ounce; citron and bergamot waters, each half a pint. Steep the vanilla in the cocoa butter eight days in a hot place; dissolve the balsam in half a glass of alcohol, with the benzoin and civet, and add the spirit of clove. Mix the essence of rose and neroli in the oils of ben and noisette, and beat the whole forcibly together in a large marble or china bowl.
Creole women spread this paste on their smooth skins, which the oil of cocoa softens and moistens, while the delightful changing odor is absorbed, till their forms are like living, dusky, but perfumed marbles. These recipes are given not so much for imitation, or to contribute to the lore of perfumers this side the water, as curiosities of national arts and feminine vanity. Where in our country would we find the ingredients of the celebrated Eau de Stahl, known to the Parisian chemists forty years ago? Its compound was as follows:
Alcohol, nine litres; rose-water, three litres; the root of Spanish pellitory, five ounces; gallingale root, three ounces; tormentil, three ounces; balsam of Peru, three ounces; cinnamon, five drachms; rue, one ounce; ratania, eight ounces. Powder the whole, and put in alcohol; shake well, and leave to macerate six days. Pour off, and let it stand twenty-four hours to clear, after which add essential oil of mint, one and a half drachms; powdered cochineal, four drachms. Leave to infuse anew three days; filter through filtering-paper, and decant. Use for a tooth-wash, for washing the face, or for baths.
Peruvian powder was a standard dentifrice of the same date. It is made of white sugar, half a drachm; cream of tartar, one drachm; magnesia, ditto; cinnamon, six grains; mace, two grains; sulphate of quinine, three grains; carmine, five grains. Powder and mix carefully, adding four drops of the oils of rose and mint.
The following cosmetic, called the Serkis du Sérail, is said to be a favorite lotion used by the Sultanas, for whom it is imported from Achaia—though this sounds more like one of those pleasant fictions which perfumers delight to invent concerning their oils and pomades than any thing we are obliged to believe. This may be said in favor of the assertion—it is such a mixture of starch and oils as no one but an odalisque could endure to use. It is made of sweet-almond paste, ten livres; rye and potato starch, each six livres; oil of jasmine, eight ounces; the same of oil of orange flowers and of roses; black balsam of Peru, six ounces; essence of rose and of cinnamon, each sixty grains. Mix the powders and essences separately in earthen vessels, then add the powder to the liquid little by little, bruise well together, and strain through muslin.