Santal c1872

The name Santal comes directly from the French word for sandalwood, pronounced sahn-tahl. Simple, elegant, and evocative, it captures in a single word the essence of warmth, serenity, and exoticism that sandalwood represented to 19th-century Europe. The word itself originates from the Sanskrit candana, meaning “fragrant wood,” which traveled through the languages of trade and empire — Persian, Arabic, and eventually French — carrying with it associations of faraway lands, sacred rituals, and sensual luxury. To the ear, Santal sounds smooth and rounded, much like the scent it names: soft yet resonant, calm yet enveloping.

When Guerlain launched Santal around 1872 — though it may have existed even earlier — the world was entering the Belle Époque, a time of cultural refinement, artistic innovation, and growing fascination with the East. The French upper classes were captivated by l’Orientalisme, a romanticized vision of India, China, and Arabia, which influenced everything from architecture to fashion and perfumery. The word “Santal” would have conjured images of carved wooden boxes from Mysore, faintly perfumed prayer beads, and the polished interiors of exotic temples. For the elegant women and men of the period, a perfume named Santal suggested sophistication, worldliness, and spiritual calm — an olfactory escape into a dream of distant lands.

The heart of Santal lies in sandalwood, one of the most precious materials in perfumery. During the 19th century, the most sought-after variety was Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album) from the southern region of India. This species was famed for its creamy, velvety scent and its remarkable fixative power — a natural ability to anchor other volatile ingredients, extending their longevity. The wood was distilled slowly in copper stills through steam distillation, a laborious process that could take days. The resulting essential oil, rich in alpha- and beta-santalols, exuded a warm, milky aroma with undertones of spice, rose, and balsamic sweetness. No other wood smelled quite like it: Australian sandalwood was drier and more austere; Hawaiian sandalwood more resinous and sharp. Mysore’s balance of softness and depth made it the unrivaled choice for fine perfumery.

 

To smell natural sandalwood is to experience something almost tactile — like breathing in the scent of polished wood that radiates quiet warmth from within. It is subtle, not showy, with a spiritual calmness that evokes sacred spaces and human intimacy at once. This quality made it a cornerstone of perfumery in the 19th century, when “woody” fragrances symbolized refinement and moral composure. Guerlain’s Santal would have elevated this precious material by surrounding it with delicate florals and chypre nuances, creating harmony between nature’s serenity and human artistry.

At the time of its creation, Santal reflected both tradition and innovation. Many 19th-century perfumers offered their own interpretations of sandalwood — Santal de Mysore, Santal Indien, Santal Blanc — often blending it with rose, violet, amber, or musk. Guerlain’s version, however, stood apart for its refinement. Early formulas were entirely natural, relying on tinctures, infusions, and macerations to capture scent. But by the 1870s, perfumery was on the cusp of transformation: the first synthetic aroma molecules, such as vanillin and coumarin, were beginning to appear, revolutionizing the art. Guerlain, always attuned to modernity, may have incorporated these innovations to enrich the natural materials — using synthetics not as replacements, but as enhancers, to magnify the sensual facets of the wood and extend its longevity on skin.

To a woman of the late 19th century, Santal would have felt both exotic and comforting. In an age of corsets and crinoline, this fragrance would whisper of freedom and quiet confidence — a scent less about adornment than about presence. It was warm, human, and grounding, a contrast to the bright floral waters popular earlier in the century. For men, Santal offered refinement without aggression — the fragrance of intellect and restraint.

In scent, the word Santal translates to soft, luminous warmth — a perfume that wraps the wearer in a golden veil of polished wood and subtle spice. It evokes meditation, intimacy, and timeless grace. In the landscape of 19th-century perfumery, Guerlain’s Santal was both of its time and ahead of it — a fragrance rooted in classical materials yet forward-looking in its sophistication. Its enduring beauty lies in its simplicity: the ability to take one of nature’s most serene aromas and transform it into an emblem of pure, quiet luxury.

Fragrance Composition:

 

So what does it smell like? Classified as a floral chypre fragrance for men and women, Santal highlighted the warm, creamy character of sandalwood balanced with floral nuances, reflecting the elegance and refinement typical of Guerlain’s creations during the late 19th century.

• Top notes: bergamot, orange, neroli bigarade, lemon balm, cassie, phenylethyl alcohol
• Middle notes: geranium, Bulgarian rose, tuberose, jasmine, orris, violet, Iraldeine
• Base notes: patchouli, Mysore sandalwood, coumarin, cedar, civet, musk, musk ketone, vanillin, benzoin, tolu balsam, Peru balsam, styrax

Scent Profile:

From the first moment Santal unfolds, the air is brightened by a delicate interplay of citrus and green light — an introduction both refined and quietly exuberant. Bergamot opens the composition with its sparkling, floral-green brightness, rich in linalool and limonene, lending effervescence and balance. This bergamot, likely sourced from Calabria, Italy, would have carried a luminous freshness impossible to replicate elsewhere — fruitier and more rounded than the sharper citrus oils of Spain or North Africa. Alongside it, orange contributes a soft, honeyed sweetness, while neroli bigarade, distilled from the blossoms of the bitter orange tree, introduces a creamy, floral-green facet, enriched with nerolidol and linalyl acetate — aroma compounds that bring a silky, radiant texture. Lemon balm adds a gentle, herbal freshness — like crushed green leaves still warm from the sun — and cassie (from Acacia farnesiana) infuses a powdery, balsamic undertone with almondy warmth.

Here, the natural floralcy of phenylethyl alcohol — a rose-derived molecule with dewy, honeyed nuances — seamlessly bridges the transition between the citrus top and the heart of the perfume. Its inclusion illustrates Guerlain’s early understanding of synthetic harmonization: the way a carefully chosen molecule could act not as imitation, but as elevation — magnifying the delicacy of the natural rose and connecting the perfume’s upper and middle registers with poise and continuity.

As the perfume settles, the floral heart of Santal reveals itself — plush, layered, and deeply romantic. Geranium opens this section with its green, minty-rosy freshness, balancing the dense florals that follow. Bulgarian rose, the most prized of its kind, brings a lush sweetness tinged with spice, rich in citronellol and geraniol that evoke dew on velvet petals. The intoxicating tuberose introduces creamy opulence, its indolic depth lending warmth and sensuality, while jasmine — likely Jasminum grandiflorum from Grasse — adds luminosity with its narcotic sweetness and hints of green banana-like freshness from benzyl acetate.

Orris, derived from the aged rhizomes of the iris flower, imparts an extraordinary texture — powdery, buttery, and faintly reminiscent of violet and suede. Its key molecule, ionone, provides a soft, velvety impression that seems to suspend the florals in air. Violet itself enhances this effect, with its nostalgic, slightly candied aroma that lends gentility and grace. The inclusion of Iraldeine — a synthetic violet-orris compound — would have been a marvel of innovation at the time. It amplifies the iris’s violet tones while lending a modern, diffusive quality to the bouquet, allowing the fragrance to project with elegant subtlety rather than weight.

As the fragrance deepens, Santal reveals its most enduring and signature character — a luxurious, resinous base suffused with warmth and quiet sensuality. Patchouli brings earthy depth and shadow, its camphorous and chocolate-like aspects grounding the florals. Then comes the heartwood — Mysore sandalwood, creamy, sacred, and luminous. Distilled from Santalum album grown in India’s Karnataka region, it exudes a uniquely smooth aroma — soft, milky, and gently spiced, imbued with santalols that lend the composition its lasting tranquility. Unlike other varieties of sandalwood, Mysore’s oil carries a buttery, almost ambered warmth that feels round and enveloping — a true symbol of luxury in perfumery.

The base is laced with an orchestral array of resins and balsams — benzoin from Siam, rich in vanilla-like warmth; Tolu balsam from Colombia and Peru balsam from El Salvador, both sweet, resinous, and softly smoky; and styrax, offering a leathery, cinnamon-tinged darkness. These materials, rich in natural cinnamic and benzoic acids, form the glowing foundation upon which the entire perfume rests.

Coumarin, one of perfumery’s earliest synthetic treasures, threads through this foundation with its hay-like, almond-vanilla scent, harmonizing beautifully with the natural vanillin that adds creamy sweetness. Together they amplify the natural balsams’ warmth and help extend the life of the floral notes above. Civet, used in minute quantities, lends animalic depth — a whisper of warmth that softens the composition’s woody edges — while musk and musk ketone weave a velvety texture through the base, their clean, slightly powdery character enhancing the tactile richness of the woods.

In the end, Santal becomes more than the sum of its parts. It begins in light — with citrus and blossoms that shimmer like morning sun — and descends gracefully into shadow, where woods, resins, and musk create a sanctuary of calm, sensual warmth. Every transition feels natural, organic, and deeply human.

To smell Santal is to experience the very soul of 19th-century perfumery — a meeting of nature and early science, of sensuality and restraint. Its beauty lies not in overt opulence but in the seamless blending of opposites: brightness and depth, purity and warmth, the natural and the newly invented. In Guerlain’s hands, sandalwood is not just a material — it is a state of grace.

Bottles:

It was housed in the Carre flacon (square flacon) for parfum

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. It continued to be sold at least until 1939
 

Perfumes for Linen (1878)

In Guerlain’s 1878 catalog, under the section Parfums Pour le Linge (“Perfumes for Linen”), the house offered a refined assortment of scented accessories designed to impart delicate fragrance to clothing, gloves, handkerchiefs, and fine linens. Each item reflected both practicality and luxury—embodying the 19th-century ideal of surrounding oneself with beauty, even in the most intimate domestic details.

Sachet en papier (Paper sachet)

These were simple yet elegant paper envelopes filled with fragrant powders or dried botanicals, intended to be placed among folded linens or garments. They offered a light, clean scent—often a blend of orris, violet, rose, or lavender—that kept clothing fresh and subtly perfumed while deterring moths and other insects.

Sachet en soie, de toutes odeurs (petit modèle, grand modèle) (Silk sachets, in all scents – small and large models)

The silk sachet represented a more luxurious alternative to the paper version. Made of fine silk and filled with perfumed powders or flower petals, these sachets came in various scents—perhaps including héliotrope, orris, muguet, or rose de Bulgarie. They were meant to be tucked into wardrobes or drawers, or even slipped inside bodices and sleeves to scent the body and clothing alike. The silk allowed a gradual diffusion of fragrance, lending a sense of refinement to the wearer’s wardrobe.

Sultanes pour gants / Sultanes pour mouchoirs (“Sultanas” for gloves / for handkerchiefs)

These sultanes were small perfumed packets or pouches used to scent fine accessories—gloves and handkerchiefs being essential markers of personal elegance during the period. The name Sultane likely evoked the luxurious exoticism associated with the Orient, suggesting opulent and sensual fragrances like amber, musk, or orange blossom. Perfumed gloves, in particular, were a French tradition dating back to the Renaissance, symbolizing both hygiene and sophistication.

Peaux d’Espagne (Spanish Leather)

This was a richly perfumed leather, historically tanned with essences of rose, neroli, cinnamon, and clove, giving it a warm, balsamic aroma. Peaux d’Espagne was used to line drawers or cut into small decorative pieces to perfume linens and wardrobes. Its distinctive leathery-floral scent evoked sensuality and luxury while also serving to repel insects.

Herbes de Montpellier, sachets de toile (Montpellier herbs, linen sachets)

These sachets contained a mixture of dried Mediterranean herbs traditionally cultivated near Montpellier in southern France—a region renowned since the Middle Ages for its herbal pharmacies. The blend likely included rosemary, thyme, lavender, savory, and marjoram, herbs known for their clean, aromatic freshness. The scent would have been brisk, green, and slightly camphorous, recalling the sunny, herb-covered hillsides of Provence. Beyond their pleasant aroma, these herbs acted as natural insect repellents, protecting linens and clothing from moths and mildew while imparting a scent symbolic of cleanliness and vitality.

Feuilles de Patchouly, en rouleaux (Patchouli leaves, in rolls)

Patchouli leaves—sourced from Pogostemon cablin, native to India and Ceylon (Sri Lanka)—were rolled into compact bundles and placed among clothing and fabrics. In the 19th century, genuine patchouli was highly valued for its rich, earthy, and woody aroma with camphorous and slightly sweet undertones. Imported through the East India trade, it became synonymous with luxury textiles, as fine Indian shawls were often perfumed with patchouli to prove authenticity. For clothing, patchouli’s antimicrobial and insect-repelling properties helped preserve delicate fabrics, while its deep fragrance added an air of Eastern mystery and sensual warmth.

Poudre d’Iris de Florence, en rouleaux, ou en boîtes (Iris powder of Florence, in rolls or boxes)

This powder was derived from the orris root of Iris pallida, cultivated near Florence, Italy—the world’s finest source. Aged for several years before grinding, the root developed a soft, violet-like fragrance with powdery, woody nuances. Used to scent both clothing and body powders, it imparted a subtle luxury associated with purity and refinement. Orris powder also absorbed moisture and neutralized odors, making it ideal for storing with linens or delicate fabrics.

Poudre d’Iris de Florence véritable (polvere d’Ireos) (True Florentine Iris powder)

This was the purest and most expensive form of the same ingredient, known in Italian as polvere d’Ireos. The genuine product was prized for its exquisite fineness and long-lasting scent—an aristocratic perfume note often reserved for gloves, sachets, and face powders. Its aroma was delicately floral yet earthy, evoking both violets and clean, sun-dried roots.

Vétiver, en boîtes (Vetiver, in boxes)

Vetiver root—sourced primarily from Réunion Island (formerly Île Bourbon) and India—was used in small boxes or sachets to perfume wardrobes and repel moths. Its smoky, woody, and slightly grassy scent was grounding and enduring, able to cling to fabrics for months. Beyond its fragrance, vetiver was valued for its antiseptic and insect-repelling properties, preserving fine linens and garments while leaving a subtle, elegant trace of earthiness.

Cassolette (printanière) (Cassolette – “springtime scent box”)

The cassolette, also known as the printanier, was a small perforated scent box, often made of ivory, silver, or gold, designed to release fragrance slowly through tiny openings. Inside was a paste of luxurious materials—musk, ambergris, vanilla seeds, rose otto, and orris powder—bound with gum acacia or tragacanth. These “ivory palaces of perfume,” as described in The New Cyclopædia of Domestic Economy (1872), were carried in pockets or reticules, much like vinaigrettes, and served as portable luxuries. The aroma that escaped was sweet, warm, and animalic, at once intimate and refined—a symbol of private elegance in an age before modern atomizers.

Together, these Parfums Pour le Linge capture a world in which scent was woven through every aspect of daily life. From herb-scented linen cupboards to finely perfumed gloves and handkerchiefs, Guerlain’s offerings in 1878 reflected both practical ingenuity and the poetic desire to surround oneself with fragrance—an invisible signature of refinement, order, and beauty.

New Mown Hay c1852

New Mown Hay (also known as Foin Coupé) was introduced by Guerlain around 1852, during an era of optimism, elegance, and change in mid-19th-century France. The name “New Mown Hay” refers quite literally to freshly cut hay — the phrase itself evokes the green, sweet, and slightly coumarinic aroma that fills the air after fields are harvested in summer. Its name carries a simple rustic charm. In French, Foin Coupé (pronounced fwah(n) koo-pay) translates the same way, but with a touch of refinement that made it sound more poetic to contemporary ears. The phrase conjures images of golden fields bathed in late-afternoon sunlight, the scent of grass warming underfoot, and a soft country breeze — the kind of pastoral tranquility that appealed to a society yearning for a return to nature amid rapid industrial progress.

The early 1850s were part of the Second Empire in France, a period marked by prosperity, artistic innovation, and a fascination with beauty in all its forms. Paris was the epicenter of fashion and culture, where silk gowns rustled beneath parasols, and perfumery began to emerge as a sophisticated art. Eugène Rimmel and Pierre-François-Pascal Guerlain were among the leading names defining this new luxury. The idea of a perfume inspired by something as humble as hay would have seemed refreshingly modern and romantic — a contrast to the heavier, resinous scents of previous decades. New Mown Hay captured the spirit of pastoral nostalgia fashionable in painting, poetry, and design — a celebration of the natural world and the idealized countryside, which stood as a sentimental refuge from the bustle of city life.

For women of the time, New Mown Hay would have embodied innocence, warmth, and subtle sensuality. Its name suggested simplicity and purity, yet the scent itself carried a deeper, almost languid sweetness beneath the grassy top — much like the duality expected of the ideal 19th-century woman: demure yet alluring. The fragrance’s floral-oriental composition likely blended the green, hay-like notes of coumarin (naturally present in tonka bean and clover) with soft florals and warm resins, creating a balance between freshness and comfort. To wear such a scent would have been a statement of refined taste — evoking sunlit meadows rather than the heavy incense of salons — a poetic nod to both nature and sophistication.

 

Though New Mown Hay was not the first of its kind, Guerlain’s interpretation became one of the most admired. The “cut hay” theme had become a classic by the mid-19th century, and nearly every perfumer offered a version. The early formulas relied on natural extracts, tinctures, and infusions — tonka bean for its sweet, almond-hay warmth; vanilla for roundness; and ambergris for its smooth, animalic depth. As time passed, advances in chemistry transformed the perfume’s profile. By the late 19th century, synthetics such as coumarin, anisic aldehyde, isoeugenol, and vanillin were introduced. Coumarin, discovered in 1868, was particularly transformative — it captured the scent of hay more vividly and consistently than natural extracts alone. Rather than replacing nature, these early aroma chemicals allowed perfumers to amplify its beauty, making New Mown Hay more radiant, longer-lasting, and expressive than ever before.

In context, New Mown Hay represented a bridge between two worlds: the natural and the modern, the pastoral and the urban, the romantic and the scientific. Guerlain’s version stood out for its refinement — a cultivated interpretation of rusticity — and helped shape the enduring olfactory theme of warm, coumarinic perfumes that would later influence classics such as Houbigant’s Fougère Royale (1882) and Guerlain’s own Jicky (1889). What began as an ode to freshly cut grass evolved into a symbol of innovation — a fragrance that captured both the simplicity of a summer field and the sophistication of a Parisian salon.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? New Mown Hay is classified as a floral oriental fragrance.

• Top notes: bergamot, lemon, neroli, orange, orange blossom, cassie, benzoic acid, anisic aldehyde
• Middle notes: verbena, lavender, jasmine, rose, cloves, benzyl isoeugenol, tuberose, rose geranium, violet, orris, caraway
• Base notes: Brazilian rosewood, Indian rosewood, Indian sandalwood, tonka bean, coumarin, musk, civet, vanilla, vanillin, styrax, oakmoss, thuja, patchouli, ambergris

Scent Profile:

To smell New Mown Hay is to be momentarily transported to a golden field in the height of summer, when the sun-warmed air carries the sweetness of freshly cut grass and drying clover. The fragrance opens with a luminous burst of bergamot, lemon, and orange, their zest effervescent and sparkling—like the first inhale of morning light after dew has lifted. The bergamot, likely from Calabria in southern Italy, introduces a refined green-citrus note, rich in linalyl acetate and limonene, lending brightness and a soft herbal tang that balances the perfume’s forthcoming sweetness. 

Lemon sharpens this impression with its crisp aldehydic lift, its citral and limonene molecules giving a sunlit freshness. Then comes neroli and orange blossom, distilled and extracted from the same bitter orange trees of Seville, their dual nature—one green and petitgrain-like, the other honeyed and white floral—creating a tension between airy lightness and languid warmth. A tender thread of cassie absolute, derived from the Acacia farnesiana flowers of Egypt, weaves in powdery, mimosa-like tones, subtly animalic and sweet with its natural methyl salicylate and anisic aldehyde—molecules that will later echo the hay-like theme at the heart of the perfume. Even benzoic acid, typically a resinous fixative, adds a faint medicinal roundness to the top accord, suggesting the soft warmth of polished wood and sun-warmed skin.

As the top notes settle, New Mown Hay reveals a verdant, spicy heart that perfectly captures the duality of the countryside—both fresh and deeply sensual. The herbal brightness of verbena and lavender emerges first, bringing clarity and lift; the citral in verbena lends a lemony-green facet, while the linalool in lavender introduces an aromatic calm, soft and slightly camphoraceous. These cooling notes soon entwine with florals of deeper character: jasmine from Grasse, with its indolic sweetness; rose from Bulgaria, dense and honeyed with phenylethyl alcohol and citronellol; and tuberose, creamy and narcotic, diffusing its characteristic methyl benzoate and indole, reminiscent of night-blooming gardens. 

The spicy pulse of clove—rich in eugenol—adds warmth and depth, while rose geranium contributes a rosier, greener tone with its geraniol and citronellol. The presence of violet and orris introduces a powdered coolness, enhanced by the ionones naturally found in orris root, which mimic the scent of crushed violets. A thread of benzyl isoeugenol—a molecule often used to enhance spicy florals—bridges the natural spices with the lushness of flowers, ensuring a seamless harmony. And hidden beneath this floral tapestry is a whisper of caraway, earthy and slightly bitter, lending complexity and a dry contrast to the sweet heart.

Then, slowly, the warmth deepens into the true soul of the fragrance—the “new mown hay” itself. This effect blossoms from tonka bean, the seed from Dipteryx odorata trees of South America, whose natural coumarin content gives that unmistakable scent of freshly cut hay mingled with almond and tobacco. Guerlain, ever at the forefront of innovation, would later emphasize this note with the isolated synthetic coumarin, discovered in 1868, which intensified and clarified the hay accord, making it glow with radiance and longevity. Coumarin bridges the natural sweetness of vanilla and benzoin with the green dryness of oakmoss, creating an accord both fresh and enveloping. Vanilla and vanillin provide the golden, creamy sweetness that rounds the base, while styrax contributes a leathery balsamic tone and ambergris lends that elusive, animalic smoothness—soft, saline, and sensual.

Supporting these are the deep woods: Brazilian and Indian rosewood, prized for their reddish warmth and oily richness, exude a faint peppered sweetness through linalool and nerolidol; Indian sandalwood, with its creamy, lactonic santalol, adds a sacred, meditative depth that softens the spice and sweetness into a serene finish. Musk and civet bring a subtle animalic hum—sensual but never coarse—while patchouli adds its earthy, camphorous grounding, its patchoulol molecule giving the perfume a lasting resonance. A touch of thuja, dry and coniferous, recalls the crisp air of cut wood, linking back to the pastoral theme.

In the final dry-down, New Mown Hay becomes a harmony of opposites—both green and golden, airy yet rich. The interplay between natural extracts and early synthetics gives it a texture that feels alive: the coumarin heightens the sweetness of tonka and the dryness of hay; anisic aldehyde lifts the florals with a faintly spicy brightness; vanillin amplifies the creamy warmth of real vanilla. It is both the scent of sun-drenched fields and the polished refinement of a 19th-century salon. To experience it is to breathe in the poetry of a bygone era—an olfactory memory of nature, innovation, and the quiet sophistication of Guerlain’s art.

Bottles:

Starting in 1870, it was presented in the Carre flacon (square flacon) for parfum.

Fate of the Fragrance:

The fragrance has since been discontinued, though the exact date is unknown, it remained on sale at least until 1872. 

Avril en Fleurs c1883

Avril en Fleurs (1883) – The name translates from French as “April in Bloom.” Created by Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain, this fragrance was later reformulated by Jacques Guerlain in 1905. Still being sold in 1917, it was likely Guerlain’s interpretation of the highly popular floral scent “Spring Flowers,” given a distinctive name. Housed in elegant 19th-century flacons, it reflects Guerlain’s signature style of bright, fresh floral bouquets designed to evoke the renewal and fragrance of springtime..

Avril en Fleurs (“April in Bloom”), as described in the American Jewish Chronicle in 1917, evokes the essence of early spring with remarkable immediacy and clarity. The reviewer’s words paint a vivid olfactory landscape: at first sniff, one encounters the freshness of young, half-opened blossoms, their delicate petals conveying a soft, almost crinkly texture, like the tender leaves of newly sprouted plants. This gentle, floral aroma conjures the lightness and vitality of spring, a fragrance that feels alive with the season’s quiet energy.

The description emphasizes the airy, fleeting quality of the scent, akin to the impression of a light blue April sky, dotted with scurrying white clouds and carried on unexpected little breezes. It is not merely a perfume but an olfactory embodiment of nature’s awakening, capturing the freshness, purity, and optimism of early spring. Women of the period would likely have experienced Avril on Fleurs as both uplifting and elegant, a delicate reflection of renewal, femininity, and the intimate joy of stepping outdoors to witness the first blooms of the season.

In this way, the fragrance stands as a poetic interpretation of the landscape, using the soft sweetness of blossoms and tender greenery to evoke a time, place, and emotion that transcends the mere act of scent-wearing. It exemplifies the artistry of perfumers in translating visual and tactile impressions of nature into aromatic experiences, inviting the wearer to immerse themselves fully in a sensory memory of spring.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Avril en Fleurs is classified as an opulent floral oriental fragrance for women.

• Top notes: bergamot, sweet orange, cassie, rose, violet, sweet pea
• Middle notes: hyacinth, magnolia, seringa, geranium, rose, violet
• Base notes: verbena, vanillin, sandalwood, ambergris, civet, musk

Scent Profile:

Avril en Fleurs—its name alone feels like a sigh of spring. The phrase immediately conjures the tender, luminous rebirth of nature: the pale gold of sunlight filtering through young leaves, petals unfolding after a long winter, and the delicate hum of life awakening. Guerlain’s choice of this name (if we imagine it emerging from the house’s romantic lexicon) would have been deliberate—an evocation of freshness, femininity, and optimism. “April in Bloom” is both a literal image and a metaphor for womanhood itself—grace in renewal, beauty in full awakening, and sensuality budding beneath refinement.

When Avril en Fleurs was introduced, it would have reflected the sensibilities of its era—a time when perfumery celebrated lush naturalism and romantic femininity. The early-to-mid 20th century was defined by elegance and a longing for sophistication after periods of upheaval. Women’s fashion was shifting toward softness—bias-cut gowns, floral chiffons, and lighter, fluid silhouettes that embraced the natural form. This perfume, with its opulent floral oriental character, would have harmonized perfectly with that aesthetic. Perfumery at the time was steeped in the language of gardens and exotic allure, blending European refinement with hints of faraway sensuality. A perfume called Avril en Fleurs would have appealed deeply to women of the age—symbolizing youth and hope, yet enriched with an oriental warmth that hinted at passion beneath propriety.

To smell Avril en Fleurs is to experience a journey from morning to dusk in a perfumed garden. The opening bursts with bergamot and sweet orange, both sparkling and effervescent, the citrus oils releasing bright linalool and limonene molecules that awaken the senses. Their crisp freshness is softened by cassie—a golden, powdery mimosa note with almondy nuances from its natural benzaldehyde content—and the romantic hush of rose and violet. The sweet pea adds a fragile, pastel sweetness, airy and nostalgic, like petals caught on the breeze.

In the heart, the florals deepen into a heady symphony. Hyacinth brings a green, dewy coolness, while magnolia unfolds with creamy, lemony nuances—its linalool oxide lending both brightness and texture. Seringa, or mock orange, contributes a honeyed, jasmine-like sweetness that bridges the heart to the warmth of geranium, rose, and violet. The result is complex yet harmonious—a floral accord that feels alive, moving from fresh to voluptuous, innocence to seduction.

As it settles, Avril en Fleurs unveils its oriental soul. The base is warm and sensual, grounded in sandalwood—creamy, resinous, and softly smoky—enriched by the balsamic sweetness of vanillin and the marine-animalic nuance of ambergris. Civet adds a barely-there shadow of warmth and animal magnetism, while musk smooths the entire composition into a soft, tactile finish. A thread of verbena lingers from the top, brightening the heavier tones with its green, citrusy clarity. Together, they form a drydown that feels both intimate and expansive—like the scent of skin warmed by the afternoon sun among blooming flowers.

The phrase Avril en Fleurs interpreted in scent becomes a portrait of spring itself: a marriage of freshness and sensuality, of the earth’s awakening and human tenderness. In the context of its time, it would have been considered a sophisticated creation—aligned with the floral richness popular in perfumery, yet distinct for its luxurious oriental base. Where many floral perfumes of the era leaned toward the powdery or the romantic, Avril en Fleurs dared to be both—lush, radiant, and softly carnal beneath its bouquet of blossoms.

It is, ultimately, a perfume about transformation—the same transformation April brings to the world each year. A whisper of rebirth, a promise of beauty, and the fleeting magic of a moment suspended between innocence and desire.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. Still being sold in 1917.

Skine 1885

Skiné, launched by Guerlain in 1885 and created by Aimé Guerlain, takes its name from a city on the island of Crete — a place steeped in ancient mythology, where art, beauty, and ritual perfumery had flourished since antiquity. The name Skiné (pronounced “skee-nay”) is derived from the Greek language, evoking an aura of Mediterranean sunlight, sea breezes, and the mysterious allure of classical civilization. To 19th-century ears, the word sounded exotic and sophisticated, conjuring visions of distant shores, ancient temples, and the sensual warmth of Southern Europe. It was a name that promised escape — a scented journey to a land both historical and mythical.

The 1880s marked a period of innovation and elegance in Europe, known as the late Belle Époque, when refinement and artistic expression flourished. The industrial revolution had transformed daily life, and luxury goods became increasingly accessible to the upper and emerging middle classes. France, at the height of its cultural influence, looked outward for inspiration — toward the Orient, the Mediterranean, and the ancient world. The fascination with classical Greece and exotic locales permeated art, literature, and fashion. Thus, Guerlain’s choice of a Cretan name reflected both the era’s romantic fascination with travel and archaeology and its passion for ancient-inspired refinement.

Women of this era were embracing new expressions of femininity — poised yet worldly, graceful yet curious. A perfume called Skiné would have appealed to this modern sensibility: sophisticated women who sought to express culture, individuality, and taste through scent. The name’s Mediterranean association suggested warmth, sensuality, and a sunlit vitality — qualities that stood in contrast to the heavier, musky Victorian perfumes of previous decades. The allure of Crete, with its mythic associations with goddesses like Ariadne and Aphrodite, would have given Skiné an aura of divine femininity, subtly reinforcing the ideal of the cultured, radiant woman of the Belle Époque.

In scent, Skiné would likely have interpreted its name through a bright, resinous, and sun-warmed character, evoking the aromatic flora of the Mediterranean — citrus groves, herbs, and sweet balsams. The Guerlain style of the period often wove together natural essences with newly available synthetics to create perfumes of depth and longevity. It is plausible that Skiné contained such early materials — perhaps geranium, orange blossom, labdanum, or amber — harmonized in Aimé Guerlain’s meticulous balance of freshness and warmth.

Within the broader landscape of late 19th-century perfumery, Skiné stood at an interesting crossroads. Many perfumers were producing heavy floral bouquets or oriental fantasies, but Guerlain’s Skiné offered something more refined — a cultivated exoticism, not overpowering but evocative. It aligned with the contemporary fascination for faraway inspirations, yet it remained grounded in Guerlain’s tradition of elegance and restraint. As such, Skiné embodied both the adventurous spirit of its time and the timeless sophistication that would come to define Guerlain’s artistic legacy.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Skiné by Guerlain would likely open with a crisp, sunlit brightness, immediately evoking the warmth of the Mediterranean. The top notes would be lively yet gentle, with hints of bergamot, orange, or other citrus facets mingling with subtle green herbs like sage or rosemary, conjuring the freshness of Cretan hillsides kissed by morning light. This sparkling introduction would give the perfume an airy, invigorating quality, suggesting both vitality and refinement — a scent that feels alive yet elegantly restrained.

As the fragrance unfolds, the heart reveals a radiant floral bouquet, soft yet luminous. Notes of orange blossom, neroli, and geranium would emerge, carrying the delicate sweetness and subtle green facets of sun-drenched blossoms. These middle notes would be full-bodied without overwhelming, embodying a refined femininity that is both natural and sophisticated. One can imagine walking through a garden of white and pale pink blooms, the air rich with their gentle perfume, yet tempered by the warmth of the sun.

The base notes would provide depth and lingering sensuality, grounding the fresh and floral layers with amber, labdanum, and soft musks. These warm, resinous elements would conjure the sensation of sun-warmed stone and ancient Mediterranean landscapes, adding a subtle, enduring richness. The combination of lightness and warmth would create a perfectly balanced fragrance: one that is elegant, exotic, and evocative, transporting the wearer to a mythical, sunlit Crete, where history, beauty, and nature converge in radiant harmony.

Overall, Skiné would smell refined yet exotic, bright yet warmly sensual, capturing the essence of the Belle Époque fascination with distant lands and classical elegance, all while staying true to Guerlain’s artistry and craftsmanship.

Bottles:

Presented in the Carre flacon (parfum).

Fate of the Fragrance:

The exact date of its discontinuation is unknown. The perfume was still available for sale in 1896.

Musc c1836

Musc by Guerlain, created around 1836 or earlier by Pierre-François-Pascal Guerlain, stands among the earliest expressions of sensual refinement in French perfumery. The name Musc (pronounced “moosk”) is the French word for musk — a term that, even in the 19th century, carried an air of mystery and forbidden allure. Musk was synonymous with warmth, intimacy, and animalic sensuality; it evoked the soft whisper of skin and the secret trace of perfume left behind after a lingering embrace. For Guerlain to choose this name was to make a bold statement — to distill the essence of seduction itself into a bottle.

In the 1830s, Paris stood at the dawn of modernity. It was a time of burgeoning luxury, romanticism, and increasing fascination with the exotic. The city’s fashionable elite were enchanted by the Orient — a world imagined through fabrics, spices, and rare materials imported from faraway lands. Perfume followed this trend, moving away from the austere colognes of the 18th century toward compositions that were deeper, more emotive, and more personal. Guerlain’s Musc fit perfectly within this context. It was neither purely floral nor merely powdery; instead, it breathed warmth and depth, offering something almost tangible — a scent that clung to the skin and evolved with the body’s heat.

The word Musc would have stirred emotions of sensuality, mystery, and sophistication among women of the era. To wear such a perfume was to indulge in quiet rebellion — a contrast to the demure ideals of femininity still prevalent in early Victorian fashion. Its scent suggested something more private, intimate, and daring than the crisp citrus colognes or genteel violet waters that had dominated before. Musc translated the exotic allure of the East into a wearable form — a whispered promise of warmth and intrigue behind the silk and lace.

 

In terms of composition, Musc was a floral oriental, a structure that prefigured many of Guerlain’s later masterpieces. Its foundation rested on natural Tibetan musk, an ingredient so prized that it was worth its weight in gold. True musk, derived from the musk deer, carried complex layers of olfactory texture: at first, dark and animalic; then warm, velvety, and faintly sweet as it softened. It was this extraordinary evolution — from rawness to refinement — that made musk so revered. Guerlain’s artistry lay in balancing it with delicate floral notes and resins, tempering the animalic with grace.

During this era, musk perfumes were the height of sophistication, and nearly every perfumery offered its own version. Recipes for musk eaux de toilette and extraits appeared in the perfumers’ manuals of the day, each following a similar framework — musk blended with rose, jasmine, ambergris, and vanilla, lifted by citrus and softened with iris. Guerlain’s Musc, however, distinguished itself through its balance and subtlety. While others might have emphasized the raw, feral aspect of musk, Guerlain refined it, smoothing its edges into a scent that whispered rather than roared.

As the 19th century progressed and natural musk became increasingly rare, synthetic musks and aromachemicals such as nitromusks began to appear. These modern materials, developed toward the century’s close, allowed perfumers to replicate and even amplify the soft, powdery warmth of true musk. Guerlain would later incorporate these innovations seamlessly into his house style, ensuring continuity between natural luxury and modern science.

In its time, Musc was both timeless and trend-setting. It reflected the fascination with oriental warmth that defined 19th-century perfumery while anticipating the romantic sensuality that would characterize Guerlain’s later creations. To wear Musc in 1836 was to embrace a quiet, lingering intimacy — an invisible adornment as evocative as the rustle of silk or the flicker of candlelight on polished wood.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Musc by Guerlain is classified as a floral oriental fragrance.

• Top notes: Calabrian bergamot, Seville orange, Algerian cassie, Moroccan orange blossom, Provencal lavender, linalool
• Middle notes: Florentine orris, Grasse jasmine, Turkish rose, French geranium, geraniol, Portuguese tuberose, Zanzibar clove, Indonesian patchouli
• Base notes: Mexican vanilla, vanillin, Siam benzoin, South American tolu balsam, Tibetan musk, musk ketone, musk xylene, Abyssinian civet, Canadian castoreum, ambergris, Indian musk ambrette seed, Levantine storax, styrax, Mysore sandalwood

Scent Profile:

To smell Musc by Guerlain is to experience one of perfumery’s earliest and most evocative love letters to sensuality — a composition that breathes warmth, texture, and a whisper of the exotic. It opens with a luminous interplay of citrus and herbs, moves into the tender pulse of flowers and spices, and settles finally into the velvet shadows of musk, resin, and wood. Each ingredient feels carefully chosen not merely for its scent, but for its ability to tell part of a story — a story of contrast, refinement, and slow-blooming intimacy.

The first breath is radiant — a shimmer of Calabrian bergamot and Seville orange. Bergamot from Calabria, grown on the sun-warmed slopes of southern Italy, is prized for its perfectly balanced profile: not as sharp as lemon, not as sweet as orange, but a golden equilibrium between the two. Its key aroma molecules — linalyl acetate and linalool — provide a brisk yet velvety freshness, while a trace of coumarin lends a faint hay-like warmth beneath the sparkle. The Seville orange, more bitter and resinous, brings a tart, green brightness that immediately recalls sunlight filtering through citrus groves. The combination is vibrant and alive — citrus with soul.

This brightness is softened by Algerian cassie — the acacia flower — which releases a tender, powdery aroma reminiscent of mimosa but deeper, more honeyed. Its natural ionones and methyl salicylate add both a floral powderiness and a balsamic undertone, linking the freshness above to the sensuality that waits below. Moroccan orange blossom follows, richer and more intoxicating than its Spanish cousin, filled with nerol and linalool, two molecules that lend the creamy, almost narcotic sweetness of white petals warmed by the sun. Around it, Provençal lavender drifts in softly, clean yet herbaceous, with its camphoraceous facets rounding out the brightness and hinting at the more complex musky base to come.

Then, the perfume deepens into its floral heart — an orchestra of textures. Florentine orris, perhaps the most luxurious ingredient in classical perfumery, gives a cool, powdery note that feels like silk against the skin. Its buttery, violet-like scent comes from irones, the molecules responsible for orris’s famously melancholic elegance. Grasse jasmine, warm and narcotic, exudes sweetness touched with indoles — natural compounds that lend an animalic whisper, transforming simple floral beauty into something living and carnal. Alongside it blooms Turkish rose, lush and honeyed, with citronellol and geraniol lending both clarity and depth.

French geranium cuts through with green brightness — rosy yet minty — a precision note that brings lift to the blend. Its high geraniol content makes it a perfect bridge between the citrus and floral elements. Portuguese tuberose, heavy and creamy, pulses with methyl benzoate and indole, its scent at once narcotic and fleshy, conjuring moonlit gardens and whispered confessions. Zanzibar clove lends warmth and spice, its eugenol radiating a slow, sensual heat that entwines itself around the petals. Indonesian patchouli, earthy and woody, grounds this lush bouquet — its patchoulol-rich oil providing both coolness and shadow, like damp earth beneath a carpet of flowers.

As the perfume settles, it transforms — growing richer, darker, and infinitely more intimate. The base is where Musc fully reveals its name. A tapestry of musks and resins unfolds: Tibetan musk, in its natural form, is profoundly animalic — warm, leathery, with the faintest sweetness reminiscent of skin. Guerlain amplifies this natural sensuality through musk ketone and musk xylene, early synthetic musks that add radiance and diffusion, allowing the deep animal warmth to feel softer, more rounded, and infinitely smoother on the skin.

From here, the balsams begin to glow. Mexican vanilla, rich in vanillin, adds creamy sweetness, harmonizing with Siam benzoin and South American tolu balsam, whose resinous warmth brings ambered, honeyed depth. These materials contain natural benzoic acid esters that enhance the perfume’s longevity and give that characteristic Guerlain warmth — a precursor to the Guerlinade accord that would later define the house. Levantine storax and styrax contribute a slightly smoky, leathery undertone, binding the sweetness to the musks.

The animalics — Abyssinian civet, Canadian castoreum, and ambergris — breathe life into the base, giving the perfume its almost human warmth. Civet contributes a creamy, soft animalic nuance; castoreum adds a leathery sensuality; ambergris, with its natural ambrein content, gives a marine smoothness and lasting radiance that lifts the dense base into the air. Indian ambrette seed, the plant-based musk, lends a fruity, slightly floral warmth that softens the raw animal notes, ensuring the perfume’s finish is seductive rather than overwhelming. Finally, Mysore sandalwood, with its high santalol content, melts everything together — creamy, woody, and sacred — a serene counterpoint to the primal hum of musk.

In the end, Musc feels alive — the olfactory equivalent of bare skin brushed by silk and warmed by firelight. It begins in radiance and ends in shadow, a scent that breathes and evolves, both intimate and eternal. Each note, whether natural or enhanced by synthesis, exists not in isolation but in perfect harmony, creating a fragrance that is at once animal and angelic, carnal and refined — the true embodiment of Guerlain’s early mastery of sensual beauty.

Bottle:

It was housed in the carre flacon starting in 1870.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. It  remained on sale at least until 1914.

Bridal Bouquet c1830

Bridal Bouquet by Guerlain, first introduced in the 1830s, bears a name that instantly conjures images of romance, purity, and celebration. The phrase “Bridal Bouquet" comes from English and French roots—bouquet meaning a collection or arrangement of flowers. The name evokes not just a literal armful of blossoms, but the very essence of nuptial joy: the scent of fresh blooms carried through a sunlit chapel, the rustle of silk, the warmth of candlelight, and the soft tremor of anticipation before a vow. It suggests an idealized femininity—graceful, delicate, and radiant—qualities highly prized in the early Victorian imagination.

The 1830s was a decade of transition in both fashion and society. This was the Romantic era, when sentiment and beauty were woven deeply into daily life. Women’s fashions were defined by voluminous skirts, narrow waists, and floral adornments—often symbolic of virtue or emotion. Weddings became grand public spectacles, their rituals increasingly codified and sentimentalized. In perfumery, the early 19th century marked a move away from the heavy, resinous animalic compositions of the previous century toward lighter, more floral fragrances. The growing popularity of orange blossom, myrtle, jasmine, and rose—traditional symbols of purity and love—reflected these changing ideals.

A perfume called Bridal Bouquet would have resonated deeply with women of the time, representing not only the fragrance of a wedding day but also the social ideal of womanhood—innocence touched with quiet sensuality. The concept would have felt both aspirational and familiar: a scent meant to embody love’s promise, not just its ritual. Its floral heart, likely centered around orange blossom (the traditional bridal flower), rose, jasmine, and lily, would have captured the fresh, dew-kissed aroma of a bridal wreath, while soft notes of spice and amber would suggest the warmth of marital devotion and enduring affection.

 

By the time Guerlain may have reintroduced Bridal Bouquet in 1879 to celebrate the marriage of Princess Margaret of Connaught to Prince Gustaf Adolph of Sweden, the name carried royal as well as romantic associations. The perfume thus bridged eras—it retained the sentimental innocence of early Romantic perfumery while embracing the growing complexity and refinement of late 19th-century fragrance composition.

Classified as a spicy floral oriental, Bridal Bouquet embodied both the charm of Victorian femininity and the richness of Guerlain’s early craftsmanship. The blend of heady florals, warm balsams, and subtle spice reflected the house’s evolving sophistication, standing at the intersection of tradition and innovation. While many perfumers of the time offered similarly themed “bridal” fragrances, Guerlain’s interpretation likely stood apart for its emotional depth and balance—floral purity enlivened by a whisper of sensual warmth.

In scent, Bridal Bouquet would have evoked the very heart of a wedding day: the crisp freshness of morning air, the delicate powder of petals, and the faint trace of warmth as candlelight flickers over silk and lace. It was less a perfume and more a memory made tangible—an olfactory portrait of innocence and promise, created to last long after the bouquet had faded.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Bridal Bouquet is classified as a spicy floral oriental fragrance for women

• Top notes: bergamot, Portugal neroli petale, cassie, coriander 
• Middle notes: pimento, lavender, jasmine, rose, geranium, tuberose, orange blossom 
• Base notes: orris, civet, ambergris, musk, benzoin, sandalwood, vanilla, storax

Scent Profile:

Bridal Bouquet by Guerlain, classified as a spicy floral oriental, opens with a radiant cascade of bergamot, Portugal neroli petals, cassie, and coriander. The bergamot, sourced from the sun-drenched groves of Calabria in southern Italy, releases a sparkling citrus freshness tinged with green and slightly bitter facets, thanks to its high concentration of limonene and linalyl acetate. The Portugal neroli petals—the essence of bitter orange blossoms—bring a delicate floral sweetness with subtle honeyed facets and a gentle green lift, distinguishing them from other neroli varieties by their particularly luminous and refined aroma. 

Cassie, derived from the flowering acacia tree, offers a rich, slightly powdery floral warmth, composed primarily of ionones and farnesol, which enhances the sophistication of the top notes. Coriander seeds add a piquant, slightly spiced citrus undertone, the aldehydes and linalool providing a crisp lift that balances the floral effervescence. Together, these notes form an inviting prelude—bright, aromatic, and subtly spiced.

As the perfume settles, the heart reveals pimento, lavender, jasmine, rose, geranium, tuberose, and orange blossom, crafting a lush, floral tapestry. The pimento (allspice) imparts a warm, cinnamon-like spiciness, with eugenol and chavicol giving depth and resonance to the florals. Lavender, with its French or Provençal origin, contributes a clean, herbal lift, dominated by linalool and linalyl acetate, which harmonizes beautifully with the sweet, narcotic richness of jasmine from Egypt or India. 

Rose, likely Bulgarian or Turkish, offers a heady, velvety floral complexity, full of geraniol, citronellol, and phenylethyl alcohol, which together create a familiar romantic heart. Geranium brings a green, slightly minty facet that sharpens the floral bouquet, while tuberose introduces creamy indolic richness, its molecules of methyl anthranilate and hydroxycitronellal deepening the sensuality. Orange blossom returns in the middle notes, reinforcing the floral sweetness while maintaining the airy elegance of the composition. Each floral note is carefully layered, creating a living, breathing garden of scents that is both opulent and balanced.

The base of Bridal Bouquet grounds the fragrance with orris, civet, ambergris, musk, benzoin, sandalwood, vanilla, and storax, offering warmth, depth, and lasting power. Orris root, the dried rhizome of Iris germanica, provides a powdery, violet-like nuance, distinguished by its soft, woody iris ketones that bring elegance and dry complexity. Civet, sourced historically from African or Indian civet cats, lends a subtle, animalic warmth that enhances the sensuality of the composition without overpowering it. Ambergris contributes a marine, slightly sweet balsamic richness, while musk adds a clean, enveloping warmth. 

Benzoin, originating from Siam or Laos, releases a vanilla-like balsamic sweetness rich in benzoic acid, harmonizing beautifully with natural vanilla from Madagascar or Mexico. Sandalwood, especially Mysore or Australian, adds a creamy, soft woodiness, laden with alpha- and beta-santalol, which rounds out the base with elegance. Finally, storax, a resin from Styrax trees, imparts a warm, balsamic, slightly cinnamon-like undertone that enriches the oriental character of the perfume. Synthetic elements like vanillin and modern aroma compounds accentuate these natural raw materials, enhancing their longevity and projection while emphasizing the nuances of creaminess, warmth, and sweet balsamic depth.

Experiencing Bridal Bouquet first-hand is like walking through a sunlit conservatory filled with freshly gathered flowers, warmed by sunlight and touched with faint spices. The opening is bright and invigorating, the heart floral and intoxicating, and the base deep, sensual, and enduring—a perfect olfactory metaphor for a wedding bouquet, celebrating romance, elegance, and timeless femininity.

Bottles:

Presented in the classic Carré flacon (parfum).

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. It was still being sold in 1879.