Spanish Rouge, 1865

SPANISH ROUGE. Take a piece of linen rag, or still better, some jeweller's [sic] cotton. Wet it well with tincture of cochineal until a good deep colour is obtained, and let it dry. When required moisten the wool and rub the skin with it. This is not equal to the use of the crimson silk ribbon already chronicled.--The Handbook for Ladies' Maids (1865)

For reference, the "crimson ribbon" method is explain on page 47:

SAFE ROUGE. One of the safest plans for colouring the cheeks, and which is effected without either deadening the skin or impeding the necessary transpiration is to take a fragment of bright crimson silk, and having dipped it in strong spirits of wine, to rub it over the cheeks till a moderate tint is apparent on the skin. The great value of this complexion aid is its transparency, for it admits of the increase of colour by the natural mode of blushing. 

The Druggist's General Receipt Book refers to these rouges as crépons--the coloring matter is affixed to a piece of fabric instead of being suspended in a pomade* or powder.  I tried the "safe rouge" with two different red silks, dipped in brandy and also in vodka. None of the four experiments imparted any visible color with any amount of friction.

*They claim these are the three types. I've seen a number of liquid rouges, which aren't included on the list, but the only ones using waxes or fats (as in a pomade) are modifications of powder rouges. 

Demonstrating chromatographic principles.

The "Spanish Rouge" recipe proved much more effective. I started by preparing the cochineal tincture: dissolving 1/8 tsp in 2-3 Tbsp of alcohol. I then dabbed it on a scrap of folded linen, about 1/2 mL at a time, and let it dry. I repeated this periodically over an afternoon. Almost immediately, the cochineal separated on the cloth, with the intense red color staying at the center, and darker components travelling out to the edge of the fabric. After ~5 repeats, I let the cloth fully dry. 

Easy to apply, transparent, looks like blood.

The color transferred easily when the cloth was dampened with a couple drops of alcohol. It didn't make any sort of a mess to apply this rouge, and even making it was much less messy than working with the powders. 

The color of this rouge is redder than the carmine-based ones (which have all had white chalk or talc softening them to various shades of pink). However, it does have the "transparency" attributed to the "safe rouge". Details of the skin are readily visible through the rouge. However, it still looks to me like blood. Will definitely use this one next time I try to do zombie-makeup using only historic cosmetics.

Milk of Roses, 1865

MILK OF ROSES Milk of roses, as it is called--a very stupid title--is an inexpensive wash, and really efficacious. 

The materials are--one ounce of almonds, five ounces of rose water, one ounce of spirits of wine, half a drachm of curd soap, and several drops of attar of roses. Pound the almonds, which should be well dried after blanching, or the pounding in question will be difficult, till they become a soft paste; then pound the soap and mix intimately with the almonds. Then add the rose water and the spirit. Strain through fine muslin, and add the perfume--the attar of roses. 

--The Handbook for Ladies' Maids (1865)

In modern terms, that's 1 oz almond, 5 oz rose water, 1 oz brandy/ethanol, 1/16 oz soap, and a few drops of essence of rose (rose oil). The only differences from the milk of almonds recipe are the extra 1 oz rose water, the alcohol, and the attar of roses.

I did make a point of drying the blanched almonds more thoroughly (letting them sit overnight after towel-drying, instead of using immediately). It does make them slightly easier to crush, but the whole almonds still tend to bounce around as you start crushing them.

Milk of Roses

I didn't bother photographing the intermediate steps, since they look exactly like the milk of almonds steps--blanch almonds, crush in mortar, shave off soap, pound that into the almonds, add liquids, strain. I used brandy for the "spirits of wine", which gives a faint brown cast to the final product (though it isn't visible in the photograph). While I was straining it, the intermediate liquid had mingled rose, brandy and almond scents, but after adding 5 drops of rose essence, the final product smelled only and completely of roses. 

As with the milk of almonds, the only immediate effect I noticed was the scent. Four hours after dotting a little on my hands, I'm still surrounded by an aroma of roses. 

Edited to add: the spirits of wine apparently serve a preservative function. I made this and the milk of almonds at the same time, and after approximately two weeks the milk of almonds is going off, while the milk of roses is still sweet.

Toilette Rouge, 1857

Similar to the chalk rouge and common oil rouge, there's a recipe in The Handbook of Practical Receipts (1857) for a "toilette rouge" which uses talc in place of the chalk: "ROUGE, TOILET.--Talc powder, coloured with carmine." With no proportions given, it's up to the maker to determine the tint. Since the similar receipts have called for 4:1 or 5:1 (or...32:1) of the carrier powder to the carmine, I decided to try this one at 6:1.

Carmine + Talc = Toilette Rouge

The rouge mixes up much like the others, though it tends to clump a little more than the chalk rouge did (reminding me of the oil rouge). Though it shares the chalk rouge's greater tendency to fly around and make a mess.

Clockwise from left: toilette rouge, oil rouge, chalk rouge.

In person, the oil rouge and toilette rouge looked very similar when applied, with the more concentrated chalk rouge giving a more saturated red color. Going forward, I think I'll add the few drops of oil to these powdered rouges, because it really does make less of a mess when you can open the jar without red powder floating out.

Common Oil Rouge, 1833-1865

COMMON OIL ROUGE Take one ounce of finely powdered French chalk; carmine, fifteen grains; and oil of sweet almonds half a drachm. Mix well. This is only another modification of the last recipe [chalk rouge]. It is immeasurably inferior to the acidulated liquid rouge.  

--The Handbook for Ladies' Maids and Guide to the Toilette (1865)

So, this would be a 32:1:2 ratio of chalk/carmine/oil (1 oz = 8 drachms = 480 grains).  Right off, this is going to be a less saturated red-pink than the chalk rouge (32:1 versus 5:1). The oil, however, didn't really change the consistency of the rouge. I supposed I expected it to make more of a paste or even a liquid, but this 1:16 oil to chalk just made the upper layer clump slightly, and no amount of stirring or grinding incorporated it further.

Not sure what the oil was supposed to do. It's still a powder

I wondered if there was a typo in the amounts, and looked up another recipe to compare. The Toilette of Health, Beauty and Fashion (1833) gives a similar rouge recipe: "Take French chalk prepared, four ounces; oil of almonds, two drachms; carmine, one ounce." (16:1:4) The first thing I noticed is that the chalk to carmine ratio is 4:1, four times as much carmine as in the oil rouge recipe, but quite close to that first chalk rouge recipe (5:1). Compared to the oil rouge receipt, there's half as much chalk and twice as much oil (relative to the carmine), which is intriguing. The Druggist's General Receipt Book (1857) confirms that "a few drops" of oil are often added to chalk-, talc-, and starch-based rouge powders.

Anyway, the results:

Clockwise from bottom: chalk rouge,
common oil rouge, carmine.

Edited to add: After applying three consecutive powder rouges (chalk, talc, and chalk+oil), I realized that the oil does have an important role: it makes the rouge powder less apt to fly. With the other two, gently opening the container will get small amounts of powder airborne, and loose powder also works its way into the lid gap (and from there onto the sides of the tin), staining the hands and surrounding area. The oil rouge is much better behaved and spreads around less. It does need a little more attention to remove any small clumps of powder while applying it.

Milk of Almonds, 1865

At beginning of the section on skin washes, the anonymous author of The Handbook for Ladies' Maids and Guide to the Toilette notes of cold creams, &c.: "They are frequently of more than considerable benefit. But their action is not to beatify the skin. It is to comfort it by soothing or softening it."  

MILK OF ALMONDS. The materials are, 4 oz of almonds. Blanch and pound them in a mortar and add a quarter of an ounce of curd soap. Rub this with the almonds for some time, the longer the better. Add one quart of rose water, until the whole is well mixed, and then strain through a fine piece of muslin, and bottle for use. Perhaps this is one of the simplest forms of washes which can be used. It may be accepted as a very general cosmetic, which can do no possible harm, while if it does no actual good, produces a grateful sense of coolness and causes elasticity of the skin. --The Handbook For Ladies' Maids (1865)

As usual, I decided to try this on a reduced scale: 1 oz of blanched almonds, 1/16 oz curd soap (about 3/8 tsp), and 1 cup of rosewater. I started by blanching the almonds in hot water, and then scraped the soap.

One ounce blanched almonds, and 1/16 oz grated soap.

Then I ground the almonds using a mortar and pestle, working the soap into the paste. 

The almonds like to bounce around at first.

I poured the rosewater over the almond-soap paste, which quickly turned an opaque white. I stirred it well, then let it sit for a few minutes while finding a funnel and cutting some scrap linen for a sieve.

With "milk" in the title, I should have expected this.

I strained the mixture through the cloth, separating the milky white liquid from the solid almond. Where it previously made a paste, the almond residue now stuck in small clumps. 

Milk of Almonds

I dabbed some of the finished milk of almonds on my hands and face. It leaves a nice rose scent (with a faint hint of almond, which I might be imagining). It definitely doesn't have the instant softening sensation of a modern moisturizing lotion, nor the greasy smoothness of a period cold cream. I'm not entirely sure what the book meant by 'elasticity', but it smells nice. 

Edited to add: this mixture has an unfortunately short shelf-life, and started going off about two weeks after making it. I noticed that the milk of roses didn't have the same problem, which I'm tentatively attributing to the spirits of wine. Since there's little other difference between them.

Liquid Rouge, 1865

 LIQUID ROUGE. Take of rouge, spirits of wine, white wine vinegar, and water equal parts. Mix and apply with a fine linen rag. This is superior to the last two recipes, simply because it is less obstructive, and at the same time it has the advantage of simplicity which the acidulated has not, but this latter yields an immeasurably superior colour. 

--The Handbook for Ladies' Maids and Guide to the Toilette (1865)

 

I used the "chalk rouge" for this recipe, combining 1/2 tsp of it with 1/2 tsp each of water, white wine vinegar, and vodka.*

*Could be brandy or another concentrated wine, but as far as I can tell "spirits of wine" basically means ethanol.

Not prepossessing, but we'll see.

The chalk sort of mixes with the liquids--there's a noticeable residue in the bottle, even after shaking. It does retain a faint odor of vinegar. I used a scrap of linen to transfer a few drop of the rouge onto my skin, then rubbed it on. 

Photographing one's hand is still really awkward.

Two immediate improvements over the powder is that there's no visible loose powder to remove, and it's much easier to apply without getting rouge powder all over one's hands/table/tin. I'm not yet sure which version produces the best effect, though I think I see what the author means about the improved "obstruction" of this rouge. Not that anyone could distinguish a natural blush under any of these paints, in my opinion....

Common Pomatum, c.1772-1784

Finally playing around with the receipts in The American Duchess Guide to Beauty. That is, I finally found a place to order mutton tallow.

The common pomatum seemed a good place to start. It's quite like the later Victorian pomatums I've made (melt two fats together and scent as desired), but this time I decided to do things properly and use the mutton tallow and leaf lard, rather than beef tallow and the hydrogenated lard that my grocery story actually carries.  The receipts in this book are adapted from the Toilette of Flora (1772-1784*), though the modern recipes have a number of advantages: the authors have scaled them down to a more manageable amount, and they describe the actual process in more detail. With pictures.

Tallow, mostly without the sheep odor...

One thing I learned, was to soak the tallow in advance to get some of the odor out. I ended up letting it go for two weeks, because even with changing the water regularly the sheep smell wasn't fully dissipating.

Common pomatum.

In lieu of the suggested scents, I decided to experiment a bit, and used both jasmine and neroli. In retrospect, using two florals was not a good choice--I should have used a citrus or a spice oil with one floral to get a more interesting mixture. It's not bad, just a bit boring (and mostly only jasmine).

The finished pomatum is more solid that the versions I've made with beef tallow. It's not quite as hard as the ones with wax added, but you can't just scoop it up in your fingers either. In use, it seems to function no differently from other pomatums I've used.

*At minimum, editions of this book appeared in 1772, 1775, 1779, and 1784.

A White Paint For the Complexion, 1834

Or white talc powder. This recipe comes from The Toilette of Health, Beauty, and Fashion (1834). 

In summary, it calls for fine white talc to be set in twice as much white vinegar, and occasionally shaken/stirred over a two-week period.  After that, decant the vinegar, rinse in fresh water until the vinegar smell is gone, and sift it fine again. This "paint" may be used in powder form, or made into small cakes. 

I decided to leave this batch as a powder, since an almost identical recipe for talc white cakes appears in the Handbook for Ladies' Maids and Guide to the Toilette (1865), and I intend to experiment with that separately. 

Talc in vinegar, and the finished powder.

The talc suspends easily in the vinegar, so the hardest part was definitely decanting off the liquid. I ended up giving it several days to evaporate between each wash cycle (after pipetting/pouring off as much liquid as I could without losing the talc). After the final wash, I let it sit for most of a week to get thoroughly dry, then used a mortar and pestle to break up small remaining clumps. I did not have any silk fine enough to sift the powder through.

It's hard to photograph, but the half of my hand nearest the thumb
is visibly whiter than the portion without this 'paint'.

When I tried it on the skin, the talc did make my pink complexion a little whiter. The tricky part is getting the excess powder off: rubbing/dusting off the distinct powder residue at the edges and in contours, without removing all of the color. I definitely want to play around with this some more, and could see using it at formal evening events (particularly the ones held by candlelight).

Chalk Rouge, 1865

Back into the Victorian make-up experiments, with some marginally more successful rouge. This recipe is the simplest one I've found so far, from the Handbook for Ladies' Maid (London, 1865). 

CHALK ROUGES Take one drachm of finely powdered carmine and powdered chalk five drachms. Mix. This is one of the opaque rouges, the recipe of which we give because of its simplicity. We do not recommend it. --The Handbook for Ladies' Maids and Guide to the Toilette (1865)

As promised, it is very straightforward: 1 part powdered carmine to 5 parts powdered chalk. I did not try to make my own carmine from cochineal this time, so it was considerably more successful than previous attempts at this style of rouge.

Carmine + chalk = rouge.

Despite the ominous note of "we do not recommend it", I found the recipe straightforward, and the color quite bright.  While the rouge is fairly obvious on my skin, it doesn't have the thickly-painted-on aspect that I expected--and can probably be made to look more natural with careful application and practice. The simple recipe makes it easy to adjust the shade with more or less chalk to get a lighter pink or darker red. A very small amount of the rouge imparts a lot of color, so it is easy to over-apply.

The rouge (above) and the pure carmine (below).

This chalk-based rouge has a tendency to get everywhere, so a peignoir or kerchief of some sort is recommended. Also, use towels you don't like to remove the excess from your hands/brush/general vicinity. Even opening the jar spread traces of brightly colored chalk around the hands, so care is needed to avoid staining clothes and hands. The rouge is easily transferred between surfaces, but some moderate scrubbing with soap and water is needed to fully remove it from the skin. If you wore this out in the rain, it'd probably make a pink mess on your face and collar. 

Violet Powder, 1865

"A lady's toilet-table is incomplete without a box of absorbent powder; indeed, from our earliest infancy, powder is used for drying the skin with the greatest benefit...The most popular is what is termed violet powder."

-- Graham's Magazine (1856)  

 

"Violet Powder. This preparation is universally applied for drying the skin after washing, especially at the joints, which if left even damp produces chaps and chafing often followed if neglected by inflammation....Unperfumed powder is, therefore, the best to use, dusted over the part with a little brush made of swan's down called a puff."

--The New Household Receipt Book (1853)

 

"One of the most innocent and best preparations for whitening the skin is Violet Powder...the genuine powder is composed of the various starches obtained from the potato wheat and other well known sources. It is then mixed with magnesia, orris or other ingredients and when properly blended it forms a most excellent preparation..."

--A Popular Treatise on the Human Hair (1865)

After a year without dressing up, many of my historic cosmetics have gone off. As I set about replenishing my supply of highly-scented hair-styling aids, it seemed like a good time to start a more systematic investigation of the mid-Victorian Toilette. So here we go. The first new item will be some violet powder. As noted above, it's basically scented starch with or without added talc--very like a modern baby powder. Talcum powder was also used well into the 20th century as a standard part of women's grooming, so there may be more recent sources that can shed light on the finer points of using it.

The recipe I chose is from the Handbook for Ladies' Maids and Guide to the Toilette (1865), mostly because it's straightforward:

VIOLET POWDER--Powder six ounces of pure white starch, and sift it through fine muslin. Add two drachms of orris root, to which is due the cooling property of the powder. Some people add scents to this mixture, while others add rose pink mixed with stone blue. All these additions must be condemned. By the way, in its use let us recommend the advisability of smoothing the powder after it is applied.

 

A very complicated recipe.

A drachm is 1/8 oz, so this is basically starch mixed with powdered orris root in a 24:1 ratio. Another recipe in Graham's Magazine uses a 6:1 ratio, with essential oils added for additional perfume. The New Household Receipt Book calls for a ratio of 3:1 starch to orris root, while deploring the use of perfumes. They also mention that talc is used in some commercial "violet powders", along with the wheat or potato starch, orris root, and potentially others scents as well as coloring agents. 

Violet powder. Not violet. Is a powder.

I used corn starch instead of the wheat or potato starch more common in period, because it's much more readily available today. I also decided to start with the 24:1 ratio and see how it worked. When I first mixed them up, I couldn't tell that the powder had any scent. Now when I open the container, there is a delicate floral scent.

I don't have any conclusive results yet on use. Those will have to wait until I'm dressing for multiple days at a time, I fear. However, I can promise that I won't be using it to treat skin wounds, as in The Corner Cupboard (1858).

Root, Herb, & Other Savoury Pies (1862)

Happy Pi Day!

I decided to revisit the savory vegetarian pie I tried back during the first Historical Food Fortnightly season. It was a touch bland then.

So, receipt #420 from The Principles and Practices of Vegetarian Cookery (1862): 2 pounds potatoes, 2 oz onion, 1 oz butter, 1 cup water, and a puff pastry crust. Of the suggested additional ingredients, I decided to add carrots (2 oz), celery (1 oz), and sage (1 Tbsp), along with a generous sprinkle of salt and pepper. I chopped the vegetables small and layered them in a pie tin edged with puff paste; sprinkled the seasoning on the penultimate layer of potatoes; poured on the water; dotted with butter; and then covered it with a puff paste crust (2 cups flour, 1 cup butter, some water).

Layering in the vegetables.

Unfortunately, I set the oven to 350F instead of a more pie-appropriate temperature, so it took over 2 hours of checking and fiddling with temperature settings to get the potatoes softened.

Pie!

The pie is tastier and more filling than I remember: it makes a tasty and satisfying meal. The flavors definitely work better with some salt and pepper. The sage isn't necessarily coming through, but I suspect it's contributing to the overall effect. With the changes, I think this is worth adding to my historic recipe rotation.

Update on c.1780 Stays

 After cutting them out last year, I put the pieces for my late 18th century stays in a safe place. I finally found them again in late February, and have finished no other projects since then.

Fully boned, eyelets bound, and attaching the binding.

The stays are made of a double layer of linen canvas, stiffened with artificial whalebone. Chamois leather guards the underarms and will be used to bind the raw edges. I started out lightly boning the stays, just along the seams and openings, but decided on the first fitting to fully bone the garment instead. The boning channels are machine sewn with cotton thread; the eyelets and leather are hand-sewn with waxed linen.

  

So many eyelets.

I had also originally intended these stays to lace only down the back. Reflecting on my 1820s long stays, and what a pain they are to lace, I decided to switch to a front-and-back lacing style. I hadn't accounted for the relative ease of spiral lacing versus cross-lacing behind one's back, and after going to all that trouble, I'm not sure it was worth it. 

And the three eyelets that I had to remove.

After some slight miscalculations, I ended up with 13 eyelets down the each side of the back, 14 on the front, and four at each shoulder strap, for a total of 62 hand-bound eyelets. I actually ended up sewing 65, as I was four eyelets into the second front piece before remembering that these stays were going to be spiral-laced, and thus the eyelets needed to be staggered. As I had done already done on the back panels.

Fortunately, I'd managed to open the eyelets with very little thread breakage, and managed to cut off the stitches on the three extraneous eyelets, then carefully darn over the broken threads. After the first, I found that darning from the inside made a neater and less visible mend. The structural integrity of the stays does not appear to have been compromised, though it is frustrating to have this error in the most prominent place on the garment.

With the chamois leather underarm protectors appliqued into place, all that remains is to attach the leather binding on the upper and lower edges of the stays, then cut and attach a lining made of lighter-weight linen. Even with my best sharp needles, and a very thin, supple leather, the stitching is noticeably slower and harder on my hands than a moderate-to-fine linen or cotton.

Kitchen Garden, March 1819

 MARCH 

Sow carrots and large peas, cabbages and savoys, and also a second crop of parsnips and carrots.-- Towards the end of the month, put in large quantities of beans and peas. Sow parsley and plant mint. Sow cos and imperial lettuce, transplant the finer kinds. The last week make asparagus beds, clear up the artichoke roots, slip off the weakest, and plant them out. Dig a warm border, and sow some French beans.

-Modern Domestic Cookery, and Useful Receipt Book (London, 1819)

Original: Plaid Suit, 1860s

Not a dress, but I love the huge plaid, and couldn't resist it.

Jacket and trousers, c.1860-70. LACMA.