Red Lip Salve, 1850

Revisiting this recipe, I think it deserves its own post. 

RED LIP SALVE. Mix together equal portions of the best suet and the best lard. There must be no salt about them. Boil slowly, and skim and stir the mixture. Then add a small thin bag of alkanet chips and, when it has coloured the mixture of a fine deep red, take it out. While cooling, stir in very hard sufficient rose or orange flower water to give it a fine perfume. A few drops of oil of rhodium will impart to it a very agreeable rose scent. --Miss Leslie's Lady's New Receipt Book (1850)

May I say that I love how Miss Leslie just gives the proportions instead of telling the reader to prepare several pounds of lip salve? 

I previously made this salve with grocery-store (hydrogenated) lard and beef tallow. It technically calls for suet and "the best lard", so I also got fancy and used mutton suet with leaf lard. As previously noted, mutton suet and tallow tend to stink, but also to give firmer final products.

As before, I started a week in advance by chopping up the suet very fine, and picking out any non-fat 'bits'. I then set the suet to soak in water, which I changed every other day. When the suet smelled less like sheep,  I drained it, weighed out 1/2 oz portion, and melted it together with 1/2 oz leaf lard. I added a generous pinch of alkanet (~ 1/2 tsp), removed it from the heat, stirred in 1/2 tsp of rosewater and strained out the alkanet and solid leftovers from the suet. This proved the trickiest part, as the solution started trying to set in the funnel as it was being strained. I think in the future, I could save myself a lot of trouble by putting the alkanet in a cloth bag, and by skimming the solids out while the mixture is being heated. 

Red (pink) lip salve.

The alkanet gave this salve a nice deep pink color, though I'm not sure I'd call it red. As it solidified, salve grew into a paler pink. It ended a lot softer than the other salves and pomatums I've made lately, which I'm attributing to the lack of wax/spermaceti in the recipe. The suet odor, unfortunately, has come through in this batch. I also discovered that some of the rosewater pooled under the surface, and leaked out when I attempted to use the salve.

Since I've made this recipe successfully before, I'm tempted to try again in the future--using tallow for the suet (less straining), rinsing it for two weeks instead of one, and reducing the amount of rosewater. On the other hand, I have a lot of other lip salve recipes that haven't had these problems.

Pink Lip Salve, 1825-1856

I took today's receipt from The Dictionary of Practical Receipts (1853), though I found it verbatim in other sources. So far, the earliest (and most detailed) version appears in Mackenzie's Five Thousand Receipts (1825)--a book which goes though multiple editions through at least 1856. Intriguingly, the 1866 expansion to Ten Thousand Receipts omits the rose or pink lip salve, while retaining the white lip salve.

Lip Salve (Pink)-- Put 8 oz of good olive oil into a wide mouthed bottle, and 2 oz of the bloomy parts of alkanet root; stop the bottle, and set it in the heat of the sun till it be of a fine crimson color; strain the oil clear into a pipkin with 3 oz each of fine white wax and fresh well cleaned mutton or lamb suet; melt the whole by a slow fire, and when taken off add 40 drops of oil of rhodium or lavender; and pour it into small pots. 

--The Dictionary of Practical Receipts (1853)

Working at 1/4 scale: 2 oz of olive oil, 0.5 oz alkanet (1/2 cup), 3/4 oz white wax, 3/4 oz lamb suet, with 10 drops of lavender oil. The oil of rhodium imparts a rose scent, which is very popular with lip salve recipes, but I'm interested in trying something different this time (also I don't have any).

I started two weeks ago by soaking the alkanet in olive oil. I've noticed that oil tends to take the alkanet color faster than alcohols, giving rosy pinks after mere minutes, but was I curious about how dark of a tint is possible with this recipe. And maybe forgot about it.  I chopped the suet fine, picked out all the 'bits', and set it to soak in cold water for a week. Every other day, I changed the water. This was a trick I picked up making the 18th century pomade. Both the mutton suet and the tallow stink, so I'm glad the first recipe I tried with any sheep fat advised washing it first.

Alkanet in olive oil, white beeswax pellets with suet pieces.

I strained the alkanet out of the oil, then set it with the white wax and suet in a water bath on the stove over moderate heat. Once melted, I removed it from the water bath, let the mixture cool slightly, then added the 10 drops of lavender, stirred it a bit more, and poured the salve into four small (1/2oz - 1oz) tins to cool.

Pink it is. This is the darkest salve I've managed so far.

The finished salve is fairly solid (as I've some to expect with mutton suet/fat receipts), but has a nice deep raspberry color. I'm not noticing a strong lavender scent about it, but it doesn't smell like mutton fat, which is the important part. It also seems to be fulfilling its job as a lip salve. 

Hair Powder, c.1772-1784

Basic hair powder, from  The American Duchess Guide to Beauty. I appreciate that they worked out quantities for each ingredient, the original receipts being a little...intense. And sometimes vague:

230. Common Powder. The best Starch dried is generally the basis of all Hair Powders; sometimes worm eaten or rotten Wood, dried Bones, or Bones calcined to whiteness, which are sifted through a fine hair sieve after they have been beaten to powder. This kind of Powder readily takes any scent particularly that of Florentine Orrice, a root which naturally possesses a violet smell. Of these Roots the whitest and soundest are made choice of; they are to be powdered as fine as possible, and this can only be done during the summer season.

231 White Powder. Take four pounds of Starch, half a pound of Florentine Orrice Roots, six Scuttle-fish Bones, Ox Bones and Sheeps Bones calcined to whiteness, of each half an handful; beat the whole together and lift the powder through a very fine sieve. 

--The Toilet of Flora (1772)

In addition to these white powders, the Flora also gives two recipes for gray hair powder (tinted with wood-ash), and one "flaxen-coloured" (with yellow ochre), the latter with an observation that the powder can be tinted any color. I may someday feel brave enough to try one of those...

Hair Powder

Aside from the optional cuttlefish, sheep, and ox bones, this receipt is very like the violet powder used in the 19th and early 20th century (which itself has persisted into the 21st as baby powder). Scented starch is apparently quite versatile.

Powdered hair and natural.

I've never used hair powder before, and was pleasantly surprised at how it turned out. I had to apply a lot more than I expected, but the hair powder didn't get everywhere like the various powder rouges I've made. And while white powder lightened my hair by a few degrees, it didn't turn the hair pure white. When I washed it out, the powder came away instantly, without any fuss.

I haven't tried sleeping in pomaded-and-powdered hair, but that experiment is indefinitely postponed. Unless I start attending multi-day 18th century events...

Barbara Johnson Album, 1746-1823

I was very excited to find that the whole Barbara Johnson album has now been digitized by the VAM. The older version of their site only had about four pages, that I could see, and the reprints have been cost-prohibitively out-of-print ever since I started looking for it. The only downside is that the images in the web-browser can't be enlarged to see details--but you can download high-resolution copies.

If anyone is wondering why this is a big deal: this is a 77-year fabric & fashion scrapbook from the mid 18th to early 19th century, with fashion plates and fabric samples which are labelled with the year and type of garment they were used in. It's an amazing primary source.

Rose Ointment, 1856

From A Cyclopedia of Practical Receipts (1856), this rose ointment is described as "simple emollient" and "an officinal* cold cream". The recipe calls for 3 parts spermaceti ointment to 1 part rose water, by weight. 

There are two spermaceti ointment listed on the next page: one calls for 5 oz spermaceti, 14 drams white wax, and 1 pint of olive oil, melted together. The other calls for 1/2 lb white wax, 1 lb spermaceti, and 3 pounds lard. I decided to try the second recipe, scaled down 1/16 to 1/2 oz white wax, 1 oz spermaceti, and 3 oz lard, all to be mixed with 3 oz of rose water (weight, not fl oz). I melted the wax, spermaceti and lard together, then stirred in the rose water as it cooled.

Rose Ointment. It's very solid.

I was concerned that adding so much extra liquid would give a very soft or goopy cold cream, but it's actually very solid. Very, very solid. It's like the wax-based hard pomatums for hair. I can't scoop any ointment out of the tin except by digging in with a fingernail, and end up with more of the ointment on my fingers than where I'm trying to apply it (on the back of my hands, which have dried out from gardening). The day after I made it, the ointment also appeared to be weeping rosewater around the edges; it's unclear to me whether this is because I should have keep stirring it longer as it cooled, or if that's how it is supposed to work.

The ointment itself mostly smells of rosewater, though a little lard odor does come through. It's not intense enough for the scent to linger on the skin like the milk of roses did. Or maybe I just didn't get enough of the ointment on my hands.

Overall, this isn't a bad recipe, though I find softer cold creams easier to apply. If I tried it again, I'd probably opt for the first rose ointment recipe, which uses lard and rose petals, and should be softer than any of the wax/spermaceti ointments.

*Today's vocabulary word: officinal- used to describe a herb/drug of standard medical use.

Hard Pomade, c.1775

More hair care from The American Duchess Guide to Beauty: a hard pomatum. As with the Victorian version, it's a variation of a softer pomatum with wax added. 

Hard pomatum, in fun shapes.

I used a combination of lemon and neroli scents for this batch of pomatum; I think the combination of scents works nicely.  I also followed the advice to set the hard pomatum in molds, which should make it much easier to use than the Victorian hard pomatum that I set in a tin. The important lesson I'm taking from this experiment, is to always have the small rose molds on hand for any extra material.  

French Milk of Roses, 1865

FRENCH MILK OF ROSES 

To half a pint of rose water, add half a gill of rosemary water. Add tincture of storax and tincture of benzoin, each half an ounce. Also add a quarter of an ounce, or even half the quantity will do, of essence of roses. This wash will be found very useful in the case of freckles.  --The Handbook for Ladies' Maids (1865) 

French Milk of Roses. Less milky, but plenty of rose.

I attempted this one on a quarter scale: 2 oz rosewater, 1/2 oz rosemary water, 1 Tbsp tincture of benzoin, 3/4 tsp rose essence. I opted for the lesser amount of rose essence. The storax/styrax was omitted--there seem to be a number of similar resins from completely different plants that currently are sold under the name, and I couldn't determine which is most appropriate to the original recipe.

The milk of roses is slightly white and cloudy, but much less opaque and milky-looking than the similar recipes I've tried. It smells strongly of roses, though when applied I do smell the rosemary, too. I've not noticed any effects on the skin, but it leaves a subtle perfume.

German Lip Salve, 1863

 Finally, reasonably-sized cosmetic receipt: 

GERMAN LIP SALVE Butter of cacao 1/2 oz., oil of almonds 1/4 oz.; melt together with a gentle heat and add 6 drops of essence of lemon. 

--The Druggist's General Receipt Book (1863)

For once, I didn't scale anything down. Just weighed out a half ounce of cacao butter, measured 1/4 oz almond oil (1/2 Tbsp), and heated them together in my makeshift double boiled (a glass bowl set in a saucepan of water on the stove). The lemon was essence stirred in after taking it off the heat, then the mixture was poured into 2 small tins (~1/2 oz each) to cool. 

Chocolate-scented lip salve.

This is one of the few mid-19th century recipes I've seen which calls for cacao butter rather than animal fat or beeswax, so I was eager to see how it would turn out. The cacao has a lovely chocolate scent and is distinctly yellow in color. Similar receipts mostly use white solids--lard, suet, tallow, white wax--so I did start to wonder about the intentionality of this yellow fat being used in this particular recipe, which does not add a coloring agent. I also started wondering if the recommendation to scent it with lemon essence was related to the yellow cacao butter. 

As it happens, the chocolate aroma from the cacao completely overwhelms the lemon, so this is mostly just a fun chocolate-scented lip salve.

Liquid Rouge, c.1772-1784

Another receipt from The American Duchess Guide to Beauty [adapted from The Toilet of Flora]: liquid rouge. Out of respect for the modern authors I will not be repeating the whole recipe, but the original is well in the public domain for anyone interested in looking it up themselves.

A different shade of red.

As usual, I scaled the recipe down further, using the usual 4 Tbsp = 1 oz approximation for the powdered materials. If anyone's interested in trying it on 1/8 scale as I did, use 3/4 tsp where an ingredient calls for "1oz" and 3/8 tsp for those calling for "1/2 oz". This is a weight to volume conversion, but it appears to work.

This shade of pink is the exact color
I turn when contemplating sunlight.

With different coloring agents, this rouge produced a more orange-red shade (which also looks more blood-red in the jar), than the cochineal-carmine rouges I've otherwise attempted. The final product does have the much-vaunted "transparency" when applied; it also has a very light color saturation, and closely matches my actual skin-tones when blushing/exerting oneself/venturing into sunlight. The picture above makes it appear more subdued than it is in person. Careful layering would be needed for a more dramatic coloring, but I could see this rouge making a more "natural" effect than most of the others. There were some solid particles to deal with, even after two weeks of waiting, but I was able to let the rouge dry and then gently brush the residue off. A faint stain remained on my hand even after washing; further experiments in water-stability will be needed.

In another difference from the 19th century, I found it interesting that the Toilet of Flora recipes were called "carmines" instead of "rouges".  They also all use brazilwood dust for the coloring, where the later rouges favor cochineal (or carmine, which is defined in the 19th century sources as refined cochineal). More intriguingly, recipe #250 for "the Turkish method of preparing carmine" mentions that cochineal or "red sanders" (red sandalwood, perhaps?) can be used in place of the brazilwood. Within fifty years, this will be entirely supplanted by cochineal derivatives.

Turkish Rouge, 1855

I previously made the "Turkish rouge" from Arts Revealed (1855), but never documented the process, and decided to give it another try. The recipe is very straightforward: alcohol tinted with alkanet.  My first attempt produced a deep red liquid (so far so good), which imparted no actual color to the skin (less ideal). I decided to try it again with more meticulous attention to the amount of each ingredient, to see if it works better a second time.

Four ounces alkanet, with 3-cup mug for scale.

The recipe calls for 1/2 pint alcohol (or 1 cup), and 3 cents worth of alkanet (~1/2 oz weight* ~1/2 cup volume). I decided to convert into volume measures for this receipt, since I don't have a scale fine enough to weigh out fractions of an ounce. Anyway, by volume, this is just a 2:1 ratio of alcohol to alkanet, which is very easy to scale up or down.   

When previously making up this rouge, I re-used some alkanet root (sanctioned by no less authority than Miss Leslie herself), and didn't measure anything: I just poured enough alcohol over the shredded roots to cover them, and left the jar in the cupboard for a few days. And then for a few weeks, when the rouge didn't seem to have much affect on my skin. This time, I not only used fresh alkanet (in a little bag for easy removal) and measured the ingredients, but also made of point of monitoring the color progress by taking samples at hourly, and then daily increments. 

The lighter vial soaked for 2 hours,
the darker 12 hours, and the large container for 24 hours.

Even setting the jar out in the sun, after 10 days, the color of this rouge wasn't particularly strong. It's honestly lighter that the Hungary water I've tinted with alkanet (which also has an alcohol base), and looks more like the hair oil that I've similarly colored. Though, in the case of the hair oil, it soaked for closer to 30 minutes, not multiple days (the Hungary water steeped for a month).

After ten days.

Even setting the jar out in the sun, after 10 days, the color of this rouge wasn't particularly strong. It's honestly lighter that the Hungary water I've tinted with alkanet (which also has an alcohol base), and looks more like the hair oil that I've similarly colored. Though, in the case of the hair oil, it soaked for closer to 30 minutes, not multiple days (the Hungary water steeped for a month).

When I tried applying this rouge to my skin, it didn't leave any color at all. I tried it on bare skin and over some white powder, but couldn't see any change. I've noticed this with all the alkanet cosmetics I've tried: lip salve, hair oil, or Hungary water, none of the red alkanet color shows through on the body. I did managed to stain some handkerchiefs with the Hungary water, but that was it. And the hair oil, at least, has been tested extensively--we used it in some Fort programs, and none of the participants' hair or skin took on color from it, whether blond, brown, black, red, grey, or white.

I'm starting to wonder whether the alkanet I buy today differs somehow from the 1850s alkanet. Or if I'm using the product wrong. Or if something else if going on. For what it's worth, neither the hair oil nor scented water benefit from transferring color, while my on-going research into lip salve suggests that it was rarely--if ever--intended as a coloring agent. This particular rouge, then, is the one recipe I've found in which the alkanet is certainly supposed to color the body, rather than coloring the cosmetic itself.

At any rate, further experimentation will be needed.

*This value from Miss Leslie's Lady's New Receipt Book (1850), which mentions that "the price of alkanet does not exceed six cents per ounce". It's actually in a discussion of using alkanet to tint lamp oil pretty shades of red.

Rosemary Hair Wash, 1857

 ROSEMARY HAIR WASH Rosemary water, 1 gallon; spirit, 10 oz; pearlash, 1 oz. 

---The Handbook of Practical Receipts (1857)

 

Rosemary water, spirits, pearlash

This one got scaled down, as I only had 6 oz of rosemary water left from my last adventure distilling herbs (and also because I don't think I actually need a whole gallon of it). Proportionately, those 6 oz of rosemary water requires 0.94 oz spirit, and .09 drams pearlash; for ease of measurement I rounded these to 1 oz alcohol and 3/8 tsp pearlash (potassium carbonate).  

I only have so many large bottles,
so the hair-wash went back into the rosemary water one.

The three ingredients mixed together easily. To use, I just poured a little over my scalp while showering--taking care not to get any of the hair-wash in my eyes--worked it in, and then rinsed thoroughly, and towel-dried. 

I suspected that the alkaline pearlash would do something towards removing any built-up grease from the hair, and was pleasantly surprised by this being true. The hair-wash imparted a short-lived rosemary scent, but otherwise seems to have cleaned my hair just like the shampoo I usually use. I am curious about how it would work over an extended period, and hope to continue the experiment in the future.

Addition: I managed to get four uses out of this batch of ~7 oz of hair wash. It removed pomatum with perfect ease, and generally has proven quite satisfactory. I did notice my hair feeling greasy again a day or two sooner than with modern shampoos, but that's not necessarily a problem with the hair wash. Sometimes my hair just does that with a new product.

1832 Dress Ideas

I'm trying to find inspiration for the two 1830s dress lengths I have lying around. I'm tempted to make one of them up in a c.1832 style, and the other closer to the end of the decade (& The Great Sleeve Collapse), but the exact dates are flexible. It's not like I have a particular place to wear them at this point.

This first dress is from my target year. The sleeves look ready to devour the unwary, but I like how the bodice fullness is handled with the wide waistband and low yoke.

Dress, American, 1832. From The Met.

This c. 1830 dress caught my eye due to the shaped jockeys on the sleeves:

Dress, American, c.1830. From The Met.

A bit early, but the cross-over bodice on this 1829 dress is lovely. It's also something I could do in an 1850s dress, so maybe it's not something that I have to work into this project...

Dress, British, 1829. From The Met.

This is brilliant, but I'd want a striped print to really show off the lines on the bodice:

Dress, American, 1832-1853. From The Met.

One of my prints does have similar floral motifs on a cream background like this one. And the horizontal interest on the bodice is handled with softer gathering instead of flat bands, which is an interesting variation.

Dress, American, 1832-1835, from The Met.

A high-necked dress! With no offense intended towards this dress, it has helped me decide that I'd like to make this project a lower neckline.

Dress, American, c. 1830, from The MET.

Surplice bodice and scalloped jockeys. Not sure I could pull it off, but I sort of want to...

Walking dress, British, c.1830, from The MET.

Higher-but-still-open neckline on this one, with some lovely self-fabric bias bands. Definitely keeping the bodice styling in mind, though I find myself put off by the skirt. It reminds me too much of badly done ruffles on c.1860 repros. 

Dress, British, c.1830, from The Met.

The sleeve fullness on this one goes down to the forearm, where it appears to be controlled by smocking or shirring. In addition to the monster sleeves, I like the closely-spaced bias bands around the neck; the remind me of an early 1860s bertha.

Silk and wool dress, c.1830, from LACMA.

This dress has the same color scheme as my other dress length (bright floral print on a black ground), and much more moderate sleeves. I could certainly see myself making up something like this as well as wearing it. Though with that higher waistline, I wonder if this dress isn't more late 1820s...

Dress, c.1830, from LACMA.

Kransekake

 An Easter treat:  Norwegian almond cake. The kransekake is baked in specially-shaped ring pans, and then the 18 layers are stacked into a tall, hollow cone. 

Kransekake

Kitchen Garden, April 1819

APRIL 

Plant French beans, cuttings of sage, and other aromatic plants; sow marrow-fat peas, and more beans for a succession; sow thyme, sweet marjoram, and savory. Prepare dung for making ridges to receive cucumber or melon-plants, designed for handglasses. Sow small salading weekly; and also some cos and Silesia lettuces. Weed the growing crops, hoe between the beans and peas, cabbages, cauliflower plants & c. At night, cover your cucumbers and melons with hand glasses. 

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

Anti-Sunburn Pomade, 1865

ANTI-SUN-BURN POMADE. The following is a really good and equally simple recipe to prevent the skin from cracking and to remove sun burns. Melt two ounces of spermaceti in a pipkin and add two ounces of oil of almonds and when they are intimately combined stir in a tablespoonful of fine honey. Stir the mixture till quite cold or the materials will harden separately. This pomade should be applied at night after washing the skin and should be allowed to remain on all night. --The Handbook for Ladies' Maids (1865) 

I made this one up on a half scale: 1 oz spermaceti (cetyl palmitate), 1 oz oil of almonds, 1.5 tsp honey. As instructed, I melted the oil and wax together, then stirred in the honey, and kept stirring as it cooled.

It's a very soft pomade. 

Stirring the pomade as it cooled gave it a whipped consistency. I hadn't accounted for this, and next time would continue mixing it in the melting bowl, transferring to storage pots after it sets. The honey melted as it was added to the hot pomade, but some of it settled at the bottom of the bowl and would not stir in. The final product has a slight gold tint, but doesn't smell particularly like honey; I think most of it incorporated, but it is possible that some settled at the bottom.

No whales were harmed, thanks to SCIENCE.

I don't have any sunburn to test this on, but it'll go in my kit for next time. There's nothing like a reenacting season for small, oddly placed sunburns. On unburned skin, this just felt like a softer and more greasy hair pomatum. It's not as pleasant as modern hand lotion, but I have high hopes that will sooth chapped skin or a mild sunburn.

Original: Child's Coat, 1850s

Child's Wool Coat, 1855-65

I love the faux-ermine trim on this tiny jacket.