Talc White Cakes, 1834/1865

TALC WHITE 

Venice talc in very fine powder, 1 oz. Distilled white vinegar, 2 oz. The talc and vinegar are put together for a fortnight, being shaken and stirred from time to time. The liquid is then removed by filteration and the deposit washed in distilled water until no very perceptible smell emanates from the mass which must now be mixed in a mortar with one drachm of spermaceti. This ointment must then be dried in a place where dust will not soil it. This substance is used by means of being rubbed in a few drops of oil when enough powder will be dissolved to whiten the face. This white does not impede tranispiration but it is liable to show a slight and not very natural polish. However, its great advantage lies in the fact that it is perfectly innoxious. 

--The Handbook for Ladies' Maids (1865) 

As with the white paint of 30 years before, this recipe uses starts with talc steeped in vinegar for two weeks. I find it interesting that the later recipe calls for spermaceti to form the cakes (and explains the use of oil to apply the color), where earlier recipe doesn't even specify what liquid should be used when the powder is "wetted and formed into cakes". I assume plain water, but would not be surprised if it used rosewater. Or Hungary water. Or orange-flower water.

Anyway, as given, the 1865 recipe calls for a 8:16:1 ratio of talc powder, vinegar, and spermaceti wax. I set the talc and vinegar two weeks back (50ml of talc, 100 vinegar), and once thoroughly rinsed and dried, I added ~6ml of spermaceti flakes (a scant 1 1/4 tsp), mixed them thoroughly in a mortar and pestle, and promptly got...a white powder.

Not quite cake-like.

In retrospect, the recipe doesn't really specify whether the spermaceti wax should be mixed in solid or melted first. I recall thinking that pounding the mixture in the mortar would make the talc powder adhere to the wax, though the "must then be dried" language does suggest that a liquid is involved at this stage. Since it calls for spermaceti and not "sperm oil", I expect that the solid wax is the right material (and the liquid oil is unlikely to dry into nice cakes), though I strongly suspect that the wax should be melted before incorporating it into the talc.

A little less powdery...

Before wasting two weeks' waiting work, I decided to try melting the spermaceti in the mixture by heating it in a water bath. This appears to have melted the spermaceti, as the powdery mixture started forming into small clumps.

Forming it into cakes. The rose molds come in handy again.

I tried three different methods for forming the talc into cakes. The first was pressing the powder into a small mold. This worked fairly well. The talc/spermaceti mixture formed a very fragile cake, so on the second attempt I added a drop of water to the mixture, which gave a slightly more robust molded cake. I used this same water-moistened talc to press round cakes in my smallest biscuit cutters. I set them on a piece of wax paper, then poured the talc in through the top, and compacted the talc with my fingers. The talc formed cakes easily in this way, though easing the whole cake out of the cutter without it crumbling takes time and care. 

Making the cakes at least 1/4" thick seems to help.

For the cake that broke apart, I added another drop of water and re-formed it in a shallow tin. The instructions don't mention using such containers, though it seems a practical approach (both for storing the cake away from dust or abrasion and for convenience in shaping the cake.)

Unfortunately, after all that work, I can't seem to use the paint itself. I hoped that it would work like a solid mascara: a drop of liquid is applied, it is rubbed into the bar to liberate some coloring agent, and then the liquid is brushed on as desired. I used sweet almond oil at first, then salad oil (olive oil), and finally water, without success. The sweet almond oil had no effect, the salad oil tinted the smaller molded cake yellow, and the water liberated some pigment, but mostly in small grains. I tried rubbing the cake with my finger, and with a small piece of sponge: the latter turned white where applied to the cake, but neither did more than smear oil with crumbs of white onto my skin. 

I suspect that the way I initially mixed the talc with the solid spermaceti might be responsible for the behavior of the cakes. I will need to try this again with melted spermaceti, to see if the texture and usefulness improves. It would be convenient to have solid white cakes instead of loose powder flying around, but so far the powder appears more effective.

Cosmetic Workshop

 I will be teaching a workshop on mid-19th century cosmetics at Fort Nisqually on Saturday, June 5. If you've ever wanted to make your own Victorian make-up, here's a chance to do so without needing to source all your own supplies. 

You can register here. Registration closes on Monday (June 1).

Mareschal Pomade, c.1775

This is a fun variation of the common pomatum with mareschal powder. I used for the base the same lemon/neroli pomatum that went into the hard pomatum, figuring that it would work well with the spices in the powder.

Mareschal pomade. It's quite lovely,
and will probably be my go-to receipt for 18th century.

The pomatum is a bit paler than I expected, but it still has a mild spicy scent. I was pleased to discover that the spicy odor is imparted on the hair (it's very faint, but pleasant). Otherwise, this pomatum worked just like any other I've made and used. It's one of the mutton-fat tallows, so a bit on the hard side compared to my earliest Victorian ones, but practically that just means I have to work a little slower (digging out small pieces of pomatum and rubbing it in my hands to warm it up).

St. Cecelia Vinegar, 1865

The first skin-care receipt in The Handbook for Ladies' Maids:

ST. CECILIA VINEGAR. This vinegar is used for cooling and strengthening the skin. Spirits of wine 10 parts, Strong white vinegar 10 parts, Gum benzoin 10 parts. The gum, powdered, and the spirit are macerated till the former is dissolved, the materials being kept in a close bottle. The vinegar is then added. The employment of a dozen drops of this liquid in half a glass of water will give a healthy tone to the skin which is bathed with it and will be followed by no ill effect. 

---The Handbook for Ladies' Maids, 1865

Equal quantities of benzoin gum, spirits of wine, and white wine vinegar is fairly straightforward. 

Vinegar, spirits of wine, and gum benzoin powder.

Equal quantities of benzoin gum, spirits of wine, and white wine vinegar is fairly straightforward. I used 10 mL of each, and in my first attempt discovered that failure to stopper the bottle will result in the alcohol evaporating. A second start proved more successful. However, this quantity of benzoin doesn't fully dissolve in either liquid. It suspends for a while, but even with time and regular shaking, it still precipitates out.

Finished vinegar and the water ready to use.

Adding 12 drops to 4 oz of water gives clear water with a faint odor of benzoin gum (and fainter vinegar). I didn't notice any particular sensation or effect on my skin. Looking at some of the other receipts, I suspect that this author believes gum benzoin to be a skin-care panacea. I have not found any modern opinions on how benzoin affects the skin: it appears more popular for perfume, incense, and flavoring than as a skin-care remedy.

Mareschal Hair Powder, c.1775

Back to The American Duchess Guide to Beauty, with a hair powder variation. This is builds upon the basic hair powder, but colored and scented with powdered spices.

Favorite cosmetic jar to open. It smells so nice!

 When I first looked at the recipe, I was concerned that this powder would be too dark for my not-quite-brown-or-blond hair, but it turns out to be a perfect light brown shade, which works fine. It also has a nice spicy scent (noticeable in the hair, very noticeable while applying the powder).

Left: pomaded & powdered hair. Right: au natural. 

Ultimately, there's little difference in color between powdering my hair with the common powder versus the mareschal. The common powder is a little lighter when applied, but I'm not convinced that's entirely the powder (versus my inexperience in applying it).

Left: common hair powder. Right: mareschal powder.

White Paint (Chalk White), 1857

The Druggist's General Receipt Book (1857) has some general observations on the different materials used in rouge and white paints. For the latter, it mentions the vinegar-treated talc I've already experimented with, as well as the widely-condemned white lead and liable-to-turn-grey-while-worn bismuth "pearl powder". An intriguing note I've not seen elsewhere is that French chalk can be used in place of talc, with or without the addition of zinc oxide*. Starch and magnesia (MgO) are also named as "face whites", the later primarily in America.

The wood mortar is good for breaking up clumps.

I started by setting 20 mL of powdered chalk and 40 mL white vinegar to sit for a week; without specific amounts given, I used the same proportions as in the talc. This vinegar step is supposed to make the talc or chalk more white, but I haven't noticed any color changes. As expected, the slightly basic chalk reacted with the acidic vinegar, producing gas bubbles. Otherwise, the process went just like the before: stirring every few days, then pouring off the vinegar, rinsing the chalk with water until the vinegar scent is gone, then allowing the chalk to dry. The chalk does settle more easily than the talc did, making it easier to decant off the vinegar/water. I took part of the chalk and mixed it with an equal volume of zinc oxide*.

 

Barely visible to the eye, and not visible in the photograph.

I tried both the chalk and zinc-chalk powders on my skin, but observed no differences between the two. There really was no change in color, and even looking closely I saw only the slightest hint of white. Compared to the talc white, neither of these chalk whites are very noticable.  

*Which is used in modern sunscreens. Though the Victorian distaste for wearing paint during the day (/at all) probably means this was not used an early attempt at sun protection. The toxicity data I could find suggests that ZnO is safe for topical use, but this powdered form might present an inhalation risk. Since this is an experiment (and I won't be using it regularly), I decided to make part of the batch with the ZnO to see how it behaved. 

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...

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.

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.

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.