Queen of the Nile by Prince Matchabelli c1928

Queen of the Nile by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1928, introduced alongside its similarly themed sister scent, Queen of Babylon. The name Queen of the Nile evokes grandeur, opulence, and sensual mystery—qualities associated with ancient Egypt, a civilization whose allure had long captured the Western imagination. The perfume likely pays tribute to one of history’s most iconic and romanticized figures: Cleopatra, the last active ruler of the Ptolemaic Kingdom of Egypt. Known for her intelligence, political acumen, and legendary beauty, Cleopatra had become a symbol of feminine power and seduction—an ideal muse for perfumery.

There’s reason to believe Queen of the Nile may have originally been released under the name Queen of Egypt in 1925, with a potential name change prompted by trademark concerns or to more clearly evoke the imagery of the Nile itself, Egypt’s life-giving river. The new name better conjures the image of a regal woman ruling from the lush banks of the Nile, steeped in sunlight, incense, and myth.

The late 1920s were a peak era of Egyptomania. The 1922 discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb had set off a wave of cultural fascination that extended to fashion, cinema, and decorative arts. Designers incorporated Egyptian motifs into jewelry and textiles, while Hollywood and Broadway embraced pharaonic themes in lavish productions. Films such as The Ten Commandments (1923), Ben-Hur (1925) and operas like Aida were part of this broader cultural obsession. In this context, a perfume named Queen of the Nile would have felt both modern and steeped in ancient mystique—an olfactory costume through which women could inhabit a romantic fantasy of sovereign allure.

Queen of Georgia by Prince Matchabelli (1926)

Launched in 1926, Queen of Georgia by Prince Matchabelli is a perfume steeped in both personal heritage and ancient legend. The name was chosen to honor Queen Tamar, the revered monarch who ruled Georgia in the 12th century during what is now called the Georgian Golden Age. Known for her extraordinary intellect, beauty, and political acumen, Queen Tamar’s reign ushered in a cultural renaissance—a time when poetry, art, and architecture flourished under her wise and confident rule. For Prince Georges Matchabelli, himself a Georgian nobleman and former diplomat, creating a fragrance in her honor was more than symbolic—it was a tribute to the very spirit of his homeland and to a queen whose leg,acy embodied the ideal of feminine strength and sovereign elegance.

The name Queen of Georgia carries a regal, almost mythic resonance. The title evokes a majestic figure—draped in silk and gold, standing at the crossroads of East and West. The word "queen" suggests power and poise, while "Georgia" conjures a place of mountains, monasteries, and ancient traditions—a land shaped by both Orthodox spirituality and Silk Road intrigue. Emotionally, the name calls forth reverence, pride, and a sense of timeless allure. It stirs images of a woman not only adored for her beauty but respected for her wisdom—an inspiration for modern women seeking both elegance and empowerment.

The late 1920s, when this perfume debuted, was a period of cultural energy and change. It was the tail end of the Roaring Twenties, a decade defined by liberation, glamour, and a fascination with the exotic. Women were cutting their hair, shortening their skirts, and redefining femininity on their own terms. In perfumery, this era gave rise to bold innovations—most notably the use of aldehydes, which added a sparkling, abstract quality to floral compositions, as famously seen in Chanel No. 5. At the same time, oriental perfumes—rich with resins, spices, and incense—were gaining popularity, reflecting a fascination with faraway lands and ancient mysticism.

Queen of Babylon by Prince Matchabelli (1928)

Queen of Babylon by Prince Matchabelli, launched in 1928 alongside its sister scent Queen of the Nile, emerged during an era when exoticism, ancient empires, and cinematic grandeur captivated the Western imagination. The name Queen of Babylon was a deliberate invocation of one of the most mythic and mysterious civilizations of the ancient world—Babylon, the fabled city of Mesopotamia, known for its splendor, decadence, and intrigue. Babylon had long been immortalized in biblical tales, historical texts, and Romantic art, and by the 1920s, it also enjoyed a prominent place in popular culture, with lavish Hollywood epics and grand stage productions bringing its mythical past to life. Films like Intolerance (1916), which depicted the fall of Babylon in opulent detail, left an indelible impression and likely helped shape public fascination with such themes.

By choosing the name Queen of Babylon, Matchabelli evoked an aura of power, sensuality, and transgression. The title conjures images of opulent palaces, cascading jewels, and a woman of formidable beauty—possibly Semiramis, the legendary Assyrian queen often (though incorrectly) associated with Babylon, who was mythologized as a powerful and seductive ruler. The word “Babylon” had by this time become synonymous with exotic excess and moral ambiguity, thanks in part to religious interpretations and popular media. Thus, describing the fragrance as “just a bit wicked” was a playful nod to this legacy—offering modern women a scent that suggested mystery, allure, and a delicious sense of rule-breaking sophistication.

Launched during the twilight of the Roaring Twenties, Queen of Babylon reflected the spirit of its time: a decade shaped by jazz-age rebellion, flapper fashion, and a marked shift toward liberated femininity. The 1920s woman was leaving behind Victorian restraint and stepping into modernity with daring hemlines, bobbed hair, and a newfound independence. Perfume, during this era, became an essential part of a woman's expression of self—no longer merely a luxury, but a symbol of identity. A fragrance with a “spicy and exotic odor” and the provocative name Queen of Babylon would have appealed to the woman who wished to project confidence and allure, to embody a sense of glamour touched with danger.

Princess of Wales by Prince Matchabelli c1939

Princess of Wales by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1939, a time when the world stood on the edge of great uncertainty, but glamour and royal imagery still held powerful sway over the imagination. Matchabelli, well known for his aristocratic roots and romantic sensibility, drew once again from the wellspring of European royalty to name this fragrance. The title Princess of Wales—evokes the highest rank of a woman in the British monarchy outside of the queen, a figure traditionally associated with grace, refinement, and quiet strength. In this context, the perfume’s name lent it an immediate air of prestige and timeless femininity.

The fragrance was described as a “light-hearted and sweet” floral with sparkling notes of fern, flowers, and spice—a combination that offered both freshness and warmth. It was said to be dedicated to the memory of Alexandra of Denmark, the wife of King Edward VII, who held the title of Princess of Wales from 1863 until her husband's ascension to the throne in 1901. Alexandra became a fashion icon of the late Victorian period, admired for her poise, delicate beauty, and impeccable style. The perfume was imagined as a tribute to her era’s romantic fashion—bustles, basques, silks, brocades—and to her personality: both elegant and vivacious.

Princess Norina by Prince Matchabelli (1926)

Launched in 1926, Princess Norina by Prince Matchabelli is one of the earliest and most personal creations from the house, a perfume born not just of artistry but of devotion. Named in honor of the prince’s wife, Eleanora "Norina" Erna Cecilia Gilli—an Italian actress known on stage as Maria Carmi—the fragrance was a romantic tribute. The name "Princess Norina" blends her nickname, Norina, with the noble title bestowed upon her through marriage. It’s pronounced PRIN-sess Nor-EE-nah. Though not a princess by birth, she was elevated through love and title—an actress turned royal consort—and the perfume reflects that transformation: theatrical, elegant, and full of character.

The name evokes an enchanting mixture of romantic fantasy and real-life nobility. “Princess” carries all the imagery of a storybook heroine—grace, mystery, and the allure of status—while “Norina," meaning "little Eleanora," softens the grandeur with an intimate, personal touch. Together, they conjure the image of a woman who is both adored and admired—someone with presence, depth, and a touch of dramatic flair. The emotions the name stirs are tender yet regal: a sense of intimacy wrapped in luxury, much like the woman it was meant to honor.

The perfume was introduced during the heart of the Roaring Twenties, an era known for its dynamic cultural shifts, artistic innovation, and liberation of women's roles in society. Flapper fashion was at its peak—women wore shorter skirts, bobbed their hair, and stepped into new freedoms with both boldness and style. Perfumes of the time began to reflect this new confidence. While light floral eaux de cologne were still popular, there was a growing appetite for deeper, spicier, more expressive compositions. Perfumery was becoming less about freshness and more about personality.

Princess Marie by Prince Matchabelli (1933)

Princess Marie by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1933 as a tender tribute to a vanished world and a lost princess—Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna of Russia, one of the four daughters of Tsar Nicholas II, born in 1899 and executed in 1918 during the Russian Revolution. The name “Princess Marie” would have been immediately evocative to those familiar with the tragic story of the Romanovs, then only fifteen years past their downfall. It reflected not only nostalgia for imperial splendor, but also a personal connection: Prince Georges V. Matchabelli himself was a Georgian nobleman and former ambassador to Italy for the Imperial Russian court. He was part of that aristocratic diaspora who carried the memory of the Romanovs with them into exile. Naming a perfume Princess Marie was both a poetic memorial and a romantic gesture—an embodiment of innocence, grace, and the poignant glamour of a fallen dynasty.

To women in 1933, Princess Marie would have represented both escapism and refinement. America was in the depths of the Great Depression, and romantic imagery from Old Europe offered a kind of emotional refuge. The name "Princess Marie" evoked youthful charm, courtly elegance, and a wistful nobility. It wasn’t simply a perfume—it was a story, wrapped in memories and royal lace. The scent itself was described as “sweet, spicy, with a whiff of carnation,” and also as “witty, teasing, aloof—the freshness after rainfall,” suggesting an airy floral spiced with character, not cloying but playful, elusive, and haunting. A bouquet of pinks—likely referring to dianthus or carnations—was at its heart, giving it a piquant, peppery lift.

Potpourri by Prince Matchabelli (1940)

In 1940, Prince Matchabelli introduced a fragrance that marked a subtle yet notable departure from its traditionally aristocratic image. Named Potpourri, this perfume ventured into new olfactory territory. Rather than the refined florals or stately aldehydic compositions typically associated with the house, Potpourri conjured something more rustic and warm—an aromatic homage to early American domestic life. The decision to name a perfume Potpourri may have seemed curious at first, but within the cultural and historical context of the time, it was a shrewd and evocative choice.

The word “potpourri” comes from French, derived from the older Spanish olla podrida, meaning “rotten pot” or “stew.” In French usage, however, pot-pourri came to describe a blend of dried, scented plant materials—typically petals, herbs, and spices—placed in bowls or sachets to perfume the air. Pronounced as “poe-poo-REE,” the word evokes images of cozy parlors, mahogany furniture, linen cupboards, and the comforting scent of a house carefully tended. It brings forth a sensory blend of old roses, warm spices, faded lavender sachets, and the dried remnants of a summer garden. The emotional tone is one of nostalgia, warmth, and a cultivated domestic femininity.

The scent itself, classified as a spicy floral oriental, mirrored this imagery. Descriptions of Potpourri highlight “roses, shy dark violets, and spice,” followed by a warm, woodsy dry down. It was said to contain lavender, verbena, pinks (dianthus), stocks, and mignonette—ingredients that evoke the very materials women once dried for sachets and stored among fine linens. The perfume was a bottled version of an 18th-century pastime, made modern for the women of 1940.

The early 1940s was a time of great cultural transition. The world stood at the threshold of the Second World War. In the United States, while the country had not yet officially entered the war, the national mood was increasingly reflective and patriotic. In this climate, there was a renewed fascination with America's Colonial heritage. A romanticized vision of early American life—often centered around domestic rituals, handcrafted furnishings, and natural materials—permeated fashion, home decor, and popular culture. This movement manifested in reproduction maple furniture, handwoven textiles, hand-blown glass, and, naturally, perfumes.

Katherine the Great by Prince Matchabelli (1935)

Katherine the Great by Prince Matchabelli, launched in 1935, was more than a perfume—it was a romanticized homage to grandeur, passion, and power. Inspired by the Empress Catherine II of Russia, known to history as Catherine the Great, the fragrance was created in response to a promise. According to contemporary accounts and a widely shared anecdote, the Prince had previously created a perfume for Grace Moore, a celebrated soprano and actress, lauded for her talent and fiery temperament. When his rumored romantic interest, Katharine Hepburn, discovered that Moore had received such an honor, she reportedly stopped the car she was driving and ordered him to “Get out!”—a jealous flare-up that prompted Matchabelli to promise he would one day create a fragrance that captured her own essence. But, he added, it would be "difficult, very difficult." From that dramatic exchange, Katherine the Great was born, its name a tribute both to the formidable Russian empress and the fiery American actress.

The name “Katherine the Great” evokes images of icy palaces, gleaming uniforms, courtly opulence, and a ruler whose intellect and charisma made her one of the most powerful women in history. In the perfume’s original publicity, the narrative takes the listener back to the 18th century: Catherine, newly crowned ruler of Russia, rides among her troops, regal and victorious, when a young soldier steps forward and offers her his sword knot. That moment, echoing chivalric legends, was likened to Raleigh laying his cloak for Elizabeth or Galahad before the Grail. The soldier becomes Grigory Potemkin—her lover, co-ruler, and the embodiment of a sweeping, enduring passion. This theatrical storytelling was typical of Prince Matchabelli’s romantic approach to perfumery, blending biography, drama, and fantasy into every drop.

Launched during the mid-1930s—at the tail end of the Great Depression but still within the glamorous confines of Hollywood’s golden age—Katherine the Great spoke directly to a generation of women who looked to royalty and film stars for escapism, identity, and aspiration. The era’s fashions were richly feminine: bias-cut gowns, structured furs, velvet evening coats, and metallic brocades. Perfume played a critical role in self-presentation, offering not only scent but narrative and status. A woman wearing Katherine the Great was cloaking herself in the mystique of Russian majesty, channeling the boldness of an empress and the allure of a silver-screen siren.

Jungle Flower by Prince Matchabelli c1930

Jungle Flower by Prince Matchabelli, launched in 1930, was a bold and evocative creation that emerged during a time when Western culture was captivated by the mystery and allure of untamed nature and faraway lands. The name itself—Jungle Flower—was likely chosen for its exotic connotation and its ability to stir the imagination. The phrase evokes the image of a vivid bloom growing wild in a lush, tropical forest, untamed and radiant. The name implies sensuality, warmth, mystery, and vibrant color—all qualities that would have appealed to women in search of something unique and expressive. In an era marked by both sophistication and curiosity for the unknown, Jungle Flower promised something daring yet feminine.

The early 1930s were a period of transition in fashion and culture. The opulence of the 1920s was beginning to yield to the sobering realities of the Great Depression, but glamour had not vanished—if anything, it adapted. Hollywood was rising as a style influence, and women still sought ways to express elegance and fantasy, especially through fragrance. Perfumes like Jungle Flower captured a desire for escapism. To wear a scent with such an evocative name suggested a longing for something untamed, a fantasy of the tropics, or perhaps a romanticized vision of adventure.

Classified as a heady floral, Jungle Flower was described as "the scent of rare originality" and "a haunting scent of irresistible appeal." It notably highlighted hyacinth—a lush, intoxicating floral note with a green, dewy sweetness. Natural hyacinth oil is difficult to extract through conventional means, so in perfumery, its distinctive scent is often recreated using a blend of natural isolates and synthetic aroma molecules. In the 1930s, advances in perfumery chemistry made it possible to approximate the rich, velvety nuance of hyacinth through synthetic compounds like hydroxycitronellal and phenylethyl alcohol. These ingredients could enhance the green, honeyed, and slightly aquatic facets of the flower, delivering a vivid and lasting impression.

Gypsy Patteran by Prince Matchabelli c1942

Gypsy Patteran by Prince Matchabelli, launched in 1942, arrived at a pivotal moment in American cultural and social history. With the world engulfed in war, and women increasingly stepping into new roles outside the home, there was a simultaneous longing for romanticism, personal expression, and escape. Prince Matchabelli, ever attuned to storytelling and symbolism, captured this emotional climate in Gypsy Patteran—a fragrance that invited the wearer to embark on a journey guided not by maps, but by instinct and mystery.

The name Gypsy Patteran is steeped in poetic significance. The word "patteran" comes from the secret system of signs once used by Romani travelers to communicate with one another along their routes. These coded messages, made from twigs, pebbles, or bundled grass, marked paths through the countryside—a language of wayfinding both humble and profound. In using this term, Matchabelli wasn't merely suggesting a place, but a way of life: the perfume conjured freedom, nature, hidden meaning, and the quiet companionship of those who travel lightly but deeply through the world.

The addition of the word “Gypsy”—common in fragrance and fashion at the time, though viewed differently today—was intended to evoke exoticism, spirited independence, and romantic wanderlust. For women of the 1940s, Gypsy Patteran may have felt like an invitation to embrace a freer, more adventurous part of themselves—a contrast to the restraint and discipline of wartime life. It was a fragrance that suggested storytelling and spontaneity, as if each spray carried with it the faint trace of a distant journey.

Golden Autumn by Prince Matchabelli (1958)

Golden Autumn by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1958, completing a poetic olfactory cycle that included the earlier Spring Fancy and Summer Shower—fragrances intended to evoke the moods of their respective seasons. With Golden Autumn, the brand rounded out the year with a composition inspired by fall’s particular richness and introspective beauty. Its packaging featured a flame-orange leaf, symbolizing the warmth and color of the changing season, and it debuted in stores on September 12, 1958, just in time for the shift in temperature and wardrobe. The choice of name—Golden Autumn—immediately conjures images of leaves in brilliant hues, crisp breezes, soft wool sweaters, and the earthy scent of forests preparing for dormancy. It's a phrase that evokes nostalgia, tranquility, and the reflective stillness of late afternoons bathed in golden light.

The late 1950s marked the end of a post-war decade defined by structure, optimism, and elegance. It was a time when women embraced tailored silhouettes, ladylike sophistication, and a growing independence in self-presentation. Fragrance followed suit. The era saw an increasing demand for perfumes that could be worn daily—sophisticated but approachable, fashionably in tune with the seasons. Golden Autumn tapped into that shift by offering something more nuanced than the standard floral fare. Where summer scents were fresh and airy, and spring florals soft and youthful, Golden Autumn introduced complexity. It invited wearers to embrace a cooler mood—thoughtful, warm, and grounded.

Empress of India by Prince Matchabelli (1929)

Empress of India by Prince Matchabelli, launched in 1929, was a fragrance steeped in opulence and imperial nostalgia. Its very name—Empress of India—was a direct nod to Queen Victoria, who bore the title during the height of the British Empire. The phrase conjures images of jeweled thrones, richly embroidered silks, perfumed palaces, and the long-reaching mystique of the East as imagined through Western eyes. At a time when exoticism and colonial romanticism were still strong cultural influences, a perfume bearing this title would have evoked a sense of regal authority, sensual grandeur, and distant lands shimmering in spice-scented heat.

Launched at the cusp of the Great Depression, Empress of India reflected the end of the extravagant Roaring Twenties—a time known for its jazz-fueled decadence, modernist fashion, and a dramatic shift in women’s roles and styles. Perfume during this period became a significant form of self-expression, and oriental-style fragrances in particular gained immense popularity for their perceived mystery and sensuality. As women increasingly embraced bold new freedoms, they also embraced bolder scents. Matchabelli’s Empress of India fit squarely within this trend but distinguished itself through its deeply evocative theme and luxurious execution.

The fragrance was described evocatively as “a memory of the unforgettable Orient,” intended to transport the wearer to a dreamscape of spice markets, incense smoke, and flower-scented evenings. Its composition was unmistakably rich—heavy, warm, and spicy—anchored by Mysore sandalwood, one of the most prized perfumery materials of Indian origin. It wove together notes of exotic champaca flower, clove-like carnation, vetiver, and heady jasmine, conjuring the layered intensity of Indian perfumery traditions while filtered through a Western lens.

Duchess of York by Prince Matchabelli (1929)

Launched in 1929 by the House of Prince Matchabelli, Duchess of York was a perfume steeped in romanticism, evoking nobility, femininity, and the restrained elegance of the British aristocracy. But why the name “Duchess of York”? The title itself carries centuries of royal legacy, traditionally bestowed upon the wife of the Duke of York, a noble rank second only to the crown. In 1929, the title belonged to Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon—wife of Prince Albert, Duke of York, and the future Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother. Radiating poise, charm, and an approachable dignity, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was beloved by the public, admired for her quiet strength and grace during an era of global instability. Although an advertisement suggested the perfume was inspired by Mary Beatrice of Modena, Duchess of York (1658–1718), the contemporary resonance and widespread recognition of Lady Elizabeth likely influenced the marketing appeal.

The phrase “Duchess of York” is English, with “Duchess” referring to a female aristocrat—typically the wife of a duke—and “York” referencing the historic English city, long associated with power, culture, and monarchy. Together, the title conjures images of stately gardens, tailored gowns, refined tea services, and the quiet authority of royal women—graceful, dignified, and ever composed. The name itself evokes a sense of high breeding, decorum, and the genteel traditions of England’s upper class.

The fragrance emerged at a pivotal moment in history. The year 1929 marked the end of the Roaring Twenties—a decade defined by flapper fashion, jazz, technological innovation, and dramatic shifts in social norms. But it also marked the onset of the Great Depression, following the stock market crash that October. Women’s fashion was beginning to soften after the angular silhouettes of the early ’20s, with feminine lines, fluttering sleeves, and bias-cut dresses coming into vogue. Fragrances mirrored these aesthetic changes. The bold, animalic and aldehydic perfumes of the early decade—like Chanel No. 5 (1921) or Shalimar (1925)—were being joined by more delicate, romantic florals that emphasized softness and classic femininity.

Crown Jewel by Prince Matchabelli (1946)

Launched in 1946, Crown Jewel by Prince Matchabelli marked a significant milestone: it was the company’s first new perfume release after World War II. As the world emerged from the devastation of war, people longed for beauty, glamour, and a sense of regained luxury—and Crown Jewel arrived as an answer to that cultural longing. Advertised as “imported from France,” the perfume carried the allure of French sophistication, suggesting it had been bottled and sealed in France, unlike most of Matchabelli’s fragrances. In truth, however, only the formula was compounded in France. The concentrated perfume base was shipped to the United States, where it was mixed with domestic alcohol, bottled, packaged, and distributed by the Matchabelli factory.

The name Crown Jewel was deeply symbolic. A "crown jewel" refers to the most treasured gem in a royal collection—often the most valuable and most admired. It evokes the image of a breathtakingly beautiful object, rare and radiant, fit for a queen. In choosing this name, Matchabelli tapped into both its own royal branding and a broader postwar aspiration for refinement and grandeur. After years of austerity and loss, Crown Jewel promised a return to elegance and emotional richness. The phrase "crown jewel" itself conjures visions of velvet-lined cases, candlelit ballrooms, and the timeless shimmer of diamonds or rubies—evocative, romantic, and unapologetically luxurious.

The fragrance itself was described as an aldehydic woodsy floral—a brilliant and opulent composition with clear comparisons to Joy by Jean Patou, one of the most esteemed luxury perfumes of the era. Crown Jewel followed in the tradition of intense floral bouquets lifted by sparkling aldehydes and deepened with soft, warm woods. This style had gained popularity in the late 1930s and continued into the postwar years, especially in perfumes that wanted to project a mood of resilience wrapped in elegance.

Beloved by Prince Matchabelli (1950)

Beloved by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1950, during a time of postwar romanticism and optimism, when American women were embracing elegance, femininity, and glamour after the austerity of the 1940s. Advertised as being “imported from France,” the perfume seemed to carry with it the cachet and mystique of French luxury. While these advertisements suggested that Beloved was bottled and sealed in France—a detail meant to elevate its prestige—in truth, only the perfume concentrate was created or compounded in France. The fragrance itself was then shipped in bulk to the Matchabelli factory in the United States, where it was bottled, boxed, and distributed for the American market. This practice was not uncommon at the time, especially as brands sought to capitalize on the allure of French perfumery while maintaining U.S. production capabilities.

The name "Beloved" is an English word, pronounced bih-LUH-vid, meaning “deeply loved” or “cherished.” Emotionally rich and timeless, it evokes a feeling of tender devotion, longing, and romantic idealism. It calls to mind love letters, pressed flowers, whispered confidences, and timeless elegance. For a woman in 1950, wearing a perfume named Beloved might have felt like an affirmation—an expression of her desirability, her inner softness, and her emotional depth in a world that was, once again, embracing femininity after the turmoil of World War II.

The early 1950s were part of what is now referred to as the "New Look" era, following the revolutionary influence of Christian Dior's 1947 silhouette—cinched waists, full skirts, and soft, romantic lines that celebrated the female form. Women returned to wearing gloves, pearls, and perfume as part of their daily ritual. In fragrance, this was the age of rich floral bouquets and softly sensual compositions. Beloved fit squarely within this trend. Described as a soft, sweet, and warm floral bouquet, it opened with heady Mediterranean blossoms—orange blossom, jasmine, and neroli—resting on an exotic Oriental base, of amber, sandalwood, and incense-like notes. This structure placed Beloved within the popular floral-oriental category, which was widely admired at the time for its richness, femininity, and romantic allure.

Ave Maria by Prince Matchabelli (1926)

Launched in 1926, Ave Maria by Prince Matchabelli was more than a fragrance—it was a deeply personal homage, a fragrant prayer composed in honor of the prince’s wife, Norina Gilli, known on stage as Maria Carmi. The name Ave Maria, Latin for “Hail Mary,” is pronounced AH-vay mah-REE-ah and is instantly recognized around the world as the opening line of one of the most famous Catholic prayers. By naming the fragrance after this sacred phrase, Prince Matchabelli signaled a composition of reverence and elevation—what he described as a “lovely prayer in perfume.” The inspiration came directly from Norina’s celebrated portrayal of the Madonna in Max Reinhardt’s mystical stage production The Miracle—a role so moving that Georges Matchabelli felt compelled to immortalize her performance in scent.

The name Ave Maria evokes powerful and layered imagery: candlelit chapels filled with incense, stained glass windows glowing in quiet reverence, and the serene beauty of the Virgin figure adorned in flowing robes and lilies. But it also carries emotional weight—purity, love, longing, and spiritual awakening. To wear a perfume called Ave Maria in the 1920s would have meant something more than just a choice of fragrance; it was a poetic gesture, a quiet declaration of inner grace or idealized femininity. At a time when women were exploring newfound freedoms and expressing their identity through beauty and fashion, this scent offered a uniquely introspective, almost sacred kind of glamour.

The perfume emerged during the height of the Roaring Twenties—a decade marked by liberation, spectacle, and a shifting social landscape. The world was changing rapidly: jazz filled the air, women had recently won the right to vote, and beauty became a form of self-expression like never before. Fashion favored sleek silhouettes, dramatic makeup, and bold accessories, and perfumery responded with complex, long-lasting scents that mirrored this modern woman’s confidence and sophistication. But within this swirl of hedonism and forward motion, Ave Maria offered something deeper—a counterbalance of spirituality, theatrical mysticism, and emotional resonance.

Abano by Prince Matchabelli (1931)

Abano by Prince Matchabelli, introduced in 1931, evokes a world of ancient rituals, restorative waters, and refined leisure. The name “Abano” likely references Abano Terme, the famed thermal spa town in northern Italy known since Roman times for its healing muds and mineral-rich baths. The word itself, pronounced AH-bah-no, resonates with the languid elegance of European spa culture—a place where health, luxury, and sensual pleasure converged. There is also speculation that in southern Russian dialects, “abano” may translate simply to “bath,” reinforcing the imagery of personal purification, indulgence, and ritual.

Choosing such a name was fitting for Prince Matchabelli, a perfumer who often infused his creations with a sense of European aristocratic nostalgia. The early 1930s were marked by the lingering elegance of Art Deco design, a time of global exploration, and a fascination with exoticism despite the onset of the Great Depression. In perfumery, the prevailing trends leaned toward rich oriental blends and sophisticated chypres—perfumes that could transport the wearer to distant lands or historical eras through scent alone.

Infanta by Prince Matchabelli (1937)

Launched in 1937, Infanta by Prince Matchabelli joined a lineage of fragrances that evoked nobility, elegance, and feminine strength. The choice of name—Infanta, pronounced in-FAHN-tah—was consistent with Matchabelli’s fondness for aristocratic titles. He had already embraced names like Princess, Duchess, and Queen of Georgia for earlier creations, aligning his fragrances with romantic ideals of royal grandeur. The word "Infanta" comes from Spanish, used historically to designate a daughter of the Spanish or Portuguese monarch who was not heir to the throne. It’s a term rich in historical and cultural resonance, conjuring images of courts, fans, lace, silks, and the languid grace of royal daughters cloistered behind palace walls.

Infanta is believed to have been inspired by Maria Theresa of Spain, the daughter of King Philip IV and Elisabeth of France, who later became Queen of France and Navarre as the wife of Louis XIV. Her life, often marked by tragedy and sacrifice, was emblematic of duty, piety, and quiet suffering amid the splendor of court life. Though she bore the title of queen, she was overshadowed by the king’s mistresses and the political intrigue of the time. This story of nobility tinged with melancholy may well have informed the emotional landscape of Infanta, a fragrance described as "sultry, smoky, and mysterious"—as if it, too, carried the weight of silk skirts sweeping across cold marble floors in the shadow of Versailles.

The fragrance itself was a heavy, sweet, spicy floral oriental, with a dry, dusty, smoky base—an atmospheric and emotionally evocative scent profile. Advertising described it as “tantalizing” and suggested it conjured visions of “grilled balconies, Spanish grandees, fans and flashing blades”—a romanticized vision of Baroque Spain at the height of its imperial power. The aroma of Spanish grapes, carnations, and garden spices would have been enveloped in a warm, resinous cloud of smoke, leather, and amber, capturing a sense of both sensuality and faded opulence.