Russian Easter Lily (1938)

Launched in 1938, Russian Easter Lily by Prince Matchabelli was a poetic and culturally rich addition to the house’s repertoire of regal florals. The perfume was also occasionally sold under the shortened name Easter Lily, but the full title—Russian Easter Lily—evokes something deeper: an intersection of spiritual ritual, heritage, and opulence. The name “Russian Easter Lily” was likely chosen as both a nod to Prince Matchabelli’s own aristocratic Russian background and a romantic evocation of Orthodox Easter traditions, where lilies—symbols of purity, resurrection, and divine beauty—were prominently featured in church celebrations and home altars. By including “Russian” in the name, the fragrance carries with it a sense of exoticism and mysticism, conjuring images of candlelit cathedral interiors, icon-covered walls, and fragrant spring blossoms adorning traditional Easter festivities.

The scent’s title alone evokes a rich sensory narrative. “Easter Lily” brings forth visions of crisp white blooms with golden stamens, their heavy, creamy scent filling a room with solemnity and sweetness. The addition of “Russian” layers the impression with emotional depth—suggesting a cool, ceremonial stillness and perhaps even melancholy, the way lilies were often associated not just with rebirth but also with remembrance. The perfume would have resonated with 1930s women who longed for refinement, elegance, and a touch of romantic escapism during a time when the world was perched on the edge of war.

The year 1938 fell within the interwar period, a time marked by both uncertainty and refinement in fashion and culture. Women’s clothing was elegant and structured, echoing a return to formality after the more experimental 1920s. Perfumes, too, mirrored this shift—floral, powdery, and aldehydic blends dominated the shelves, but there was also a growing appetite for perfumes with a story, a soul, a sense of place and time. Russian Easter Lily would have appealed to this sensibility. It wasn’t just a floral—it was a narrative in a bottle, sophisticated yet sentimental.

Like many lily-based fragrances of the era, Matchabelli’s formula was almost certainly supported by synthetic compounds. True lily essence is nearly impossible to extract through traditional means, and by the 1930s, perfumers had refined the use of aroma chemicals like hydroxycitronellol, linalool, benzaldehyde, ethyl phenylacetate, and terpineol to recreate the effect of fresh-cut lilies. These synthetics allowed perfumers to heighten the bloom’s natural facets: its watery freshness, powdery softness, and green, spicy undertones. A hint of indole may have added the creamy, slightly animalic nuance often associated with white flowers. In Matchabelli’s hands, the resulting fragrance would have been hauntingly delicate yet full-bodied, luminous and reverent, with perhaps a whisper of incense or resin in the base to suggest sacred spaces.

Though many perfume houses had lily scents in their lineup, Russian Easter Lily distinguished itself through its storytelling and refinement. It aligned with trends of the day—floral elegance, soft aldehydic openings, warm powdery finishes—but elevated them through cultural and emotional resonance. In the crowded floral market of the 1930s, Russian Easter Lily offered something rare: not just a perfume, but a pilgrimage.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Russian Easter Lily by Prince Matchabelli is classified as a floral perfume. Perfectly feminine, it is blended from the Black Sea lily, has a piquant delicacy that is intriguing. Can be worn with tailored daytime frocks, sports tweeds and printed evening frocks. Incidentally, this lily scent is ideal for brides.

• Top notes: Moroccan cassie, nerolin, linalool, benzaldehyde, hydroxycitronellol, ethyl phenylacetate
• Middle notes: terpineol, Manila ylang ylang, Tunisian orange blossom absolute, Portuguese tuberose, Grasse jasmine absolute, indole, Bulgarian rose otto, rhodinol
• Base notes: Jamaican cardamom, Zanzibar clove, Mexican vanilla, vanillin, Abyssinian civet

Scent Profile:

Russian Easter Lily by Prince Matchabelli opens with a luminous breath of spring, as if you’ve stepped into a sun-drenched chapel in bloom during an Orthodox Easter morning. The first notes shimmer with a delicate brightness: Moroccan cassie adds a honeyed, slightly spicy warmth with a touch of green freshness, evoking the first stirrings of nature in bloom. Cassie from Morocco is prized for its rich, multifaceted aroma—both floral and balsamic—imbued with a subtle dry woodiness that gives depth to the composition.

Nerolin, a natural floral material derived from orange blossoms, lends an airy, citrusy sweetness, a light that lifts and disperses the richness of cassie. This is reinforced by linalool, a floral alcohol with a soft, clean quality—somewhere between the cool clarity of lavender and the dewiness of lily of the valley. It creates a smooth, polished entry point for the fragrance, like lace gently brushing bare skin.

Benzaldehyde soon follows—a molecule that mimics the scent of bitter almonds. It brings a subtly powdery warmth and a sweet, faintly nutty creaminess that instantly recalls marzipan or almond blossoms—traditional ingredients in Eastern European Easter sweets. Hydroxycitronellol, with its dewy green rose and lily nuances, heightens the impression of fresh white petals glistening with morning dew. Ethyl phenylacetate, a powerful floral ester, adds a honeyed, fruity edge—think of crushed jasmine petals soaked in nectar and kissed by spring air.

As the heart unfolds, it becomes lush and heady, bathed in white floral radiance. Terpineol contributes a lilac-like coolness and faintly herbal lift, supporting the crystalline structure of the bouquet. The exotic Manila ylang ylang oil—sourced from the Philippines—is rich and buttery, with a touch of banana and custard softness that deepens the heart without overwhelming it. Tunisian orange blossom absolute, creamy and sensual, hums quietly beneath the surface, creating a soft-spoken elegance.

The Portuguese tuberose sings next—a bold and creamy note with narcotic sweetness, its full bloom intensity tempered by the more delicate Grasse jasmine absolute, which brings a shimmering, indolic sensuality. The jasmine is fresh yet animalic, as if both sunlight and shadow cling to its petals. A hint of indole adds a hushed intensity, deepening the intimacy of the bouquet. The heart is crowned by Bulgarian rose otto, considered among the finest in the world—its scent is velvety, lemon-touched, and deeply romantic. Rhodinol, a rose-like aroma chemical, reinforces the rose’s natural sweetness and brightness, making the floral heart feel fuller and more vivid.

The drydown is where Russian Easter Lily turns from innocence to something more ceremonial and mysterious. Jamaican cardamom brings a whisper of cool spice, both woody and balsamic, while Zanzibar clove adds a fiery snap—tingling warmth like incense drifting through an old cathedral. These spices ground the florals in something ancient, evocative of dark wood altars and burnished metals.

Mexican vanilla unfurls next—deep, rich, and earthy, tempered by the cleaner sweetness of vanillin. This duality adds a smooth, creamy base with traces of toasted sugar and gentle smoke. The composition is anchored by Abyssinian civet, once derived from the scent glands of civet cats (today likely replaced by synthetic alternatives), lending a musky, animalic undertone that gives the fragrance sensuality, warmth, and longevity.

As you wear it, Russian Easter Lily evolves from a dewy lily in sunlight to a sultry floral incense in shadow. It is a scent of ritual and romance—elegant, layered, and quietly powerful. At once pure and mysterious, it captures the feeling of reverence and rebirth, of tradition carried gently forward into modern grace.

Bottles:

c1940s Prince Matchabelli Easter Lily perfume bottle and stopper as a crown in clear glass with gold detail, label, in Lucite box. btl. 2 1/8 in. Photo from Perfume Bottle Auctions.

1/2 oz perfume, photos from worthpoint

Easter Bonnet perfume presentation, 1/8 oz Stradivari and 1/8 oz Easter Lily parfum in crown bottles. Photos from worthpoint.

Cue, 1948:

"A little gift of great charm is Prince Matchabelli's hand painted Easter egg containing three well known fragrances, Stradivari, Duchess of York and Ave Maria in miniature crown bottles. The glistening eggs are decorated with flowers. $5 plus tax. Matchabelli also has a little Easter bonnet, a tiny black sailor trimmed with frills of  net, under the crown of which are two tiny bottles of Stradivari and Easter Lily. This little remembrance is $3 at Lord and Taylor."

Fate of the Fragrance:

Russian Easter Lily by Prince Matchabelli, introduced in 1938, was more than just a floral perfume—it was a poetic expression of the season, a fragrant tribute to rebirth, renewal, and the refinement of feminine beauty. This fragrance was designed not only to celebrate the Easter holiday but also to align with the hopeful mood of springtime itself. Its positioning as a versatile scent—appropriate for tailored daywear, sporty tweeds, or printed evening frocks—underscored its adaptability and timeless grace.

The perfume debuted in the same elegant sceptre-shaped bottle Matchabelli used for his colognes, a signature vessel that subtly evoked nobility and ceremony. The bottle’s refined silhouette mirrored the fragrance's theme of courtly splendor and religious tradition, particularly with the name invoking Russia's deeply symbolic Easter customs. This association gave the perfume a cultural richness, elevating it from a simple floral to something more evocative—an olfactory ritual.

As noted in the Drug and Cosmetic Industry in 1938, Russian Easter Lily was marketed as an ideal fragrance for the earliest days of spring. With its floral heart centered around the exotic Black Sea lily, the scent was described as having a “piquant delicacy”—suggesting a quiet sensuality wrapped in the innocence of white petals. It was the kind of perfume meant to accompany a woman from the morning sunlight of a chapel to the glow of an Easter evening gathering.

By 1942, in the midst of World War II, The New Yorker offered a poignant description of the perfume’s emotional resonance, describing it as “richest of flower perfumes” and in “special harmony with this Easter… this Spring of high emotion.” During a time of global uncertainty and longing for beauty, Russian Easter Lily was cast as a symbol of hope and spiritual grace, its luxurious floral blend acting almost as a balm for the soul.

Esquire in 1946 highlighted its role as a gift—a crown bottle “suspended in lucid loveliness”—reaffirming the perfume’s regal quality. Russian Easter Lily had become more than a scent: it was a vessel of beauty, culture, and sentiment. Its legacy lies not only in its composition but in the emotional and ceremonial elegance it captured.

Launched in 1938, Russian Easter Lily by Prince Matchabelli remained a beloved part of the house's perfume collection for over a decade. Its gentle floral composition, framed by the poetic concept of the “Black Sea lily,” captured the romantic imagination of women throughout the 1940s, especially during the wartime and postwar years when symbolic gestures and nostalgic beauty were especially cherished. However, by 1953, the perfume was quietly discontinued. Whether due to changing tastes, the rising popularity of more modern aldehydic or green florals, or shifts in the company's direction, Russian Easter Lily slipped from department store counters into memory. Today, it survives in advertisements, scent recollections, and the rare bottle, a graceful echo of a perfume once described as ideal for brides and perfectly suited to the fresh, emotional air of spring.

Violettes de la Reine (1924)

Violettes de la Reine, launched in 1924 by Prince Matchabelli, translates from French as "Violets of the Queen" (pronounced vee-oh-LET duh lah RAIN). The name conjures up a vision of aristocratic refinement and romantic femininity—delicate nosegays arranged in gilded vases, silk gowns rustling through palace halls, and courtly elegance at its most refined. The choice of name aligns perfectly with Matchabelli’s recurring use of royal titles in his perfumes—Princess, Duchess, Queen—each suggesting grace, poise, and a certain cultivated glamour. Naming a fragrance Violettes de la Reine not only paid homage to violet’s longstanding association with nobility, but also played into the fantasy and pageantry that perfume marketing so often evokes.

Violet had been a beloved fragrance note throughout the 19th century, traditionally associated with modesty, innocence, and sweetness. But by the early 20th century, perfumers sought to update this classic note using modern techniques and materials. While early violet perfumes relied on tinctures of violet flowers or leaves—methods that yielded faint and fleeting results—true violet essence proved elusive. In fact, violet flower cannot be distilled for its oil. Instead, its delicate, powdery fragrance is best recreated using ionones and methyl ionones, synthetic aroma chemicals first discovered in the late 19th century. These molecules capture the heart of violet’s scent with astonishing clarity—soft, powdery, ethereal, and slightly woody—and gave perfumers more control over structure and tenacity. By the 1920s, they were essential tools for crafting the illusion of violet in perfume.

Grace Moore (1934)

Grace Moore by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1934, a tribute not to royalty, but to a different kind of queen—the radiant, headstrong American soprano and film star Grace Moore. Known as much for her golden voice as for her theatrical spirit and tempestuous wildcat temperament, Moore was one of the era's most captivating cultural figures. Her fame skyrocketed with the release of One Night of Love in 1934, a film that showcased her operatic talents and established her as a silver-screen darling. Moved by the emotional resonance of her voice, Prince Matchabelli—himself a former Georgian nobleman—made an uncharacteristic decision: to break from his tradition of composing perfumes only for royal lineage. “Always before I created perfumes only for those of royal birth,” he told the press. “But Miss Moore—ah—she is the queen of the stage. So I make a perfume to suit her.”

The result was Grace Moore, a fragrance described as “feminine with a touch of a vixen,” and “rich and faintly tart.” It was not a perfume for shrinking violets. Like the woman it honored, it was grand and expressive—a serenade in scent. The bouquet unfolded with a lyrical blend of spicy florals, balanced with an intriguing tartness that hinted at both sweetness and strength. One newspaper described it as a “delicate and unique fragrance” that stirred the senses, just as Moore’s voice stirred emotions in her audiences.

The perfume launched in the midst of the Great Depression, a time when American women sought glamour and escapism through the golden age of cinema. The 1930s were defined by Hollywood elegance—bias-cut gowns, waved hair, and perfumes that offered a sense of romantic sophistication. In that context, Grace Moore was perfectly timed. It didn’t just carry a famous name—it carried the aura of stardom, a whiff of the opera house, and the sparkle of studio lighting. Women of the time would have recognized the name instantly and perhaps found in the scent a chance to emulate some part of Moore’s magnetic presence—whether her passion, her artistry, or her command of the stage.

In terms of perfumery trends, Grace Moore fell within the popular profile of the time—opulent florals with spicy, ambery depth—but it also stood out. Its tart note added contrast and unpredictability, echoing the duality of its namesake’s voice and personality. As a composition, it aligned with the sensual richness of other 1930s classics, but its story—and the star who inspired it—gave it a singular charm.

Ultimately, Grace Moore was more than a fragrance. It was a scented ovation, a perfume that captured the essence of a woman whose voice, like this perfume, lingered long after the final note. 

 

 

 


In another article from that same year, he explains why he did it and why his rumored lover Katharine Hepburn was so jealous.

"My newest perfume was created for Grace Moore, always before I created perfumes only for those of royal birth. But Miss Moore - ah- she is the queen of the stage., so I make a perfume to suit her, a perfume, gay, vivid, like she is. Then one day I am driving in the motor of the greatest star of all. She asked me if, I myself had created Miss Moore's perfume. I had to admit I did it. Suddenly she stopped the car. "Get out!" she ordered me. Jealous you see?" 

He then went on to say that he didn't obey her, but made a promise after to sufficiently analyze her personality, that he would create a perfume for her, but added that it was going "to be difficult, very difficult." From this promise, sprang the perfume Katherine the Great, both named for the famous ladies of history.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Grace Moore by Prince Matchabelli is classified as a rich, spicy floral fragrance for women, also described as "rich and faintly tart."

• Top notes: aldehyde C-11, aldehyde C-12 MNA, Calabrian bergamot, Sicilian lemon oil, Sicilian neroli, Paraguayan petitgrain, Italian green mandarin, Polish blackcurrant
• Middle notes:  Indian carnation absolute, eugenol, isoeugenol, Malabar pepper, Riviera jasmine absolute, Bulgarian rose otto, French mimosa absolute, Tunisian orange blossom absolute, French violet leaf absolute, heliotropin, Comoros ylang ylang 
• Base notes: Mysore sandalwood, ambergris tincture, Tibetan musk tincture, Venezuelan tonka bean absolute, coumarin, Siam benzoin, Sumatran styrax, Mexican vanilla absolute, vanillin, Malaysian patchouli, Austrian oakmoss, Persian galbanum

Scent Profile:

To smell Grace Moore by Prince Matchabelli is to experience a perfume as nuanced and expressive as the soprano herself. The fragrance opens with a shimmering, silvery brightness—a duet of aldehyde C-11 and C-12 MNA, both airy, effervescent aroma molecules. C-11 offers a soft waxy-green note that lifts the entire composition, while C-12 MNA (methylnonylacetaldehyde) adds a sparkling, citrusy aldehydic freshness, like crisp linen fluttering in cold morning air. These synthetics aren't just there for effect—they serve to elevate the natural top notes, giving longevity and brilliance to the citrus that follows.

Immediately, you're met with the tart juiciness of Calabrian bergamot, prized for its luminous clarity—more floral and complex than other bergamots. Sicilian lemon oil bursts forth with a clean, zesty vivacity, softened only slightly by the honeyed floral touch of Sicilian neroli, extracted from bitter orange blossoms. Paraguayan petitgrain, distilled from the twigs and leaves of the bitter orange tree, introduces a crisp green-bitter edge, anchoring the citrus in something more botanical and refined. Then a flash of Italian green mandarin—less sugary than the red variety—adds freshness with a playful, almost grassy fruitiness. The top closes on an unusual, wine-dark note: Polish blackcurrant, with its rich tang and sharp green backbite, adds the faintly tart nuance that defines this fragrance's distinct personality.

The heart of Grace Moore opens with dramatic flair. Indian carnation absolute, fiery and floral, dances with the rich clove-like heat of eugenol and its spicier cousin isoeugenol, adding a vintage sizzle, like the hidden heat beneath a silk gown. Woven through this warmth are threads of Malabar pepper, pungent and slightly metallic, adding intrigue and tension—like the drama of a soprano's high note held just a moment too long. Riviera jasmine absolute, heady and creamy, pairs with Tunisian orange blossom, glowing white and radiant. Bulgarian rose otto, intensely honeyed and deep, provides the lush romantic core, balanced by the soft green powderiness of French mimosa and the crystalline delicacy of violet leaf absolute from France.

These florals are not meek; they are commanding. And just when the bouquet seems poised to settle into a classic floral center, it takes a slightly gourmand, almondy turn with heliotropin—a soft, powdered cherry note that adds warmth and tenderness. Comoros ylang ylang, fruity and narcotic, brings a tropical sensuality to this otherwise European-hearted composition, smoothing over the sharper floral edges.

Then comes the descent into the base—a sultry, velvet-lined space of warmth and depth. Mysore sandalwood, creamy and smoky, serves as the spine of the drydown. Real ambergris tincture, salty, musky, and animalic, lifts the base with oceanic luminosity, while Tibetan musk tincture hums beneath the surface with soft sensuality. Venezuelan tonka bean and coumarin give a balsamic warmth, subtly gourmand, evoking dry leaves, cocoa, and hay. Siam benzoin and Sumatran styrax infuse the blend with resins both vanilla-sweet and leathery, perfect companions to Mexican vanilla absolute and vanillin, which provide a lingering edible glow.

Finishing the base is Malaysian patchouli, rich and earthy with a dark chocolatey depth, grounded by Austrian oakmoss, damp and green, with a classical chypre finish. A breath of Persian galbanum—sharp, green, and bitter-resinous—threads through the bottom like a vine of ivy, lending a cool and formal edge to the richness.

In its entirety, Grace Moore unfolds like a dramatic aria: sparkling and tart at the outset, blooming into rich florals woven with spice, and settling into a base of profound sensuality. A fragrance of contrast—sweet but tart, tender but bold—it captures the paradox of the woman it was named for.

The 1934 release of Grace Moore by Prince Matchabelli was not just a new perfume—it was a scented tribute to a woman whose voice captivated audiences on stage and screen. Introduced as “a serenade in scent,” the fragrance was launched in tandem with Moore’s starring role in the Columbia Pictures film One Night of Love, where she performed in her signature operatic soprano style. In the Harrisburg Telegraph, the perfume was presented "with a bow," underscoring its theatrical inspiration and refined, almost musical, construction. The fragrance, housed in the brand's signature gilt coronet flacon, ranged from $4.50 to $37—a luxury offering reflective of Moore’s own elegant public image.

Harper’s Bazaar described Grace Moore as “rich and quite dressy,” positioning it as a refined scent suited for formal occasions—an ideal olfactory accessory for an evening gown or a tailored autumn ensemble. Indeed, The New Yorker echoed this notion in 1935, pairing it with the tailored-suit season, a nod to the emerging trend of strong, feminine sophistication in women’s fashion. With sharp silhouettes and elegant restraint becoming fashionable, Grace Moore complemented the era’s evolving sense of glamour and control.

Yet the perfume was anything but conventional. Reviews from The Delineator and Redder Than the Rose emphasized the personality behind the scent: “feminine, tantalizing, jeering, and maddening all at once.” This multi-faceted characterization perfectly echoed Moore's public image—an artist known for her magnetic charm and bold, at times fiery, demeanor. The fragrance was understood not merely as a pretty scent, but a daring signature—a portrait of complex femininity.

By 1935, Grace Moore had earned its place among Matchabelli’s bestsellers, ranking just behind the popular Duchess of York. Where Duchess of York was soft and demure, dominated by lilac, Grace Moore was bold and spicy, with a distinct tartness and richness that made it memorable. In the context of other fragrances on the market, Grace Moore stood out for its daring character—striking a balance between the romantic sweetness expected of a woman’s perfume and an unexpectedly sharp, sensual edge. It suited the dynamic, modern woman of the 1930s: graceful yet powerful, poised yet provocative.

Bottles:

Fate of the Fragrance:

Grace Moore by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1934, conceived as a tribute to the celebrated American operatic soprano and film star of the same name. This rich, spicy floral perfume was introduced at the height of Grace Moore’s fame, coinciding with her starring role in One Night of Love—a Columbia Pictures film that showcased her luminous voice and dramatic presence. Prince Matchabelli, known for naming his fragrances after royalty, broke his tradition for Moore, declaring, “She is the queen of the stage.” The perfume was meant to embody her presence—feminine but bold, lyrical but complex.

Marketed as “a serenade in scent,” Grace Moore captured public imagination with its elegant yet assertive composition. Contemporary press described it as “feminine with a touch of vixen,” “tantalizing and spicy,” and “rich and faintly tart.” Reviews emphasized the fragrance’s dressy character, making it ideal for evening wear or sophisticated occasions. Unlike the softer lilac-based Duchess of York, or the opulently exotic Empress of India, Grace Moore found a place as a fragrance that echoed the modern woman’s duality—refined, yet emotionally charged.

Though the perfume gained favorable attention upon release and was reportedly one of the brand’s better-selling newer fragrances, it likely fell out of production by the end of the decade. By the early 1940s, Grace Moore had disappeared from most advertisements and retailer listings, suggesting it was discontinued—probably before 1940. Its relatively short run might be attributed to the shifting tastes of the perfume market, the onset of World War II, or the tragic death of Grace Moore in a 1947 plane crash, which cast a retrospective shadow over her previously luminous celebrity. Today, Grace Moore remains a rare and evocative example of a 1930s perfume that translated stardom into scent, blending stage glamour with the emotional resonance of melody and memory.