Veronese Candlestick Colognes (1952)

The Veronese Candlestick Colognes of 1952 represent one of Lucien Lelong’s most imaginative and opulent excursions into perfume presentation, where utility dissolves into pure decorative fantasy. Conceived as a pair of monumental crystal candlesticks, these objects deliberately echo 18th-century Italian originals—inspired by Venetian or Veronese glass traditions—translating their aristocratic grandeur into a modern luxury context. Each stands an impressive fifteen inches tall, immediately elevating the composition from a mere toiletry to a commanding interior ornament. The crystal is clear, heavy, and molded with classical precision: a rising, tapering shaft articulated by elegant knops and ringed transitions, anchored by a balanced, baluster-like base. Light travels effortlessly through the structure, catching on the molded contours and refracting outward, so that even unfilled, the candlestick possesses a luminous presence.

The ingenuity of the design lies in its subtle transformation of form. Where one expects a candle socket, Lelong has concealed a functional reservoir and closure system, allowing the cologne to be housed invisibly within the structure. Once filled, the crystal becomes animated by the liquid itself—whether a pale straw tint, warm amber, or nearly colorless distillation—casting a soft, glowing radiance that shifts with ambient light. The effect is quietly theatrical, almost ceremonial, as though the object were meant to participate in the rituals of both adornment and décor. It is perfume not as a private indulgence, but as something meant to be seen, admired, and integrated into the living space.

What makes these candlesticks particularly extraordinary is their scale and abundance. Each was filled with a full quart of cologne, an almost extravagant volume that far exceeds conventional perfume formats. Offered on a “filled to order” basis, clients could choose among Lelong’s established fragrances—Balalaika, Cachet, Orgueil, Sirocco, or Tailspin—imbuing the object with a bespoke dimension. Contemporary advertising emphasized both spectacle and practicality. A 1952 advertisement described them as “Lucien Lelong’s Veronese glass candlesticks filled with Lelong cologne…a fabulous gift of fragrance,” noting their fifteen-inch height and suggesting that “two will make beautiful lamps later.” Another ad remarked that the “copy-in-glass of an old Italian candlestick holds a quart of cologne…[and] will hold your candles when the last drop has been splashed on,” while a 1954 advertisement reiterated this transformation: once emptied, the bottle simply resumes its identity as a candlestick. This dual-purpose concept—fragrance first, enduring decorative object thereafter—was both clever and deeply aligned with mid-century ideals of luxury that justified cost through permanence.

At $37.50 each in 1952 (or $75 for the pair), the Veronese Candlesticks occupied a rarefied tier of perfume merchandising. Adjusted for inflation, $37.50 in 1952 is approximately $430–$460 in 2026, placing a single candlestick firmly in the realm of high luxury; the pair would equate to roughly $860–$920 today. This pricing underscores that the value lay not only in the generous quantity of cologne, but equally in the artistry of the crystal and the novelty of the presentation. These were objects intended for affluent clientele—individuals who appreciated historical references, theatrical display, and the merging of fragrance with interior design.

Today, the Veronese Candlestick Colognes are considered exceptionally rare survivals. Their fragility, combined with their functional use, means few have endured intact with their original components. Many were likely broken, repurposed, or separated over time, diminishing their presence in the market. When examples do surface, they are prized not merely as perfume bottles, but as sculptural artifacts—evidence of a period when fragrance packaging could aspire to the scale, permanence, and artistic ambition of fine decorative arts.

Botticelli Cologne Bottle (1953)

The so-called “Botticelli” presentation introduced by Lucien Lelong in 1953 reflects a deliberate invocation of Italian Renaissance artistry, both in name and in form. By choosing the name Botticelli, Lelong was almost certainly alluding to Sandro Botticelli, whose works epitomize grace, ornament, and refined decorative beauty. The association was less about literal connection and more about evoking an aesthetic ideal—an object that feels painterly, romantic, and rooted in classical Italian culture. In the context of mid-century perfume marketing, such a name immediately elevated the bottle from a utilitarian container to something akin to a museum-worthy object, suggesting that the fragrance within was housed in a vessel inspired by the same artistic lineage as Renaissance masterpieces.

The bottle itself reinforces this illusion of historic artistry. Standing an impressive 12½ inches tall and holding a generous 15 ounces of cologne, it has the proportions of a ceremonial decanter rather than a conventional perfume flacon. The form, described in period advertisements as adapted from an Italian vase, is rounded and full-bodied, with a softly swelling silhouette that recalls hand-thrown or blown glass vessels of earlier centuries. Its surface is richly decorated with a raised floral pattern, giving the impression of applied ornamentation that has been fused into the glass itself. This relief work is then heightened with fired gold—an important detail repeatedly emphasized in advertising—which catches the light and lends the bottle a warm, gilded radiance. The effect is both tactile and visual: a surface that invites the eye to travel across its contours while shimmering with metallic highlights.

The stopper, a substantial glass piece fitted with a cork plug, completes the decanter-like character. It suggests both practicality and tradition, echoing antique vessels meant for repeated use and refilling. Indeed, Lelong’s marketing leaned heavily into the idea that this was not a disposable object. Advertisements described the bottle as something that would “fit happily into home furnishings after the cologne has been used,” reinforcing its dual identity as both fragrance container and decorative accessory. Another ad noted that it was “taller than a milk bottle and heavily encrusted with gold metal,” emphasizing its scale and presence—an object meant to stand proudly on a vanity, dresser, or even a mantelpiece.

Although often associated with the fragrance Sirocco, the Botticelli bottle was not tied to a single scent. By 1954, it was offered filled with Tailspin, Indiscret, or Sirocco colognes, further underscoring its role as a presentation format rather than a fragrance identity. Initially priced at $10 in 1953 and later increased to $12.50 by 1954—a price maintained through its final year of availability in 1958—the bottle represented a balance between accessibility and luxury. Contemporary mentions in publications such as Esquire (1955) and Mademoiselle (1958) highlight how the packaging itself often overshadowed the contents, with one remarking that the bottle was “so beautiful in gold filigree that its 15 ounces of cologne seem pure bonus.”

Ultimately, the name Botticelli served as a kind of artistic shorthand, signaling to consumers that this was not merely cologne, but a decorative object inspired by the elegance of Renaissance Italy. Whether or not the design can be traced to a specific historical vase, the intention is clear: to create a piece that feels timeless, cultured, and intrinsically beautiful—an object that, like a Botticelli painting, exists as much for visual pleasure as for function.

 

Cambodia Bottle (1958)

The 1958 Lucien Lelong Cambodia flacon is a remarkable example of mid-century perfume presentation elevated into the realm of miniature sculpture. Conceived as a “miniature Cambodian temple,” as described in contemporary advertising, the piece captures an exoticized vision of Southeast Asian architecture filtered through Parisian luxury design. Rising to approximately 4.5 inches in height, the composition is intricate and vertical, crowned with a delicate, spired ornament that evokes temple finials and ceremonial structures. The overall impression is one of filigree lightness and movement—an object as much to be admired visually and kinetically as to be used.

At its core sits a small, clear glass bottle shaped like a gourd, a subtle historical reference to the utilitarian flacons of 19th-century parfumeurs, who often used similar forms for custom blends. This inner vessel, modest in scale and nearly transparent, contrasts beautifully with the elaborate gilt metal framework that surrounds it. The bottle is cradled within an ornate base of gilded cast metal, richly worked in open filigree patterns and accented with tiny enamel flowers. From this base rise slender prongs tipped with iridescent faceted rhinestones, which catch the light and introduce a jeweled brilliance to the structure.

The upper portion of the flacon is where its theatricality fully unfolds. A rounded screw cap is surmounted by an elaborate gilt construction that grips the lid with claw-like elements before extending upward into a tall, spire-like crown. At the apex sits a delicate spinner—reminiscent of a wind vane—that is both whimsical and interactive. This spinner, adorned with enamel-accented floral motifs and small diamond-shaped dangling charms, moves freely, producing a subtle kinetic effect reminiscent of tiny temple bells stirred by a breeze. The inclusion of these moving elements directly reflects the advertisement’s reference to “tiny windbells,” reinforcing the illusion of a living architectural miniature.

The entire piece is enriched with iridescent rhinestones and enamel details, lending it a jewel-like quality that aligns it more closely with high-end costume jewelry than with traditional perfume packaging. Although unmarked, the metalwork strongly recalls the style of mid-century makers such as Florenza, known for their ornate, gilded filigree and embellished vanity accessories. This crossover between jewelry design and perfume presentation was a hallmark of certain luxury objects of the period, where adornment extended beyond the body to the objects themselves.

Marketed in 1959 with fragrances such as Indiscret in a ¼ ounce format priced at $17.50, the Cambodian temple flacon occupied a niche of collectible, gift-worthy luxury—less about volume and more about artistry and novelty. Today, it stands as a striking testament to Lucien Lelong’s flair for imaginative packaging, merging historical references, exotic motifs, and kinetic ornamentation into a single, enchanting object that transcends its function to become a miniature work of art.

Known Lelong fragrances that used this presentation were Tailspin.

 

Keep Perfume in Dark

A March 26, 1928 article in the Reading Eagle newspaper:

"KEEP PERFUME IN DARK, PARISIAN ADVISES. Air and sunlight may change finest odors, according to French expert. Have you ever wondered why the perfume on your dressing table seems to change odor week from week? Perhaps you have been puzzled by a fragrance which smelled agreeable at the time  you bought it, becomes commonplace or even unpleasant after you have used it a few weeks, writes a Paris correspondent of the Kansas City Star. 

Such thoughts may be considered a confession - an admission that you have not learned how to care for your perfume. These delicate scents for which fashion orders for modern  use particularly when they are of high quality, deteriorate and lose all traces of their original fragrance if they are handled remissly. 

"Always keep perfume in a dark place, advises Lucien Lelong, the Paris dressmaker whose study of perfume has resulted in valuable suggestions for its use. "Daylight will affect every odor differently according to its formula, and in extreme cases, the perfume turns bright red as soon as its exposed to the sun. 

Jasmine becomes black in the light, other flower extracts darken less noticeably, but as soon as they change color, even slightly, the perfume changes scent. According to Monsieur Lelong, certain chemicals suffer similarly as a result of exposure to light. If a product such as indol has been used in the perfume, it will form ether and emit a foul odor soon after it is allowed to stand in the sun. 

So carefully must the elements that compose a perfume be guarded that many of the more fragile extracts are bought in a discolored state by the perfumer to prevent darkening after they have been mixed. Discolored floral elements cost a great deal more than flowers in a natural state and they are reserved for expensive perfumes.  

The need is evident for keeping perfume flacons tightly stoppered. Air, sunlight will harm the scent and carelessness in keeping the odor airtight results in a noticeable loss strength and quality."

Impromptu (1936)

Impromptu by Lucien Lelong debuted in 1936—a year of social and artistic contrasts, poised on the edge of dramatic change. The name Impromptu, a French word, translates to “spontaneous” or “unrehearsed,” and is pronounced [ahm-PRAHMP-too]. Its origin lies in Latin via French, and it carries with it an air of unpredictability and elegance—like an unplanned gesture of charm or a sudden inspiration. The word evokes imagery of a fleeting romantic encounter, a sudden dance, a night that unfolds unexpectedly yet beautifully. It suggests freedom from routine, a willingness to be swept away in the moment.

For Lucien Lelong, couturier and tastemaker, choosing the name Impromptu aligned perfectly with the spirit of his fashion house and clientele. The late 1930s were a time of transitional glamour—nestled between the Deco opulence of the 1920s and the austerity soon to be imposed by World War II. 1936, in particular, was still basking in the shimmer of modern elegance. It was the height of the Art Deco era, with clean architectural lines, a fascination with streamlined design, and a cultivated air of luxury. In Paris, the International Exposition of Art and Technology in Modern Life had just taken place the year prior, reinforcing the city’s status as a hub of style and sophistication.

Women's fashion in this period had begun to soften from the bold, angular lines of early Deco. Skirts lengthened, shoulders grew broader, and silhouettes became more fluid and romantic. Eveningwear featured bias-cut gowns, luxurious fabrics like silk and satin, and an emphasis on movement. Women wore perfumes to complete the image of the ideal modern woman—poised, mysterious, and emotionally expressive.

Opening Night (1934)

Launched in 1934, Lucien Lelong’s La Première entered the fragrance world during a moment of cultural elegance and cinematic escape. Originally introduced under this French name—La Première (pronounced lah preh-MYER), meaning "The First" or “The Premiere”—the fragrance was poised to celebrate both the glamour of a grand debut and the sophisticated poise of a woman stepping into the spotlight. However, a complication arose when it was prepared for release in the American market: another perfume company, De Hériot, had already secured the name La Première for a different fragrance in the U.S. As a result, Lelong's perfume was rebranded as Opening Night for American audiences, and Orage (oh-RAHZH, meaning "storm" in French) for distribution in Canada and the U.K.

Each name—La Première, Opening Night, and Orage—carries a distinct emotional and visual character, yet all are deeply theatrical in tone. La Première suggests elegance, precedence, and a moment of poised arrival. It conjures the image of a woman entering a theater or ballroom just as the curtain is about to rise. Opening Night retains that same sense of anticipation and spectacle, echoing the hushed excitement of an audience waiting in the velvet-lined dark. In contrast, Orage, meaning “storm,” shifts the mood. It evokes a sudden intensity—a romantic, emotional tempest—suggesting drama, passion, and power beneath the polished surface.

The year 1934 placed this perfume firmly within the interwar period, a time of both fragility and flowering in the arts, fashion, and perfumery. The world was still recovering from the shock of the Great Depression, and in France especially, luxury had become a form of escapism and expression. Hollywood glamour dominated the visual imagination, and French couture and perfumery responded in kind with elegant silhouettes, luxurious materials, and rich, complex compositions. It was the Golden Age of Perfume, an era when scent was expected to be both statement and signature.

In this context, a fragrance called La Première would have resonated deeply with the modern, style-conscious woman of the 1930s. It implied that she, too, was the star of the evening—the first to arrive, the first to be noticed. Opening Night would have carried similar associations for American women, tapping into a love of the theater, glamour, and the cinematic spectacle. Orage, meanwhile, would have appealed to those drawn to a more poetic, passionate identity—women who felt the stirrings of romance and rebellion beneath the surface of polite society.

The fragrance itself was described as a sweet, sparkling aldehydic floral oriental with a chypre base—a rare hybrid at the time. Aldehydes contributed their radiant, effervescent quality, offering the scent a champagne-like sparkle, while lush florals and ambered orientals added warmth and sensuality. The chypre foundation—mossy, woody, and slightly bitter—provided structure and depth, ensuring the fragrance unfolded in stages like a theatrical performance.

In terms of perfumery trends, La Première sat confidently at the intersection of two dominant styles of the 1930s. On one hand, it embraced the aldehydic-floral sophistication made popular by Chanel No. 5 (1921) and followed by others like Arpège by Lanvin (1927). On the other, its oriental and chypre underpinnings aligned it with the richer, more opulent compositions of the time such as Shalimar (1925) or Crepe de Chine (1925). But its blending of all three—floral, aldehydic, oriental, and chypre—made La Première unique. It offered both dazzle and depth, much like the emotional range suggested by its various names.

Ultimately, La Première, Opening Night, and Orage were not just marketing adaptations; they were narrative lenses, each highlighting a different emotional facet of the same perfume. Through these names and their associations, the woman who wore this scent in 1934 could choose her own stage—whether she stepped into the spotlight with practiced elegance, leaned into the sparkle of public life, or revealed a stormy inner passion hidden beneath the surface of silk and scent.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Whether named La Première, Opening Night, or Orage, it is classified as a sweet, sparkling aldehydic floral oriental fragrance for women with a chypre base. Orage is floral and aldehydic in type, composed of jasmine from Grasse, Bulgarian rose, neroli, lily of the valley, ylang-ylang, iris, and patchouli. Fresh, youthful, and light in character, it is designed for young girls and young women, ideal for the outdoors, weekends, and travel.

• Top notes: aldehyde C-10, aldehyde C-11, aldehyde C-12 MNA, Sicilian mandarin, Paraguayan petitgrain, Calabrian bergamot, Sicilian lemon, Tunisian neroli, French lavender
• Middle notes: lily of the valley, Grasse rose de mai absolute, Bulgarian rose, French carnation, Zanzibar clove bud oil, eugenol, Ceylon cinnamon leaf, isoeugenol, Indian tuberose absolute, Moroccan orange blossom absolute, Grasse jasmine, cis-jasmone, Parma violet, sage, freesia, Florentine iris, methyl ionone, hydrangea, ylang ylang
• Base notes: ambergris, Mexican vanilla, vanillin, Maltese labdanum, Siam benzoin, Turkish styrax, coumarin, Canadian castoreum, Abyssinian civet, Somali opoponax, South American tolu balsam, Tonkin musk, musk xylene, Mysore sandalwood, Atlas cedar, Haitian vetiver, Indonesian patchouli, Yugoslavian oakmoss

Scent Profile:

The first impression is dazzling—effervescent, almost electric—as if the air itself has been lit from within. A trio of synthetic aldehydes leads the charge: Aldehyde C-10 (decanal) emerges first, with its soft citrusy sheen and waxy elegance, recalling the polished rind of an orange just grazed with a knife. Aldehyde C-11 (undecanal) follows with a cooler, metallic sparkle, like silver rain on porcelain. Then comes C-12 MNA, rich and slightly creamy, lending a velvety, candlelit glow that rounds the edges and draws out a subtle warmth. These aldehydes don’t stand alone—they elevate, amplify, and stretch the freshness across time, creating a luminous veil that clings delicately to the skin and reveals the citrus beneath.

From this shimmer, a cascade of fruits tumbles forward: Sicilian mandarin adds a honeyed juiciness with a faint floral tinge, far rounder and less tart than its colder cousins. Calabrian bergamot, with its celebrated balance of bitterness and sweet herbaceousness, lends green sparkle and structure—a vital citrus cornerstone from southern Italy, where the fruit’s oils are prized for their complexity. Sicilian lemon cuts through the sweetness with a refined brightness, sharp but softened by sun. Then there’s Paraguayan petitgrain, verdant and slightly woody, extracted from bitter orange leaves; it adds an aromatic breath of foliage, grounding the top in a faintly herbal trace.

Interwoven between these fruits is the ethereal perfume of Tunisian neroli, softly orange-blossomed and just a touch green, giving body and nuance to the opening floral whisper. A ribbon of French lavender, crisp and camphoraceous, dances along the edges—a surprising presence, slightly masculine, yet restrained and sophisticated, tempering sweetness with cool air. As the aldehydes slowly dissolve, the heart of the fragrance blooms like a velvet curtain drawn aside. The floral symphony is anchored by Grasse rose de mai, the quintessence of refinement. Its aroma is honeyed, slightly green, and profoundly tender—hand-harvested in the early morning dew and distilled into pure beauty. Supporting it, French carnation offers a spicy carnality with clove-like facets, enhanced here by a dash of Zanzibar clove bud oil, which deepens the spiced floral heart with warm, exotic richness.

Alongside it are the whispering flames of Ceylon cinnamon leaf oil, warmer and greener than bark oil, softened and shaped by eugenol and its more floral, round cousin isoeugenol—two early aroma chemicals drawn from nature, used here not to replace the natural spices but to sculpt their shadows, extending their reach and interplay with the rose and jasmine. Indian tuberose absolute bursts forth in full narcotic splendor—thick, sweet, and almost buttery, but with a green stemmy freshness that elevates. Grasse jasmine adds opulence, both floral and animalic, and is accentuated by cis-jasmone, an aroma molecule found naturally in jasmine but used here in isolation to highlight its sparkling, airy radiance—giving lift and volume to the florals without weighing them down.

Next, Moroccan orange blossom absolute, deeper and more indolic than its neroli counterpart, infuses the bouquet with sensuality and a dusky undercurrent. Parma violet, powdery and faintly metallic, drifts through like violet bonbons crumbling on the tongue. Freesia, delicate and dewy, adds a modern brightness, while hydrangea, abstract and gently aquatic, offers a petal-soft coolness. The green, aromatic lift of sage brings breath and depth, while Florentine iris, with its buttery-earthy coolness, mingles with methyl ionone, a key aroma molecule that mimics the violet-ionone scent found in orris root. Together they create a velvety, powdery bridge into the shadows of the base.

As the heart dims and the final act begins, a soft animalic warmth begins to glow. The base opens with the salty, oceanic depth of ambergris, ancient and rare, adding silken texture and a mineral warmth. Mexican vanilla—spicy, boozy, and resinous—is folded into the creaminess of vanillin, a synthetic used not to replace, but to amplify vanilla’s sweetness and diffusion. It is softened by Maltese labdanum, sticky and resinous with leathery undertones, contributing both to the oriental and chypre structure.

From this resin-rich core rises Siam benzoin, sweet and balsamic like polished wood steeped in honey, while Turkish styrax offers a slightly leathery, smoky accord. South American tolu balsam, lush and rounded, binds the vanillic and resinous components together like a silken thread. Warming it all is coumarin, hay-like and gently almondy, blending into the sensual purr of Tonkin musk, whose natural radiance is bolstered by musk xylene—a nitro-musky molecule that gives the drydown that unmistakable vintage aura: powdery, glowing, faintly animal, and unmistakably intimate.

The animalics here are delicately dosed: Canadian castoreum, leathery and warm like suede gloves held against the skin; and Abyssinian civet, which lends a trace of dirty-luxurious softness, never harsh—just the right touch to suggest skin. From the earth, a textured chypre base emerges. Yugoslavian oakmoss, mossy and shadowed with dark green and bitter wood, gives structure and gravitas. Indonesian patchouli, earthy and chocolatey, blends seamlessly with Haitian vetiver, whose dry, smoky grassiness sharpens the edges. Atlas cedar, dry and cool, adds quiet strength, while Mysore sandalwood, now a rarity, lends a creamy, sacred softness—its milky, woody depth warming everything it touches.

Together, these materials—both natural and synthetic, sourced from across continents and crafted in poetic balance—form a fragrance that is timeless, sultry, and luminous. La Première, Opening Night, or Orage is a story told in scent: from sparkling top to opulent floral heart to a sensual, mossy base, it is at once radiant and smoldering—like the memory of evening silk, warmed skin, golden light on lacquered wood, and the hush before a velvet curtain lifts.

Bottles:

Pyramid Bottle:

The parfum was presented in clear crystal bottles of striking geometric beauty, designed by Philippe Hiolle. Rendered in the form of a stylized step pyramid, each bottle exemplified the sculptural clarity of Art Deco design. The transparent crystal was precisely cut and fire-polished to a gleaming finish, giving each plane and edge a sense of quiet grandeur. Etched discreetly on the base was the mark “Made in France,” applied with acid for a refined permanence, subtly anchoring the piece in its place of origin.

These bottles were offered in six graduated sizes, each maintaining the architectural symmetry of the original design while varying in height to suit different preferences and presentations. The smallest measured 2.24 inches (5.7 cm) tall — a jewel-like miniature — while the largest rose to an imposing 6.18 inches (15.7 cm), a commanding flacon fit for a vanity of distinction. The intermediate sizes — 2.87 inches (7.3 cm), 3.22 inches (8.2 cm), 3.74 inches (9.5 cm), and 4.5 inches (11.5 cm) — allowed for a variety of display options, from intimate dressing table to boutique showcase. Each size maintained the same essential proportions, ensuring the stepped silhouette remained balanced and harmonious at every scale. A tiny pyramid bottle fitted with a brass cap stands just 1.5" tall.

The bottle rests on a black bakelite stand inside of a diamond shaped cardboard box.

Urn Bottle:

In 1938, Lucien Lelong's Opening Night perfume was given a new form of presentation, reflecting both wartime constraints and clever thematic design. The original stepped pyramid bottle—imported from France—was replaced with a special urn-shaped crystal flacon when the disruptions of World War II made overseas glass importation impractical. This shift did not signal a reduction in elegance, however; the new bottle was a refined interpretation of neoclassical form, reminiscent of amphorae, yet rendered in sleek, modern crystal.

The clear crystal urn featured a series of finely engraved bisecting lines—both on the body of the bottle and its matching stopper. These intersecting cuts caught and refracted the light, giving the surface a subtle sense of movement and depth, like stage lighting playing across a performer. The design was both architectural and symbolic, drawing the eye toward the center and evoking the curtains parting on a dramatic performance.

The bottle was housed in a presentation box that brought the name Opening Night to life. This packaging was deliberately designed to mimic the appearance of a theatrical stage, with structural elements that recalled proscenium arches and draped curtains. The interior framing created the illusion that the perfume bottle was the star of the show, dramatically spotlighted and ready to take its bow. In combining performance, luxury, and ingenuity, the presentation captured the mood of the late 1930s—an era of elegance shadowed by global uncertainty, where glamour and escapism often met in the scent of a perfume.

The bottle was available in several sizes:

• mini holds 6ml parfum, bottle stands 1.75" tall and has a ball-shaped brass screw cap.
• Ref. No. 9A (also known as No. 200) holds 0.1 oz Parfum, bottle stands 1.75" tall and has a cup-shaped brass screw cap.
• Ref. No. 1 (also known as No. 500) holds 0.25 oz of Parfum, bottle stands 1.75" tall.
• Ref. No. 2 holds 0.5 oz of Parfum, bottle stands 2.25" tall.
• Ref. No. 3 (also known as No. 1650) holds 1 oz of Parfum bottle stands 2.75" tall.
• Ref. No. 5 holds 3 oz of Parfum, bottle stands 3.5" tall.
• holds 5 oz of Parfum, stands 5" tall.

 

Opening Night was also housed in less expensive bottles over the years.

 

In 1969/1970, Orage was available in Parfum: Gift sets: 0.25 oz and 2 oz.

Also available in Eau de Toilette: Splash bottles 1/16 oz, 1/8 oz, 1/4 liter and 1/2 liter; Dusting Powder (6 oz round box); Perfume Cream (120cc).

Fate of the Fragrance:

Opening Night by Lucien Lelong was introduced in 1934, during a glamorous yet uncertain era marked by both artistic vibrance and looming global unrest. The fragrance was conceived as a celebration of high society, theater, and the allure of the spotlight—its very name evoking the anticipation and elegance of a grand debut. From its launch, Opening Night was positioned as one of Lelong’s most refined offerings, notable for both its complex scent profile and luxurious packaging.

Although the exact date of its discontinuation remains unclear, records show that Opening Night was still available for purchase as late as 1972. This suggests that the fragrance enjoyed an unusually long lifespan for a perfume of its time—almost four decades—attesting to its enduring appeal. Its survival through changing styles and tastes reflects how well it captured a certain timeless sophistication, resonating with women long after its Art Deco origins had passed into memory.

While no longer in production today, Opening Night remains a beloved and sought-after relic of the golden age of perfumery. Collectors and historians prize it not only for its olfactory composition, but also for the beauty of its bottles and the cultural context in which it was created. Whether named La Première, Opening Night, or Orage, it continues to evoke the excitement of a performance just about to begin.

Mon Image (1933)

Mon Image was introduced in 1933 by the celebrated Parisian couturier Lucien Lelong, a designer known for his refined, feminine couture and for his role in shaping Parisian elegance between the two World Wars. Lelong’s perfumes were conceived as natural extensions of his fashion aesthetic—scents that would complement a woman’s presence as gracefully as a beautifully tailored gown. The name “Mon Image” comes from the French language and translates literally to “My Image.” Pronounced as “mohn ee-MAHZH,” the phrase carries a deeply personal meaning. It suggests a perfume that mirrors the wearer’s identity, personality, and mood—almost like a fragrant reflection. Lelong himself described the concept succinctly as “a reflection of yourself in fragrance,” implying that the perfume was meant to enhance a woman’s natural charm rather than overwhelm it.

The name evokes elegant and intimate imagery: a woman standing before a mirror, preparing to step out into the evening, her perfume completing the image she presents to the world. It suggests self-expression, confidence, and individuality. In the language of fragrance, Mon Image implies a scent that becomes part of the wearer’s personal aura—something that quietly defines her presence. Emotionally, the name carries a subtle romanticism typical of French culture, hinting that fragrance is not merely adornment but a way of revealing one’s inner character.

The perfume was launched during the early 1930s, a period shaped by both cultural sophistication and economic challenge. The world was in the midst of the Great Depression, yet Paris remained the undisputed center of luxury fashion and perfumery. Despite financial uncertainty, couture houses continued to produce exquisite creations for an international clientele seeking beauty and escapism. Fashion during this era favored slim silhouettes, fluid fabrics, and understated glamour, moving away from the exuberant ornamentation of the 1920s toward a more refined and elegant aesthetic. Designers such as Madeleine Vionnet and Coco Chanel were redefining femininity with graceful draping and modern simplicity. Perfumery reflected this sophistication through rich floral bouquets, spicy notes, and warm bases that projected elegance and confidence.

image created by Grace Hummel/Cleopatra's Boudoir.

Within this context, a perfume called Mon Image would have resonated strongly with women of the period. The concept of fragrance as a personal signature was becoming increasingly important in the early twentieth century. A woman might wear a scent that expressed her style in the same way her clothing did. The name suggested that the perfume was not simply decorative but integral to a woman’s identity, reinforcing the idea that scent was part of the image she presented to society. For fashionable women of the 1930s, wearing Mon Image might have felt like wearing a couture accessory—something uniquely their own.

The fragrance itself was described as a spicy floral, notable for its piquant character and crisp carnation note. Carnation was a particularly fashionable floral ingredient in early twentieth-century perfumery because of its spicy, clove-like facets. Its scent naturally contains eugenol, the same aromatic molecule found in cloves, which gives carnation its lively, peppery warmth. In Mon Image, this carnation nuance likely formed the sparkling floral top, lending the perfume a vibrant, slightly sharp elegance before settling into warmer tones. Beneath the floral brightness lay a foundation of sandalwood, whose creamy, velvety woodiness softened the spicy edge and gave the fragrance a smooth, lasting warmth.

The structure of Mon Image may have relied heavily on a perfumery base known as Melysflor, created by the fragrance house Firmenich. Melysflor belonged to a family of compositions known as “mellis accords,” similar to Melittis, a base developed by Givaudan. These accords were designed to produce a complex floral-spicy effect in a single blended base. Melysflor combined materials such as benzyl salicylate, which contributes a sweet, slightly balsamic floral warmth; patchouli, adding earthy depth; and eugenol, providing the spicy clove facet that reinforces the carnation theme. The accord also incorporated lily of the valley notes, traditionally created through the aromatic molecule hydroxycitronellal, which lends a fresh, dewy floral brightness. Additional nuances of cinnamon, woody notes, and coumarin—a crystalline compound derived from tonka beans—gave the base its smooth sweetness reminiscent of vanilla and freshly cut hay.

This versatile base was widely admired by perfumers and appeared in several notable fragrances of the era, including Jean Patou's Moment Supreme, Corday's Voyage à Paris, Elizabeth Arden's Blue Grass, and Dana's Tabu. Its presence in Mon Image would have given the perfume a richly layered character—spicy, floral, and softly woody all at once.

In the context of fragrances available in 1933, Mon Image was not radically unconventional, but it was certainly aligned with the refined, elegant style of the era. Many perfumes of the early 1930s favored sophisticated floral structures enriched with spice and warm bases. What distinguished Mon Image was its concept and balance: the piquant carnation note gave the fragrance personality, while the mellis accord created a smooth, harmonious backdrop. The result was a perfume that embodied the understated glamour of its time—elegant, expressive, and perfectly suited to the modern woman of the 1930s who wished her fragrance to reflect her own image.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Mon Image is classified as a spicy floral fragrance for women, it was described as "piquant" and had a noticeable tang of crisp carnation. A hint of carnation here to give a top floral note against a background of sandalwood.

• Top notes: Italian neroli oil, nerol, isoeugenol, phenylacetaldehyde, amyl salicylate, Vietnamese cinnamon, Zanzibar clove oil, lilac, almond, isobutyl phenylacetate, linalool
• Middle notes: hydroxycitronellal, Ceylon cinnamon bark oil, French carnation, benzyl isoeugenol, linalool, natural Grasse rose oil, geranyl formate, ionone, Tunisian orange blossom absolute, Grasse jasmine absolute, Peruvian heliotrope absolute, heliotropin, Grasse rose absolute, Parma violet, ionone, Malabar pepper essence, clary sage oil, Melysflor base
• Base notes: benzyl salicylate, benzyl acetate, terpineol, Bourbon vanilla, vanillin, Maltese labdanum, Java vetiver, ambergris, Tonkin musk, Mysore sandalwood, santalol, Tyrolean oakmoss, Siam benzoin, Venezuelan tonka bean, coumarin, ethyl benzoate

Scent Profile:

Mon Image by Lucien Lelong unfolds as a spicy floral fragrance whose character is defined by a distinctive piquant carnation note—fresh, slightly peppery, and refined—resting upon a warm base of woods, resins, and ambered softness. From the first breath, the fragrance carries the poised elegance typical of early 1930s French perfumery, when perfumes were designed with intricate layers of natural essences supported by emerging aroma molecules that gave them complexity and longevity.

The opening impression sparkles with a bright citrus-floral freshness. Italian neroli oil, distilled from the blossoms of bitter orange trees grown along the Mediterranean coasts of southern Italy, introduces a luminous, honeyed floral brightness with subtle green and citrus nuances. Neroli from this region is particularly prized for its clarity and elegant sweetness. Supporting this natural material is nerol, a floral terpene alcohol found in neroli and rose oils that enhances the orange blossom character with soft rosy sweetness. The scent quickly acquires a piquant sparkle through Vietnamese cinnamon and Zanzibar clove oil, both rich in the aromatic compound eugenol, which gives them their spicy warmth. Zanzibar cloves are considered among the finest in the world, known for their strong, rich aroma produced by the island’s humid tropical climate.

The floral brightness continues through molecules such as phenylacetaldehyde, which smells like fresh hyacinth and honeyed blossoms, and amyl salicylate, a synthetic floral note reminiscent of orchids and sweet blossoms that adds smoothness to the top. A delicate hint of lilac appears as well—an aroma that cannot be extracted naturally from the flower and must be recreated using complex combinations of aroma chemicals. Isobutyl phenylacetate contributes a fruity, floral note often associated with garden blossoms, while linalool, naturally present in many flowers and herbs, adds a fresh lavender-like brightness. A subtle nuance of almond introduces a faint creamy sweetness that rounds the opening notes and prepares the transition toward the heart.

As the fragrance evolves, the carnation theme emerges more distinctly. Carnation possesses a naturally spicy character because its scent contains eugenol, the same compound responsible for clove’s aroma. In this perfume, the carnation is enriched with Ceylon cinnamon bark oil, whose warm, sweet-spicy character differs from the sharper cassia varieties found elsewhere. Hydroxycitronellal, a landmark aroma molecule widely used in classic perfumery, contributes the crystalline freshness of lily of the valley, a flower that cannot yield a natural perfume extract.

A sumptuous floral bouquet develops around this spicy core. Natural Grasse rose oil and Grasse rose absolute provide the luxurious softness of roses grown in the famed fields of Grasse, France, where climate and soil produce a uniquely rich floral aroma. Grasse jasmine absolute deepens the composition with its warm, slightly indolic sweetness—an aroma created in part by the molecule indole, which gives jasmine its sensual character. Tunisian orange blossom absolute adds a luminous sweetness that echoes the neroli in the opening but with richer honeyed depth. Peruvian heliotrope absolute introduces a powdery almond-like warmth, reinforced by heliotropin (piperonal), a molecule responsible for heliotrope’s distinctive marzipan scent.

Powdery elegance appears through Parma violet, recreated through the use of ionones, molecules that produce the characteristic violet aroma—soft, woody, and faintly powdery. Geranyl formate adds rosy-fruity brightness, while Malabar pepper essence introduces a dry, aromatic spice from India’s famed pepper-growing region. A touch of clary sage oil lends herbal warmth with subtle amber-like facets. Much of the heart may have been structured around the Melysflor base, a complex perfumery accord developed by Firmenich. This base blends floral and spicy materials such as benzyl salicylate, patchouli, coumarin, and lily-of-the-valley molecules to create a rich mellis-style floral accord used in several notable perfumes of the period.

As the fragrance settles into its base, the warmth becomes deeper and more sensual. Benzyl salicylate contributes a soft floral-amber note that enhances longevity and smoothness. Benzyl acetate, naturally found in jasmine, provides a sweet, fruity-floral lift, while terpineol adds a gentle lilac-like softness. The sweetness deepens through Bourbon vanilla, harvested from orchids grown primarily in Madagascar and Réunion, whose warm aroma contains natural vanillin. Additional vanillin reinforces this creamy sweetness, creating a comforting softness beneath the florals.

The fragrance’s structure is grounded by rich resins and woods. Maltese labdanum, derived from the resin of the Mediterranean rockrose plant, contributes an ambered leather-like warmth with balsamic depth. Java vetiver, grown in Indonesia’s volcanic soils, brings an earthy, smoky elegance distinct from the greener character of Haitian vetiver. Mysore sandalwood, historically sourced from southern India, is revered for its creamy, velvety woodiness rich in santalol molecules, which produce its characteristic smooth warmth. Tyrolean oakmoss, harvested in alpine forests, introduces the classic chypre note of damp forest moss and earthy green depth.

The base becomes even more luxurious with Siam benzoin, a resin from Southeast Asia that smells sweet and vanilla-like, and Venezuelan tonka bean, whose aroma is defined by coumarin—a molecule smelling of sweet hay, vanilla, and almonds. Ambergris, historically obtained from ocean-aged whale secretions, adds a soft marine warmth often recreated today by molecules such as ambroxan. Finally, Tonkin musk, once derived from the musk deer and now replaced by sophisticated synthetic musks, creates a warm skin-like aura that allows the fragrance to linger intimately.

The overall effect of Mon Image is one of spiced elegance and powdery warmth. The fragrance begins with bright neroli and aromatic spices, blossoms into a richly layered floral bouquet centered around carnation and rose, and gradually settles into a velvety base of sandalwood, amber, moss, and musk. Natural materials from celebrated regions—Grasse, Mysore, Zanzibar, and Java—blend seamlessly with carefully chosen aroma molecules that enhance and stabilize the scent. Together they create a perfume that is both vibrant and refined, capturing the poised glamour and intricate craftsmanship characteristic of the golden age of French perfumery.

 

The New Yorker, 1935:

"It is blessed to give or to receive — Opening Night that makes you feel like the star of the performance . . . Mon Image, so piquant and arresting . . . Gardenia, a perfume "in the grand manner"..."

Marie-Claire, 1937:

"Mon Image by Lucien Lelong: perfume for brunettes."

Drug and Cosmetic Industry - Volume 44, 1939:

"LUCIEN LELONG Lucien Lelong has introduced sachet in five of his fragrances, Impromptu, Indiscreet, Mon Image, Opening Night and Whisper. The sachet is highly concentrated and comes in a handsome crystal bottle with gold cap."

 

Bottles:

The bottle created for Mon Image occupies a remarkable and somewhat unusual place in the history of perfume design. Although it was not designed by the celebrated glass artist René Lalique, it was nevertheless manufactured at his renowned glassworks in Wingen-sur-Moder. This curious circumstance arose from the close friendship between Lalique and the Parisian couturier Lucien Lelong. Earlier in the decade Lalique had created two bottles for Lelong, in 1930 and 1931, at a time when Lelong’s perfumes were simply identified by letters—“A,” “B,” and “C.” Among Lalique’s contributions, the most memorable was the “draped dress” bottle of 1930, used for the dramatic “skyscraper” presentation. Its cascading vertical folds evoked the graceful fall of couture fabric, making it one of the most recognizable bottle designs associated with Lelong’s early fragrances.

Soon afterward, however, Lelong decided that the visual identity of his perfumes should reflect his own creative vision. Beginning in 1932, he resolved to personally design all the bottles for his fragrances, continuing this practice until his retirement in 1950. This decision was unusual at the time; few fashion designers assumed such complete artistic control over their perfume packaging. When Mon Image debuted in 1933, Lelong translated his couture sensibility into a bold glass design that departed strikingly from the decorative styles typical of the early 1930s. The flacon he conceived was geometric and architectural, consisting of two stacked crystal cubes forming a minimalist double-cube silhouette. Beneath a large square overcap sat a small internal ground-glass stopper, ensuring the perfume remained sealed. The overcap itself was molded in clear crystal and engraved in intaglio with Lelong’s elegant intertwined “Double L” monogram, and because the cap mirrored the bottle’s cubic proportions, the entire composition appeared like a perfectly balanced stack of glass blocks.

The inspiration for the perfume itself was connected to the glamorous world of cinema. In 1933, Lelong designed costumes for the legendary actress Marlene Dietrich for the film The Scarlet Empress. Enchanted by Dietrich’s dramatic screen presence and distinctive beauty, Lelong reportedly dedicated Mon Image to her. The name—meaning “My Image”—thus took on deeper meaning, suggesting a fragrance that captured a woman’s personal aura or reflected the captivating personality of its muse. In this sense, the perfume was imagined as a fragrant reflection of Dietrich’s enigmatic elegance.

Although Lalique did not design the flacon, he generously agreed to oversee its manufacture as a gesture of friendship and professional respect. Initially, Lelong—who had a reputation for being extremely frugal—had entrusted the bottle’s production to a less experienced glassmaker. Unfortunately, the results were disastrous: the first bottles leaked and proved unsuitable for holding perfume. Recognizing his friend’s predicament, Lalique intervened. From 1933 to 1936, the bottles were produced at Lalique’s own glassworks in Wingen-sur-Moder, where the technical precision and craftsmanship of the factory ensured that Lelong’s daring design could be realized successfully. The finished crystal flacon is remarkable for its forward-looking simplicity—firmly rooted in Art Deco geometry, yet anticipating the sleek minimalist forms that would not become fashionable until decades later.

Equally striking was the presentation box, which was itself an ingenious piece of Art Deco design. The box took the form of a tall, square column completely covered with genuine glass mirrors. It consisted of two parts: a square base that cradled the bottle and a slipcover lid decorated with panels of mirrored glass. When placed on a vanity, the mirrored surfaces reflected the perfume bottle and the printed name “Mon Image” from multiple angles, creating a dazzling play of light and reflections. Such mirrored presentations were extremely rare at the time and considered boldly avant-garde. Only a few other perfumers experimented with mirror surfaces in their packaging, making Lelong’s design particularly distinctive. His meticulous attention to visual drama ensured that his perfumes stood out prominently among the many fragrances displayed on elegant dressing tables and department-store counters.

The production of Mon Image included several bottle sizes, each maintaining the same geometric character. The smallest Ref. 250 miniature—a 1/8 oz (1 dram) glass-stoppered bottle—stood about 1⅝ inches tall, making it a compact collector’s piece. A ¼ oz version with a brass screw cap measured approximately 1.75 inches, while the standard Ref. 500 ¼ oz bottle reached about 2.25 inches in height. Larger sizes included the ½ oz bottle, standing roughly 2.75 inches, and the 1 oz bottle, which rose to 3.5 inches. When presented in its mirrored box, the complete display stood an impressive six inches tall, transforming the perfume into a miniature architectural sculpture.

Today, surviving examples of Mon Image are exceptionally scarce. Their rarity, combined with the unusual collaboration between Lelong and Lalique, makes them highly prized by collectors. The story behind the bottle—its innovative design, early manufacturing troubles, and Lalique’s intervention—remains one of the more charming anecdotes in perfume history, illustrating both the practical challenges of luxury production and the friendships that shaped the golden age of French perfumery.

 

 

 

 

 Life, 1934:

"The exciting floral odor of "Mon Image," Lelong's newest perfume in a mirror bottle."

Woman's Home Companion, Volume 65, 1938:

 "Mon Image" in the famed mirror box ... "a reflection of yourself in fragrance." $2.50 to $100."

 

Other bottles are the atomizer flacon which held 2.5oz of Perfumed Cologne. This bottle stands 5" tall.

Fate of the Fragrance:

The fragrance Mon Image by Lucien Lelong gradually disappeared from the market over time as the Lelong house evolved after the designer’s retirement. The cologne version of Mon Image, which offered a lighter and more refreshing interpretation of the scent, was officially discontinued in 1950, coinciding with the period when Lucien Lelong withdrew from active involvement in his fashion house. The more concentrated parfum version appears to have remained available for a longer period, although the exact date of its discontinuation is not known. Evidence indicates that the perfume was still being sold as late as 1961, suggesting that remaining stock or limited production continued for some years after the cologne had been withdrawn. By the early 1960s, however, Mon Image had effectively vanished from the market, becoming one of the many elegant yet largely forgotten fragrances of the classic French perfumery era.