Much later, in Nausicaa, Bloom catches a whiff of
Gerty MacDowell's perfume and wonders what kind it is: "What
is it? Heliotrope? No. Hyacinth? Hm. Roses, I think. She’d
like scent of that kind. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Why
Molly likes opoponax. Suits her, with a little jessamine
mixed. Her high notes and her low notes." The context
suggests that Molly's blend is more complex and less cloying
than many perfumes. Opoponax has a smoky, vegetal aroma, while
jasmine, a floral scent, is richly sweet. (Called "the king of
flowers" in India and "God's gift" in Persia, it is one of the
most prized ingredients in expensive perfumes and both the
plant and the scent are sometimes called jessamine. But there
may be ambiguity here: jessamine can denote plants entirely
different from Jasminum species.)
Opopanax or opoponax, sometimes called "sweet myrrh," is a
resin derived by tapping the gummy sap of shrubs and trees of
the Commiphora genus, which also produces myrrh and
frankincense. The trees grow in Somalia and nearby countries,
and their resin has been used in perfumes since biblical
times. The presence of myrrh and frankincense among the gifts
that the Magi bring to the Christ child suggests how
un-"cheap" these scents are, and Molly's use of opoponax makes
one more link in a chain of details that defines her as
exotically Mediterranean: Spanish, Jewish, Arab, Turkish.
Jasmine, too, is an evocative detail to mention: it has often
been regarded as an aphrodisiac.
But why should "Martha" take the trouble to inquire about her
rival's perfume? Clearly it is an intimate question, violating
the boundary that separates spouses from the outside world and
indicating a desire to move the epistolary flirtation into the
realm of physical closeness. It could be that Martha aims to
please Henry by smelling just like his wife. A less
pathetically self-abasing, more confidently cunning
possibility is that she is thinking practically about the
tactics of conducting a sexual affair: Henry's wife could
hardly suspect him of infidelity when he comes home bearing
her own scent.
[2022] Later in Lotus Eaters Bloom recalls Martha's
question and thinks of another perfume: "What perfume does
your? Peau d'Espagne." The French
name means "Spanish skin" or "Spanish leather." This scent may
possibly enter Bloom's thoughts because, like Molly's
opoponax-jasmine blend, it is compounded of tree oils
(sandalwood, benzoin) and flower essences (rose, neroli or
orange blossom, lavender, verbena, bergamot, clove, cinnamon),
as well as animal scents (musk, civet). Originally used to
augment the scent of leather, it migrated into the world of
women's perfumes in the years around 1900. In Studies in
the Psychology of Sex, vol. 4 (1927), Havelock Ellis
describes it as "a highly complex and luxurious perfume, often
the favorite scent of sensuous persons." He reports that "it
is said by some, probably with a certain degree of truth, that
Peau d'Espagne is of all perfumes that which most nearly
approaches the odor of a woman's skin; whether it also
suggests the odor of leather is not so clear."
In 1913 British poet Arthur Symons, who had conducted a long
clandestine affair in the 1890s, published a poem called Peau
d'Espagne. It concludes:
Peau d'Espagne, scent of sex, that brings
To mind those ways wherein I went,
Perhaps I might forget these things
But for that infamy, your scent!
