BPAL's 2009 Winter update is now live! Featuring Yules, Miskatonic Valley Yules, the new Vampire Tarot & The District

October 22, 2009

Wow! BPAL's winter update is live, and is it a doozy! This year's update features not only the expected Yules, but Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire, 15 Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot: The Magician, and the premier of the latest addition to the GC: The District.

Whew! It's a lot to take in.

We'll be adding the new scents to ScentBase today, but for now, here are Beth's notes from the update email:

++ YULETIDE 2009
The world's light shines, shine as it will,
The world will love its darkness still.
I doubt though when the world's in hell,
It will not love its darkness half so well.

The world will love its darkness: cistus labdanum, ginger, East Indian patchouli, pimento berry, oakmoss, saffron, smoky vanilla, sage, myrrh, and bitter clove.

Grandfather Frost! Accompanied by his granddaughter, Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden, he bestows gifts to virtuous and hard-working people, rewarding their decency and integrity, and punishes those who are lazy, shiftless, and unkind, killing their fields with frost, cracking the trunks of their trees, and destroying their homes.

The first incarnation of Father Frost was not at all benevolent. He was the personification of the darkest aspects of winter, winter's destruction incarnate. He kidnapped unruly children, and slew people capriciously by freezing them to death.

Light, darkness, kindness, and malice: golden amber, white amber, redwood, teak, bois du rose, sage, tree moss, and snow.

The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white and azure laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
To note the chamber: I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
One, two, three: time, time!
- Iachimo, Cymbeline Act II, Scene 2

There are few things more disturbing than a Jack in the Box. A strangely sinister, unnerving holiday scent: redwood, bitter clove, tonka, hemp accord, and tobacco with peach blossom, black currant, and red musk.

The Day of Kings, the Celebration of the Magi. In Mexico, on January 6th, children place their shoes by their windows. If they have been good during the previous year, the Wise Men tuck gifts into their shoes during the night.

Hot cocoa with cinnamon, coffee, and brown sugar.

It is so, so cold!
A cicada in the eaves
With the red peppers.

Frost-limned, ice-bejeweled branches, scattered blood-red maple leaves, a few camellia petals, red peppers, and nacreous, multi-colored musks that shimmer like gently-beating cicada wings.

Held on December 5th, this is the festival of the Horned God of the Forest, one of the di indigetes of Rome, god of cattle, fertility, wild, untamed nature, and prophecy through dreams. The scent of a thick, starlit, unspoiled forest, with a burst of wild musk, opobalsamum, black bryony, mandragora, and hemlock.

The first soft snow!
Enough to bend the leaves
Of the jonquil low.

Heavy drifts of snow blanketing winter's narcissus.

While Persephone visited the realm of Hades, she tasted one single pomegranate seed, an act which compelled her to remain connected to the Land of the Dead for all eternity. Demeter's grief over her beloved daughter's absence that brings on the bleakness and barrenness of the winter months.

The Fruit of Paradise, the Nectar of Death: bittersweet pomegranate, nurtured and cultivated in the hollow darkness of the Underworld.

I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,
I want to get far away from the busyness of the cemeteries.
I want to sleep the sleep of that child
who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea.

I don't want them to tell me again how the corpse keeps all its blood,
how the decaying mouth goes on begging for water.
I'd rather not hear about the torture sessions the grass arranges for
nor about how the moon does all its work before dawn
with its snakelike nose.
I want to sleep for half a second,
a second, a minute, a century,
but I want everyone to know that I am still alive,
that I have a golden manger inside my lips,
that I am the little friend of the west wind,
that I am the elephantine shadow of my own tears.
When it's dawn just throw some sort of cloth over me
because I know dawn will toss fistfuls of ants at me,
and pour a little hard water over my shoes
so that the scorpion claws of the dawn will slip off.
Because I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,
and learn a mournful song that will clean all earth away from me,
because I want to live with that shadowy child
who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea.

Terebinth pine, pitch, and clove.

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
>From seasons such as these?

Bone-chilling, heart-stopping cold.

In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm —
Pink, lank and warm —
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home —
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
And went along.

A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
But state with creeping blood —
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
But ringed with power —

The very string with which
I tied him — too
When he was mean and new
That string was there —

I shrank — "How fair you are"!
Propitiation's claw —
"Afraid," he hissed
"Of me"?
"No cordiality" —
He fathomed me —
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
Projected him.

That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
This was a dream.

Pink, lank, and warm: grapefruit, yuzu, tuberose, peony, violet leaf, pikaki, Indian frankincense, and tonka.

Old Lady Christmas, the sweet, smiling wife of Finland's Joulupukki. Her scent invokes the comforts of Christmastime and the warmth of love and cheerful companionship: a glowing hearth, luumukiisseli, riisipuuro, and sima.

The stickiest thing you shouldn't lick this winter. Peppermint candy cane with an extra jolt of sugar.

(As always, we have to state: don't lick perfume. Don't eat it, drink it, cook with it, or use it in any strange and unforeseen way. Black Phoenix is not responsible for that sort of irresponsible funnybusiness.)

I will wash my hands among the innocent; and will compass thy altar, O Lord: That I may hear the voice of thy praise: and tell of all thy wondrous works. I have loved, O Lord, the beauty of thy house; and the place where thy glory dwelleth. Take not away my soul, O God, with the wicked: nor my life with bloody men: In whose hands are iniquities: their right hand is filled with gifts.

But as for me, I have walked in my innocence: redeem me, and have mercy on me. My foot hath stood in the direct way: in the churches I will bless thee, O Lord.

In Roman Catholic tradition, the Christmas season begins liturgically on Christmas Eve, though it is forbidden to celebrate the Christmas Mass before midnight. The most devout attend Midnight Mass, celebrating both the Eucharist and the drama of the Nativity.

This perfume is a traditional Roman Catholic sacramental incense, most often used during a Solemn Mass. Traditionally, five tears of this incense, each encased individually in wax that has been fashioned into the shape of a nail, are inserted into the paschal candle. This is, of course, represents the Five Wounds of Our Risen Savior. Symbolically, the burning of the incense signifies spiritual fervor, the fragrance itself inspires virtue, and the rising smoke carries our prayers to God.

Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem caeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium.

Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri; per quem omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de caelis. Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus est. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas, et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris. Et iterum venturus est cum gloria, iudicare vivos et mortuos, cuius regni non erit finis.

Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem, qui ex Patre procedit. Qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur: qui locutus est per prophetas. Et unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum, et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen.

But not long after the king sent a certain old man of Antioch, to compel the Jews to depart from the laws of their fathers and of God:

And to defile the temple that was in Jerusalem, and to call it the temple of Jupiter Olympius: and that in Gazarim of Jupiter Hospitalis, according as they were that inhabited the place.

And very bad was this invasion of evils and grievous to all.

For the temple was full of the riot and reveling of the Gentiles: and of men lying with lewd women. And women thrust themselves of their accord into the holy places, and brought in things that were not lawful.

The altar also was filled with unlawful things, which were forbidden by the laws.

And neither were the sabbaths kept, nor the solemn days of the fathers observed, neither did any man plainly profess himself to be a Jew.

But they were led by bitter constraint on the king's birthday to the sacrifices: and when the feast of Bacchus was kept, they wore compelled to go about crowned with ivy in honour of Bacchus.

And there went out a decree into the neighboring cities of the Gentiles, by the suggestion of the Ptolemeans, that they also should act in like manner against the Jews, to oblige them to sacrifice:

And whosoever would not conform themselves to the ways of the Gentiles, should be put to death: then was misery to be seen.

For two women were accused to have circumcised their children: whom, when they had openly led about through the city with the infants hanging at their breasts, they threw down headlong from the walls.

And others that had met together in caves that were near, and were keeping the sabbath day privately, being discovered by Philip, were burnt with fire, because they made a conscience to help themselves with their hands, by reason of the religious observance of the day.
- The Second Book of the Maccabees, 6:1-11

In order to consolidate his power in Jerusalem and Hellenize the area, the Greek king Antiochus IV Epiphanes outlawed Judaism and ordered the population to worship Zeus and the Hellenic pantheon. As this was anathema to the Jews, they refused, and Antiochus moved to enforce his religious decree by extreme force.

Some origin tales say that the dreidel was used at this time as a method by which the Jewish people were able to continue to study the Talmud in secret under the guise of gambling. Now, in addition to being a light gambling game, the dreidel is also a reminder of the strength, devotion, and perseverance of the Jewish people and the mercy of God.

One scent in four parts:

Nun, the Snake: nuun, nothing. Nahs, in modern Arabic, means bad luck. Represented by scents of loss and remembrance: opoponax and lemon verbena.

Gimel, the Camel: the Ship of the Desert. Represented by scents of abundance, fortitude, and determination: patchouli, heliotrope, pomegranate, and almond.

He, the Window: sometimes used to represent the Unutterable Name of God, this is the window in our souls through which God's light touches us. Represented by scents of clarity and piety: frankincense, myrtle, and hyssop.

Shin, the Tooth: also stands for Shaddai, one of the names of God. The hand formed into shin acts as a priestly blessing. Represented by scents of strength, generosity, kindness, and benediction: carnation, myrrh, red poppy, and hibiscus.

The essences of Nun, Gimel, He, and Shin are blended to become Nes Gadol Haya Sham.

Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours,
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze,
And cups o'erflow with wine;
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love,
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep's leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.

Shorten those tedious nights with a surge of body heat: vanilla-infused red musk, champaca, petitgrain, ylang ylang, patchouli, nutmeg, honey, galbanum, and traces of caramel.

You darkness, that I come from,
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes
a circle of light for everyone,
and then no one outside learns of you.
But the darkness pulls in everything;
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! —
powers and people —
and it is possible a great energy
is moving near me.
I have faith in nights.

An embrace: black poppy, lavender, thick black incense, black amber, rose geranium, Brazilian rosewood, and benzoin.

In dramatic contrast to the soft innocence of Snow White and the dew-kissed freshness of her sister, Rose Red, this is a blood red, voluptuous rose, velvet-petaled, at the height of bloom. Haughty and imperious, vain, yet incomparably lovely to the eye, but thick with thorns of jealousy, pride and hatred.

A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging!

In Latvia, the Ziemassvetki, or Winter Party, is a celebration of the birth of Dievs, the Sky God and Supreme Ruler of the Latvian pantheon. The two weeks prior to the Ziemassvetki is Ve?u laiks: the Season of Ghosts. Candles are lit to honor the gods and a fire is kept burning throughout the Season, burning away the unhappiness of the previous year so men's spirits can be renewed. At the feast of the Ziemassvetki, places are left as a courtesy to the ghosts, who arrive by sleigh.

A scent created to burn away sorrow: bergamot, frankincense, rose geranium, ginger, lemongrass, and blood orange.

Cold, cold forever more. A winter storm roaring through empty stone halls, bearing echoes of despair, desolation, and death on its winds. The scent of frozen, dormant vineyards, bitter sleet, and piercing ozone, hurled through labdanum, benzoin, and olibanum.

At Yule, Odin leads a divine hunting party through the heavens. On Yule Eve, children would fill their boots with sugar, carrots, and straw and place them by the chimneys for Odin's eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, to eat. To repay the children's kindness, Odin would refill the children's boots with sweets or small gifts.

Confections spun of hazelnuts, honey, elderberries, and bilberries with a dusting of hay and a bit of carrot.

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

The radiance and desolation of winter.

The Snow Maiden is the daughter of Spring and Frost: as lovely as the first snowfall, and as striking as a sliver of icicle. Isolated because of her chilly otherworldly nature, and unable to know love, she longed for the companionship and warmth of mortals. One bright, white winter's day, the Snow Maiden came upon a gentle, handsome shepherd named Lel. She grows fond of him, and beseeches Mother Spring to grant her the ability to feel. Her mother is moved by her daughter's plight, and blesses her, but the moment the Snow Maiden is struck by the depth of love she feels for Lel, her heart warms, and she melts.

A chilly, bright perfume: flurries of virgin snow, crisp winter wind and the faintest breath of night-blooming flowers.

This means war. A scent tight with delirious adrenaline. Muddy dirt and frost-covered moss from the trenches rubbed into winter clothes and snow impact overspray. This scent hits like the sting from those dang icy hard snowballs, the ones that have been packed too hard by someone who is not playing nice, nailing you right in the face.

Sane, sol et in cloacam radios suos defert nec inquinatur.

A radiant blend of solar oils: golden amber, saffron, heliotrope, hibiscus, citron, frangipani, frankincense, tangerine, mock orange, and orange blossom.

When the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
but radishes.

Lest the next few updates be dedicated solely to radishes, we've created this scent to keep the winter chrysanthemums alive. A gentle flurry of snow dusting the season's last chrysanthemums, illuminated by pale rays of winter's amber-tinted sunlight.

The Yule Cat is a gargantuan Icelandic feline that feasts on indolent people who shirk their community responsibilities. Don't be lazy! — idle hands make for a very unpleasant Yule!

Malevolent musk, a drop of infernal civet, vetiver, club moss, birch, goosefoot, and rowan.

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing — er — Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!

The Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire is here!

Welcome to Innsmouth, the Pearl of New England!

Every December, the Esoteric Order of Dagon hosts the Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire, a holiday marketplace at the former Masonic Temple at New Church Green in Innsmouth. Mayor Obed Marsh, may the Deep Ones bless his eternal governance, lights the community sacrificial pyre on the first of the month, and the festivities begin!

Amidst holiday entertainments, local artisans and craftspeople ply their wares. The Voices of Azathoth, our local children's choir, and the Servitor Flautists perform on the Grand Stage of Malignity throughout the month! "Dread Hymns Ancient and Modern" and the canonical cult scriptures are always lovingly reprinted and distributed by the kind folks at the Wilbur Whateley Memorial Library so that residents and visitors can sing and chant with the carolers, Esquimaux wizards, Louisiana swamp-priests, and local cultists. At midnight on Midwinter Eve, the liturgical play "the Adoration of the Mi-Go" is performed under the lights of a synathroesmus of iridescent globes by Arkham's world-famous acting troupe, the Haunters in the Dark, on the Great Stage.

Get ready for holiday parties and ritual feasts with the help of our local farmers, bakers, and candymakers! Every year since 1928, Mother Shub has set up her tempting pastry and confections stand, the Yule Goat, and this year is no exception! Mason & Jenkin's Pantry will be selling their home made preserves, and the Innsmouth Canning Company will be offering a selection of fresh fish, true to their motto: You Are What You Eat!

Shopping for holiday gifts is a breeze at the Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire! Old Man Ackerman, proprietor of Miskatonic Valley's renowned toy store and antiquities dealership, Elder Things, brings hand-crafted clockworks and tin machines that spout iridescent, prolately spheroidal bubbles to delight the wee ones. Old Man Ackerman's educational toys make non-Euclidean calculus fun! Curwen Imports brings a selection of exotic merchandise and antiquities from all over the globe and points beyond, including authentic 12th century illuminated manuscripts crafted by Bartolomeo Corsi. There's no better time to get a pet magah bird for little Billy or a new set of yellow Carcosan robes for yourself! Bargains galore!

(For the pleasure of the adults, the Black Temple Burlesque Troupe performs nightly through January at the Vault of Zin in Innsmouth's Red Light District.)

And that's just a sampling of what the Faire has to offer! Fun for the whole family! May this Yule season bring madness and the void's wild vengeance to all!

The time-honored ecclesiastical drama that illustrates the piety of the Fungi and First Coming of the Crawling Chaos to the majestic black stone terraces of Yuggoth! Recapture the magic!

Luminous, otherworldly wet and piquant odors mingling with black incense, the pitch-stench of Yuggoth, and fungal lichens.

Nothing warms the cockles like a mug of Mother Shub's egg nog! Goat's milk egg nog with coffee liqueur and spices imported from the Crimson Desert!

Fit for the finest oblation — and your holiday table, too! Sugar-sprinkled pepper nuts with a bit of cinnamon, a bit of clove, a little cardamom, and a hint of nutmeg.

A treat sure to please even the most finicky cultist! Tubular pastries oozing with spijs, glazed with apricot jam, and dotted with glace cherries.

Red and sticky! From a genuine Old Salem recipe!

Educational toys for tots! Learn non-Euclidean calculus, catoptric theory, quantum physics, and the mysteries of Elder magic the fun way! An ancient baetylus floating within an array of bizarre trapezoidal figures, glimmering tubes, rusting spheres, and whirling gogs formed from peculiar metals, glowing tektites, strangely suspended lead mirrors, and eerie driftings of meteoric dust.

As seen on tv!

A musical extravaganza of madness, terror, and woe! Twenty-three insane interstellar holiday hits from everyone's favorite amorphous toad pipers, including "Doom to the World" and "Here We Go to Sacrifice"!

A discordant scent, silvery and strange like a lunatic's tinsel garland: freesia, eucalyptus, and yuzu, with sicilian lemon, massoia, opoponax, night-blooming jasmine, white bergamot, and copaiba oleoresin.

Every kid wants a pet magah bird! A prism of scent, an explosion of multi-colored feathers: blood orange, black plum, sugar cane, guava, frangipani, coconut, pimento berry, violet, caramel, and pear.

THE BLACK TEMPLE BURLESQUE TROUPE Straight from the pits of black, lightless N'kai: the voluptuous bat-winged vixens of the Black Temple Burlesque Troupe!

Cacao, black musk, and tobacco absolute.

The Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire was illustrated the eldritch and diabolical Julie Dillon!

The next card in Neil Gaiman's Vampire Tarot is also here! — the Magician!

They asked St. Germain's manservant if his master was truly a thousand years old, as it was rumored he had claimed.

"How would I know?" the man replied. "I have only been in the master's employ for three hundred years.

Burmese rosewood, olibanum, benzoin, turmeric, currant leaf, and oude.

And finally, the latest addition to the GC — the District! A collaboration between Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, Black Phoenix Trading Post, and Molly Crabapple that benefits Habitat For Humanity: New Orleans!

Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense
Shame to Him Who Evil Thinks

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and Black Phoenix Trading Post are proud to present a scent series representing the people, places, and culture of New Orleans' Storyville, featuring artwork by the inimitable Molly Crabapple. Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab is pandering the perfumes, and Black Phoenix Trading Post is offering District-themed atmosphere sprays and a gorgeous District tee illustrated by Molly!

Lavish bordellos and shady cribs, dazzling jazz, and swinging saloons: bounded by Basin, Iberville, Robertson, and St Louis, Storyville, known to locals as the District, was New Orleans' legal red light district from 1897 to 1917.

This is a charitable, not-for-profit venture. Proceeds from every bottle go to Habitat for Humanity: New Orleans. Habitat for Humanity builds houses in partnership with sponsors, volunteers, communities, and homeowner families, whereby families are empowered to transform their own lives, and aids in eliminating poverty housing in the New Orleans area while serving as a catalyst to make decent shelter a matter of conscience and action.

Molly Crabapple is an award winning illustrator, and the founder of Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School. Molly has drawn for the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Marvel Comics, the Bloomberg Corporation, the Coagula Art Journal, and Playgirl, and she has illustrated eight books including Scarlett Takes Manhattan. She has also turned her talents to 30-foot theatrical backdrops, children's books, parade installations, burlesque posters, critically acclaimed webcomics, pornographic comic books, art writing, and gallery shows around the world. More about the lovely Miss Molly can be found through a feature on her in the Art & Design section of the New York Times.

Thank you, Molly, for inspiring this series!


Sophisticated, dramatic, well-traveled, glamorous, and worldly, Countess Willie V. Piazza, owner of the French Studio, was a trendsetter in style and fashion. Countess Willie was an educated woman, a patron of the arts, and possessed an impressive library of rare volumes. She featured many historic jazz musicians in her House, including Tony Jackson and Jelly Roll Morton. Unlike many of her counterparts, she was known for having a kind heart and a generous, loving nature. She was fiercely protective: when a patron of her establishment, the nephew of a prominent New Orleans cleric, committed a heinous act of sadism against one of her ladies, Countess Willie shot him dead.

Chocolate plum musk, red musk, amaretto, candied fruits, and red ginger.

Situated on of the lowest rungs in the Red Light District's hierarchy, the crib girls solicited from their windows and doorways, entertaining their clients in sparsely furnished, dingy two-room apartments.

Seven honeys under one unkempt roof, with fiery-tart cubeb and dusty cardamom.

Better known as the "Parisian Queen of America," needs little introduction in this country.

Emma's "House of all Nations," as it is commonly called, is one place of amusement you can't very well afford to miss while in the Tenderloin District. Everything goes here. Fun is the watchword.

Business has been on such an increase at the above place of late that Mdme. Johnson had to occupy an "Annex." Emma has never less than twenty pretty women of all nations, who are clever entertainers.

Remember the name,

Emma Johnson
331 and 333 Basin Street

Vanilla bourbon, tea rose, jasmine, pink pepper, and patchouli.

Everybody in the sporting world knows Miss Flora Meeker and she knows everybody worth knowing. So it is unnecessary at this time to make any introductory remarks about Miss Meeker, suffice it to say she is still at her same old place where she has been for a number of years past, doing a boss business which deserves, Miss Flora is well thought of by all and her house is patronized by the best element. Carnival visitors should not overlook this swell mansion where the cream of female loveliness will be found which is situated at No. 211 Basin avenue.

Miss Flora Meeker's Palace of Mirth

Sweet, wet fruits, sibilant Eastern musk, apple blossom, tuberose, calla lily, osmanthus, wild orchid, amber, and sandalwood.

The amiable, ebullient proprietor of the Mirror Ballroom, where Jelly Roll Morton got his first gig.

Miss Burt, while very young, is of a type that pleases most men of today — the witty, pretty, and natty — a lady of fashion.

Her managerial possibilities are phenomenal, to say the least, and her success here has proven itself beyond a doubt.

Miss Burt has been with us but a short while but has won all hearts. Her palace is second to none. It is good for one who loves the beautiful to visit Miss Burt's handsome palace. There are no words for the ladies — one can only realize the grandeur of feminine beauty and artistic settings after an hour or so in the palace of Hilma Burt.

Miss Burt, aside from having two handsome homes here, has one in St. Louis and one in Kansas City, Mo., where, it is said, she is as popular as in New Orleans.

Don't forget to converse with her, as she is very clever, jolly, and cultured.

205 N. Basin

Honeysuckle, Bulgarian rose, night blooming jasmine, sweet clove, cedarwood, black tea, and nectarine.

The brooding, raucous, and hot-blooded proprietress of the Château Lobrano d'Arlington, the gaudiest bordello in the District. Miss Josie had a true talent for hype, and promoted her ladies in an effusively romanticized, over-the-top fashion. La Belle Stewart, who was in actuality a circus hoochie koochie girl from Chicago, was billed as "a bona-fide baroness, direct from the court of St. Petersburg."

Heady magnolia and honeyed peaches.

The Diamond Queen. An expert showman and entrepreneur, the eccentric Miss Lulu was the Mistress of Mahogany Hall until 1917. She invested heavily, but not always successfully, and at the end of her career as a madam, wanted to fund production houses for the budding movie industry in California.

The 1934 Mae West film, "the Belle of the Nineties", was loosely based on Lulu's exploits.

Tobacco flower, white gardenia, bergamot, and bourbon geranium.

The Magician is $30 for the card and scent set, all scents in the District series are $25 per bottle, and all the Yules (including the Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire scents) are $17.50 each.

And that's it for now! Please stay tuned for the upcoming Black Phoenix Trading Post update!







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