Tear Bottles: Sentimental Gift or Genius Marketing Ploy?

In this guide, I will explore the origins and enduring fascination surrounding the fanciful tear bottle—a small vessel steeped in legend, sentiment, and scientific curiosity. The tear bottle, often imagined as a vessel used to collect and preserve tears of sorrow or joy, has inspired both romantic myths and scholarly debate. Throughout history, its graceful form has transcended pure function, symbolizing grief, devotion, and remembrance. Over time, however, the term tear bottle has also been used loosely, often applied to delicate scent, cosmetic, or unguent bottles—small glass containers that, while similar in appearance, were not necessarily intended for collecting tears.

Known by many names, this little vessel has been called the tear bottle, tear catcher, lapel bottle, tear vial, boot bottle, unguentaria, bosom bottle, or the classical term unguentarium. Each name reflects a particular interpretation or use—whether pinned to a garment, tucked into a boot, or placed near a tomb. The word lachrymatory (also spelled lacrymatory) comes from the Latin lacrima, meaning “tear,” and has been used since the 18th century to describe these miniature bottles, especially those found in ancient burial sites.

The tear bottle’s mystique lies in this blend of myth and material evidence. While legends suggest they once held the tears of mourners as tokens of love and loss, modern archaeology points toward their more practical function as containers for perfumed oils and ointments used in funerary rituals or daily grooming. Yet the emotional allure of the “tear catcher” persists, transforming a simple glass vessel into an emblem of human sentiment—a tangible link between sorrow, beauty, and remembrance.

Origin:

The earliest known literary reference to the concept of collecting tears in a vessel appears in the Old Testament of the Bible (King James Version). In Psalm 56:8, King David prays, “Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into Thy bottle; are they not in Thy book?” This verse, written over a thousand years before the birth of Christ, expresses a deeply poetic metaphor of divine compassion—God preserving the tears of human sorrow as a record of suffering and faith. Importantly, this passage does not refer to burial customs or physical tear vessels; rather, it symbolizes the spiritual idea of remembrance and the intimacy of divine care.

Another biblical passage often linked to the tear bottle appears in the New Testament, in Luke 7:37–38. The account tells of “a woman in the city, which was a sinner,” who brings an alabaster box of ointment to anoint Jesus. Standing behind Him, weeping, she “began to wash His feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head.” Some later interpretations suggest she may have poured out the contents of a tear bottle over His feet, though this is more an act of poetic imagination than historical evidence. The description most likely refers to her tears of repentance mingled with perfumed oils from her alabaster vessel. Pliny the Elder, writing in the first century, supports this interpretation, noting that “ointments keep best in alabaster boxes.”

While there are claims that tear bottles were used in ancient Egypt, there is no credible archaeological evidence supporting this. The Egyptians were indeed passionate about perfumes and cosmetics, and many beautifully crafted vessels have been unearthed in tombs and ruined cities—but these were intended for scented oils, unguents, and ceremonial cosmetics, not tears.

In Roman times, however, small glass vessels—often mistaken for tear bottles—became common in burial contexts. Legend holds that mourners filled these delicate containers with their tears and placed them in tombs as tokens of respect. Some even claim that professional mourners were paid to weep into these vessels, their wages reflecting the depth of their lamentation. Yet, this romanticized story is not supported by contemporary sources. The so-called “tear bottles” of the Roman era were, in reality, containers for perfumed oils or unguents, used during funerary rites and placed with the deceased as offerings. Over the centuries, the poetic symbolism of tears preserved in glass merged with these archaeological finds, giving rise to one of the most enduring and sentimental legends in the history of small perfume and cosmetic vessels.

Later Uses:

The so-called “tear bottles” that reappeared during the Victorian era have long been shrouded in romantic myth and sentimentality. Popular legend claims that mourners, particularly women grieving the loss of loved ones, collected their tears in small glass bottles with special stoppers designed to allow gradual evaporation. Supposedly, when the tears had fully evaporated, the mourning period would end—symbolizing acceptance and closure. During the American Civil War, stories circulated that women filled such bottles with tears shed for husbands or sons gone to battle, saving them until the men returned home as proof of their love and devotion.

In truth, however, these stories are purely apocryphal. The delicate flasks so often mistaken for “tear bottles” were in reality containers for perfumed vinegars, smelling salts, perfumes, and toilet waters, intended to scent handkerchiefs or revive fainting ladies. Many of these small vessels were designed to be worn on chatelaines, decorative chains suspended from a woman’s waist, which held useful objects like vinaigrettes, scissors, and scent bottles. The widely repeated claim that the evaporation of the tears marked the end of mourning is entirely false and has been perpetuated largely by modern internet lore.

Victorian mourning customs were highly ritualized, deeply influenced by Queen Victoria’s own mourning for Prince Albert, which lasted the remainder of her life. Her example set the tone for society: widows were expected to wear black for eighteen months, though in England this was often reduced to twelve before “half mourning” shades of grey, lavender, and mauve were permitted. These customs left no place for the idea of evaporating tears as a signal to end grief; mourning was dictated by strict social codes, not whimsy.

Another group of bottles frequently misidentified as “tear bottles” are the so-called throwaway bottles—long, narrow glass vials often decorated with gilded ornamentation. These were made to contain attar (otto) of rose, Oxford lavender, or similar perfume oils. The name “throwaway” reflects their practical purpose: when a woman purchased an attar bottle from a shop, she would pour its contents into her own ornate perfume bottle on her dressing table or into her chatelaine scent holder, discarding the simple retail vial. These utilitarian bottles were mass-produced and meant for everyday use, catering more to the middle and working classes than to the wealthy elite.

Originally, it was believed that such bottles were manufactured only in Germany and Bohemia, but further research has shown that many finely gilded examples originated in Turkey. These flacons were produced in the glasshouses of Beykoz, a village near the Black Sea on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, known for its long tradition of Islamic glassmaking. The industry was revived in the late eighteenth century when Sultan Selim III sent Dervish Mehmet Dede to Venice to study the art of glassmaking. Upon his return, Mehmet Dede established a workshop at Beykoz that became renowned for its “Beykoz işi” (Beykoz work)—beautiful glass goblets, bowls, and flasks made in both transparent and opaque forms, often richly gilded and enameled.

A Bulgarian historical review (1975) described the muskal, a small glass vial capable of holding 4.81 grams of attar of roses, an Arab measure equivalent to 24 karats of gold in value. These vials, elaborately decorated and sold in protective wooden cases, were distributed at fairs, spas, and apothecaries, never meant to be refilled—hence their “throwaway” designation. Early references appear as far back as 1804 in The Times (London) and in the 1830 New York Evening Post, which advertised “Otto of Roses, in small gilt bottles, warranted pure, put up in boxes of one dozen each.”

By the mid-nineteenth century, publications such as the Edgefield Advertiser (1856) described how rose oil, distilled in Hassanlik, Bulgaria, was transported to Constantinople in sealed copper vessels and then decanted into gilded glass bottles made expressly for the trade in Bohemia. These slender bottles, typically 7 to 8 inches in length, were hand-blown and fitted with stoppers featuring long daubers that reached near the base. They were cut and engraved with patterns such as spirals, crosshatching, ovals, and geometric lines, often finished with brightly colored enamels or rich gilding.

Contemporary trade and scientific journals provide further insight. The American Journal of Pharmacy (1868) noted that these gilt glass bottles, often sold as exotic souvenirs, were typically of German manufacture and sometimes filled not with genuine attar of roses but with less costly geranium oil tinted and perfumed to deceive the unwary traveler. Similarly, Good Housekeeping (1880) warned readers against purchasing so-called “Turkish Otto of Rose” from itinerant vendors, cautioning that such bottles usually contained adulterated oils. And in New Remedies (1880), the small gilt bottles were described as being filled in Constantinople with varying grades of oil, often labeled with English words like “Virgin” or “Optiss,” terms completely unknown in Turkish trade.

These richly decorated but inexpensive bottles were meant for perfume oils and rose attar, not tears. Over time, their delicate shapes and romantic appearance led later generations to mistake them for lachrymatories. In truth, their function was entirely practical—beautiful containers for one of the most valuable substances of the nineteenth century, attar of roses, and tangible reminders of the flourishing trade that connected Europe, the Ottoman Empire, and beyond.

Bulgarian historical review, 1975:

"The vial (muskal) is a glass container with a capacity of 4.81 grammes of attar of roses. It is an Arab measure and its value was equal to 24 karats of gold. The vials had different forms and decorations. To prevent them from breaking, they were laid in a wooden container."

These were sold at spas, fairs and shops and not made for refill, hence the name throwaway. The earliest mention I have found for them is in an 1804 newspaper, The Times (London).

Another early mention is from an 1830 New York Evening Post newspaper, "Otto of Roses, in small gilt bottles, warranted pure, put up in boxes of one dozen each."



Edgefield Advertiser, 1856:

"This oil is brought to Constantinople in hermetically sealed copper vessels, varying in size from those capable of holding an ounce to those which hold seven pounds, so that, at the regular market price, ($6 an ounce), one of these copper cases may be worth $50. The oil is worth six times its  weight in silver. The ordinary amount of oil produced in Hassanlik (in Bulgaria) is a little less than 3,000 pounds. At Constantinople the oil is put up in gilt bottles, manufactured expressly for the purpose in Bohemia."

 

American journal of pharmacy, 1868:

"Attar of rose is exported in large quantities in what are called cuncumas that is to say flat flasks of tinned copper having a short and narrow neck. These vary in capacity from 1 to 10 pounds they are sewed up in white cloth either at Kizanlik or when necessary at Constantinople sealed and provided with the Custom House ticket. Among the bottles must be mentioned the long angular little vials usually of minute capacity. These cut and gilded glass bottles in which attar is so often imported are said to be of German manufacture, which travellers bring home as presents after a journey in the East. They hold perhaps about fifteen drops of oil are tied over with bladder and red silk and what invests them with most value are sold in the bazaar to the unwitting traveler at a high price. They often contain simply a few drops of geranium oil, the bladder being smeared with a touch of attar."

Good Housekeeping, 1880:

"The otto, which many persons like to have lie amongst their clothing in small vials, should not be purchased except from dealers of well- known character. It is sometimes amusing to note how people, otherwise shrewd, will allow some Armenian in a red fez to sell them an article purporting to be genuine " Turkish Otto of Rose," and which, at the best, is doubtful. The long narrow cut and gilt bottles said to contain otto usually contain Turkish oil of rose geranium with perhaps a touch of otto just under the cap and are dear at any price asked by vendors of no responsibility. Even among large dealers in perfumes oils and extracts it takes a long experience to buy understandingly otto of rose musk or vanilla some one or two dealers in the larger cities making a of one of these articles and employing their own expert grade them."

New Remedies: An Illustrated Monthly Trade Journal of Material, Vol 9, 1880:

"Original Packages of Otto of Rose. Otto of rose is now generally imported in kunkumas, which are flattened round tin bottles sewed up in thick white woolen cloth, holding 1 to 10 lbs, and bearing a calico label inscribed in Turkish characters. The label should indicate the tare of the bottle in Turkish weights, the rough rule for calculating which is to take 10 drachms as equal to 1 oz English. The small, gilt, white glass bottles which are commonly the only original bottles known to retail druggists, are imported from Germany into Constantinople, and are there filled by the merchants. These also should bear a calico label indicating the tare in Turkish weights. The epithets "Virgin" and "Optiss" are of English origin they are quite unknown in Turkey, and seem to have no equivalents there. They are probably applied arbitrarily according to the vendor's belief in the purity of his samples. All gilt bottles of otto may be treated alike."

The Facts:

Because these slender, delicate bottles were so often discovered in ancient tombs and burial sites, early archaeologists and antiquarians of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries assumed that they must have been used to collect and store the tears of mourners. This poetic but unfounded interpretation led to the term lachrymatory, derived from the Latin lacrima, meaning “tear.” The image of grieving relatives filling small glass or ceramic bottles with tears to honor the dead appealed strongly to the romantic imagination of the Victorian era, when sentimentality and ritualized mourning were deeply ingrained in culture.

In reality, these bottles—whether made of glass, pottery, or alabaster—were most likely used to hold perfumed oils, ointments, or unguents, which played an important role in burial customs of ancient civilizations such as Rome, Greece, and Egypt. The practice of placing these vessels in tombs was associated not with tears, but with the preparation and anointing of the body for burial and with offerings meant to honor the deceased in the afterlife. Nonetheless, the misinterpretation endured because it so neatly fit the emotional ideals of later centuries.

The name lachrymatory persisted through generations of collectors and dealers who quickly realized the commercial appeal of the legend. Antique sellers and curio dealers recognized that invoking an air of sentiment and grief could elevate the perceived value of these otherwise modest vessels. Marketing a simple unguent bottle as a “tear bottle,” said to have held the sorrows of mourners from centuries past, made it infinitely more appealing to romantic buyers. The association with personal emotion and loss lent these artifacts an aura of intimacy and poignancy that resonated with collectors—particularly during the Victorian period, when mourning customs and emotional expression were treated with deep reverence.

Thus, the enduring myth of the tear bottle owes much to this early scholarly misunderstanding and to the power of sentimental storytelling in the antique trade. The name “lachrymatory,” though historically inaccurate, remains one of the most evocative examples of how romanticism can shape both scholarship and commerce—transforming simple vessels for perfume or oil into enduring symbols of love, loss, and human emotion.

Reality:

Scientific investigation has finally shed light on the true purpose of these slender flasks, dispelling the centuries-old romantic notion that they were designed to capture the tears of mourners. Chemical analyses performed on surviving examples revealed traces of oils, perfumes, and aromatic essences, rather than saltwater from human tears. The results confirmed that these small pottery or glass vessels were practical containers, intended to hold inexpensive essential oils used for personal grooming, scenting handkerchiefs, or as modest offerings in burial rites. In contrast, more costly oils—rose, jasmine, or attars imported from the East—were stored in far more elaborate bottles befitting their value, often gilded, enameled, or cut glass.

Despite this scientific clarification, the romantic allure of the “tear bottle” has persisted, particularly in the antique market. The idea of owning a vessel that once held the grief of the bereaved strikes a powerful chord with collectors and enthusiasts, lending an air of intimacy and mystery to otherwise ordinary flasks. This enduring myth continues to influence modern marketing: antique dealers often describe these items as lachrymatories, emphasizing their symbolic connection to human emotion rather than their actual utilitarian purpose. It is this combination of history, myth, and visual charm that ensures their continued fascination and desirability today, even when their original function was purely practical.

Further reading:

• Perfume and Scent Bottle Collecting by Jean Sloan 
• Millers Perfume Bottles by Madeleine Marsh 

Modern Bottles...

Happ & Stahn’s, launched in 2010, was a carefully curated fragrance brand created as part of the Victorian Era Fragrance Collection exclusively for Anthropologie, in collaboration with Interparfums. The line was designed to evoke the romance and elegance of the Victorian period, capturing the era’s fascination with delicate perfumes and ornamental flacons. Each fragrance was presented in a “tear catcher” styled bottle, its form reminiscent of historical Victorian scent vessels, yet updated for modern functionality with a spray mechanism. The bottles were adorned with gold foil accents and delicate embellishments, giving them a sense of luxury and artistry that honored the romanticized notion of Victorian perfumery. The design, conceived by Laura Suzanne Foote, was so exceptional that it won the 2011 HBA Best Packaging Design Award, cementing the collection’s reputation as a visually striking and collectible line.

The collection comprised four evocative fragrances, each tied to a year in history to suggest a narrative of floral and botanical inspiration. 1842 Rosa Alba conjures the delicate, early Victorian white roses of England; 1883 Fleurs de Giverny recalls the flowering gardens immortalized by Monet in the late 19th century; 1922 Lily Noir evokes the twilight elegance of the interwar period; and 1933 Jasmine Riviera captures the sun-drenched floral sophistication of the French Riviera in the 1930s. Each bottle featured a unique decoration at the tip of its cap, a subtle nod to the era’s love of ornamentation and individuality in design, while the clear, elegant flacon allowed the perfume inside to shine like a jewel. Collectively, the line married historical inspiration, modern practicality, and collectible artistry, making it both a sensorial and visual delight.