Queen of Babylon by Prince Matchabelli (1928)

Queen of Babylon by Prince Matchabelli, launched in 1928 alongside its sister scent Queen of the Nile, emerged during an era when exoticism, ancient empires, and cinematic grandeur captivated the Western imagination. The name Queen of Babylon was a deliberate invocation of one of the most mythic and mysterious civilizations of the ancient world—Babylon, the fabled city of Mesopotamia, known for its splendor, decadence, and intrigue. Babylon had long been immortalized in biblical tales, historical texts, and Romantic art, and by the 1920s, it also enjoyed a prominent place in popular culture, with lavish Hollywood epics and grand stage productions bringing its mythical past to life. Films like Intolerance (1916), which depicted the fall of Babylon in opulent detail, left an indelible impression and likely helped shape public fascination with such themes.

By choosing the name Queen of Babylon, Matchabelli evoked an aura of power, sensuality, and transgression. The title conjures images of opulent palaces, cascading jewels, and a woman of formidable beauty—possibly Semiramis, the legendary Assyrian queen often (though incorrectly) associated with Babylon, who was mythologized as a powerful and seductive ruler. The word “Babylon” had by this time become synonymous with exotic excess and moral ambiguity, thanks in part to religious interpretations and popular media. Thus, describing the fragrance as “just a bit wicked” was a playful nod to this legacy—offering modern women a scent that suggested mystery, allure, and a delicious sense of rule-breaking sophistication.

Launched during the twilight of the Roaring Twenties, Queen of Babylon reflected the spirit of its time: a decade shaped by jazz-age rebellion, flapper fashion, and a marked shift toward liberated femininity. The 1920s woman was leaving behind Victorian restraint and stepping into modernity with daring hemlines, bobbed hair, and a newfound independence. Perfume, during this era, became an essential part of a woman's expression of self—no longer merely a luxury, but a symbol of identity. A fragrance with a “spicy and exotic odor” and the provocative name Queen of Babylon would have appealed to the woman who wished to project confidence and allure, to embody a sense of glamour touched with danger.

In olfactory terms, “Queen of Babylon” likely captured the popular fascination with the Orient and Near East, which had become a major theme in perfumery by the late 1920s. Spicy, resinous, and ambery notes would have dominated—evoking incense-filled temples, desert heat, and the richness of rare woods and spices. Compared to the more powdery floral or aldehydic scents also in vogue at the time, Queen of Babylon likely stood apart as a daring, sultry offering, part of the growing trend for orientals, but positioned with a particularly theatrical and regal flair.

In this way, Queen of Babylon was both of its time and subtly ahead of it: a perfume that played into the period’s cultural currents, while offering a narrative steeped in seduction, strength, and ancient luxury—a fantasy of empire bottled for the modern woman.

In 1930, The American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review and Theatre Magazine revealed a striking new quartet of fragrances from Prince Matchabelli, each with a distinct narrative and olfactory identity. These releases—Queen of the Nile, Queen of Babylon, Jungle Flower, and Damas—reflected both Matchabelli’s signature flair for drama and his deep understanding of market trends that favored exoticism, fantasy, and escapism during the interwar years.

The first two perfumes, Queen of Babylon and Queen of the Nile, were introduced as “rather spicy and exotic odors,” a description that placed them firmly within the burgeoning “Oriental” family of perfumery—characterized by warm, resinous, and often sensual notes. Their names were rich with imagery: the ancient empires of Mesopotamia and Egypt conjured visions of gold-draped queens, perfumed palaces, and opulence under desert skies. Their allure lay not only in their scent but in their storytelling—each fragrance acting as a kind of olfactory costume, transforming the wearer into a modern-day Cleopatra or Semiramis. These perfumes were presented in Matchabelli’s striking pyramid-shaped bottle, a design that visually reinforced the themes of antiquity and grandeur.

Queen of Babylon, in particular, was described in Theatre Magazine as “just a bit wicked,” with the ability to counterbalance the innocence of a “sweet” frock. This phrasing implies a perfume with a sultry, perhaps provocative edge—designed to empower the modern woman with a sense of mystery and daring. Meanwhile, Queen of the Nile promised a similarly spicy character, perfectly suited to colder evenings, adding warmth and drama to autumn wardrobes.

By contrast, Jungle Flower and Damas leaned into floral territory, though with different stylistic approaches. Jungle Flower—a lush, verdant fragrance—was noted in Theatre Magazine for its vivid portrayal of hyacinths, suggesting a fresh, heady scent designed to evoke tropical abundance and the wild beauty of untamed nature. It appealed to those who desired a romantic, garden-like fantasy captured in a bottle.

Damas, the final addition, stood apart visually from its siblings. While the other three were housed in the now-iconic pyramid flacon, Damas was introduced in a brand-new red and gold bottle—suggesting richness and possibly a more traditional floral character. The name itself, referencing Damascus, hinted at an Oriental inspiration as well, but perhaps with a softer, more romantic execution.

Together, these four fragrances underscored Prince Matchabelli’s theatrical approach to perfumery—each scent a stage piece with its own costume, setting, and heroine. The collection as a whole embraced the public's yearning for glamour, escapism, and individuality, while reflecting the prevailing fashion for exotic narratives in scent. These were not just perfumes; they were carefully crafted identities, offered at a time when scent had become an essential accessory in a woman's emotional and sartorial repertoire.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Queen of Babylon by Prince Matchabelli is classified as a spicy oriental fragrance for women. It was described as "just a bit wicked" and a "rather spicy and exotic odor."

• Top notes: aldehyde C-12, Calabrian bergamot oil, Seville bitter orange, Ceylon cinnamon leaf oil, Zanzibar clove bud oil, Russian coriander seed oil 
• Middle notes: Turkish damask rose absolute, Egyptian jasmine absolute, Moroccan orange blossom absolute, Comoros ylang ylang, Sudanese opoponax, Siam benzoin, South American tolu balsam
• Base notes: Andalusian labdanum, Indonesian patchouli, Virginian cedar, Austrian oakmoss, Abyssinian civet, ambergris, ambreine Canadian castoreum, Tibetan musk, musk ketone

Scent Profile:

As you unstopper the pyramid flacon of Queen of Babylon, the first impression is sharp, radiant, and mischievous—much like the mythical queen it honors. The perfume opens in a dramatic fanfare of aldehyde C-12, a bright, shimmering synthetic note that evokes the effervescence of air charged with electricity. This aldehyde lends a clean, metallic freshness, a contrast that highlights the opulence that follows.

Laced through this brightness is a citrus accord built on Calabrian bergamot oil, prized for its green, peppery brightness, and Seville bitter orange, which brings a drier, zestier edge. These Mediterranean citruses are not merely refreshing; they set the tone for the composition’s regal complexity. Warming the top immediately are the spices—Ceylon cinnamon leaf oil, with its greener, more astringent quality than the sweet bark variety; Zanzibar clove bud oil, pungent and deep, almost leathery; and Russian coriander seed oil, offering a subtle peppery sparkle with a hint of citrus and earth. The effect is an exotic flare—simultaneously invigorating and narcotic.

The heart of the perfume is lush and heady—Turkish damask rose absolute, dark and honeyed with hints of fruit and spice, blooming alongside Egyptian jasmine absolute, rich with indolic warmth. These flowers don’t behave with ladylike restraint—they unfold like sun-warmed petals in a hothouse, emboldened by Moroccan orange blossom absolute, which brings a slightly soapy, animalic sweetness, and Comoros ylang ylang, creamy, banana-like, and narcotic. Beneath this floral symphony is a resinous current: Sudanese opoponax (sweet myrrh), syrupy and bittersweet; Siam benzoin, with its vanilla-balsamic softness; and South American tolu balsam, warm, round, and faintly leathery—forming a bridge between the heart and the brooding base.

The base itself is a sensual tapestry of earth and skin. Andalusian labdanum unfurls in resinous waves, smelling like sun-heated leather and dry herbs. Indonesian patchouli, dark and damp, adds depth and richness without overwhelming, while Virginian cedar provides a drier, pencil-shavings-like woodiness. Austrian oakmoss imparts a cool, forest-floor dampness that tethers the scent to something natural and mysterious. The animalic trio of Abyssinian civet, Canadian castoreum, and Tibetan musk breathes primal warmth and animal magnetism—evocative, but never coarse. Ambergris, both marine and musky, melds with ambreine, a lab-created fixative, to prolong the scent's resonance, while musk ketone, a clean yet sultry synthetic musk, anchors the composition with a velvety echo.

Together, these notes create something that feels truly of another era: rich, unapologetic, seductive—but also finely crafted, with impeccable transitions between brightness and shadow. Queen of Babylon is a scent of power and poise, unapologetically exotic, evoking the gilded sensuality of imagined palaces and desert nights. It is, as described, “just a bit wicked”—not for the faint of heart, but for a woman who commands attention, just by walking into the room.

Bottles:

The Prince Matchabelli pyramid flacons are among the most elusive and collectible bottles in American perfume history. First appearing in 1929, these striking bottles were designed to embody both exotic allure and regal symbolism. Shaped as a perfect triangle with a rectangular base, they evoke ancient architectural forms—most notably the pyramids of Egypt—an intentional choice that reflected the perfume names they held: Queen of Babylon, Queen of the Nile, and Queen of Egypt, among others. The pyramid structure, rendered in deep amber glass, communicated a sense of luxury, permanence, and mystique.

Each flacon stands approximately 3.5 inches tall and is topped with a matching amber ground-glass stopper that completes the pyramid’s peak. The front panel is finely molded with the Prince Matchabelli family crest—an elegant detail that reinforces the aristocratic branding of the house. The base is acid-stamped “Made in France” and “Prince Matchabelli,” which suggests the bottles may have been produced in France, although the exact glassmaker remains uncertain. This French origin is notable, as it reinforces the brand’s aspiration toward European luxury standards, despite being based in New York.

Inside each flacon was ½ oz of parfum—a highly concentrated and long-lasting formulation. These bottles were filled with a range of Matchabelli’s prestige scents including Queen of Babylon, Queen of the Nile, Queen of Egypt, Ave Maria, Empress of India, Princess Marie, and single-note floral compositions such as Gardenia, Honeysuckle, Jasmin, Carnation, Mimosa, Muguet, and Lilas. At their launch, these perfumes sold for $5.00 per half ounce—a considerable sum in the late 1920s, reflecting the luxury positioning of the line.

However, by 1932, these bottles were being reduced to half price—a likely sign of changing consumer spending habits during the Great Depression. By 1935, the pyramid bottles had largely disappeared from the market, phased out entirely as Matchabelli modernized its packaging and focused on more streamlined, cost-efficient flacons. Today, surviving examples of these pyramid bottles are extraordinarily rare and highly sought after by collectors, especially when they retain their original labels and stoppers. Their sculptural shape, symbolic resonance, and the rich history of the perfumes they once held make them a captivating artifact of early American perfumery.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Queen of Babylon by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1928, part of a bold and imaginative wave of fragrances that embraced exoticism, historical fantasy, and theatrical glamour. At a time when perfumery was becoming increasingly influenced by far-off lands and ancient civilizations, Queen of Babylon was emblematic of the late 1920s fascination with Orientalist themes—rife with opulence, sensuality, and mystique.

This fragrance was released alongside Queen of the Nile, and both were described as “rather spicy and exotic” perfumes. Queen of Babylon, however, leaned into a slightly more daring characterization—it was advertised as “just a bit wicked,” the perfect olfactory counterpoint to an overly demure dress. The description suggests a scent rich with spices, resins, and florals, designed to seduce and embolden rather than merely adorn. Its classification as a spicy Oriental perfume places it firmly within a style that was becoming increasingly fashionable in the late 1920s and early 1930s—a time when perfumers were drawn to the deep warmth of opoponax, cinnamon, civet, and ambergris, paired with lush florals like rose and jasmine.

Still available on the market as late as 1936, Queen of Babylon had a respectable retail lifespan, especially considering the economic constraints of the Great Depression. Its continued presence speaks to its popularity and to Matchabelli’s commitment to keeping his most evocative creations accessible, even as luxury consumption declined. Though the exact discontinuation date is unknown, its phase-out appears to have coincided with a broader shift in Matchabelli’s marketing strategy and bottle design. Notably, the early Queen of Babylon parfum was housed in the rare pyramid flacons—rich amber-glass bottles marked “Made in France”—which were themselves being phased out by 1935.

Today, Queen of Babylon is remembered not just for its scent but for the era it represented: a time of theatrical femininity, fantasy-laced advertising, and perfumes designed to spark the imagination. Its name, imagery, and composition evoked the legendary decadence of ancient Mesopotamia, offering a touch of mystery and sensuality to the modern woman of the Jazz Age.