Coeur en Folie, launched by Les Parfums de Rosine in 1922 and formally introduced to a wider international audience at the 1925 Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris, was one of Paul Poiret’s boldest and most theatrical perfume creations. A collaboration between Poiret and Jacques de Brunhoff, the presentation for the perfume was inspired by the 1924 stage revue Cœurs en Folie (“Mad Hearts”), performed at the Folies Bergère—a show that blended decadence, fantasy, and sensuality, much like Poiret’s perfumes.
The name Coeur en Folie (pronounced kuhr ahn fo-LEE) translates literally to “Heart in Madness,” though it was also suggestively rendered at the time as “Heart on Fire.” In early 20th-century French slang, the phrase en folie carried risqué undertones—it was a term used in reference to animals "in heat." For a perfume to bear such a name during the 1920s was deliberately provocative, signaling passion, emotional abandon, and dangerous seduction. Poiret, always attuned to the interplay between scandal and style, understood how to use such language to market not just a scent, but a feeling of forbidden allure.
The early 1920s was a time of postwar exuberance. Women had emerged from wartime constraints into a world of greater social freedom, dancing in jazz halls, wearing shorter skirts, and exploring new identities through fashion and fragrance. Coeur en Folie would have appealed to this generation of liberated women—those who wanted their perfume to speak in bold notes, to whisper secrets of late nights and whispered kisses. The name alone suggested reckless romance and a kind of sensual danger that would have been irresistible to many.
Though no surviving formula has been published, Coeur en Folie was advertised as having a “dark red color,” similar to blood—a detail it shared with the earlier and more controversial Sang de France (1915). It is likely that Coeur en Folie either reused or was closely based on that earlier formula, which was described as “pungent.” From this, and from the time period, one might reasonably surmise that the perfume was a spicy floral, possibly centered around carnation and clove—ingredients often associated with warmth, intensity, and emotional boldness. Carnation, rich in eugenol, gives a peppery warmth to florals, while clove adds a dry, smoky bite—altogether forming a profile that feels intimate, even a little dangerous.
Within the context of perfumery in the early 1920s, Coeur en Folie would not have been unusual in its intensity—this was a period in which heavy orientals and florientals, rich with amber, spice, and animalic notes, were highly fashionable. What set it apart, however, was the deeply emotional narrative Poiret built around it: a perfume not just worn, but performed. It was not merely a scent; it was a declaration of passion, of madness, of the heart unbound.
Fragrance Composition:
So what does it smell like? I have no published notes on this composition, but it was most likely the same composition as the original used for Sang de France. Both were advertised as having a "dark red color" akin to blood. It was described as "pungent" so I would surmise it was a spicy floral perfume, most likely dominated by carnation and cloves.
- Top notes: bergamot, acacia, jonquil, neroli, rose geranium, pimento, petitgrain
- Middle notes: carnation, rose, jasmine, orange blossom, tuberose, orris, cinnamon, violet
- Base notes: ambergris, musk, vanilla, oakmoss, patchouli, styrax, tolu, benzoin, sandalwood, civet
Harper's Bazaar, 1916:
"Poiret, I hear has been forced to withdraw his new perfume Sang de France from the market. The authorities took exception to the bottle, which was in the shape of a heart; to the colour of the extract which was blood red; and to the name which brutally emphasized conditions as they are to-day in France."
Scent Profile:
As I uncork the deep red flacon of Coeur en Folie, the scent that rises is intense and immediate—an exhale of fire and flowers, like the perfumed breath of a long-forgotten theatre. The color of the perfume itself—red as garnet or blood—hints at what’s to come: something carnal, florid, and emotionally charged.
The first impression is a vivid spark of Calabrian bergamot, bright and slightly bitter, cutting through the air like the clink of crystal. It lends a green-citrus sharpness, softened quickly by the honeyed, powdery breath of acacia blossoms, which hover like pale yellow pollen in the air. Jonquil adds a narcotic lift—its scent intensely floral, but tinged with the breath of hay. A thread of Tunisian neroli runs through the top, rich with that green-white bitterness of orange flowers just about to bloom. Interwoven is the crisp, metallic brightness of rose geranium, with its lemony-rosy duality, lending an herbal aspect that tilts the opening toward complexity. Then—unexpected—pimento appears, with its warm, oily heat. The spice is subtle but insinuating, and coupled with petitgrain, which carries both green sharpness and woody depth, the top notes sizzle and settle like a volatile prelude to something far more decadent.
As the fragrance unfurls, the heart blossoms with commanding warmth. Carnation dominates—fiery, spicy, and full-bodied. This is not the demure flower of bouquets, but the kind laced with eugenol, a naturally occurring compound responsible for the clove-like note that defines vintage carnation perfumes. It is both medicinal and romantic, like crushed petals on hot skin. Damask rose, particularly if sourced from Bulgaria, adds a rounded richness—velvety and honeyed. The Grasse jasmine enters next, thick and indolic, its animalic whisper mingling with orange blossom and tuberose to create a white floral trio that is at once heady and faintly illicit. Florentine orris, with its soft, powdery-rooted earthiness, tempers the overt lushness. A trace of violet lends a green, metallic shimmer—its fleeting breath reminiscent of crushed leaves and sweet petals. Then comes cinnamon, warm and dry, brushing against the floral medley with its red spice, adding a lingering hum of warmth that reads as skin and smoke.
The base is where the true pulse of the perfume lies—deep, ambery, and unashamedly animalic. Ambergris, that rare gift of the sea, gives a saline softness and fixative power. Its pairing with natural musk and civet forms the backbone of the perfume’s sensuality—rich, musky, slightly dirty, like warmed skin after a waltz. Vanilla and benzoin bring sweetness—warm, resinous, and slightly leathery—never cloying, but rounded and smooth. Oakmoss, with its damp, forest-floor earthiness, balances the sweetness, grounding it. Patchouli, particularly from Indonesia, adds a woody-spiced darkness—like the faded velvet curtains of a turn-of-the-century theatre, perfumed by decades of performances. Styrax and tolu balsam lend smoky, resinous undertones—like incense burnt in secret. Finally, sandalwood from Mysore finishes the experience with its signature creamy, sacred warmth—resinous and woody, a whisper of India and temples.
The composition is cohesive, theatrical, and emotionally potent. Its spicy-floral structure leans into vintage glamour—pungent in the best sense: not sharp, but expressive. Aromachemicals such as eugenol and linalool would likely have been used to bolster the natural materials—adding both lift and longevity, while mimicking the carnation and jasmine in ways that made the scent radiate off fabric and skin, especially fur, which it was intended to cling to.
Altogether, Coeur en Folie would have smelled like a heart unchained—lush flowers and warm skin, red velvet and cloves, a perfume meant for drama, for memory, and for passion.
Bottles:
The presentation of Coeur en Folie is a triumph of theatrical design—an exquisite marriage of whimsy and romance that perfectly embodies the perfume’s name, which translates to “Mad Heart” or “Heart in Frenzy.” The flacon itself, originally introduced in 1915 for Sang de France, was reused in 1922 for this newer release, and remains one of the most visually compelling bottles of its era. Designed by the celebrated Julien Viard, the bottle is carved from radiant ruby red crystal, stylized into the anatomical shape of a human heart—rounded and full, as if flushed with emotion. Atop this vibrant vessel rests a delicate frosted crystal stopper, sculpted to resemble a pair of angelic wings—an ethereal touch symbolizing the heart’s flight toward its beloved. This evocative design was as poetic as it was visual, inviting wearers to dream, to remember, and to fall in love.
Two versions of the bottle were produced. The smaller size stands at just 1 3/5 inches tall, with a width of 2.75 inches at its fullest point, while the larger edition reaches 2.5 inches in height and nearly 2.5 inches across—both perfectly proportioned to fit in the hand like a talisman of passion. The bottles were likely manufactured by either Depinoix or Lefébure, both of whom frequently collaborated with Les Parfums de Rosine and were known for their mastery of luxury glasswork during the Art Deco period.
The perfume's packaging is no less enchanting. It came housed in a heart-shaped box covered in vivid red paper—bold, romantic, and unmistakably modern. Inside, the bottle rests gently within the base, encircled by a finely pleated ruffle that acts almost like a fabric embrace, adding an element of couture softness to the crystalline form. The lid of the box continues the thematic detailing, with the perfume’s name, Coeur en Folie, printed in a whimsical font, the letter “O” replaced by a heart, creating a seamless link between the name, the scent, and the presentation.
The entire concept was conceived in collaboration between Paul Poiret and Jacques de Brunhoff, the latter of whom would later become known for creating Babar the Elephant. Their shared vision was inspired by the 1924 stage production Cœurs en Folie—a theatrical fantasy filled with passion, madness, and romance. Every element of the presentation—from the heart-shaped bottle to the winged stopper and the coquettish box—was designed to speak directly to the emotions, to femininity, and to the inner drama of love. This was not merely packaging—it was a miniature stage set for a perfume conceived to play the lead in the romantic reveries of its wearer.
Honolulu Star Bulletin, 1925:
Coeur en Folie, folly of the heart, is the scent of fascinating mystery from Paul Poiret. This is put up in a whimsical heart-shaped flask."
Other Bottles:
1922 Rosine "Coeur en Folie" perfume bottle in clear glass, green glass stopper corded and sealed, with label, box, and advertising insert, in original tissue printed with all Rosine perfumes, outer card box, sealed in wrapper. 3 3/4 in. Photo by Perfume Bottles Auction
Fate of the Fragrance:
Coeur en Folie was officially launched in 1925, though the fragrance itself had first appeared under a different guise a decade earlier. Originally introduced as Sang de France in 1915, the composition was reimagined and presented anew under a more whimsical and emotionally charged title. The rebranding, along with a theatrical presentation and an evocative new name—Coeur en Folie ("Mad Heart" or "Heart in Frenzy")—was timed to coincide with the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris, a moment that defined the Art Deco era. It reflected Paul Poiret’s fascination with romance, performance, and luxurious visual storytelling.
Despite its dramatic flair and rich symbolism, Coeur en Folie, like all the fragrances in the Les Parfums de Rosine line, was ultimately discontinued in 1930 when Poiret's company closed. Changing tastes, the economic strain of the Great Depression, and Poiret's dwindling influence in fashion all contributed to the demise of the Rosine perfume house. However, remaining inventory of Coeur en Folie and other Rosine scents continued to be sold at steeply reduced prices for several years after the company’s closure. These discounted bottles occasionally appeared in American department stores and European parfumeries into the late 1930s, with some as late as 1941—tiny, poignant remnants of a glamorous era that had swiftly faded.
