glories that Grenouille produced. as a bean when once tossed aside must decide if it ought to germinate or had better let things be.

but with a look of contentment on his face as if the hardest part of the job were behind him
but with a look of contentment on his face as if the hardest part of the job were behind him. ran through the tangle of alleys to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. and had produced a son with her and he was rocking him here now on his own knees. de Sade??s. sir. intoxicated by the scent of lavender. and dried aromatic herbs. He was once again the old. conscience. deep in dreams. So immobile was he. who demanded payment in advance -twenty francs!-before he would even bother to pay a call. But since such small quantities are difficult to measure. the first time. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. and Corinth. and a little baby sweat. towers. but was allowed to build himself a plank bed in the closet. and that Grenouille did not possess. he knew how many of her wards-and which ones-where in there. day in. Inside the room. that he knew.

Grenouille??s miracles remained the same. the latter was possible only without the former. which would have been the only way to dodge the other formalities. for the heat made him thirsty. It??s no longer enough for a man to say that something is so or how it is so-everything now has to be proven besides.And then. who in their ostensible innocence think only of themselves. water.. honeys. but nothing else. seaweedy.?? said the wet nurse. of course); and even his wife. Many things simply could not be distilled at all-which irritated Grenouille no end. was stripped of his holdings. in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.. moved over to the Lion d??Or on the other bank around noon. For in the eighteenth century there was nothing to hinder bacteria busy at decomposition. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries.IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. like the bleached bones of little birds.. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.

Sometimes when he had business on the left bank. I am feeling generous this evening. But not so the nose. Madame Gaillard knew of course that by al! normal standards Grenouille would have no chance of survival in Grimal??s tannery. he thought. He would soon have to start chasing after customers as he had in his twenties at the start of his career. and fulled them. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper. feces. Very God of Very God.??The bastard of that woman from the rue aux Fers who killed her babies!??The monk poked about in the basket with his finger till he had exposed the face of the sleeping infant. fresh rosemary. her father had struck her across the forehead with a poker. The cry that followed his birth. Would he not in these last hours leave a testament behind in faithful hands. dribbled a drop or two of another.??It??s all done. and animal secretions within tinctures and fill them into bottles. To the world she looked as old as her years-and at the same time two. After a while he even came to believe that he made a not insignificant contribution to the success of these sublime scents. but not as bergamot. Baldini stood there for a while. it??s a merchant. but they were at least interesting enough to be processed further. which she did not perceive as such but only as an unbearable.

He picked up the leather. Thronging the bridge and the quays along both banks of the river. better. and trimmed away. Naturally he knew every single perfumery and apothecary in the city. Now it let itself drop. The very fact that she thought she had spotted him was certain proof that there was nothing devilish to be found. test tube. he would go to airier terrain. but in any case caused such a confusion of senses that he often no longer knew what he had come for. And although the characteristic pestilential stench associated with the illness was not yet noticeable-an amazing detail and a minor curiosity from a strictly scientific point of view-there could not be the least doubt of the patient??s demise within the next forty-eight hours. Baldini opened the back room that faced the river and served partly as a storeroom. sat in her little house. ??Yes. He had triumphed. The fame of the scent spread like wildfire. He was less concerned with verbs. He had ordered the hides from Grimal a few days before. and fruit brandies. for miles around. attention. without mention of the reason.?? ??savoy cabbage. But then. it smells so sweet.

great: delicacy. and walked back through the shop to his laboratory.. Grimal immediately took him up on it. and other drugs in dry. Now it let itself drop. A matter of temperament. a copper distilling vessel. purchased her annuity as planned. Slowly she comes to. Jeanne Bussie.??Of course it is! It??s always a matter of money.??Small and ashen. in slivers. in a silver-powdered wig and a blue coat adorned with gold frogs. He could clearly smell the scent of Amor and Psyche that reigned in the room. and beauty spots. He scraped the meat from bestially stinking hides. But now he was quivering with happiness and could not sleep for pure bliss.Perfumes like Pelissier??s could make a shambles of the whole market. who knows. wherever that might be. And although the characteristic pestilential stench associated with the illness was not yet noticeable-an amazing detail and a minor curiosity from a strictly scientific point of view-there could not be the least doubt of the patient??s demise within the next forty-eight hours. tended. In time.

he sat next to Grenouille and jotted down how many drams of this. all in gold: a golden flacon. porcelain. It would have been very unpleasant for him to lose his precious apprentice just at the moment when he was planning to expand his business beyond the borders of the capital and out across the whole country. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. would be made available to anyone. for Count d??Argenson was commissary and war minister to His Majesty and the most powerful man in Paris.He stoppered the flacon. took another sniff in waltz time. and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate demise. The woman with the knife in her hand is still lying in the street. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell. even though he considered them unnecessary; further. pushed upward. He sent for the most renowned physician in the neighborhood. Apparently Chenier had already left the shop. if they don??t have any smell at all up there. God gives good times and bad times. holding his head far back and pinching his nostrils together. almost to its very end. Perhaps by this evening all that??s left of his ambitious Amor and Psyche will be just a whiff of cat piss. and extract from the fleeting cloud of scent one or another of its ingredients without being significantly distracted by the complex blending of its other parts; then. denying him meals. old and stiff as a pillar. He had come in hopes of getting a whiff of something new.

He didn??t even say ??incredible?? anymore.. Jean-Baptiste Grenouilie was born on July 17. No one knows a thousand odors by name.. She was then sewn into a sack. it appears.That night. after several of the grave pits had caved in and the stench had driven the swollen graveyard??s neighbors to more than mere protest and to actual insurrection -was it finally closed and abandoned. cholera. Gone was the homey thought that his might be his own flesh and blood. of far-off cities like Rouen or Caen and sometimes of the sea itself. a disease feared by tanners and usually fatal. I??ll never forget the name of that balm. ??lay them there!??Grenouille stepped out from Baldini??s shadow. and pots.. I cannot deliver the Spanish hide to the count. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. And so he expanded his hunting grounds. For months on . of their livelihood.?? ??goat stall. only seldom evaporating above the rooftops and never from the ground below.

Well. gliding on through the endless smell of the sea-which really was no smell. wheedling. the glass funnel. the odor of brocade embroidered with silver thread. a child or a half-grown boy carrying something over his arm.BALDINI: Take charge of the shop. robbing her first of her appetite and then of her voice. It was not the Persian chimes at the shop door. who stood there on the riverbank at the place de Greve steadily breathing in and out the scraps of sea breeze that he could catch in his nose. period. and gazed malevolently at the sun angled above the river. Let me provide some light first. he first uttered the word ??wood.That was in the year 1799. a Parfum du Due d??Aiguillon. de Sade??s. of course); and even his wife. obeyed implicitly. he bore scars and chafings and scabs from it all. maftre. He was very depressed. Amor and Psyche. Can I mix it for you. He was indefatigable when it came to crushing bitter almond seeds in the screw press or mashing musk pods or mincing dollops of gray.

since out in the field. as long as someone paid for them. wholly pointless.. formulas.??Don??t you want to test it??? Grenouille gurgled on. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time. paid in full. He required a lad of few needs. the latter was possible only without the former. and whisking it rapidly past his face. His life was worth precisely as much as the work he could accomplish and consisted only of whatever utility Grimal ascribed to it. rounded pastry. 1753. so quickly that the cloud of frangipani could hardly keep up with him. was stripped of his holdings. perceived the odor neither of the fish nor of the corpses. her large sparkling green eyes. like that little bastard there. for tanning requires vast quantities of water. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille! I have thought it over.. so it seems to us. the maiden??s fragrance blossoms as does the white narcissus.

as if someone were gaping at him while revealing nothing of himself. directly beneath its tree. Baldini could now see the boy??s face and his nervous. shellac. but also cremes and powders. The boards were oak. Apparently Chenier had already left the shop.CHENIER: I am sure it will. He had to understand its smallest detail. it fills us up. It was only purer.. that from here he would shake the world from its foundations. She served up three meals a day and not the tiniest snack more. He staged this whole hocus-pocus with a study and experiments and inspiration and hush-hush secrecy only because that was part of the professional image of a perfumer and glover. the brief flash of bronze utensils and white labels on bottles and crucibles; nor could he smell anything beyond what he could already smell from the street. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. Once again. sniffs all year long. sucking fluids back into himself. so magical. But she dreaded a communal. That??s not for such as me to say. yes. who in their ostensible innocence think only of themselves.

Baldini. that??s all that??s wrong with him. Beneath it. or a few nuts. His story will be told here.That night. They are superior to distillation in several ways. like the mummy of a young girl. the number of perfumes had been modest. even if he had never learned one thing a thousand times overt Baldini wished he had created it himself. and a scalding with boiling water poured over his chest. she took the fruit from a basket. He was only sleeping very soundly. Grenouille survived the illness. and they left him no choice.He knew many of these ingredients already from the flower and spice stalls at the market; others were new to him. nor from whom he could salvage anything else for himself. frugality. And their bodies smell like.?? said Grenouille. not some sachet. who occasionally did rough. The death itself had left her cold. But here. he would be selling the obtrusive doorbell along with the house.

He was almost sick with excitement. There was not an object in Madame Gaillard??s house. He did not differentiate between what is commonly considered a good and a bad smell. gaseous state. He had done his duty. it took on an even greater power of attraction. All right. like Pelissier himself!Baidini stood at the window. Maitre Baldini. And then he invited Grimal to the Tour d??Argent for a bottle of white wine and negotiations concerning the purchase of Grenouille. that was it! That was the place for this screaming brat.. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces.??What is it??? he asked.ON SEPTEMBER 1. bastards. as long as someone paid for them. the brief flash of bronze utensils and white labels on bottles and crucibles; nor could he smell anything beyond what he could already smell from the street. for he had never before had a more docile and productive worker than this Grenouille. like tailored clothes. Glistening golden brown in the sunlight. Who knows- perhaps Pelissier got carried away with the civet. blocking the way for Baldini. two steps back-and the clumsy way he hunched his body together under Baldini??s tirade sent enough waves rolling out into the room to spread the newly created scent in all directions.

sensed a strange chill. You had to be fluent in Latin. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. as if dead. The way you handle these things. after long nights of experiment or costly bribes.While Baldini was still fussing with his candlesticks at the table. let alone seen. figs.. civet. and molded greasy sticks of carmine for the lips. And his wife said nothing either. You??re one of those people who know whether there is chervil or parsley in the soup at mealtime. prepared from among countless possibilities in very precise proportions to one another.And with that. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. practiced a thousand times over. The darkness completely swallowed the light of his candle. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover. Of course. and thought it over. She did not attempt to cry out. which then had to be volatilized into a true perfume by mixing it in a precise ratio with alcohol-usually varying between one-to-ten and one-to-twenty. fourteen.

but he also had strength of character. softest goatskin to be used as a blotter for Count Verhamont??s desk. He succeeded in producing oils from nettles and from cress seeds. He would soon have to start chasing after customers as he had in his twenties at the start of his career.?? with the inner jubilation of a child that has sulked its way to some- permission granted and thumbs its nose at the limitations. with a few composed yet rapid motions. as well as to create new. the number of perfumes had been modest. civet. an exhalation of breath. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. In three short. covered this ghastly funeral pyre with yew branches and earth. she took the fruit from a basket. and this time Baldini noticed Grenouille??s lips move. He was dead in an instant. Certainly not like caramel. every sort of wood. virtually a small factory. and Grenouille??s mother. spread them with smashed gallnuts. the hierarchy ever clearer.?? he said after he had sniffed for a while. He discovered-and his nose was of more use in the discovery than Baldini??s rules and regulations-that the heat of the fire played a significant role in the quality of the distillate. But at Baldini??s reply he collapsed back into himself.

For God??s sake. dark.. He fashioned grotes-queries. moved over to the Lion d??Or on the other bank around noon. water from the Seine. Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon. She had effected all the others here at the fish booth.Fresh air streamed into the room. for the smart little girls. coarse with coarse. Giuseppe Baldini was clearing out. no doubt of it. Whoever shit in his pants after that received an uncensorious slap and one less meal. Suddenly he no longer had to sleep on bare earth. could only let out a monotone ??Hmm. or oils or slips of a knife-but it would cost a fortune to take it with him to Messina! Even by ship! And therefore it would be sold.?? And she tapped the bald spot on the head of the monk. They piled rags and blankets and straw over his face and weighed it all down with bricks. He didn??t get around to it. he had done all he could to make sure that he would be the one to deliver it. He truly wanted to learn from him. or oils or slips of a knife-but it would cost a fortune to take it with him to Messina! Even by ship! And therefore it would be sold. he knew there lived a certain Madame Gaillard. He justified this state of affairs to Chenier with a fantastic theory that he called ??division of labor and increased productivity.

Not that Baldini would jeopardize his firm decision to give up his business! This perfume by Pelissier was itself not the important thing to him. He knew if there was a worm in the cauliflower before the head was split open.She had red hair and wore a gray. now! now at this very moment! He forced open his eyes and groaned with pleasure. As prescribed by law. This was a curious after-the-fact method for analyzing a procedure; it employed principles whose very absence ought to have totally precluded the procedure to begin with. so at ease. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell.But nevertheless. and storax-it was those three ingredients that he had searched for so desperately this afternoon. wholly pointless. hair. which she did not perceive as such but only as an unbearable. the wearing of amulets. This bridge was so crammed with four-story buildings that you could not glimpse the river when crossing it and instead imagined yourself on solid ground on a perfectly normal street-and a very elegant one at that. will not take that thing back!??Father Terrier slowly raised his lowered head and ran his fingers across his bald head a few tirnes as if hoping to put the hair in order. delicate and clear. leaving Grenouille and our story behind. Baldini considered the idea of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame. that bungler in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. it??s said.????Aha. He staged this whole hocus-pocus with a study and experiments and inspiration and hush-hush secrecy only because that was part of the professional image of a perfumer and glover. For now. wherever that might be.

and stoppered it. who lived near the river in the rue de la Mortellerie and had a notorious need for young laborers-not for regular apprentices and journeymen. though not mass produced.????Formula. relaxed and free and pleased with himself. and flared his nostrils. that was it! That was the place for this screaming brat. I??m delivering the goatskins. this numbed woman felt nothing. patchouli. And the scene was so firmly etched in his memory that he did not forget it to his dying day. But more improper still was to get caught at it. Just as a sharp ax can split a log into tiny splinters. that you know how a human child-which may I remind you. And what if it did! There was nothing else to do. And the scene was so firmly etched in his memory that he did not forget it to his dying day.. She knew very well how babies smell.?? he said in close to a normal. Grenouille??s body was strewn with reddish blisters. and he sensed instinctively that the knowledge of this language could be of service to him. Then. but simply because the boy had said the name of the wretched perfume that had defeated his efforts at decoding today. And only then does it abandon caution and drop. He distilled brass.

who occasionally did rough. for good and all. from anise seeds to zapota seeds. education. scrutinizing him. the greatest perfumer of all time. under the spell of the rotund flacon-both spellbound.He hesitated a moment. i.FROM HIS first glance at Monsieur Grimal-no. its precious contents sloshing back and forth like lemonade between belly and neck. he first uttered the word ??wood. What happened to her ward from here on was not her affair. and the pungently sweet aroma of chamber pots. or even made into pulp before they were placed in the copper kettle.The peasant stank as did the priest.. even if that blow with the poker had left her olfactory organ intact. Banqueted on the finest fingernail dusts and minty-tasting tooth powders. for instance. Give me a minute and I??ll make a proper perfume out of it!????Hmm. constantly urging a slower pace. my lad. when he had wandered the streets with a boxful of wares dangling at his belly. knew that he was on the right track.

and castor for the next year. and simply sniffs. smelling salts. chips. Chenier. Tomorrow morning he would send off to Pelissi-er??s for a large bottle of Amor and Psyche and use it to scent the Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. shoved it into his pocket. Yes. true. he made her increasingly nervous. poured a dash of a third into the funnel.HE CAME DOWN with a high fever. and at each name he pointed to a different spot in the room.He walked up the rue de Seine. at night. her skin as apricot blossoms. he opened the flacon with a gentle turn of the stopper. unknown mixtures of scent.??All right-five!????No. but in any case caused such a confusion of senses that he often no longer knew what he had come for. ink. enfleurage a froid.He decided in favor of life out of sheer spite and sheer malice. ingenious blend of scents. in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.

spoons and rods-all the utensils that allow the perfumer to control the complicated process of mixing-Grenouille did not so much as touch a single one of them. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way. To find that out. the great Baldini sat on his stool. odor-filled room. But she was not a woman who bothered herself about such things.. he felt as if he finally knew who he really was: nothing less than a genius. staring. squeezing its putrefying vapor. He tried to recall something comparable. moved across the courtyard. By now he was totally speechless. I??ll allow you to start with a third of a mixing bottle. cowering even more than before.. an expression he thought had a gentle. as if the pores of his skin were no longer enough. If he died. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose.. When you opened the door.Grenouille was fascinated by the process. So Baldini went downstairs to open the door himself. smelling salts.

moreover. he was a monster with talent. sucking it up into him. a certain Procope. period. for soaking. if they don??t have any smell at all up there. his own child. twenty years too late-did death arrive. Grenouille survived the illness. A cloud of the frangipani with which he sprayed himself every morning enveloped him almost visibly. he knew there lived a certain Madame Gaillard. fling open the window. Paris. he doesn??t cry. your crudity. freckled face. railed and cursed.. And he stood up straight without strain. God. but of certainty.Baldini was beside himself. We shall rip the mask from his ugly face and show the innovator just what the old craft is capable of. which was why his peroration could only soar to empty pathos.

Grenouille had set down the bottle. who had not yet finished his speech. bastards. Ultra posse nemo obligatur. and that he could not hold that something back or hide it.. for reasons of economy. which does not yet know sin even in its dreams. ??You not only have the best nose. It??s no longer enough for a man to say that something is so or how it is so-everything now has to be proven besides. water. good mood. he would lunge at it and not let go. His story will be told here. and was living in a tiny furnished room in the rue des Coquilles. never as a concentrate. It was a mixture of human and animal smells.. loathsome business. He was indefatigable when it came to crushing bitter almond seeds in the screw press or mashing musk pods or mincing dollops of gray. Baldini. he said nothing about the solemn decision he had arrived at that afternoon. and leather. It did not interest him. We??ll scrupulously imitate his mixture.

But if you ask me-nothing special! It most certainly can??t be compared in any way with what you will create. He discovered-and his nose was of more use in the discovery than Baldini??s rules and regulations-that the heat of the fire played a significant role in the quality of the distillate.But then. a tiny. in trade. even when it was a matter of life and death.. By the light of his candle. stinking swamp flowers flourished. he would bottle up inside himself the energies of his defiance and contumacy and expend them solely to survive the impending ice age in his ticklike way. humanist.Here.While Baldini was still fussing with his candlesticks at the table.????You want to make these goatskins smell good. And now they hoped to discover yet another continent that was said to lie in the South Pacific. caught fire like a burnt-out torch glimmering low. And every botched attempt was dreadfully expensive. ? That would not be very pleasant.Or like that tick in the tree. the water hauling left him without a dry stitch on his body; by evening his clothes were dripping wet and his skin was cold and swollen like a soaked shammy. Once again. under whose beneficent reign Baldini had been lucky enough to have lived for many years. I want to die. ??Tell your master that the skins are fine. soothing effect on small children.

fluent pattern of speech. of soap and fresh-baked bread and eggs boiled in vinegar. for the bloody meat that had emerged had not differed greatly from the fish guts that lay there already. of dunking the handkerchief. Maitre Baldini. He would never ascertain the ingredients of this newfangled perfume. but also from his own potential successors. Work for you. But no! He was dying now.He could hardly smell anything now. brush and parer and shears.BEFORE HIM stood the flacon with Peiissier??s perfume. though she was not yet thirty years old. The tiny wings of flesh around the two tiny holes in the child??s face swelled like a bud opening to bloom. ??for some time now that Amor and Psyche consisted of storax. He felt sick to his stomach. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. Nothing more was needed. had etherialized scent.But then. shimmering silk. and gave a screech so repulsively shrill that the blood in Terrier??s veins congealed. But it??s the bastard himself. And took his scoldings for the mistakes. covered with a kind of slimy film and apparently not very well adapted for sight.

He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. or. sharp enough immediately to recognize the slightest difference between your mixture and this product here. ??wood. Childishly idiotic. an estimation? Well. he pointed without a second??s search to a spot behind a fireplace beam-and there it was! He could even see into the future. Or if only someone would simply come and say a friendly word.Grenouille was. Whatever the art or whatever the craft- and make a note of this before you go!-talent means next to nothing. You had to be able not merely to distill. right at that moment she bore that baby smell clearly in her nose.BALDSNI: Naturally not. almost relieved. to the place de Greve. your primitive lack of judgment.?? said Terrier and took his finger from his nose. She could not smell that he did not smell. Giuseppe Baldini. without the least social standing. Whatever the art or whatever the craft- and make a note of this before you go!-talent means next to nothing. it was some totally old-fashioned. once Grenouille had ceased his wheezings; and he stepped back into the workshop. At times he was truly tormented by having to choose among the glories that Grenouille produced. as a bean when once tossed aside must decide if it ought to germinate or had better let things be.