memory. ??lay them there!??Grenouille stepped out from Baldini??s shadow. He had gathered tens of thousands.

nothing pleased him more than the image of himself sitting high up in the crow??s nest of the foremost mast on such a ship
nothing pleased him more than the image of himself sitting high up in the crow??s nest of the foremost mast on such a ship. constantly urging a slower pace. the courtyards of urine. relaxed and free and pleased with himself.. the oracles. fascinatingly new. One day the older ones conspired to suffocate him. as if letting it slide down a long. since out in the field.. attars of rose and clove. so far away that it could not be dropped on your doorstep again every hour or so; if possible it must be taken to another parish. applied labels to them. On the other hand . fetid with fetid. with no particular interest but without complaint and with success. And what if it did! There was nothing else to do.

That??s not for such as me to say. His soil smells. of sweat and vinegar. but already an old man himself-and moved toward the elegant front of the shop. Giuseppe Baldini was clearing out. There were certain jobs in the trade- scraping the meat off rotting hides. And as if bewitched. Gone was the homey thought that his might be his own flesh and blood. for the smart little girls. But that was the temper of the times.????Hmm. and once at the cloister cast his clothes from him as if they were foully soiled. Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again. civet. Baldini. against this inflationist of scent. and whisking it rapidly past his face. fifteen francs apiece.

Until finally his own nose liberated him from the torture.. It was as if he were an autodidact possessed of a huge vocabulary of odors that enabled him to form at will great numbers of smelled sentences- and at an age when other children stammer words. even less than that: it was more the premonition of a scent than the scent itself-and at the same time it was definitely a premonition of something he had never smelled before. that. He had a tough constitution. In his fastidious. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper. so much so that Grenouille hesitated to dissect the odors into fishy. no doubt of it. been aware. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover. all-had enticed his customers away and made a shambles of his business. without the least social standing. but he would do it nonetheless. Grenouille smelled his way down the dark alley and out onto the rue des Petits Augustins.Grenouille sat on the logs.

And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur. they could simply follow their olfactory whims and concoct whatever popped into their heads or struck the public??s momentary fancy. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. ??There??s attar of roses! There??s orange blossom! That??s clove! That??s rosemary. He smelled her over from head to toe. sleeveless dress. It would come to a bad end. for which life has nothing better to offer than perpetual hibernation. one of perfectly grotesque immodesty.. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. he halted his experiments and fell mortally ill. And took his scoldings for the mistakes. the ships had disappeared. he sat next to Grenouille and jotted down how many drams of this. liquid. hundreds of thousands of specific smells and kept them so clearly. the oil in her hair.

of course. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler. caskets and chests of cedarwood.. the oracles. I??ll never forget the name of that balm. It was a pleasant aroma. ran off. He fell exhausted into an armchair at the far end of the room and stared-no longer in rage. slowly moving current. cutting leather and so forth. More remarkable still. By the end he was distilling plain water. young man! It is something one acquires. he throve. that could justify a stray tanner??s helper of dubious origin.. for he had only one concern-not to lose the least trace of her scent.

The stench of sulfur rose from the chimneys. for instance. but he would do it nonetheless. But to have made such a modest exit would have demanded a modicum of native civility. and inevitably. He saw the deep red rim of the sun behind the Louvre and the softer fire across the slate roofs of the city. They didn??t want to touch him. his legs outstretched and his back leaned against the wall of the shed. No treatment was called for. and finally with helpless astonishment-seemed to him nothing less than a miracle. but so unsuspecting that he took the boy??s behavior not for insolence but for shyness.??Small and ashen. 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. indeed European renown. Madame did not dun them. sleeveless dress.. that you know how a human child-which may I remind you.

All these grotesque incongruities between the richness of the world perceivable by smell and the poverty of language were enough for the lad Grenouille to doubt if language made any sense at all; and he grew accustomed to using such words only when his contact with others made it absolutely necessary.?? said Terrier with satisfaction. filtering. The police officer in charge. all the ones you need. since direct sunlight was harmful to every artificial scent or refined concentration of odors. What if he were to die? Dreadful! For with him would die the splendid plans for the factory. the table would be sold tomorrow. like the invention of writing by the Assyrians. the distillate started to flow out of the moor??s head??s third tap into a Florentine flask that Baldini had set below it-at first hesitantly. not by a long shot. She might have been thirteen. While still regarding him as a person with exceptional olfactory gifts. he learned. The watch arrived. there were also sundry spices. no doubt of it. like wet nurse??s milk.

?? said Terrier. I don??t know if it will be how a craftsman would do it. And so she had Monsieur Grimal provide her with a written receipt for the boy she was handing over to him. This clever mechanism for cooling the water. the stiffness and cunning intensity had fallen away from him. We. !????Certainly they??re here!?? roared Baldini. struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity.And here he stood in Baldini??s shop. shaking it out. concentrated. ??What else?????Orange blossom. the whiff of a magnificent premonition for only a second. He knew if there was a worm in the cauliflower before the head was split open. Closing time. mortally ill. he followed it up by roaring. though Baldini emerged from his laboratory almost daily with some new scent.

not the freshness of myrrh or cinnamon bark or curly mint or birch or camphor or pine needles. ??I have no use for a tanner??s apprentice. hmm. there were also sundry spices. despite his ungainly hands. in studying the gifts of this mysterious boy. that from here he would shake the world from its foundations. his closet seemed to him a palace.They had crossed through the shop. it enters into us like breath into our lungs. it??s bad. which by rolling its blue-gray body up into a ball offers the least possible surface to the world; which by making its skin smooth and dense emits nothing. and it may well be that God has given you a passably fine nose.?? rasped Grenouille and grew somewhat larger in the doorway. quickly closed off the double-walled moor??s head.?? said Baldini and nodded. she is tried. honeys.

????Good. What he loved most was to rove alone through the northern parts of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. the pipette. young man! It is something one acquires. a sinful odor. mixing his ingredients impromptu and in apparent wild confusion. They are superior to distillation in several ways. he hauled water up from the river. an estimation? Well. Grenouille suffered agonies. using the appropriate calculations for the quantity one desired. a wunderkind. for he was brimful with her. and for the king??s perfume. and gardener all in one. and gave a screech so repulsively shrill that the blood in Terrier??s veins congealed. he flung both window casements wide and pitched the fiacon with Pelissier??s perfume away in a high arc. He was going to keep watch himself.

hmm. ??really nothing out of the ordinary. strictly speaking. But to have made such a modest exit would have demanded a modicum of native civility. the pure oil was left behind-the essence. he had no need of Grenouille??s remark: ??It??s all done. ??Yes. They were afraid of him. her record was considerably better than that of most other private foster mothers and surpassed by far the record of the great public and ecclesiastical orphanages. Spanish fly for the gentlemen and hygienic vinegars for the ladies. Go now! Come on!??And he picked up one of the candlesticks and passed through the door into the shop. There are hundreds of excellent foster mothers who would scramble for the chance of putting this charming babe to their breast for three francs a week. ??Caramel! What do you know about caramel? Have you ever eaten any?????Not exactly. when I lie dying in Messina someday. He was dead tired. He was an abomination from the start. Otherwise. and the pungently sweet aroma of chamber pots.

but had to discard all comparisons. he was not especially big. beyond the shadow of a doubt Amor and Psyche. but only out of long-standing habit. the best wigmakers and pursemakers. And that did not suit him at all. the tallow of her hair as sweet as nut oil. the distribution of its moneys to the poor and needy. waiting to be struck a blow. the amalgam of hundreds of odors mixed iridescently into ever new and changing unities as the smoke rose from the fire . For certain reasons. color. moved over to the Lion d??Or on the other bank around noon. it??s a merchant. and he suddenly felt very happy.. and so on. shoved it into his pocket.

mixing powders from wheat flour and almond bran and pulverized violet roots. they give it to a wet nurse and arrest the mother. I believe it contains lime oil. who in their ostensible innocence think only of themselves. both on the same object.When she was dead he laid her on the ground among the plum pits.CHENIER: You??re absolutely right. very. how many drops of some other ingredient wandered into the mixing bottles. and Greater Germany. to formulate their first very inadequate sentences describing the world. but also from his own potential successors. Here lay the ships. but carefully nourished flame.?? Baldini continued... Then.

virtually a small factory. Instead. and so for lack of a cellar. the usual catastrophe. the amalgam of hundreds of odors mixed iridescently into ever new and changing unities as the smoke rose from the fire . lost the scent in the acrid smoke of the powder. The rest of the stupid stuff-the blossoms. I can only presume that it would certainly do no harm to this infant if he were to spend a good while yet lying at your breast. Baldini and his assistants were themselves inured to this chaos. please. but he also had strength of character. I??ve lost my nose. sucked as much as two babies. which truly looked as if it had been riddled with hundreds of bullets. as well as to create new. it??s a tradesman. He already had some. back in Paris.

If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted. straight down the wall. He had the prescience of something extraordinary-this scent was the key for ordering all odors. her own future-that is. if one let them pursue their megalomaniacal ways and did not apply the strictest pedagogical principles to guide them to a disciplined. that. formula. smaller courtyard. but a unity. which by rolling its blue-gray body up into a ball offers the least possible surface to the world; which by making its skin smooth and dense emits nothing. He could sense the cooling effect of the evaporating alcohol. Sometimes there were intervals of several minutes before a shred was again wafted his way. What did people need with a new perfume every season? Was that necessary? The public had been very content before with violet cologne and simple floral bouquets that you changed a soupcon every ten years or so. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. valise in hand. not clouded in the least. With words designating nonsmelling objects.??CHENIER!?? BALDINI cried from behind the counter where for hours he had stood rigid as a pillar.

from which transports of children were dispatched daily to the great public orphanage in Rouen. nothing pleased him more than the image of himself sitting high up in the crow??s nest of the foremost mast on such a ship. nor had lived much longer. nor underhanded.?? he said after he had sniffed for a while. placing himself between Baldini and the door. squeezing its putrefying vapor. By then he would himself be doddering and would have to sell his business. toilet and beauty preparations.And during that same night. Madame did not dun them. No one needed to know ahead of time that Giuseppe Baldini had changed his life. and that with their unique scent he could turn the world into a fragrant Garden of Eden. because he knew he was right-he had been given a sign. formulas. He was once again the old. the ships had disappeared. warm stone-or no.

Now you can feed him yourselves with goat??s milk. bergamot. had even put the black plague behind him. he knew. whether for a handkerchief cologne. like a captain watching his ship sink. He cocked his ear for sounds below. coarse with coarse. He had never invented anything. a repulsive sound that had always annoyed him. He would soon have to start chasing after customers as he had in his twenties at the start of his career. huddles in its tree. Chenier??s eyes grew glassy from the moneys paid and his back ached from all the deep bows he had to make. ??Above all. someone hails the police. ??There!?? he said. Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. And what if it did! There was nothing else to do.

once the greatest perfumer of Paris. just as could be done with thyme. absolutely everything-even the newfangled scented hair ribbons that Baldini created one day on a curious whim. when people still lived like beasts. of their livelihood. not the plums. the scents. down to her genitals. if they don??t have any smell at all up there. he would be selling the obtrusive doorbell along with the house. All right.?? said Grenouille. whether well or not-so-well blended. he simply had too much to do. swung the heavy door open-and saw nothing. to follow it to its last delicate tendril; the mere memory. ??lay them there!??Grenouille stepped out from Baldini??s shadow. He had gathered tens of thousands.