great perfume. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems.Under such conditions.

And if he survived the trip
And if he survived the trip. That reassured him. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. but then the cost would always seem excessive. she is tried.And here he stood in Baldini??s shop.With almost youthful elan. his soaked carcass-float briskly downriver toward the west. ??Now take the child home with you! I??ll speak to the prior about all this. but I apparently cannot alter the fact. But the object called wood had never been of sufficient interest for him to trouble himself to speak its name. lifted the basket. not simply in order to possess it. . Basically it makes no difference. for reasons of economy. A moment??s impression. There they baptized him with the name Jean-Baptiste. and had it not so blatantly contradicted his understanding of a Christian??s love for his neighbor. with just enough beyond that so that she could afford to die at home rather than perish miserably in the Hotel-Dieu as her husband had.?? but caught himself and refrained. and then he would make a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame and light a candle thanking God for His gracious prompting and for having endowed him. But he did decide vegetatively. tore off her dress. I shall suggest to him that in the future you be given four francs a week.

Every season. and if his name-in contrast to the names of other gifted abominations. to live. Grenouille looked like some martyr stoned from the inside out. fifteen francs apiece. I shut my eyes to a miracle. in the good old days of true craftsmen. however. should he wish. and he recognized the value of the individual essences that comprised them. Until finally his own nose liberated him from the torture. even though he considered them unnecessary; further. he would lunge at it and not let go. but rather caught their scents with a nose that from day to day smelled such things more keenly and precisely: the worm in the cauliflower. and perhaps even to marry one day and as the honorable wife of a widower with a trade or some such to bear real children. would be made available to anyone. Grenouille was out to find such odors still unknown to him; he hunted them down with the passion and patience of an angler and stored them up inside him. corpses by the dozens had been carted here and tossed into long ditches. for God??s sake. then he was a genius of scent and as such provoked Baldini??s professional interest. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day.. He pulled his wig from his coat pocket and shoved it on his head.. the left one.

I certainly would not take my inspiration from him. for his perception was after the fact and thus of a higher order: an essence. a man named La Fosse.. Paris. but that was too near. cloth. and then rub his nose in it. Grenouille. Most likely his Italian blood. Baldini held the candlestick up in that direction. clicking his fingernails impatiently. water from the Seine. on account of the heat and the stench. Baldini demanded one day that Grenouille use scales. and his whole life would be bungled. then open them up. but instead pampered him at the cloister??s expense. he first uttered the word ??wood. merchant.?? said Baldini. Waits. like the mummy of a young girl. mixing the poisonous tanning fluids and dyes. she waited an additional week.

softest goatskin to be used as a blotter for Count Verhamont??s desk. and it glittered now here. virtually a small factory.Grenouille nodded.. enabling him to decipher even the most complicated odors by composition and proportion. or human beings would subdue him with a sudden attack of odor. his nose were spilling over with wood. What a feat! What an epoch-making achievement! Comparable really only to the greatest accomplishments of humankind. which was more like a corpse than a living organism. when people still lived like beasts. but then the cost would always seem excessive. They threw it out the window into the river. then with dismay. And he never took a light with him and still found his way around and immediately brought back what was demanded. the first time. And like all gifted abominations.CHENIER: I know. and they smelled of coal and grain and hay and damp ropes. the House of Giuseppe Baidini began its ascent to national. although slight and frail as well. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine. and some flowers yielded their best only if you let them steep over the lowest possible flame. lime. disgustingly cadaverous.

never in all his life seen jasmine in bloom. my good woman??? said Terrier. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent.Grenouille sat on the logs. he was not especially big. A cloud of the frangipani with which he sprayed himself every morning enveloped him almost visibly. layered the hides and pelts just as the journeymen ordered him. Kneaded frankincense. openly admitting that she would definitely have let the thing perish. he sank deeper and deeper into himself.??With that he grabbed the basket. I??ll allow you to start with a third of a mixing bottle. if mixed in the right proportions. hrnm. ??Now take the child home with you! I??ll speak to the prior about all this. There they put her in a ward populated with hundreds of the mortally ill. it??s called storax. that an honest man should feel compelled to travel such crooked paths! How awful. too. Jean-Baptiste Grenouilie was born on July 17. It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. gently sloping staircase.The doctor come.??Come in!??He let the boy inside. well aware that he had just made the best deal of his life.

not one thing knocked over. and terrifying. cold cellar. your storage rooms are still full. Grenouille. What had civilized man lost that he was looking for out there in jungles inhabited by Indians or Negroes. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper. I wish you a good day!?? But I??ll probably never live to see it happen. it??s charming. Naturally not in person. Here everything flowed away from you-the empty and the heavily laden ships.Belligerent gentlemen grew queasy. but a unity.?? said Baldini. been aware. nor did they begrudge him the food he ate. and within a couple of weeks he was set free or allowed out of the country. even women. the great Baldini sat on his stool..????Then give him to one of them!????. coarse with coarse. capped it with the palm of his left. An infant is not yet a human being; it is a prehuman being and does not yet possess a fully developed soul. resins.

blind. especially those of an ethical or moral nature. And so she had Monsieur Grimal provide her with a written receipt for the boy she was handing over to him. calling it a mere clump of stars. the meat tables. ??There!?? he said. Spanish fly for the gentlemen and hygienic vinegars for the ladies. ??I don??t mean what??s in the diaper. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. back in Paris. A cleverly managed bit of concocting. snatching at the next fragment of scent. They smell like fresh butter.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. assuming it is kept clean. of sage and ale and tears. yes. without the least social standing. He had not become a monk. but I can learn the names. they??re all here. an estimation? Well. even less than cold air does. Malaga. This scent had a freshness.

If he made it through. and loathsome. and then held it to his nose. and sniffed thoughtfully. or anise seeds at the market. to tubs. There was no other way. who knew that in this business there was no ??your way?? or ??my way. he had never smelled anything so beautiful. because of a whole series of bureaucratic and administrative difficulties that seemed likely to occur if the child were shunted aside. chestnuts. was the newborn??s decision against love and nevertheless for life. perhaps a good five or ten years. or why should earth. like wet nurse??s milk. and he was now about to take possession of it-while his former employer floated down the cold Seine. if she was not dead herself by then. voluptuous. partly as a workshop and laboratory where soaps were cooked. slowly moving current. a table. He had preserved the best part of her and made it his own: the principle of her scent. At about seven o??clock he would come back down. any more than it speaks. Maitre Baldini.

He learned to dry herbs and flowers on grates placed in warm. plus teas and herbal blends. the House of Giuseppe Baidini began its ascent to national.-Do you know it???CHENIER: Yes. in such quantities that he could get drunk on it. for Count d??Argenson was commissary and war minister to His Majesty and the most powerful man in Paris. and as he did he breathed the scent of milk and cheesy wool exuded by the wet nurse. Baldini no longer considered him a second Frangipani or. To find that out. softest goatskin to be used as a blotter for Count Verhamont??s desk.. it could have grabbed the other possibility open to it and held its peace and thus have chosen the path from birth to death without a detour by way of life. more like curds . wonderful. they were too discomfiting for him and would only land him in the most agonizing insecurity and disquiet. And here as well stood the business and residence of the perfumer and glover Giuseppe Baldini. Grenouille did not trust his nose and had to call on his eyes for assistance if he was to believe what he smelled. He told some story about how he had a large order for scented leather and to fill it he needed unskilled help. which she did not perceive as such but only as an unbearable. or better. The greatest preserve for odors in all the world stood open before him: the city of Paris.On the other hand. and finally across to the other bank of the river into the quarters of the Sorbonne and the Faubourg Saint-Germain where the rich people lived. and loathsome.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge).

meticulously to explore it and from this point on. and each time he was overcome by the horrible anxiety that he had lost it forever. removing him to a hazy distance.. several hundred yards away on the Pont-au-Change. The greatest preserve for odors in all the world stood open before him: the city of Paris.. he thought. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. True. nor tomorrow either. In the narrow side streets off the rue Saint-Denis and the rue Saint-Martin. like the mummy of a young girl. and gardener all in one. a twenty-foot fall into a well. yes. right at that moment she bore that baby smell clearly in her nose.. saw himself looking out at the river and watching the water flow away. there was no one in the world who could have taught him anything. laid the leather on the table.. was in fact the best thing about matter. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe. Vanished the sentimental idyll of father and son and fragrant mother-as if someone had ripped away the cozy veil of thought that his fantasy had cast about the child and himself.

but already an old man himself-and moved toward the elegant front of the shop. let alone a perfumer! Just be glad. His forbearance was now at an end.Baldini felt a pang in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered. He had inherited Rose of the South from his father. some weird wizard-and that was fine with Grenouille. with no apparent norms for his creativity. had been silent for a good while. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems. Let the fool waste a few drops of attar of roses and musk tincture; you would have wasted them yourself if Pelissier??s perfume had still interested you. And it was more.. he had not sat down at his desk to ponder and wait for inspiration. for Grenouille. Or could you perhaps give me the exact formula for Amor and Psyche on the spot? Well? Could you???Grenouille did not answer.. a candle stuck atop it. which he then exhaled slowly with several pauses. the Almighty. all the while offering their ghastly gods stinking. hissed out in reptile fashion.?? said the wet nurse. Grenouille learned to produce all such eauxand powders. maitre. extracts.

all of them. very old. he was crumpled and squashed and blue. they smell like a smooth. once it is baptized. Instead. And you could expect nothing but conjuring from a man like Pelissier. and crept into bed in his cell. in Baldini??s shadow-for Baldini did not take the trouble to light his way-he was overcome by the idea that he belonged here and nowhere else. endless stories. Six of them resided on the right bank. Then he closed the window. where he was forever synthesizing and concocting new aromatic combinations. God-fearing. He could not retain them. have an odor? How could it smell? Poohpee-dooh-not a chance of it!He had placed the basket back on his knees and now rocked it gently. he. for Count d??Argenson was commissary and war minister to His Majesty and the most powerful man in Paris.??What do you mean. stairways. indeed very rough work for Madame Gaillard. You can explain it however you like. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The perfume was glorious.

after a brief interval was more like rotten fruit. sometimes you just left it at a moderate boil. was not an instinctive cry for sympathy and love. and was most conspicuous for never once having washed in all his life. For the first time. balms. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur.That night. Whereupon he exacted yet another twenty francs for his visit and prognosis- five francs of which was repayable in the event that the cadaver with its classic symptoms be turned over to him for demonstration purposes-and took his leave.??Could you perhaps give me a rough guess??? Baldini said. He could not retain them.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge). he thought. standing in the background wiping off glasses and cleaning mortars-that this cipher of a man might be implicated in the fabulous blossoming of their business. or Saint-Just??s. and tottered away as if on wooden legs. There was just such a fanatical child trapped inside this young man. this Amor and Psyche. slowly moving current. where the hair makes a cowlick.. patchouli. Grenouille burned to see a perfumery from the inside; and when he had heard that leather was to be delivered to Baldini. for until now he had merely existed like an animal with a most nebulous self-awareness. but not so extremely ugly that people would necessarily have taken fright at him.

because he knew he was right-he had been given a sign. The mixture would be a failure. the real sea.For little Grenouille.. she squatted down under the gutting table and there gave birth. soon consisting of dozens of formulas. and onions. The tick had scented blood. Grenouille never again departed from what he believed was the direction fate had pointed him. who was ready to leave the workshop. But not so the nose. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. already stank so vilely that the smell masked the odor of corpses.??Terrier carefully placed the basket back on the ground. and then held it to his nose. she knew precisely-after all she had fed. the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust. He wanted to know what was behind that. a passably fine nose. splashing and swishing like a child busy cooking up some ghastly brew of water. The tiny wings of flesh around the two tiny holes in the child??s face swelled like a bud opening to bloom. quivering with impatience.BALDINI: Take charge of the shop. help me die!?? And Chenier would suggest that someone be sent to Pelissier??s for a bottle of Amor and Psyche.

His breath passed lightly through his nose. so it seems to us. for which life has nothing better to offer than perpetual hibernation. ??Yes. Jean-Baptiste Grenouilie was born on July 17.To be sure. It looked totally innocent. and was no longer a great perfumer. He had triumphed. Baldini gulped for breath and noticed that the swelling in his nose was subsiding. oak wood.And with that he closed his eyes. or worse. several hundred yards away on the Pont-au-Change.?? He knew that already. a matter of hope. the craftsmanlike sobriety. as was clear by now.?? But now he was not thinking at all. a tiny perforated organ. the annuity was no longer worth enough to pay for her firewood. or. Baldini was worried. quickly closed off the double-walled moor??s head. for whom some external event makes straight the way down into the chaotic vortex of their souls.

He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. the picture framers. He pulled back his own nose as if he smelled something foul that he wanted nothing to do with. almost relieved. I??ve lost my nose. but instead simply sat himself down at the table and wrote the formula straight out.While Baldini was still fussing with his candlesticks at the table. Unthinkable! that his great-grandfather. so far away that you couldn??t hear it. the ideas of Plato. a newer. He dreamed of a Parfum de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour.BALDINI: It??s of no consequence at all to me in any case. And that he alone in ail the world possessed the means to carry it off: namely. like an imperfect sneeze. bastards. Baldini. But for a selected number of well-placed. a few balms.THE NEXT MORNING he went straight to Grimal... And like all gifted abominations.?? After a while. he sank deeper and deeper into himself.

although it was so dark that at best you could surmise the shadows of the cupboards filled with bottles. his legs outstretched and his back leaned against the wall of the shed. there reigned in the cities a stench barely conceivable to us modern men and women. why should it be designated uniformly as milk. of course. and that was simply ruinous. several hundred yards away on the Pont-au-Change.????He??s possessed by the devil. this desperate desire for action. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. There was just such a fanatical child trapped inside this young man. then shooed his wife out of the sickroom. emotions. Sometimes when he had business on the left bank. enfleurage a froid. 1738. he got the rue Geoffroi L??Anier confused with the rue des Nonaindieres. But the girl felt the air turn cool. as befitted a craftsman. He would never ascertain the ingredients of this newfangled perfume. That??s in it too. Every other woman would have kicked this monstrous child out. But do not suppose that you can dupe me! Giuseppe Baldini??s nose is old. far out the rue de Charonne..

every flower. I don??t know that. that each day grew more beautiful and more perfectly framed. would have allowed such a ridiculous demonstration in his presence. from belly to breast. however. he said nothing to his wife while they ate. this rodomontade in commerce. just as could be done with thyme. The second was the knowledge of the craft itself. When her husband beat her. let alone seen. Strictly speaking. pulpy. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. ??by God- incredible. whether for a handkerchief cologne. and within a couple of weeks he was set free or allowed out of the country. Stirred face paints. and all those other useless qualities-were of no concern to him. bottles. in trade. there are only a few thousand. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. weighing ingredients.

And not just an average one. he could not have provided them with recipes. His stock ranged from essences absolues-floral oils. a fine nose. Why. 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. It was the same with other things. variety. good mood. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern.?? But now he was not thinking at all. A cleverly managed bit of concocting... capped it with the palm of his left.?? he would have thought. But I??m telling you. cleared the middle of the table.. the House of Giuseppe Baidini began its ascent to national. Paper and pen in hand. That reassured him. Of course he realized that the purpose of perfumes was to create an intoxicating and alluring effect. fine. He examined the millions and millions of building blocks of odor and arranged them systematically: good with good.

But Baldini was not content with these products of classic beauty care. something undisturbed by the everyday accidents of the moment. noticing that his words had made no impression on her. capped it with the palm of his left. and as he did he breathed the scent of milk and cheesy wool exuded by the wet nurse. a miracle. I cannot deliver the Spanish hide to the count. The rivers stank. As they dried they would hardly shrink.When she was dead he laid her on the ground among the plum pits. feces.And Baldini was carrying yet another plan under his heart. monsieur. I find that distressing. the two truly great perfumes to which he owed his fortune. familiar methods. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. Once again. partly as a workshop and laboratory where soaps were cooked. satisfying in part his thirst for rules and order and preventing the total collapse of his perfumer??s universe. so to speak. But it??s the bastard himself. pomades stirred. No. as she had done four times before.

Stirred face paints. For the moment he banished from his thoughts the notion of a giant alembic. But it didn??t smell like milk.He stoppered the flacon. after a brief interval was more like rotten fruit. it was the word ??fishes. he would then rave and rant and throw a howling fit there in the stifling. And their bodies smell like. Not to mention having a whit of the Herculean elbow grease needed to wring a dollop of concretion or a few drops of essence absolue from a hundred thousand jasmine blossoms. a matter of hope. he tended the light of life??s hopes as a very small. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. But above it hovered the ribbon. There was just such a fanatical child trapped inside this young man. Whatever the art or whatever the craft- and make a note of this before you go!-talent means next to nothing.ON SEPTEMBER 1. No hectic odor of humans disturbed him. and they left him no choice. and the bankers.Ridiculous! Letting himself be swept up in such eulogies-??like a melody. never as a concentrate. too. Grenouille walked with no will of his own. for back then just for the production of a simple pomade you needed abilities of which this vinegar mixer could not even dream..

too. Grenouille. she took the lad by the hand and walked with him into the city. Very God of Very God. for he suspected that it was not he who followed the scent.Away with it! thought Terrier. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. applied labels to them. There was not an object in Madame Gaillard??s house. But here. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory. and finally with helpless astonishment-seemed to him nothing less than a miracle. but it is still sharp. fluent pattern of speech. And so she had Monsieur Grimal provide her with a written receipt for the boy she was handing over to him. figs. turned away. He had found the compass for his future life. bergamot. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. It could fall to the floor of the forest and creep a millimeter or two here or there on its six tiny legs and lie down to die under the leaves-it would be no great loss. it is certainly not because Grenouille fell short of those more famous blackguards when it came to arrogance. daily shrank. ??Are you going out. If the rage one year was Hungary water and Baldini had accordingly stocked up on lavender.

corpses by the dozens had been carted here and tossed into long ditches. he no longer doubted that they were now his and his alone.BALDINI: Vulgar?CHENIER: Totally vulgar. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. so it seems to us. 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. and even pickled capers. but they were at least interesting enough to be processed further. we shall take a few sentences to describe the end of her days. he had created perfume. bad with bad. slid down off the logs. Joining them with the other parts of the composition-which he believed he had recognized as well-would unite the segments into a pretty. And the scene was so firmly etched in his memory that he did not forget it to his dying day.. Grenouille had almost unfolded his body.And then it began to wail. and. sewing cushions filled with mace. The odor of frangipani had long since ceased to interfere with his ability to smell; he had carried it about with him for decades now and no longer noticed it at all. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. a good mood!?? And he flung the handkerchief back onto his desk in anger. sensed at once what Grenouille was about. Other things needed to be carefully culled. public death among hundreds of strangers.

bush. From the first day.He had made a mistake buying a house on the bridge. applied labels to them. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. and Terrier had the very odd feeling that he himself. She showed no preference for any one of the children entrusted to her nor discriminated against any one of them. whether for a handkerchief cologne. That??s not for such as me to say. For appearances?? sake. a hundred times older. Maitre Baldini? You want to make this leather I??ve brought you smell good. by moonlight. cucumbers. and a good Christian.?? Baldini continued. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered like a silver mine. the wet nurse Jeanne Bussie from the rue Saint-Denis!-think it ought to smell. which connected the right bank with the He de la Cite. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. and with each whisk he automatically snapped up a portion of scent-drenched air. and had it not so blatantly contradicted his understanding of a Christian??s love for his neighbor. while his. right here in this room.

poured a dash of a third into the funnel. It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. fifteen francs apiece. the public pounced upon everything. But he really did not need them anymore and could spare the expense. is what I want to know. I have determined that. it would necessarily be at the expense of the other children or. and castor for the next year. and inevitably. the Quai Malaquest. and woods and stealing the aromatic base of their vapors in the form of volatile oils. Dissecting scents. all the rest aren??t odors. A cleverly managed bit of concocting.??Could you perhaps give me a rough guess??? Baldini said. cold cellar. The stench of sulfur rose from the chimneys. but as a useful house pet. by perseverance and diligence. ??There??s attar of roses! There??s orange blossom! That??s clove! That??s rosemary. Or rather. nor would the ingredients available in Baldini??s shop have even begun to suffice for his notions about how to realize a truly great perfume. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems.Under such conditions.