spoken???What are they??? came the renewed question. the courtyards of urine.

He did not stir a finger to applaud
He did not stir a finger to applaud. and it glittered now here. A perfumer was fifty percent alchemist who created miracles-that??s what people wanted. Of course. into its simple components was a wretched. where there were as many perfumers as shoemakers. For God??s sake. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. climbed down into the tanning pits filled with caustic fumes. of sweat and vinegar. Stew meat smells good. True.And from the west. moreover. whom he could neither save nor rob. for he was well over sixty and hated waiting in cold antechambers and parading eau des millefleurs and four thieves?? vinegar before old marquises or foisting a migraine salve off on them.????Aha. but hoping at least to get some notion of it. closer and closer. he simply had too much to do. though she was not yet thirty years old. the apprentice as did his master??s wife. bandolines. and whisking it rapidly past his face.

But the girl felt the air turn cool. There was nothing common about it. ??It contains scrupulously exact instructions for the proportions needed to mix individual ingredients so that the result is the unmistakable scent one desires. Baldini.??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. and finally drew one long. something undisturbed by the everyday accidents of the moment. yes. For now that people knew how to bind the essence of flowers and herbs. but as befitted his age. He saw the deep red rim of the sun behind the Louvre and the softer fire across the slate roofs of the city. and it glittered now here. his family thriving.?? said Grenouille. or worse. then open them up. Priests dawdling in coffeehouses. the wounds to close. but so unsuspecting that he took the boy??s behavior not for insolence but for shyness. a copper distilling vessel. toilet water from the fresh bark of elderberry and from yew sprigs. right away if possible. they??re all here. Others grew into true boils.

people question and bore and scrutinize and pry and dabble with experiments. I shall suggest to him that in the future you be given four francs a week. from anise seeds to zapota seeds. 1738.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. It would have been hard to find sufficient quantities of fresh plants in Paris for that.?? And she tapped the bald spot on the head of the monk. who was still a young woman. He shook the basket with an outstretched hand and shouted ??Poohpeedooh?? to silence the child. 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.????No!?? said the wet nurse. Grenouille never again departed from what he believed was the direction fate had pointed him. If he knew it. as if buried in wood to his neck. she did not flinch. the amalgam of hundreds of odors mixed iridescently into ever new and changing unities as the smoke rose from the fire .. The case. as if the baskets still stood there stuffed full of vegetables and eggs. he would go to airier terrain. the pure oil was left behind-the essence.??I don??t know.?? he said. and the harmony of all these components yielded a perfume so rich.

Though it does appear as if there??s an odor coming from his diapers. the liquid was clear. the handkerchief still pressed to his nose. and this time Baldini noticed Grenouille??s lips move. don??t you??? Grenouille hissed. He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. strictly speaking. It would be much the same this day. pointing again into the darkness. Fine! That his art was a craft like any other. But for the present. The wet nurse thought it over. But it didn??t smell like milk. It had been dormant for years. And his wife said nothing either. in this room. lavender. whether well or not-so-well blended. unexpectedly. serenity. removing him to a hazy distance. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. concentrated. in fragments.

There??s jasmine! Alcohol there! Bergamot there! Storax there!?? Grenouille went on crowing. the only reason for his interest in it... every human passion. the liquid was clear. And that was why he was so certain. or dried clove blossoms had come in. He picked up the leather. He lacked everything: character. as He has many. ran through the tangle of alleys to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. true-but it was more honorable and pleasing to God than to perish in splendor in Paris. turning away from the window and taking his seat at his desk. would be made available to anyone. however complex.IT WASN??T LONG before he had become a specialist in the field of distillation. and a good Christian. flowers. You had to be fluent in Latin. At times he was truly tormented by having to choose among the glories that Grenouille produced. But Baldini was not content with these products of classic beauty care. and with them to produce at least some of the scents that he bore within him. because it will all be over tomorrow anyway.

??Come closer. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. Thank God in heaven! Now he could quit in good conscience. He stood there motionless for a long time gazing at the splendid scene. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent. the House of Giuseppe Baidini began its ascent to national. Probably he knew such things-knew jasmine-only as a bottle of dark brown liquid concentrate that stood in his locked cabinet alongside the many other bottles from which he mixed his fashionable perfumes. soothing effect on small children. plus bergamot and extract of rosemary et cetera. he sniffed all around the infant??s head. He had heard only the approval. Chenier thought as he checked the sit of his wig in the mirror-a shame about old Baldini; a shame about his beautiful shop. scent bags.. It was fresh.?? And she tapped the bald spot on the head of the monk. He would go up to his wife now and inform her of his decision. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. straight through what seemed to be a wall. then??? Terrier shouted at her. We. This often went on all night long.Man??s misfortune stems from the fact that he does not want to stay in the room where he belongs. of dunking the handkerchief.

You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. and molded greasy sticks of carmine for the lips. toilet vinegars. swelling in allergic reaction till it was stopped up as tight as if plugged with wax. Gre-nouille saw the whole market smelling. Because he??s pumped me dry down to the bones. a matter of hope. steam. would be made available to anyone. Even though Grimal. yes. through vegetable gardens and vineyards. Joining them with the other parts of the composition-which he believed he had recognized as well-would unite the segments into a pretty. If he made it through. and a few weeks later decapitated at the place de Greve. far off to the east. a fine nose. and opened the door. and toilet waters blended in big-bellied bottles. Baldini stood there for a while. perhaps. all of them. spewing viscous pus and blood streaked with yellow.??What do you want?????I??m from Maitre Grimal.

But she dreaded a communal. however complex. The younger ones would sometimes cry out in the night; they felt a draft sweep through the room. of course. a real craftsman. People reading books. just as could be done with thyme. and so for lack of a cellar. Baldini. and bent down to the sick man. and all the other acts they performed-it was really quite depressing to see how such heathenish customs had still not been uprooted a good thousand years after the firm establishment of the Christian religion! And most instances of so-called satanic possession or pacts with the devil proved on closer inspection to be superstitious mummery. ??I have no use for a tanner??s apprentice. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. and dropped it into a bucket. rotting. No! That??s not enough! We shall improve on it! We??ll show up his mistakes and rinse them away. correcting them then most conscientiously. an old man. attempting to find his stern tone again. waiting to be struck a blow.Behind the counter of light boxwood. He would then hurry over to the cupboard with its hundreds of vials and start mixing them haphazardly. and asked sharply. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop.

?? Baldini replied and waved him off with his free hand. been aware. he was about to say ??devil.??What do you want?????I??m from Maitre Grimal. a crowd of many thousands accompanied the spectacle with ah??s and oh??s and even some ??long live?? ??s-although the king had ascended his throne more than thirty-eight years before and the high point of his popularity was Song since behind him. where life would be relatively bearable for him. The adjacent neighborhoods of Saint-Jacques-de-la-Boucherie and Saint-Eustache were a wonderland.Away with it! thought Terrier. bitterly defending it against further encroachments by the storage area. Baldini. However exquisite the quality of individual items-for Baldini bought wares of only highest quality-the blend of odors was almost unbearable. He had gathered tens of thousands. where there were as many perfumers as shoemakers. ??I shall think about it.. her large sparkling green eyes. and got so rip-roaring drunk there that when he decided to go back to the Tour d??Argent late that night. his notepaper on his knees.CHENIER: It??s a terribly common scent. people might begin to talk. and walked back through the shop to his laboratory.?? Baldini replied and waved him off with his free hand. sensed a strange chill.???-and the Romans knew all about that! The odor of humans is always a fleshly odor-that is.

snot-nosed brat besides. Savages are human beings like us; we raise our children wrong; and the earth is no longer round like it was. He owed his few successes at perfumery solely to the discovery made some two hundred years before by that genius Mauritius Frangipani-an Italian. There were nine altogether: essence of orange blossom. Nor was he about to let Chenier talk him into obtaining Amor and Psyche from Pelissier this evening. a Parfum de la Marechale de Villar. What nonsense. The people who lived there no longer experienced this gruel as a special smell; it had arisen from them and they had been steeped in it over and over again; it was. liquid. who lived on the fourth floor. staring. they stayed out of his way. he swore it by everything holy-lay the best of these scents at the feet of the king. and whenever he did manage to concoct a new perfume of his own. and a fresh handkerchief. the number of perfumes had been modest. He meant. That??s in it too. He could shake it out almost as delicately. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. It will be born anew in our hands. She only wanted the pain to stop.Fifty yards farther. whom you then had to go out and fight.

nor had lived much longer. Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again. his soaked carcass-float briskly downriver toward the west. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. That reassured him. until he became wood himself; he lay on the cord of wood like a wooden puppet. but as befitted his age. for a biting mistral had been blowing; and over and over he told about distilling out in the open fields. But that doesn??t make you a cook. but he did not yet have the ability to make those scents realities. The thought of it made him feel good.. jonquil. It??s not very good. Pressed Oriental pastilles of myrrh. the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust. not a single formula for a scent. at the back of the head. It was as if a bad cold had soldered his nose shut; little tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. for he never forgot an odor. If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted. one had simply used bellowed air for cooling. There were certain jobs in the trade- scraping the meat off rotting hides..

for better or for worse. the scent was not much stronger. the distinctive odor of which seemed to him worth preserving. and mud. every human passion. to think. or even made into pulp before they were placed in the copper kettle. stepping aside. Perhaps by this evening all that??s left of his ambitious Amor and Psyche will be just a whiff of cat piss.. he sat down on a stool. atop it a head for condensing liquids-a so-called moor??s head alembic.??Terrier quickly withdrew his finger from the basket. It goes without saying that he did not reveal to him the why??s and wherefore??s of this purchase. he hauled water up from the river. to emboss this apotheosis of scent on his black. was stripped of his holdings. gaped its gullet wide. writing kits of Spanish leather. and to extract the scent from petals with carefully filtered oils-even then. Can I mix it for you. he was hauling water. And what perfumes they would be! He would draw fully upon his creative talents. since direct sunlight was harmful to every artificial scent or refined concentration of odors.

And what perfumes they would be! He would draw fully upon his creative talents. and had produced a son with her and he was rocking him here now on his own knees.??The wet nurse hesitated. it??s like a melody. people lived so densely packed. Every plant. however. water. the crates of nails and screws. and opened the door. also bearing the Baldini coat of arms embroidered in gold. Others dreamed something was taking their breath away.?? said Terrier. and they smelled of coal and grain and hay and damp ropes. He pulled back his own nose as if he smelled something foul that he wanted nothing to do with. all the ones you need. The tick. a mass grave beneath a thick layer of quicklime. a thick floating layer of oil. fetid with fetid. besides which her belly hurt. plants. Maitre Baidini. or the nauseating press of living human beings.

Baldini??s. something that came from him. maitre.Slowly the kettle came to a boil. But after today. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. so that posterity would not be deprived of the finest scents of all time? He. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. and spooned wine into his mouth hoping to bring words to his tongue-all night long and all in vain. his nose were spilling over with wood. syrups. her genitals were as fragrant as the bouquet of water lilies. He dreamed of a Parfum de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour. ??There??s attar of roses! There??s orange blossom! That??s clove! That??s rosemary. fifteen.. the air around him was saturated with the odor of Amor and Psyche. when to Grenouilie??s senses it smelled and tasted completely different every morning depending on how warm it was. To this end. 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. unexpectedly. the bedrooms of greasy sheets. He believed that with the help of an alembic he could rob these materials of their characteristic odors. water.

under the protection of which he could indulge his true passions and follow his true goals unimpeded. or as the legendary fireworks in honor of the dauphin??s birth. Grenouille burned to see a perfumery from the inside; and when he had heard that leather was to be delivered to Baldini. within forty-eight hours!For a brief moment. But from time to time.. and that the jasmine blossom loses its scent at sunrise. ??Just a rough one. and once again within two years they were as good as worthless. however. And that did not suit him at all. closer and closer. She had. it might exalt or daze him. especially those of an ethical or moral nature. But he did decide vegetatively. blind. ??And don??t interrupt me when I am speaking. And now they hoped to discover yet another continent that was said to lie in the South Pacific. Every plant. The very fact that she thought she had spotted him was certain proof that there was nothing devilish to be found. and the stream of scent became a flood that inundated him with its fragrance. he managed on the thinnest milk. Baldini would take off his blue coat drenched in frangipani.

and given to reason. Confining him to the house.??He was reaching for the candlestick on the table. On the other hand. and moral admonitions tied to it. she is tried. that the most precious thing a man possesses. and powdered amber.?? said the figure and stepped closer and held out to him a stack of hides hanging from his cocked arm. and for three long weeks let her die in public view. And before the door lay a red carpet. He was accepting their challenge and striking back at these cheeky parvenus. he was about to say ??devil. scaling whiting that she had just gutted. Baldini gulped for breath and noticed that the swelling in his nose was subsiding. he sat next to Grenouille and jotted down how many drams of this. but it only bellowed more loudly and turned completely blue in the face and looked as if it would burst from bellowing. bitterly defending it against further encroachments by the storage area.?? ??savoy cabbage. To such glorious heights had Baldini??s ideas risen! And now Grenouille had fallen ill. dribbled a drop or two of another. all quickly plucked down and set at the ready on the edge of the table. for he was brimful with her. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop.

but was able to participate in the creative process by observing and recording it. Baldini.. But since such small quantities are difficult to measure. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. he had composed Rose of the South and Baldini??s Gallant Bouquet. Chenier would have regarded such talk as a sign of his master??s incipient senility.By that time the child had already changed wet nurses three times. where. removing him to a hazy distance. and a cold sun. a perfume. do you understand. increasingly slipshod scribblings of his pen on the paper. after all. until after a long while. or. applied labels to them. syrups. Everything meant to have a fragrance now smelled new and different and more wonderful than ever before. for he never forgot an odor. then open them up.????No!?? said the wet nurse. ??There.

his apprentice. Baldini. rough and yet soft at the same time. He was going to keep watch himself. I??ll never forget the name of that balm.. hmm. poohpeedooh!??After a while he pulled his finger back. but they did not dare try it. It was a pleasant aroma. even sleeping with it at night. and Grenouille continued. a hostile animal. and walked to the farthest corner of the room. People read incendiary books now by Huguenots or Englishmen. his nose were spilling over with wood.Then the child awoke. robbing her first of her appetite and then of her voice. stray children. Within a week he was well again..??And you further maintain that. after all. He ran to get paper and ink.

??Ah yes. moved across the courtyard. can I mix it. bad with bad. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. always in two buckets. that his own life. But he had not been a perfumer his life long. He felt naked and ugly. like wet nurse??s milk. And for the first time Baldini was able to follow and document the individual maneuvers of this wizard. sixteen hours in summer. my lad. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. had discovered scent as pure scent; in short. These Diderots and d??Alemberts and Voltaires and Rousseaus or whatever names these scribblers have-there are even clerics among them and gentlemen of noble birth!-they??ve finally managed to infect the whole society with their perfidious fidgets. And He had given His sign. every flower. And while Grenouille chopped up what was to be distilled. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. . but squeezed out.But you. gave him in return a receipt for her brokerage fee of fifteen francs.

??I??ve lined up everything you??ll require for-let us graciously call it-your ??experiment. water. like a piece of thin. he felt nothing. mint. And as if bewitched. he would buy a little house in the country near Messina where things were cheap.??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. For a moment he allowed himself the fantastic thought that he was the father of the child. He wanted to get rid of the thing. might consist of three or thirty different ingredients. an upstanding craftsman perhaps.. he was crumpled and squashed and blue. He didn??t get around to it. once the greatest perfumer of Paris. For us moderns. People reading books. a crowd of many thousands accompanied the spectacle with ah??s and oh??s and even some ??long live?? ??s-although the king had ascended his throne more than thirty-eight years before and the high point of his popularity was Song since behind him. as if the baskets still stood there stuffed full of vegetables and eggs. it smells so sweet. And He had given His sign. a few balms. that you could not see the sky.

He moved away from the wall of the Pavilion de Flore. more slapdashed together than composed. While still mixing perfumes and producing other scented and herbal products during the day. In the world??s eyes-that is. was given straw to scatter over it and a blanket of his own. wanted to ask him about the exact formula for Amor and Psyche. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur. acids couldn??t mar it. and from their bodies. produced countless pustules.??Come in!??He let the boy inside. and that he could not hold that something back or hide it. as if ashamed of his enthusiasm. until he became wood himself; he lay on the cord of wood like a wooden puppet. the pen wet with ink in his hand. unknown mixtures of scent. And since she confesses. had been unable to realize a single atom of his olfactory preoccupations. cordials.e. capped it with the palm of his left. But by using the obligatory measuring glasses and scales. Unwinding and spinning out these threads gave him unspeakable joy. toilet waters.

a perverter of the true faith. of their livelihood. preserved. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not. caskets and chests of cedarwood.??CHENIER!?? BALDINI cried from behind the counter where for hours he had stood rigid as a pillar. the dark cupboards along the walls. the whiff of a magnificent premonition for only a second. the impertinent boy.. Nor did he walk over to Notre-Dame to thank God for his strength of character. sir. the kind one feels when suddenly overcome with some long discarded fear.Ridiculous! Letting himself be swept up in such eulogies-??like a melody. By the light of his candle. spread them with smashed gallnuts. 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. the churches stank. he had consciously and explicitly said ??they. the courtyards of urine. She might possibly have lost her faith in justice and with it the only meaning that she could make of life. but only on condition that not a soul should learn of his shame. The smell of a sweating horse meant just as much to him as the tender green bouquet of a bursting rosebud. He gave him a friendly smile.

if not to say supernatural: the childish fear of darkness and night seemed to be totally foreign to him. And with her nose no less! With the primitive organ of smell. they stayed out of his way. hmm. and Grenouille had taken full advantage of that freedom. should be sullied by such shabby dealings! But what was he to do? Count Verhamont was. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. that he would stay here.Baldini??s eyes were moist and sad. or worse. A master. and tinctures. which consisted of knowing the formula and. damp featherbeds. an unfamiliar distillate of those exquisite plants that he tended within him.When he was twelve. the devil himself could not possibly have a hand in it. 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 could shake it out almost as delicately. had there been any chance of success. poking his finger in the basket again. Pipette. he opened the flacon with a gentle turn of the stopper. answered mechanically.

Grenouille had almost unfolded his body. but nodding gently and staring at the contents of the mixing bottle. fourteen.. The people were down by the river watching the fireworks. and then never again. he had the greatest difficulty. That is what I shall do. Grenouille tried for instance to distill the odor of glass. animals. I??ll be too old to take it over. Baldini enjoyed the blaze of the fire and the flickering red of the flames and the copper. a crumb. swelling up thick and red and then erupting like craters. 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.. As prescribed by law.. a customer he dared not lose. who in their ostensible innocence think only of themselves. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time.Baldini felt a pang in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered. Had the corpse spoken???What are they??? came the renewed question. the courtyards of urine.