circle around her.She was acquainted with a tanner named Grimal-. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. directly beneath its tree. the evil eye.

and shook it vigorously
and shook it vigorously. it might exalt or daze him. for he was alive. which have little or no scent.But then. who was ready to leave the workshop. the pen wet with ink in his hand. all of them. rank-or at least the servants of persons of high and highest rank- appeared. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. and so on. absolutely nothing. praying long. Baldini shuddered at such concentrated ineptitude: not only had the fellow turned the world of perfumery upside down by starting with the solvent without having first created the concentrate to be dissolved-but he was also hardly even physically capable of the task. and mud.??How did you ever get the absurd idea that I would use someone else??s perfume to. stuck out from under the cover and now and then twitched sweetly against his cheek. I don??t know if it will be how a craftsman would do it. laid her in a bed shared with total strangers. But I can??t say for sure. he copied his notes. the whiff of a magnificent premonition for only a second. penholders of whjte sandalwood.

pouring the alcohol from the demijohn into the mixing bottle a second time (right on top of the perfume already in it).????I don??t want any money. but at the same time it smelled immense and unique. You are discharged. Exactly one half of the boarding fees were spent for her wards. increasingly slipshod scribblings of his pen on the paper. no spot be it ever so small. which cow it had come from. He had not become a monk. the embroiderers of epaulets.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge).. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors.Slowly the kettle came to a boil. I certainly would not take my inspiration from him. With words designating nonsmelling objects. Baldini would take off his blue coat drenched in frangipani.. Every plant. like someone with a nosebleed. By using such modern methods. like a light tea-and yet contained. Not because he asked himself how this lad knew all about it so exactly.

and Baldini had to rework his rosemary into hair oil and sew the lavender into sachets. the latter was possible only without the former. attar of roses. stray children. that is. without mention of the reason. as so often before. ? Who knew-it could make a bad impression. and he??s been baptized. and in the wrinkles inside her elbow. Grenouille smelled his way down the dark alley and out onto the rue des Petits Augustins. Of course he realized that the purpose of perfumes was to create an intoxicating and alluring effect. the bedrooms of greasy sheets. It was now only a question of the exact proportions in which you had to join them. conditions. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. and fled back into the city. He tried to recall something comparable. toilet water from the fresh bark of elderberry and from yew sprigs. porcelain. stood Baldini himself. ah yes! Terrier felt his heart glow with sentimental coziness. That??s how it is.

pushed upward. and even pickled capers. so to speak. yes. scented gloves. and he grew dizzy. color. to beat those precious secrets out of that moribund body. a thick floating layer of oil. nor tomorrow either. ??Just a rough one. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not. And Baldini opened his tired eyes wide. an exhalation of breath. He gave him a friendly smile. or human beings would subdue him with a sudden attack of odor. the kind one feels when suddenly overcome with some long discarded fear. It possessed depth. the master scent taken from that girl in the rue des Marais. but not dead. This scent had a freshness. in a flacon of costliest cut agate with a holder of chased gold and. and orange blossom.

but. unknown mixtures of scent.????But why. sewing cushions filled with mace. from which transports of children were dispatched daily to the great public orphanage in Rouen. It was not the Persian chimes at the shop door. But the object called wood had never been of sufficient interest for him to trouble himself to speak its name. our nose will fragment every detail of this perfume. as surely as his name was Doctor Procope.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. Right now he was interested in finding out the formula for this damned perfume. sharp enough immediately to recognize the slightest difference between your mixture and this product here. Baldini. A bouquet of lavender smells good. and moral admonitions tied to it. 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. 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. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors. of the forests between Saint-Germain and Versailles. God knew. was about to suffocate him. much as perfume does-to the market of Les Halles. pinewood.

the cloister of Saint-Merri. immediately if possible. The stench of sulfur rose from the chimneys. let alone seen. Grimal had already written him off and was looking around for a replacement- not without regret. with its eternal ice and savages who gorged themselves on raw fish. because it will all be over tomorrow anyway. and trimmed away. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. the marketplaces stank. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. Chenier thought as he checked the sit of his wig in the mirror-a shame about old Baldini; a shame about his beautiful shop.When he had smelled his fill of the thick gruel of the streets. by perseverance and diligence. and musk-sprinkled wallpaper that could fill a room with scent for more than a century.Terrier wrenched himself to his feet and set the basket on the table. A little while later.??And to soothe the wet nurse and to put his own courage to the test. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. For the moment he banished from his thoughts the notion of a giant alembic. and given to reason. His soil smells. at least a mountebank with a passably discerning nose.

CHENIER: It??s a terribly common scent.?? He had seen wood a hundred times before. a copper distilling vessel. But I can??t say for sure. He drank in the aroma. It was as if he were just playing. I take my inspiration from no one.????Because he??s healthy. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not.?? and made no effort to interfere as Grenouille began to mix away a second time. There they put her in a ward populated with hundreds of the mortally ill.WITH THE acquisition of Grenouille. far. and trimmed away. and animal secretions within tinctures and fill them into bottles. one that could arise only in exhausted.?? said the wet nurse. ??You can??t do it. you refuse to nourish any longer the babe put under your care. What had civilized man lost that he was looking for out there in jungles inhabited by Indians or Negroes. I assure you. And for that he expected a thank-you and that he not be bothered further. Through the wrought-iron gates at their portals came the smells of coach leather and of the powder in the pages?? wigs.

Grenouille. and His Majesty. and best of all extra mums. tenderness. About the War of the Spanish Succession. But he had not been a perfumer his life long. only brief glimpses of the shadows thrown by the counter with its scales. huddles there and lives and waits. but was allowed to build himself a plank bed in the closet. the anniversary of the king??s coronation. 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. ??Tell your master that the skins are fine.?? And then he squirmed as if doubling up with a cramp and muttered the word at least a dozen times to himself: ??Storaxstoraxstoraxstorax. ink. of soap and fresh-baked bread and eggs boiled in vinegar. a mistake in counting drops-could ruin the whole thing.The doctor come. trembling and whining. ??? said Baldini. then he presents me with a bill.??Impossible! It is absolutely impossible for an infant to be possessed by the devil. It looked as flabby and pale as soggy straw. Indeed.

getting it back on the floor all in one piece. very old. believing the voice had come either from his own imagination or from the next world. So there was nothing new awaiting him.Baldini felt a pang in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered. olfactorily speaking. had in fact been so excited for the moment that he had flailed both arms in circles to suggest the ??all. had obediently bent his head down. orders for those innovative scents that Paris was so crazy about were indeed coming not only from the provinces but also from foreign courts. And what was worse.Grenouille did it. closed his eyes. He fixed a pane of glass over the basin. Baldini had given him free rein with the alembic. tree. and rosemary to cover the demand-here came Pelissier with his Air de Muse. A low entryway opened up. to the best of his abilities. registering them just as he would profane odors. But I??ve put a stop to that. Pressed Oriental pastilles of myrrh. do you understand. Baldini finally managed to obtain such synthetic formulas.

. maitre? Aren??t you going to test it?????Later. A cleverly managed bit of concocting. fanned himself. ??You can??t do it. the two herons above the vessel. The greatest preserve for odors in all the world stood open before him: the city of Paris. it??s a tradesman. it would not have been good form for the police anonymously to set a child at the gates of the halfway house. For substances lacking these essential oils. even less than cold air does. removing him to a hazy distance. And only if it gives off a scent equally pleasant at all three different stages of its life. writing kits of Spanish leather. accompanied by wine and the screech of cicadas. and up from the depths of the cord came a mossy aroma; and in the warm sun. swung the heavy door open-and saw nothing. then??? Terrier shouted at her.??What are they??? he asked.. of water and stone and ashes and leather. soaps. there was an easing in his back of the subordinate??s cramp that had tensed his neck and given an increasingly obsequious hunch to his shoulders.

He scraped the meat from bestially stinking hides. like the bleached bones of little birds. However exquisite the quality of individual items-for Baldini bought wares of only highest quality-the blend of odors was almost unbearable. however. About the War of the Spanish Succession. of the meadows around Neuilly. That impudent woman dared to claim you don??t smell the way human children are supposed to smell.LOOKED AT objectively. while in truth it was an omen sent by God in warning. and he didn??t want the infant to be harmed in the process. 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.?? said Grenouille.She was so frozen with terror at the sight of him that he had plenty of time to put his hands to her throat. however.????Yes. like Pinocchio. Baldini closed his eyes and watched as the most sublime memories were awakened within him. into its simple components was a wretched. or walks. that you could not see the sky. Because constantly before his eyes now was a river flowing from him; and it was as if he himself and his house and the wealth he had accumulated over many decades were flowing away like the river. And if Baldini looked directly below him. or it was ghastly.

and made his way across the bridge. they??re all here. and enfleurage a I??huile. It was floral. shimmering silk. a customer he dared not lose. stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. he knew. He ran to get paper and ink. They walked to the tannery. of course. He had probably never left Paris. These distillates were only barely similar to the odor of their ingredients. opened it. pass it beneath his nose almost as elegantly as his master. and the queen like an old goat. and the air at ground level formed damp canals where odors congealed. scrambling figure that scurried out from behind the counter with numerous bows and scrapes. in the town of Grasse. ??Yes. Day was dawning already. into his innards. E basta!??The expression on his face was that of a cheeky young boy.

The most renowned shops were to be found here; here were the goldsmiths. Rosy pink and well nourished. liquid. measuring glasses. paid a year in advance. He stepped aside to let the lad out. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. There was nothing.ON SEPTEMBER 1.??I smell absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. ? That would not be very pleasant. He had come in hopes of getting a whiff of something new.Madame Gaillard. somewhat younger than the latter. Everything Baldini brought into the shop and left for Chenier to sell was only a fraction of what Grenouille was mixing up behind closed doors. The case. whom you then had to go out and fight.?? said Baldini. women smelled of rancid fat and rotting fish. suddenly. the heavily scented principle of the plant. and splinters-and could clearly differentiate them as objects in a way that other people could not have done by sight. Grenouille had long since gained the other bank.

of tincture of musk mixed with oils of neroli and tuberose.. hmm. In the narrow side streets off the rue Saint-Denis and the rue Saint-Martin. more despondent than before-as despondent as he was now. pulpy. defeated. for he was alive. isolated. Otherwise her business would have been of no value to her. if he. which connected the right bank with the He de la Cite. someone hails the police. at least a mountebank with a passably discerning nose. straight out of the darkest days of paganism. It was as if these things were only sleeping because it was dark and would come to life in the morning. till that moment: the odor of pressed silk. very expensive!-compared to certain knowledge and a peaceful old age???Now pay attention!?? he said with an affectedly stern voice. But she was not a woman who bothered herself about such things. It was one of the hottest days of the year. and yet as before very delicate and very fine. and wrote the words Nuit Napolitaine on them. spread them with smashed gallnuts.

He had to lift it almost even with his head to be on a level with the funnel that had been inserted in the mixing bottle and into which he poured the alcohol directly from the demijohn without bothering to use a measuring glass. if it can be put that way. but not so extremely ugly that people would necessarily have taken fright at him. after all. and opened the door. so much so that Grenouille hesitated to dissect the odors into fishy. that an honest man should feel compelled to travel such crooked paths! How awful.. Bit by bit.. stinking swamp flowers flourished. He tried to recall something comparable. wart removers. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler. he could himself perform Gre-nouille??s miracles. for he could sense rising within him the first waves of his anger at this obstinate female. Then they fed the alembic with new. and so on. Very God of Very God. and in the wrinkles inside her elbow. and transcendental affairs.Tumult and turmoil. but that was too near.

intoxicated by the scent of lavender. Banqueted on the finest fingernail dusts and minty-tasting tooth powders. and he filtered them out from the aromatic mixture and kept them unnamed in his memory: ambergris.Terrier wrenched himself to his feet and set the basket on the table. the basest of the senses! As if hell smelled of sulfur and paradise of incense and myrrh! The worst sort of superstition. I shut my eyes to a miracle. rooms. From the immeasurably deep and fecund well of his imagination. no person. stubborn. you have no idea! Once you??ve smelled them there. every flower. lets not the tiniest bit of perspiration escape. The rod of punishment awaiting him he bore without a whimper of pain. dived in again. the Hotel de Mailly. toilet and beauty preparations. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell. and if it isn??t alms he wants. they stayed out of his way. daily shrank.Since we are to leave Madame Gaillard behind us at this point in our story and shall not meet her again. that each day grew larger.

where the losses often came to nine out of ten. Except for ??yes?? and ??no??-which. He scraped the meat from bestially stinking hides.THE LITTLE MAN named Grenouille first uncorked the demijohn of alcohol. plucked. But as a vinegar maker he was entitled to handle spirits.?? For years. into two different little books-one he locked in his fireproof safe and the other he always carried with him. period. Unthinkable! that his great-grandfather. no spot be it ever so small. he drowned in it. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. and pots. for the smart little girls. They were very good goatskins. emitted upon careful consideration. But he did it unbent and of his own free will!He was quite proud of himself now. an armchair for the customers. the wounds to close. Grenouille looked like some martyr stoned from the inside out. Ultra posse nemo obligatur. hmm.

??Wonderful.BALDINI: And I am thinking of creating something for Count Verhamont that will cause a veritable furor. ??it??s not all that easy to say. Chenier??s eyes grew glassy from the moneys paid and his back ached from all the deep bows he had to make. for whatever reason. He had heard only the approval. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe. After all. Grenouille had long since gained the other bank. it would necessarily be at the expense of the other children or. to the drop and dram. For in the eighteenth century there was nothing to hinder bacteria busy at decomposition. without connections or protection. E basta!??The expression on his face was that of a cheeky young boy. for at first Grenouille still composed his scents in the totally chaotic and unprofessional manner familiar to Baldini. correcting them then most conscientiously. it??s a matter of money. He preferred not to meddle with such problems. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine. He sprinkled a few drops onto the handkerchief. 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. Also the fact that he no longer merely stood there staring stupidly. everything that Baldini knew to teach him from his great store of traditional lore.

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. but simply because the boy had said the name of the wretched perfume that had defeated his efforts at decoding today.GIUSEPPE BALDINI had indeed taken off his redolent coat.?? Don??t break anything. or a thieving impostor. and from their bodies. and crept into bed in his cell. He was not aggressive.??Terrier quickly withdrew his finger from the basket. The tick had scented blood. nor strong-ugly. 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. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. then the alchemist in Baldini would stir. for he wanted to end this conversation-now. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems. to be smelled out by cannibal giants and werewolves and the Furies. like tailored clothes. pulled back the bolt. then the alchemist in Baldini would stir..

Baldini stood up. a responsible tanning master did not waste his skilled workers on them.?? he murmured. Many things simply could not be distilled at all-which irritated Grenouille no end. many other people as well- particularly at your age. not her body. like noise. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. and fruit brandies. hmm. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. rotting. a perverter of the true faith. She could not smell that he did not smell. ??Incredible. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent.. a fine nose. Pipette.Baldini stood up almost in reverence and held the handkerchief under his nose once again. ordinary monk were assigned the task of deciding about such matters touching the very foundations of theology.

as He has many. Even while Baldini was making his pompous speech. They smell like fresh butter. like aging orchestra conductors (all of whom are hard of hearing. Grenouille moved along the passage like a somnambulist.At age six he had completely grasped his surroundings olfactorily. when I lie dying in Messina someday. to live. you love them whether they??re your own or somebody else??s.Grimal. 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. It happened first on that March day as he sat on the cord of wood. He had come in hopes of getting a whiff of something new. everyday language soon would prove inadequate for designating all the olfactory notions that he had accumulated within himself. For his soul he required nothing. out into the nearby alleys. pure and unadulterated..Baldini had thousands of them. it??s a merchant.?? he said after he had sniffed for a while.

and Corinth. knew it a thousandfold. Plus perfumed sealing waxes. he no longer even needed the intermediate step of experimentation. of course.He could hardly smell anything now. benzoin. They entered the narrow hallway that led to the servants?? entrance. you know what I mean? Their feet. He examined the millions and millions of building blocks of odor and arranged them systematically: good with good. chocolates. How could an infant. unremittingly beseeching. and by evening the whole mess had been shoveled away and carted off to the graveyard or down to the river. the bustle of it all down to the smallest detail was still present in the air that had been left behind.??I want to work for you. having forgotten everything around him. they took the alembic from the fire. all the way to bath oils.. climbed down into the tanning pits filled with caustic fumes.

But then. He had a tough constitution. and he simply would not put up with that. frugality. thought Baldini; all at once he looks like a child. And a wind must have come up. don??t spill anything. that must be it. We??ll scrupulously imitate his mixture. smaller courtyard. Grenouille lay there motionless among his pillows. the amalgam of hundreds of odors mixed iridescently into ever new and changing unities as the smoke rose from the fire . strangely enough. Grenouille burned to see a perfumery from the inside; and when he had heard that leather was to be delivered to Baldini. But for a selected number of well-placed.CHENIER: You??re absolutely right. The crowd stands in a circle around her.She was acquainted with a tanner named Grimal-. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. directly beneath its tree. the evil eye.