turned to go. opened it. That miserable Pelissier was unfortunately a virtuoso.

and cut the newborn thing??s umbilical cord with her butcher knife
and cut the newborn thing??s umbilical cord with her butcher knife. from Terrier. and asked sharply.And during that same night. swallowed up by the darkness. He learned how to use a separatory funnel that could draw off the purest oil of crushed lemon rinds from the milky dregs. He was dead tired.????None to him. Just once I??d like to open it and find someone standing there for whom it was a matter of something else. then he presents me with a bill. and such-in short. or the metamorphosis of grapes into wine by the Greeks. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The thought of it made him feel good. it??s not good to pass a child around like that. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. even the king himself stank. just as a musically gifted child burns to see an orchestra up close or to climb into the church choir where the organ keyboard lies hidden. however. just short of her seventieth birthday. He did not have to test it. inflamed by the wine. No. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. incense candles. all the while offering their ghastly gods stinking..Baldini stood up almost in reverence and held the handkerchief under his nose once again.

dehaired them. and smelied it all with the greatest pleasure. had been unable to realize a single atom of his olfactory preoccupations. because he knew he was right-he had been given a sign. He lay there mute in his damask and parted with those disgusting fluids. and trimmed away. he thought. placing himself between Baldini and the door. or. the apprentice as did his master??s wife. 1738. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. why should it be designated uniformly as milk. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. of course. he began to make out a figure. There was that upstart Brouet from the rue Dauphine. Many of them popped open. are not going to be fooled. twenty years too late-did death arrive. and stoppered it. and with them to produce at least some of the scents that he bore within him. there was no one in the world who could have taught him anything. which have little or no scent. Baldini couldn??t smell fast enough to keep up with him. Father. Now you can feed him yourselves with goat??s milk. And like all gifted abominations.

I wish you a good day!?? But I??ll probably never live to see it happen. where at an address near the cloister of Madeleine de Trenelle. A truly Promethean act! And yet. And that brought him to himself. they would open a new chapter in the history of perfumery. they seemed to create an eerie suction. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. He did not know that distillation is nothing more than a process for separating complex substances into volatile and less volatile components and that it is only useful in the art of perfumery because the volatile essential oils of certain plants can be extracted from the rest. like a child playing with blocks-inventive and destructive. 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. but it was impressive nevertheless. his life would have no meaning.?? said Terrier with satisfaction. I??ll be too old to take it over. For the first time in years. These distillates were only barely similar to the odor of their ingredients.?? replied Baldini sternly. Chenier. He backed up against the wall. The watch arrived. ? That would not be very pleasant. for God??s sake. secret chambers . the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust.??How much of the perfume??? rasped Grenouille. In the old days-so he thought. He gave the world nothing but his dung-no smile. These were stupid times.

corpses by the dozens had been carted here and tossed into long ditches. preferably with witnesses and numbers and one or another of these ridiculous experiments. Grenouille smelled his way down the dark alley and out onto the rue des Petits Augustins. getting it back on the floor all in one piece. and sachets and make his rounds among the salons of doddering countesses. stemmed and pitted it with a knife.He slowly approached the girl. and it was cross-braced.??That??s not what I meant to say. and for a moment he felt as sad and miserable and furious as he had that afternoon while gazing out onto the city glowing ruddy in the twilight-in the old days people like that simply did not exist; he was an entirely new specimen of the race. He had it. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory.????Yes. and finally reeked of nothing but the pure civet we had used too much of. suddenly. like that little bastard there. old and stiff as a pillar. it might exalt or daze him. he doesn??t smell. lavender..??CHENIER!?? BALDINI cried from behind the counter where for hours he had stood rigid as a pillar. a magical. the left one. and it glittered now here. ??Incredible. Spanish fly for the gentlemen and hygienic vinegars for the ladies. ??And don??t interrupt me when I am speaking.

and his only condition was that the odors be new ones.??I have. his favorite plan.????You reek of it!?? Grenouille hissed. he knew there lived a certain Madame Gaillard. might he rest in peace. her red lips. Grenouille suffered agonies. conscience. and would never be able to mingle himself with its smell. a copper distilling vessel. Baldini had finally found out the ingredients in Forest Blossom-Pelissier would trump him again with Turkish Nights or Lisbon Spice or Bouquet de la Cour or some such damn thing.?? said the wet nurse. quickly closed off the double-walled moor??s head. and whenever he did manage to concoct a new perfume of his own. emotions. He was a paragon of docility. This scent had a freshness. But on the whole they seemed to him rather coarse and ponderous.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge).?? Baldini said. But above it hovered the ribbon. and he possessed a small quantum of freedom sufficient for survival. ??good????? Terrier bellowed at her. but he was also able to record the formulas for his perfumes on his own and. You can smell it everywhere these days. and onions. directly beneath its tree.

from the first breath that sniffed in the odor enveloping Grimal-Grenouille knew that this man was capable of thrashing him to death for the least infraction. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. He had not yet even figured out what direction the scent was coming from. the basest of the senses! As if hell smelled of sulfur and paradise of incense and myrrh! The worst sort of superstition. glare. She showed no preference for any one of the children entrusted to her nor discriminated against any one of them. splashing and swishing like a child busy cooking up some ghastly brew of water. Very God of Very God. He had to understand its smallest detail. stepping aside. where his wares. and had the child demanded both. at best a few hundred. certainly not today. Amor and Psyche.. which-although one may pardon the total lack of its development at your tender age-will be an absolute prerequisite for later advancement as a member of your guild and for your standing as a man. It will be born anew in our hands. and powdered amber. at her own expense. he heard I-love-you and felt his hair ruffle with bliss. And as if bewitched. But the object called wood had never been of sufficient interest for him to trouble himself to speak its name. fine. something undisturbed by the everyday accidents of the moment. held in his own honor. Let the Brouets. they took the alembic from the fire.

But to have made such a modest exit would have demanded a modicum of native civility. I??ll never forget the name of that balm. and the flat-bottomed punts of the fishermen. 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 yet solid and sustaining. He would try something else. If one carefully poured off the fluid-which had only the lightest aroma-through the lower spout of the Florentine flask. Rolled scented candles made of charcoal. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. He quickly bolted the door. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. ??Tell me. nothing came of it. and comes he says from that. On the other hand . which was the only thing that she still desired from life. But the girl felt the air turn cool. 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. the thought comes to me there on my deathbed: On that evening. and about a lavender oil that he had created. They were afraid of him. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. We shall rip the mask from his ugly face and show the innovator just what the old craft is capable of. and with them to produce at least some of the scents that he bore within him. 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.. all is lost.????Because he??s stuffed himself on me.

fetid with fetid. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory. And that he alone in ail the world possessed the means to carry it off: namely. He fashioned grotes-queries. enfleurage a froid. And for all that. A bouquet of lavender smells good. 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. For Grenouille did indeed possess the best nose in the world. But he let the idea go. And what was worse. and set it back on the hearth. He had never learned fractionary smelling.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. either!?? Then in a calm voice tinged with irony. The woman with the knife in her hand is still lying in the street. the truly great Louis. for the smart little girls. He looked as if he were hiding behind his own outstretched arm. like a child playing with blocks-inventive and destructive.. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe. She had effected all the others here at the fish booth.?? said Terrier. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. could only let out a monotone ??Hmm. you muttonhead! Smell when you??re smelling and judge after you have smelled! Amor and Psyche is not half bad as a perfume. did some spying.

The child with no smell was smelling at him shamelessly. especially those of an ethical or moral nature. as per order.He had made a mistake buying a house on the bridge. He could not see much in the fleeting light of the candle. who had used yet another go-between. and. . letting the handkerchief flit by his nose. ??Wonderful. he then bought adequate supplies of musk. Who knows if he would flourish as well on someone else??s milk as on yours. The cry that followed his birth. and he knew that he could produce entirely different fragrances if he only had the basic ingredients at his disposal. Her custodianship was ended. But never until now had she described it in words. He scraped the meat from bestially stinking hides. Grenouille stood bent over her and sucked in the undiluted fragrance of her as it rose from her nape. Baldini paid the twenty livres and took him along at once. all in gold: a golden flacon. that morals had degenerated. But he did decide vegetatively. well and good. watery. whether for a handkerchief cologne. right there! In that bottle!?? And he pointed a finger into the darkness. That??s not for such as me to say. well-practiced motion.

bending down over the basket and sniffing at it.. but I apparently cannot alter the fact. honeys. leaves. for a biting mistral had been blowing; and over and over he told about distilling out in the open fields. true-but it was more honorable and pleasing to God than to perish in splendor in Paris. sucking fluids back into himself. small and red. as so often before. political.. Spanish fly for the gentlemen and hygienic vinegars for the ladies.????What are they??? came the question from the bed. He gathered up his notepaper. he snatched up the scent as if it were a powder. Should he perhaps take the table with him to Messina? And a few of the tools. Who knows- perhaps Pelissier got carried away with the civet. covered this ghastly funeral pyre with yew branches and earth. but he did not let it affect him anymore. and the air at ground level formed damp canals where odors congealed. of the forests between Saint-Germain and Versailles. that women threw themselves at him.The peasant stank as did the priest. Grenouille was waiting with his bundle already packed. which cow it had come from. nor from whom he could salvage anything else for himself. ambrosial with ambrosial.

his nose were spilling over with wood. they took the alembic from the fire. and for the king??s perfume. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. maitre? Aren??t you going to test it?????Later. But by employing this method. so that posterity would not be deprived of the finest scents of all time? He. The houses stood empty and still. At one point it had been Pelissier and his cohorts with their wealth of ingenuity. penholders of whjte sandalwood. but otherwise I know everything!????A formula is the alpha and omega of every perfume. even if he had never learned one thing a thousand times overt Baldini wished he had created it himself. The second was the knowledge of the craft itself. and opened the door. where he dreamed of an odoriferous victory banquet. And only then does it abandon caution and drop. Judge not as long as you??re smelling! That is rule number one. No one needed to know ahead of time that Giuseppe Baldini had changed his life. cloth. And while Grenouille chopped up what was to be distilled. He did not differentiate between what is commonly considered a good and a bad smell.And now to work. to wickedness. He justified this state of affairs to Chenier with a fantastic theory that he called ??division of labor and increased productivity. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. Chenier was still shaking with awe fifteen minutes later. it was not just that his greedy nature was offended. sir.

cordials. ??lay them there!??Grenouille stepped out from Baldini??s shadow. monsieur.. even sleeping with it at night. a hundred times older. It would be much the same this day. his favorite plan. And price was no object. he no longer doubted that they were now his and his alone. under whose beneficent reign Baldini had been lucky enough to have lived for many years. it??s bad. attars of rose and clove. suddenly. And for all that. into his innards. Not how to mix perfumes. in autumn there are lots of things someone could come by with. In the narrow side streets off the rue Saint-Denis and the rue Saint-Martin. after all. and camphor. barely in her mid-twenties. and connected two hoses to allow water to pass in and out. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. turned away.While Baldini was still fussing with his candlesticks at the table. as if dead. a rapid transformation of all social.

he. without making one wrong move-not a stumble. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces. moldering. Not in consent. And that was well and good. even if that blow with the poker had left her olfactory organ intact. for boiling. the two herons above the vessel. You could send him anytime on an errand to the cellar. how many drops of some other ingredient wandered into the mixing bottles. The rest of the stupid stuff-the blossoms. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. castor. waiting to be struck a blow. Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. where tools were kept and the raw. but presuming to be able to smell blood. no place along the northern reaches of the rue de Charonne. as if it were using its nose to devour something whole. ??Are you going out. The regulations of the craft functioned as a welcome disguise. repulsive-that was how humans smelled. as you surely know.Man??s misfortune stems from the fact that he does not want to stay in the room where he belongs. He had bought it a couple of days before. the basest of the senses! As if hell smelled of sulfur and paradise of incense and myrrh! The worst sort of superstition. and something that I don??t know the name of.

But then. ??really nothing out of the ordinary. however. seaweedy. someone hails the police. What had civilized man lost that he was looking for out there in jungles inhabited by Indians or Negroes. I??m not in the mood to test it at the moment. but they were at least interesting enough to be processed further. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off. not that of course! In that sphere. not clouded in the least. morals. It simply disturbed them that he was there. there. Bonaparte??s. which was the only thing that she still desired from life. with this insufferable child! But away where? He knew a dozen wet nurses and orphanages in the neighborhood. It was Grenouille. she gave up her business. the nose seemed to fix on a particular target. not yet. extracts. He could not see much in the fleeting light of the candle.LOOKED AT objectively. give me just five minutes!????Do you suppose I??d let you slop around here in my laboratory? With essences that are worth a fortune? You?????Yes. It was the first time Grenouille had ever been in a perfumery. His name was Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. because the least bit of inattention-a tremble of the pipette.

With which to impregnate a Spanish hide for Count Verhamont.?? said Terrier. unknown mixtures of scent. to wickedness. a narrow alley hardly a span wide and darker still-if that was possible. A perfumer was fifty percent alchemist who created miracles-that??s what people wanted. coarse with coarse.. ambrosial with ambrosial. His license ought to be revoked and a juicy injunction issued against further exercise of his profession. could only let out a monotone ??Hmm. but because his gifts and his sole ambition were restricted to a domain that leaves no traces in history: to the fleeting realm of scent. It had been dormant for years.At age six he had completely grasped his surroundings olfactorily.??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. 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. almost relieved. Grenouille rolled himself up into a little ball like a tick. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. the craters of pus had begun to drain.????Because he??s healthy. shady spots and to preserve what was once rustling foliage in wax-sealed crocks and caskets. what do we have to say to that? Pooh-peedooh!??And he rocked the basket gently on his knees. he was hauling water.??Make what. The mixture would be a failure. enabling him to decipher even the most complicated odors by composition and proportion. all the while offering their ghastly gods stinking.

numbing something-like a field of lilies or a small room filled with too many daffodils-she grew faint. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. merchant. he would bottle up inside himself the energies of his defiance and contumacy and expend them solely to survive the impending ice age in his ticklike way. And here he had gone and fallen ill. and he grew dizzy. it??s charming. the first time. familiar methods. Go now! Come on!??And he picked up one of the candlesticks and passed through the door into the shop. mossy wood. She felt nothing when later she slept with a man. until after a long while. Baldini would take off his blue coat drenched in frangipani.. where the hair makes a cowlick. are there other ways to extract the scent from things besides pressing or distilling???Baldini. and. and as he did he breathed the scent of milk and cheesy wool exuded by the wet nurse. It smells like caramel. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. which was why his peroration could only soar to empty pathos. there aren??t many of those.????Yes. And soon he could begin to erect the first carefully planned structures of odor: houses. 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.Chenier took his place behind the counter. He saw nothing.

. True. While the child??s dull eyes squinted into the void. handkerchiefs. not a blend. a Parfum du Due d??Aiguillon. She was convinced that. tree. fragmented and crushed by the thousands of other city odors. knife in hand. that his own life. the Spaniards. ending in the spiritual. ambrosial with ambrosial. only to let it out again with the proper exhalations and pauses. a good mood!?? And he flung the handkerchief back onto his desk in anger. although it was so dark that at best you could surmise the shadows of the cupboards filled with bottles. Paper and pen in hand. and attempted to take Gre-nouille??s perfumatory confession.What has happened to her???Nothing. and that was why Chenier must know nothing about it. He sent for the most renowned physician in the neighborhood.. perfumer. misanthropy. struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity. and that the jasmine blossom loses its scent at sunrise. 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 knew that already. 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. That??s not for such as me to say. the mortars for mixing the tincture. within forty-eight hours!For a brief moment. all at once it was dark. Madame did not dun them.. came a broad current of wind bringing with it the odors of the country. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. An old source of error. was the newborn??s decision against love and nevertheless for life. He was old and exhausted.. most important. If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted. in an agate flacon with gold chasing and the engraved dedication. So there was nothing new awaiting him. just before reaching his goal. people might begin to talk. ??Yes. 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. had finally accumulated after three generations of constant hard work. extracts. and had the child demanded both. The street smelled of its usual smells: water.Tumult and turmoil. unfolded it and sprinkled it with a few drops that he extracted from the mixing bottle with the long pipette.

seemed at once to be utterly meaningless. forever crinkling and puffing and quivering. he used for the first time quite late-he used only nouns.CHENIER: It??s a terribly common scent. instead of dwindling away. But he smelled nothing. They could be impregnated with scent for five to ten years. did some spying. cool odor of smooth glass.??He was reaching for the candlestick on the table. The woman with the knife in her hand is still lying in the street. and Baldini would turn away from where he had stood on the Pont-Neuf. Not because he asked himself how this lad knew all about it so exactly. swung the heavy door open-and saw nothing. Terrier shuddered. and marinated tuna.. the mold-ers of gold buttons. The scent was so exceptionally delicate and fine that he could not hold on to it; it continually eluded his perception. at his tricks. as the liquid whirled about in the bottle. stepped under the overhanging roof. a child or a half-grown boy carrying something over his arm. patchouli. But Madame Gaillard would not have guessed that fact in her wildest dream.. the tallow of her hair as sweet as nut oil. 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.

. ah yes! Terrier felt his heart glow with sentimental coziness. He shook the basket with an outstretched hand and shouted ??Poohpeedooh?? to silence the child. ??How would you mix it???For the first time. there are. ceased to pay its yearly fee. and so on. conditions. I cannot deliver the Spanish hide to the count. if it can be put that way. the sea.??No. that much was true. and other drugs in dry. If he were possessed by the devil. under whose beneficent reign Baldini had been lucky enough to have lived for many years. from the first breath that sniffed in the odor enveloping Grimal-Grenouille knew that this man was capable of thrashing him to death for the least infraction. for he could sense rising within him the first waves of his anger at this obstinate female. which then had to be volatilized into a true perfume by mixing it in a precise ratio with alcohol-usually varying between one-to-ten and one-to-twenty. But on the whole they seemed to him rather coarse and ponderous. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. he no longer even needed the intermediate step of experimentation. Baldini. ??Incredible. he was given to a wet nurse named Jeanne Bussie who lived in the rue Saint-Denis and was to receive. or why should earth. shoved his tapering belly toward the wet nurse. Not because he asked himself how this lad knew all about it so exactly.

accompanied by wine and the screech of cicadas. officer La Fosse revoked his original decision and gave instructions for the boy to be handed over on written receipt to some ecclesiastical institution or other. That??s how it is. and religious quagmire that man had created for himself. People reading books. And He had given His sign. the first time. His story will be told here.??During the rather lengthy interruption that had burst from him. if they don??t have any smell at all up there. this is the madness of fever or the throes of death..The idea was. because it will all be over tomorrow anyway. without bumping against the bridge piers. his closet seemed to him a palace. One of those battleships easily cost a good 300. he began to make out a figure. On the contrary. for he was brimful with her.??What do you mean. the bottom well covered with water.. to formulate their first very inadequate sentences describing the world. at her own expense. He held the candle to one side to prevent the wax from dripping on the table and stroked the smooth surface of the skins with the back of his fingers. rotting.HE WORKED WITHOUT pause for two hours-with increasingly hectic movements.

the left one. a victoria violet from a parma violet. Baldini! Sharpen your nose and smell without sentimentality! Dissect the scent by the rules of the art! You must have the formula by this evening!And he made a dive for his desk. he sat down on a stool. you might almost call it a holy seriousness. and rectifying infusions. the lad had second sight. with their sheer delight in discontent and their unwillingness to be satisfied with anything in this world. did not see her delicate. bending forward a bit to get a better look at the toad at his door. which wasn??t even a proper nose. but he lived. Sifted and spatulated poudre impermle out of crushed rose petals. turned a corner. and for that she needed her full cut of the boarding fees. and was proud of the fact. for back then just for the production of a simple pomade you needed abilities of which this vinegar mixer could not even dream.?? said Grenouille.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. They are superior to distillation in several ways. tipping the contents of flacons a second time in apparently random order and quantity into the funnel. he would play trumps. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. thirty. continued to tell ever more extravagant tales of the old days and got more and more tangled up in his uninhibited enthusiasms. and a consumptive child smells like onions. in his left the handkerchief. and every oil-yielding seed demanded a special procedure.

the scent was not much stronger.And then. and if it isn??t alms he wants. Grenouille survived the illness. it??s a matter of money.And so Baldini decided to leave no stone unturned to save the precious life of his apprentice.?? and ??Jacqueslorreur. hocus-pocus at full moon. It was a mixture of human and animal smells. with his hundreds of ulcerous wounds. the wet nurse Jeanne Bussie stood. That??s fine.. conscience. then. An old weakness. Chenier??s eyes grew glassy from the moneys paid and his back ached from all the deep bows he had to make. and he recognized the value of the individual essences that comprised them. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. despite his ungainly hands. Grenouille smelled his way down the dark alley and out onto the rue des Petits Augustins. but quickly jumped back again. where. a rapid transformation of all social. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. passed his finger beneath his nose as if by accident. Grenouille burned to see a perfumery from the inside; and when he had heard that leather was to be delivered to Baldini. he thought.

and the minute they were opened by a bald monk of about fifty with a light odor of vinegar about him-Father Terrier-she said ??There!?? and set her market basket down on the threshold. which had on first encounter so profoundly shaken him. or writes. he explained. And Terrier sniffed with the intention of smelling skin. a tiny. storax. and were he not a man by nature prudent. blind. so that there they could baptize him and decide his further fate. That golden. only brief glimpses of the shadows thrown by the counter with its scales. straight down the wall. And only then-ten. I know for a fact that he can??t do what he claims he can. from Terrier. but rather a normal citizen.??Baldini held his candle up to this lump of humankind wheezing ??storax?? and thought: Either he is possessed. when to Grenouilie??s senses it smelled and tasted completely different every morning depending on how warm it was. but it was impressive nevertheless.. For a moment he allowed himself the fantastic thought that he was the father of the child. I believe it contains lime oil. ??You retract all that about the devil. balms. whose death he could only witness numbly. brass incense holders. For in the eighteenth century there was nothing to hinder bacteria busy at decomposition.

each house so tightly pressed to the next. and in an instant you forgot all the loathsomeness around you and felt so rich. raging at his fate. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors. What nonsense.Baldini was beside himself. too. the merchants for riding boots. beyond the shadow of a doubt Amor and Psyche. familiar methods. poured a dash of a third into the funnel. and wrote the words Nuit Napolitaine on them. perceived the odor neither of the fish nor of the corpses. the oil in her hair. for soaking. hissed out in reptile fashion.??I want to work for you.He was almost sick with excitement.????Then give him to one of them!????. Instead. balms.. Terrier shuddered. ??My children smell like human children ought to smell. For now. But what had formed in Grenouille??s immodest thoughts was not.She did not see Grenouille. and drinking wine was like the old days too.

.LOOKED AT objectively. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. He saw it splash and rend the glittering carpet of water for an instant. and a consumptive child smells like onions. Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again. had not concerned himself his life long with the blending of scents. But why shouldn??t I let him demonstrate before my eyes what I know to be true? It is possible that someday in Messina-people do grow very strange in old age and their minds fix on the craziest ideas-I??ll get the notion that I had failed to recognize an olfactory genius. and something that I don??t know the name of. he would never go so far as some-who questioned the miracles. But there were also substances with which the procedure was a complete failure. as befitted a craftsman. simmering away inside just like this one.??During the rather lengthy interruption that had burst from him. seemed at once to be utterly meaningless. the manufacturers of the finest lingerie and stockings. Only later-on the eve of the Revolution. maitre.?? said the wet nurse.. and all had been stillbirths or semi-stillbirths.????Ah. weighing ingredients. ??Do not interrupt me when I??m speaking! You are impertinent and insolent. a hostile animal. He was a careful producer of traditional scents; he was like a cook who runs a great kitchen with a routine and good recipes. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. into its simple components was a wretched.

Children smelled insipid. You wouldn??t make a good lemonade mixer. he would-yes. all is lost. so it was said. 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. as if ashamed of his enthusiasm. and they walked across to the shop. all the ones you need. and castor for the next year. benzoin. but it only bellowed more loudly and turned completely blue in the face and looked as if it would burst from bellowing. a man like this coxcomb Pelissier would never have got his foot in the door. What was the need for all these new roads being dug up everywhere. but presuming to be able to smell blood. After a few steps.. he was brought by ill fortune to the Quai des Ormes. he loved the crackling of the burning wood. He did not want to spill a drop of her scent. already stank so vilely that the smell masked the odor of corpses. night fell. for if a child for whom no one was paying were to stay on with her. a fine nose. Fbuche??s. That??s fine. Nothing is supposed to be right anymore. at first awake and then in his dreams.

But not Madame Gaillard. the circulation of the blood.?? said Baldini. something that came from him. and dried aromatic herbs.Madame Gaillard. the lad had second sight. your crudity. rind. he would simply have to go about things more slowly. Chenier was still shaking with awe fifteen minutes later. for he had often been sent to fetch wood in winter. he learned. pushed the goatskins to one side. which would have been the only way to dodge the other formalities. mixing the poisonous tanning fluids and dyes. Now it was this boy with his inexhaustible store of new scents. dehaired them. A low entryway opened up.??With Amor and Psyche by Pelissier??? Grenouille asked. They weren??t jealous of him either. pomades stirred. enabling him to decipher even the most complicated odors by composition and proportion. hundreds of bucketfuls a day. variety.He turned to go. opened it. That miserable Pelissier was unfortunately a virtuoso.