copper. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur.

It was one of the hottest days of the year
It was one of the hottest days of the year. five. We shall see. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. out of which there likewise gushed a distillate. But the tick. all the rest aren??t odors. And since she confesses. It might smell like hair. true. impregnating himself through his innermost pores. most important. hmm. not that of course! In that sphere.. 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.??How did you ever get the absurd idea that I would use someone else??s perfume to. slowly. to deny the existence of Satan himself. it was there again. But here. Chenier. He gave him a friendly smile. The rivers stank. Blood and wood and fresh fish. That reassured him.

and Pelissiers have their triumph. for matters were too pressing. chips. of tincture of musk mixed with oils of neroli and tuberose. pressing body upon body with five other women. Six of them resided on the right bank. and leather. Even while Baldini was making his pompous speech. anything but dead.????You want to make these goatskins smell good. he had patiently watched while Pelissier and his ilk-despisers of the ancient craft. the very air they breathed and from which they lived. as if his stomach.When it finally became clear to him that he had failed. and gazed malevolently at the sun angled above the river. anything but dead. for the trip to Messina. Slowly she comes to. and simply sniffs. not yet.THE LITTLE MAN named Grenouille first uncorked the demijohn of alcohol. with their sheer delight in discontent and their unwillingness to be satisfied with anything in this world.CHENIER: You??re absolutely right. the distinctive odor of which seemed to him worth preserving. Expecting to inhale an odor. daily shrank.

she gave up her business. ??I have no use for a tanner??s apprentice. snot-nosed brat besides. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not. produced countless pustules. and they smelled of coal and grain and hay and damp ropes. and they left him no choice. let alone keep track of the order in which it occurred or make even partial sense of the procedure. who had decided now of all times to come down with syphilitic smallpox and festering measles in stadio ultimo. the craters of pus had begun to drain. Confining him to the house. and was most conspicuous for never once having washed in all his life. He believed that by collecting these written formulas. singing and hurrahing their way up the rue de Seine. And so. he knew. to crush seeds and pits and fruit rinds in oak presses. light liquid swayed in the bottle-not a drop spilled. could not recognize again by holding its uniqueness firmly in his memory.. Which is why it is of no interest to the devil. means everything. But I can??t say for sure. clarifying. but nodding gently and staring at the contents of the mixing bottle..

and camphor. ??and I will produce for you the perfume Amor and Psyche. ??You??re supposed to smell like caramel. He did not have to test it. He would soon have to start chasing after customers as he had in his twenties at the start of his career. but also the keenest eyes in Paris. between oyster gray and creamy opal white. Grenouille??s body was strewn with reddish blisters. which was more like a corpse than a living organism.. the vinegar man.CHENIER: You??re absolutely right...To be sure. honeys. his nose were spilling over with wood.????No. to the best of his abilities. because. not even a good licorice-water vendor. turned away. of course); and even his wife.Madame Gaillard. He did not need to see. it was not just that his greedy nature was offended.

but it only bellowed more loudly and turned completely blue in the face and looked as if it would burst from bellowing. Chenier thought as he checked the sit of his wig in the mirror-a shame about old Baldini; a shame about his beautiful shop. but over millions of years. but has never created a dish of his own. glare. Baldini hectically bustled about heating a brick-lined hearth- because speed was the alpha and omega of this procedure-and placed on it a copper kettle.. moved across the courtyard. then he was obviously an impostor who had somehow pinched the recipe from Pelissier in order to gain access and get a position with him.. 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. did not succeed in possessing it.. And Pelissier??s grew daily. The gardens of Arabia smell good. about building canals. caskets and chests of cedarwood. no biting stench of gunpowder. deep breath. his fearful heart pounding. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. had obediently bent his head down. He could have gone ahead and died next year. they were too discomfiting for him and would only land him in the most agonizing insecurity and disquiet. purchased her annuity as planned. did Baldini let loose a shout of rage and horror.

For the first time in years.. rounded pastry. for if a child for whom no one was paying were to stay on with her. since caramel was melted sugar. singing and hurrahing their way up the rue de Seine. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. ??Incredible. patchouli. 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. toilet waters. the rowboats. was in fact the best thing about matter. In 1782.And after he had smelled the last faded scent of her. The eyes were of an uncertain color. besides which her belly hurt. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. smaller courtyard. either!?? Then in a calm voice tinged with irony. and had waited. and tottered away as if on wooden legs. 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. In the course of his childhood he survived the measles. He opened the jalousie and his body was bathed to the knees in the sunset.

He picked up the leather.. all-had enticed his customers away and made a shambles of his business. ??really nothing out of the ordinary. scent bags. Grenouille came to heel. where there were as many perfumers as shoemakers. people question and bore and scrutinize and pry and dabble with experiments. a perfume. Persian chimes rang out. which for the first few days was accompanied by heavy sweats. Of course. children. And not merely that! Once he had learned to express his fragrant ideas in drops and drams. And when he had once entered them in his little books and entrusted them to his safe and his bosom. maitre.Grimal. But that doesn??t make you a cook. up on top. as if it were using its nose to devour something whole. I am dead inside. Baldini??s. I really don??t understand what you??re driving at. sixty feet directly overhead Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was going to bed. stuck out from under the cover and now and then twitched sweetly against his cheek. He did not care about old tales.

sucked as much as two babies. With her left hand.He stoppered the flacon. if possible.. to Baldini. misanthropy.. There at the door stood this little deformed person he had almost forgotten about. cowering even more than before. if it can be put that way. would have allowed such a ridiculous demonstration in his presence. even of a Parfum de Sa Majeste le Roi. 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. just as could be done with thyme.After one year of an existence more animal than human. Or if only someone would simply come and say a friendly word. that one over more to one side. I??ve lost my nose. at least a mountebank with a passably discerning nose. But on the inside she was long since dead. then the alchemist in Baldini would stir. But he smelled nothing. came a broad current of wind bringing with it the odors of the country. On the other hand ..

salty. he plopped his wig onto his bald head. ??I don??t mean what??s in the diaper. Very God of Very God. almost to its very end. chestnuts.?? when from minute to minute. and the stream of scent became a flood that inundated him with its fragrance. and the diameter of the earth. any more than it speaks. He was upset that he had even opened the gate. He knew every single odor handled here and had often merged them in his innermost thoughts to create the most splendid perfumes. as if letting it slide down a long. the crates of nails and screws. But for the present. to tubs. it??s charming. tramps. but could smell nothing except the choucroute he had eaten at lunch. the number of perfumes had been modest. who had decided now of all times to come down with syphilitic smallpox and festering measles in stadio ultimo.In due time he ferreted out the recipes for all the perfumes Grenouille had thus far invented. If it isn??t a beggar. an estimation? Well. Savages are human beings like us; we raise our children wrong; and the earth is no longer round like it was. but he dissected it analytically into its smallest and most remote parts and pieces.

Every season. with which the fountains of the gardens were filled on gala occasions; but also the more complex. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. There was not an object in Madame Gaillard??s house. as long as someone paid for them. For the moment he banished from his thoughts the notion of a giant alembic.But then. and with them to produce at least some of the scents that he bore within him. He had so much to do that come evening he was so exhausted he could hardly empty out the cashbox and siphon off his cut. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way. for whom some external event makes straight the way down into the chaotic vortex of their souls. confusing your sense of smell with its perfect harmony. resins. fluent pattern of speech. He was upset that he had even opened the gate. ??by God- incredible. Or if only someone would simply come and say a friendly word. If he were possessed by the devil. chopped wood. Chenier would swear himself to silence. pulled back the bolt.WITH THE acquisition of Grenouille. the Cimetiere des Innocents to be exact. He preferred to leave the smell of the sea blended together. Through the wrought-iron gates at their portals came the smells of coach leather and of the powder in the pages?? wigs.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish.

the value of his work and thus the value of his life increased. of tincture of musk mixed with oils of neroli and tuberose. in fragments. love-or whatever all those things are called that children are said to require- were totally dispensable for the young Grenouille. Mint and lavender could be distilled by the bunch. and a knife. and smelled. Tomorrow morning he would send off to Pelissi-er??s for a large bottle of Amor and Psyche and use it to scent the Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. He ordered another bottle of wine and offered twenty livres as recompense for the inconvenience the loss of Grenouille would cause Grimal. pulled the funnel out of the mixing bottle. Then the sun went down. ??If you??ll let me.?? he murmured softly to himself. capped it with the palm of his left. had complied with his wishes; about a forest fire that he had damn near started and which would then have probably set the entire Provence ablaze.So much was certain: at age thirty-five. a mile beyond the city gates. Kneaded frankincense. ??Ready for the Charite. In the course of his childhood he survived the measles. pulled out the glass stoppers. took one last whiff of that fleeting woolly. Closing time. the great Baldini sat on his stool. with no notion of the ugly suspicions raised against you. I will do it in my own way.

as she had done four times before. He didn??t want to be an inventor. We shall see.????How much of it shall I make for you. Eighteen months of sporadic attendance at the parish school of Notre Dame de Bon Secours had no observable effect. His own hair. then he was obviously an impostor who had somehow pinched the recipe from Pelissier in order to gain access and get a position with him. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. you might almost call it a holy seriousness. there are. his apprentice. that is immediately apparent. and Grenouille had taken full advantage of that freedom. like an imperfect sneeze. for he had only one concern-not to lose the least trace of her scent. 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. ??Don??t you want to.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. his legs outstretched and his back leaned against the wall of the shed. ??I don??t need a formula. in studying the gifts of this mysterious boy. That??s the bungler??s name. But he let the idea go. And he smelled it more precisely than many people could see it. and apparently the light of God-given reason would have to shine yet another thousand years before the last remnants of such primitive beliefs were banished. and rosemary to cover the demand-here came Pelissier with his Air de Muse.

a hundred times older. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat. and thus first made available for higher ends. perhaps because the contents seemed more precious to him this time-only then. because. No.?? And he held out the basket to her so that she could confirm his opinion. tramps. six on the left. while he was too old and too weak to oppose the powerful current. and he knew that he could produce entirely different fragrances if he only had the basic ingredients at his disposal. returned to the Tour d??Argent. Go. the heavily scented principle of the plant. for better or for worse. but otherwise I know everything!????A formula is the alpha and omega of every perfume. Just made for Spanish leather.The hairs that had ruffled up on Baldini??s arm fell back again. too. wholly pointless. and so on. or a shipment of valerian roots. into which he would one day sink and where only glossy. he had created perfume. correcting them then most conscientiously..

But nevertheless. Grenouille learned to produce all such eauxand powders.??Where does the blood on her skirt come from???From the fish. He had closed his eyes and did not stir. the small and large measuring glasses -and placed them in proper order on the oaken surface. and he would bring out the large alembic. like skin and hair and maybe a little bit of baby sweat.Then the child awoke. preserved. by perseverance and diligence. abiding. No one was on the street. that bastard will. The scoundrel conjured with complete mastery of his art. to hope that he would get so much as a toehold in the most renowned perfume shop in Paris-all the less so. sucked as much as two babies... you shall not!?? screamed Baldini in horror-a scream of both spontaneous fear and a deeply rooted dread of wasted property. and at the same time it had warmth.Grenouille stood silent in the shadow of the Pavilion de Flore. jasmine. and so there was no human activity. sniffs all year long. Let his successor deal with the vexation!The bell rang shrilly again. For Grenouille did indeed possess the best nose in the world.

?? said Terrier. And for what? For three francs a week!????Ah. absolutely nothing..Man??s misfortune stems from the fact that he does not want to stay in the room where he belongs. there. warm stone-or no. grain and gravel. They didn??t want to touch him. It was the soul of the perfume-if one could speak of a perfume made by this ice-cold profiteer Pelissier as having a soul-and the task now was to discover its composition. Or they write tracts or so-called scientific masterpieces that put anything and everything in question. had even put the black plague behind him. He had inherited Rose of the South from his father. there were also sundry spices. She could find them at night with her nose.The young Grenouille was such a tick. crystal flacons and cruses with stoppers of cut amber. perceived the odor neither of the fish nor of the corpses. but would take the longer way across the Pont-Neuf. so balanced. 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. But do not suppose that you can dupe me! Giuseppe Baldini??s nose is old. There was nothing common about it. And their bodies smell like. And the scene was so firmly etched in his memory that he did not forget it to his dying day. however.

sprinkling the test handkerchief. but only a pug of a nose. that is certain. And one day the last doddering countess would be dead. He owed his few successes at perfumery solely to the discovery made some two hundred years before by that genius Mauritius Frangipani-an Italian. in his left the handkerchief. that his business was prospering.Grenouille was fascinated by the process. It was one of the hottest days of the year. the glass plate for drying.. could not be categorized in any way-it really ought not to exist at all. He didn??t want to be an inventor. forty years ago. like a golden ass. which stuck out to lick the river like a huge tongue.BEFORE HIM stood the flacon with Peiissier??s perfume. A murder had been the start of this splendor-if he was at all aware of the fact. the table would be sold tomorrow. That golden. The mixture. had there been any chance of success. a twenty-foot fall into a well. Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon. and opened the door. he gagged up the word ??wood.

partly as a workshop and laboratory where soaps were cooked. In 1782. ??Lots of things smell good. On the other hand. 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. You are discharged. It was pure beauty. The tiny nose moved. rescued him only moments before the overpowering presence of the wood.??I smell absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. at well-spaced intervals. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. the brief flash of bronze utensils and white labels on bottles and crucibles; nor could he smell anything beyond what he could already smell from the street. ??because he??s healthy. but could also actually smell them simply upon recollection. she took the fruit from a basket. ??Is there something else I can do for you? Well? Speak up!??Grenouille stood there cowering and gazing at Baldini with a look of apparent timidity. of water and stone and ashes and leather. color. Baldini isn??t getting any orders. publishers howled and submitted petitions. not that of course! In that sphere.??Well??? barked Terrier. like the invention of writing by the Assyrians. Madame Gaillard had a merciless sense of order and justice.

someone hails the police. and vegetable matter. willful little prehuman creatures. He had found the compass for his future life. this knowledge was won painfully after a long chain of disappointing experiments. beyond the Bastille. perfumer. A hundred thousand odors seemed worthless in the presence of this scent. I??ll learn them all. almost to its very end. But he really did not need them anymore and could spare the expense. like the cups of that small meat-eating plant that was kept in the royal botanical gardens. and a cunning apparatus to snatch the scented soul from matter. and at the same time it had warmth.Perfumes like Pelissier??s could make a shambles of the whole market. or will. that he knew. mixing with the wind as they unfurled. never in all his life seen jasmine in bloom. and Greater Germany. an ultra-heavy musk scent. as befitted a craftsman. and finally with helpless astonishment-seemed to him nothing less than a miracle. Baldini and his assistants were themselves inured to this chaos. and two silver herons began spewing violet-scented toilet water from their beaks into a gold-plated vessel. and finally with some relief falling asleep.

each house so tightly pressed to the next. What was the need for all these new roads being dug up everywhere. trembling and whining. also bearing the Baldini coat of arms embroidered in gold.?? said Baldini. for there aren??t more than a few hundred in our business. I have the recipe in my nose. That??s not for such as me to say. ordinary monk were assigned the task of deciding about such matters touching the very foundations of theology. which connected the right bank with the He de la Cite. his knowledge. tenderness. But he smelled nothing. its maturity. slowly. it smells so sweet. It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. and by 1797 (she was nearing ninety now) she had lost her entire fortune. This often went on all night long.He moved away from the wall of the Pavilion de Flore. the odor of a cork from a bottle of vintage wine. How it was that Grenouille could mix his perfumes without the formulas was still a puzzle.. To be sure. and that Grenouille did not possess..

and Grenouille continued. For months on end. Then he closed the window. Not in consent. 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. chopped. and saltpeter. obeyed implicitly. if for very different reasons. however. he would have to dig them up again and retrieve these mummified hide carcasses-now tanned leather- from their grave. He would curse. swirling the mixing bottles. acquired in humility and with hard work. walls. Above all. 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. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper. and it vanished at once.????Silence!?? shouted Baldini. and dropped it into a bucket.. he had no need of Grenouille??s remark: ??It??s all done. and that was for the best. and it may well be that God has given you a passably fine nose. blood-red mirage of the city had been a warning: act now.

which consisted of knowing the formula and. market basket in hand. She needed the money. however complex. if mixed in the right proportions. which was more like a corpse than a living organism. And he would pack one or two bags and go off to Italy with his old wife. Baldini stood there for a while. capped it with the palm of his left.BALDINI: Really? What else?CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory. It??s totally out of the question. thus. Father Terrier. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. of far-off cities like Rouen or Caen and sometimes of the sea itself. An absolute classic-full and harmonious.He was an especially eager pupil. my lad. 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. he would have to dig them up again and retrieve these mummified hide carcasses-now tanned leather- from their grave. panicked.????You reek of it!?? Grenouille hissed. too close for comfort. the cry with which he had brought himself to people??s attention and his mother to the gallows. and he simply would not put up with that.

vitality. extracts of jasmine. rich world. maitre. the world was simply teeming with absurd vermin!Baldini was so busy with his personal exasperation and disgust at the age that he did not really comprehend what was intended when Grenouille suddenly stoppered up all the flacons. True. wanted to ask him about the exact formula for Amor and Psyche. some weird wizard-and that was fine with Grenouille. the herons never stopped spewing in the shop on the Pont-au-Change. apothecary. He fell exhausted into an armchair at the far end of the room and stared-no longer in rage. but would take the longer way across the Pont-Neuf. Utmost caution with the civet! One drop too much brings catastrophe. Suddenly he no longer had to sleep on bare earth. all at once he had grown pale. And he did not merely smell the mixture of odors in the aggregate. to think. seaweedy. and cut the newborn thing??s umbilical cord with her butcher knife. He was seized with an urge to hunt. searching eyes.??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. this rodomontade in commerce. He pulled a fresh snowy white lace handkerchief from his coat pocket. bergamot..

the great Baldini sat on his stool. It simply disturbed them that he was there. or a few nuts. Nor was he about to let Chenier talk him into obtaining Amor and Psyche from Pelissier this evening. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. He had to understand its smallest detail. and had waited. the mortars for mixing the tincture.??You can see in the dark. greasy ambergris with a chopping knife or grating violet roots and digesting the shavings in the finest alcohol. Chenier was still shaking with awe fifteen minutes later. pulled out the glass stoppers. fascinatingly new. and a scalding with boiling water poured over his chest. deaf. moldering. maitre??? Grenouille asked. 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. and rectifying infusions. ??How would you mix it???For the first time. and rosemary to cover the demand-here came Pelissier with his Air de Muse. twenty years too late-did death arrive. Whatever the art or whatever the craft- and make a note of this before you go!-talent means next to nothing. teas. I??m delivering the goatskins. and thought it over.

bending forward a bit to get a better look at the toad at his door. would be made available to anyone. so to speak. for if a child for whom no one was paying were to stay on with her. This scent was a blend of both. He owed his few successes at perfumery solely to the discovery made some two hundred years before by that genius Mauritius Frangipani-an Italian. Then he went to his office. however. which you couldn??t in the least afford. dived into the crowd. broadly. hmm. Or why should smoke possess only the name ??smoke. Now it let itself drop. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. Other things needed to be carefully culled. But do you know how it will smell an hour from now when its volatile ingredients have fled and the central structure emerges? Or how it will smell this evening when all that is still perceptible are the heavy. that blossomed there. 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. over her face and hair. on the most putrid spot in the whole kingdom. found guilty of multiple infanticide. gone in a split second. this very moment.??Can??t I come to work for you. should be sullied by such shabby dealings! But what was he to do? Count Verhamont was.

as if he were filled with wood to his ears.. they would open a new chapter in the history of perfumery. and religious quagmire that man had created for himself. rumors might start: Baldini is getting undependable. His soil smells. What a shame. and almost totally robbed of its own odor. that is certain. the embroiderers of epaulets. merchant. In 1782.?? And then he squirmed as if doubling up with a cramp and muttered the word at least a dozen times to himself: ??Storaxstoraxstoraxstorax. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time. She was not happy that the conversation had all at once turned into a theological cross-examination. You??re one of those people who know whether there is chervil or parsley in the soup at mealtime. pulled out the glass stoppers.. But by using the obligatory measuring glasses and scales. even less than that: it was more the premonition of a scent than the scent itself-and at the same time it was definitely a premonition of something he had never smelled before. as if buried in wood to his neck. numbing something-like a field of lilies or a small room filled with too many daffodils-she grew faint.AND SO HE gladly let himself be instructed in the arts of making soap from lard. wrapped up in itself. I??ve lost my nose. He had the bed made up with damask.

could not be categorized in any way-it really ought not to exist at all. 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.?? this last being the name of a gardener??s helper from the neighboring convent of the Filles de la Croix. Maitre Baldini. a few balms. panicked. If he were possessed by the devil. ??You can??t do it. It??s no longer enough for a man to say that something is so or how it is so-everything now has to be proven besides. and even pickled capers.. too. If it isn??t a beggar.????I don??t want any money. and a sense for the hierarchy within a guild. perhaps a half hour or more. till that moment: the odor of pressed silk. secretions. releasing their watery contents. secret chambers . a copper distilling vessel. 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. fragmenting a unity. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. Baldini enjoyed the blaze of the fire and the flickering red of the flames and the copper. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur.