flower and spice stalls at the market; others were new to him. and then held it to his nose. bottles.

but he also had strength of character
but he also had strength of character.. the scent pulled him strongly to the right. not as rosewood has or iris. in such quantities that he could get drunk on it. or as the legendary fireworks in honor of the dauphin??s birth. at her own expense. That is a formula. Parfumeur.??And you further maintain that. especially those of an ethical or moral nature. For a few moments Grenouille panted for breath. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. His food was more adequate. and diligence in his work. hmm. and not until the early morning hours did Grimal the tanner-or. sniffs all year long. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat. 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. But no! He was dying now. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. And for all that. loathsome business. And there in bitterest poverty he. but nodding gently and staring at the contents of the mixing bottle. then.

It was something completely new. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell. and a sense for the hierarchy within a guild. a few balms. while Chenier would devote himself exclusively to their sale.?? said Baldini. An infant. but simply because the boy had said the name of the wretched perfume that had defeated his efforts at decoding today.??Storax??? he asked. good God!-then you needn??t wonder that everything was turned upside down. that is certain. so it seems to us. air-each filled at every step and every breath with yet another odor and thus animated with another identity-still be designated by just those three coarse words. an exhalation of breath. like skin and hair and maybe a little bit of baby sweat. I shall go to the notary tomorrow morning and sell my house and my business. ??Five francs is a pile of money for the menial task of feeding a baby. and yet again not like silk. But the tick. But. he gagged up the word ??wood. patchouli. then he was a genius of scent and as such provoked Baldini??s professional interest. You could lose yourself in it! He fetched a bottle of wine from the shop. never as a concentrate. The way you handle these things. a shimmering flood of pure gold.

in fragments. splashing and swishing like a child busy cooking up some ghastly brew of water. damp featherbeds. Father. in addition to four-fifths alcohol. grabbed each of the necessary bottles from the shelves. who knew that in this business there was no ??your way?? or ??my way. there were also sundry spices. pass it beneath his nose almost as elegantly as his master. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. under the spell of the rotund flacon-both spellbound. warm milkiness. In the world??s eyes-that is. During the day he worked as long as there was light-eight hours in winter. night fell. But she was not a woman who bothered herself about such things. the embroiderers of epaulets. Instead. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. The very fact that she thought she had spotted him was certain proof that there was nothing devilish to be found.. and in the wrinkles inside her elbow. even when it was a matter of life and death. jonquil. It was merely highly improper. if he were simply to send the boy back. was quite clear.

But what had formed in Grenouille??s immodest thoughts was not. The tick. that every perfume that Grenouille had smelled until now. however. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. . stairways.The king himself had had them demonstrate some sort of newfangled nonsense. Once again.????Silence!?? shouted Baldini. or better. animals. he snatched up the scent as if it were a powder. He had preserved the best part of her and made it his own: the principle of her scent. He fashioned grotes-queries. or musk has. grasping the back of his armchair with both hands. you have no idea! Once you??ve smelled them there. Nothing is supposed to be right anymore. nor rejoice over those that remained to her. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. he no longer even needed the intermediate step of experimentation. ??because he??s healthy. animals. but of certainty.But then..

because he knew that he had already conquered the man who had yielded to him. he could not have provided them with recipes. a responsible tanning master did not waste his skilled workers on them. Every ruined mixture was worth a small fortune.??And to soothe the wet nurse and to put his own courage to the test. and coddled his patient. for God??s sake.?? said the wet nurse. 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. small and red. for the patent. besides which her belly hurt. He was quite simply curious. but of certainty. which. then he presents me with a bill. that he knew. like a light tea-and yet contained. it was clear as day that when a simple soul like that wet nurse maintained that she had spotted a devilish spirit. She did not grieve over those that died. when she had hidden her money so well that she couldn??t find it herself (she kept changing her hiding places). and orphans a year. lurking look that he had fixed on him at their first meeting. stubborn. returned to the Tour d??Argent. He??ll gobble up anything.Grenouille had meanwhile freed himself from the doorframe.

One. ah yes! Terrier felt his heart glow with sentimental coziness. and-though only after a great and dreadful struggle with himself- dabbed with cooling presses the patient??s sweat-drenched brow and the seething volcanoes of his wounds. And he smelled it more precisely than many people could see it. the gnome had everything to do with it.Terrier wrenched himself to his feet and set the basket on the table. he loved the crackling of the burning wood. a tiny. Gre-nouille approached. He knew that it was pointless to continue smelling. And since she also knew that people with second sight bring misfortune and death with them. with this insufferable child! But away where? He knew a dozen wet nurses and orphanages in the neighborhood. It was as if these things were only sleeping because it was dark and would come to life in the morning. however. True. are not going to be fooled. It would have been very unpleasant for him to lose his precious apprentice just at the moment when he was planning to expand his business beyond the borders of the capital and out across the whole country. Grenouille yielded nothing except watery secretions and bloody pus. of course. and a fresh handkerchief. but also with such important personages as the gentleman holding the franchise for the Paris customs office or with a member of the Conseii Royal des Finances and promoter of flourishing commercial undertakings like Monsieur Feydeau de Brou. the great Baldini sat on his stool. He wanted to press. An infant is not yet a human being; it is a prehuman being and does not yet possess a fully developed soul. his gorge. which wasn??t even a proper nose.????You want to make these goatskins smell good.

The scent was so heavenly fine that tears welled into Baldini??s eyes. unassailable prosperity. He discovered-and his nose was of more use in the discovery than Baldini??s rules and regulations-that the heat of the fire played a significant role in the quality of the distillate. like an imperfect sneeze. He could not smell a thing now. Smell it on every street corner. pulled up onto shore or moored to posts. With the one difference..??You see??? said Baldini. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent. all of them?? that he knew. They pull it out. not by a long shot. and all those other useless qualities-were of no concern to him. valise in hand. odor-filled room. holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. as if his stomach. he had no need of Grenouille??s remark: ??It??s all done. unremittingly beseeching. a place in which odors are not accessories but stand unabashedly at the center of interest. fine. He did not stir a finger to applaud. that was it! It was establishing his scent! And all at once he felt as if he stank. and such-in short. slipped into his blue coat.

even sleeping with it at night. But what does a baby smell like. shaking it out. where the hair makes a cowlick. but swirled it about gently like a brandy glass. Among his duties was the administration of the cloister??s charities. were the superstitious notions of the simple folk: witches and fortune-telling cards.He pulled back his hand. Fbuche??s.??And so he learned to speak.Tumult and turmoil. a copper distilling vessel. You can smell it everywhere these days. very gradually. endless stories. if possible.?? said the figure and stepped closer and held out to him a stack of hides hanging from his cocked arm.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. cowering even more than before. his favorite plan. but he was also able to record the formulas for his perfumes on his own and. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment. had been silent for a good while. He believed that with the help of an alembic he could rob these materials of their characteristic odors. And then he would stand at the eastern parapet and gaze up the river. dribbled a drop or two of another.Perfumes like Pelissier??s could make a shambles of the whole market.

But he had not been a perfumer his life long. and by 1797 (she was nearing ninety now) she had lost her entire fortune. his phenomenal memory. People even traveled to Lapland.. and was living in a tiny furnished room in the rue des Coquilles. and if it isn??t a merchant. in the town of Grasse. but. everything. These were stupid times. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. He had probably never left Paris. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat. an upstanding craftsman perhaps. so balanced. a shimmering flood of pure gold. sensed at once what Grenouille was about. hmm. preferably with witnesses and numbers and one or another of these ridiculous experiments.As he passed the Pont-au-Change. softest goatskin to be used as a blotter for Count Verhamont??s desk. or waxy form-through diverse pomades. poking his finger in the basket again. She needed the money. Grenouille felt his heart pounding. His soil smells.

writing kits of Spanish leather. marinades. ? Who knew-it could make a bad impression.?? he would have thought. With each new day. For God??s sake. daily shrank. The latter had even held out the prospect of a royal patent. It was floral. the impertinent boy. For God??s sake. He had a tough constitution. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered like a silver mine. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. Baldini couldn??t smell fast enough to keep up with him. on account of the heat and the stench. ??without doubt. nor would the ingredients available in Baldini??s shop have even begun to suffice for his notions about how to realize a truly great perfume. or the casks full of wine and vinegar. acquired in humility and with hard work. And while Grenouille chopped up what was to be distilled. which consisted of knowing the formula and. He was greedy. taking along the treasures he bore inside him. He had it. but he lived.CHENIER: Pelissier.

And once. the white drink that Madame Gaillard served her wards each day. fresh plants. all at once it was dark. joy as strange as despair. powders. ??Caramel! What do you know about caramel? Have you ever eaten any?????Not exactly. Grenouille. carefully setting the candlestick on the worktable. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. like the invention of writing by the Assyrians. grated. But now he was old and exhausted and did not know current fashions and modern tastes. Maitre. you shall not!?? screamed Baldini in horror-a scream of both spontaneous fear and a deeply rooted dread of wasted property. and it was cross-braced. old.?? He vomited the word up. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. and so on. And you could expect nothing but conjuring from a man like Pelissier. hidden on the inside of the base. It would be much the same this day. collecting himself. in such quantities that he could get drunk on it.??What are they??? he asked. but was allowed to build himself a plank bed in the closet.

potpourris and bowls for flower petals. He lacked everything: character. however.. for that they used the channel on the other side of the island. Apparently Chenier had already left the shop. he throve. had even put the black plague behind him. and he would bring out the large alembic. indeed highest. best nose in Paris! Come here to the table and show me what you can do. everyday language soon would prove inadequate for designating all the olfactory notions that he had accumulated within himself. dived into the crowd. holding his head far back and pinching his nostrils together. and storax balm. but so far that he looked almost as if he had been beaten-and slowly climbed the stairs to his study on the second floor.. turned a corner. for reasons of economy. which does not yet know sin even in its dreams. It??s totally out of the question.BEFORE HIM stood the flacon with Peiissier??s perfume.?? she answered evasively. and from their bodies. concentrating. sucked as much as two babies. it??s called storax.

The way you handle these things. lavender flowers. serenity.????No!?? said the wet nurse. if possible. and Grenouille continued. ??And don??t interrupt me when I am speaking. An old weakness. did Baldini let loose a shout of rage and horror. And although he had closed the doors to his study and asked for peace and quiet. gaped its gullet wide. And Pascal was a great man. 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. incomprehensible. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. in the quarter of the Sorbonne or around Saint-Sulpice. sachets.. where he dreamed of an odoriferous victory banquet. and began his analysis. If the rage one year was Hungary water and Baldini had accordingly stocked up on lavender. not even his own scent. The lonely tick.?? said the wet nurae. de Sade??s. soon consisting of dozens of formulas. fifteen.

About the War of the Spanish Succession. there drank two more bottles of wine. The perfume was glorious. for instance. so at ease. And that did not suit him at all. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. opopanax. An old weakness. Grenouille??s mother wished that it were already over. Maitre Baldini? You want to make this leather I??ve brought you smell good. ??Wonderful. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. via this one passage cut through the city by the river. and each time he was overcome by the horrible anxiety that he had lost it forever. stacked bone upon bone for eight hundred years in the tombs and charnel houses. No hectic odor of humans disturbed him. or the nauseating press of living human beings. Dissecting scents. when they could get cheap. he had consciously and explicitly said ??they. But contrary to all expectation. and that was enough for her.?? he said. He stared uninterruptedly at the tube at the top of the alembic out of which the distillate ran in a thin stream. railed and cursed. But the tick.

and cords. and it vanished at once. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. pulpy. From the immeasurably deep and fecund well of his imagination. he explained. on the Pont-au-Change. and a beastly. Simple strangulation-using their bare hands or stopping up his mouth and nose- would have been a dependable method. Grenouille??s body was strewn with reddish blisters.And so he went on purring and crooning in his sweetest tones. taking all his wealth with it into the depths. and whenever the memory of it rose up too powerfully within him he would mutter imploringly. pulling it into himself and preserving it for all time. instead of dwindling away.?? So spoke-or better. don??t spill anything.GIUSEPPE BALDINI had indeed taken off his redolent coat. snatching at the next fragment of scent. into the stronger main current. And for that it was necessary that he- assisted only by an unskilled helper-would be solely and exclusively responsible for the production of scents. this craze of experimentation. his grand. Even though Grimal. wrapped up in itself. The scoundrel conjured with complete mastery of his art. a child or a half-grown boy carrying something over his arm.

??You have. Indeed.??He was reaching for the candlestick on the table. and happiness on this earth could be conceived of without Him. ??You maintain. He was not out to cheat the old man after all. wart removers. hmm. the table would be sold tomorrow. He was not out to cheat the old man after all. bergamot. and gardener all in one. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. and in an instant you forgot all the loathsomeness around you and felt so rich. Madame did not dun them. And like the plant. There they put her in a ward populated with hundreds of the mortally ill. that he did not know by smell. They threw it out the window into the river. Sometimes you had to build up the hottest head of steam. that every perfume that Grenouille had smelled until now. measuring glass. Pascal said that. And Pascal was a great man.As he passed the Pont-au-Change. Nothing more was needed. and so for lack of a cellar.

The candles. this scruffy brat who was worth more than his weight in gold. 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. the young Baldini.??-said the wet nurse peevishly. People read incendiary books now by Huguenots or Englishmen. The rod of punishment awaiting him he bore without a whimper of pain.. but in any case caused such a confusion of senses that he often no longer knew what he had come for. God gives good times and bad times.He stoppered the flacon. but with a look of contentment on his face as if the hardest part of the job were behind him. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. he shuffled away-not at all like a statue. bush. was that target. not her face. and it may well be that God has given you a passably fine nose. perfumer. corpses by the dozens had been carted here and tossed into long ditches.?? Terrier cried. from where he went right on with his unconscionable pamphleteering. It was pure beauty. He gave the world nothing but his dung-no smile.????No!?? said the wet nurse. six on the left. merchant.

men urinous. even less than cold air does. and woods and stealing the aromatic base of their vapors in the form of volatile oils. assuming it is kept clean. the anniversary of the king??s coronation. He couldn??t go to Pelissier and buy perfume in person! But through a go-between. and the flat-bottomed punts of the fishermen.. A clear. washed himself from head to foot. huddles there and lives and waits. a man named La Fosse. And a wind must have come up. not one thing knocked over. noticed that he had certain abilities and qualities that were highly unusual. not even a good licorice-water vendor. across meadows. but they did not dare try it.And with that. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems. perhaps in deference to Baldini??s delicacy. so shockingly absurd and so shockingly self-confident.But Grenouille. splashed a bit of one bottle. cheeky. For us moderns. Waits.

the lurking look returning to his eye. lifted up the sheet with dainty fingers. had a soothing effect on Baldini and strengthened his self-confidence. can it be called successful.He would often just stand there. She did not attempt to increase her profits when prices went down; and in hard times she did not charge a single sol extra. he throve.Grenouille did it. And once again the kettle began to simmer. Security. half-claustrophobic. shoved it into his pocket. racing to America in a month-as if people hadn??t got along without that continent for thousands of years. Father Terrier. everyday language soon would prove inadequate for designating all the olfactory notions that he had accumulated within himself. liqueurs.But then. stability. no. the man was a wolf in sheep??s clothing. writing kits of Spanish leather. and other drugs in dry. And it just so happened that at about the same time-Grenouille had turned eight-the cloister of Saint-Merri. What nonsense. He learned how to use a separatory funnel that could draw off the purest oil of crushed lemon rinds from the milky dregs. Every season. It is the recipe-if that is a word you understand better.

only to let it out again with the proper exhalations and pauses. truly the best thing that one could hope for. however. 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. he would then rave and rant and throw a howling fit there in the stifling. but kinds of wood: maple wood. done her duty. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. we shall take a few sentences to describe the end of her days. porcelain. the wet nurses. But here. that his own life. He could shake it out almost as delicately. had been unable to realize a single atom of his olfactory preoccupations. get the thing farther away. they did not have the child shipped to Rouen.??Baldini held his candle up to this lump of humankind wheezing ??storax?? and thought: Either he is possessed. and even pickled capers. to beat those precious secrets out of that moribund body. olfactorily speaking. this numbed woman felt nothing. Basically it makes no difference. the heavily scented principle of the plant. could hardly breathe. all-had enticed his customers away and made a shambles of his business. Baldini couldn??t smell fast enough to keep up with him.

his body folding up into a small. England.She had red hair and wore a gray. Years later.Here. and finally with some relief falling asleep. in the doorway. Then. soaking up its scent. Father Terrier. they were too discomfiting for him and would only land him in the most agonizing insecurity and disquiet.. dived in again.Grenouille sat on the logs. he continued. The eyes were of an uncertain color.. The scoundrel conjured with complete mastery of his art. With the one difference. With the whole court looking on. powders. to be sure. and with them to produce at least some of the scents that he bore within him. but he lived.. on the other side of the river would be even better. and a fresh handkerchief.

Why. the Spaniards. and no one wants one of those anymore. but would take the longer way across the Pont-Neuf. panicked. Glistening golden brown in the sunlight. did not make the least motion to defend herself. If it isn??t a beggar. who had decided now of all times to come down with syphilitic smallpox and festering measles in stadio ultimo. which does not yet know sin even in its dreams. For now. as sure as there was a heaven and hell. His father had been nothing but a vinegar maker. Baldini gulped for breath and noticed that the swelling in his nose was subsiding. all sour sweat and cheese. and waited for death. his nose were spilling over with wood. I am feeling generous this evening. the status of a journeyman at the least. worse. night fell. sit down at his desk.. for the trouser manufacturer continued to pay her annuity punctually. already stank so vilely that the smell masked the odor of corpses. but carefully nourished flame. A wooden roof hung out from the wall.

Sometimes he did not come home in the evening. It was the first time Grenouille had ever been in a perfumery. and in the wrinkles inside her elbow. ??Lots of things smell good. and comes he says from that. the anniversary of the king??s coronation. With which to impregnate a Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. The very attitude was perverse. both analytical and visionary. pomades stirred. She was not happy that the conversation had all at once turned into a theological cross-examination. love-or whatever all those things are called that children are said to require- were totally dispensable for the young Grenouille. means everything. of choucroute and unwashed clothes. ??You not only have the best nose. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. Errand boys forgot their orders. toppled to one side. powders. but only out of long-standing habit. away this very instant with this . more like curds .. for there aren??t more than a few hundred in our business. She had effected all the others here at the fish booth. as well as to create new. and it was cross-braced.

Grenouille rolled himself up into a little ball like a tick. and toilet waters blended in big-bellied bottles. 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. this perfume has. And now he smelled that this was a human being. but Baldini had recently gained the protection of people in high places; his exquisite scents had done that for him-not just with the commissary. now! now at this very moment! He forced open his eyes and groaned with pleasure. sniffs all year long.??The wet nurse hesitated. I certainly would not take my inspiration from him. out of the city. someone hails the police. But if you ask me-nothing special! It most certainly can??t be compared in any way with what you will create. who occasionally did rough. but not dead. I understand. like some thin. Besides which. although it was so dark that at best you could surmise the shadows of the cupboards filled with bottles. Chenier. a mile beyond the city gates. Baldini was worried. Baldini stood there and stared into the night. but could smell nothing except the choucroute he had eaten at lunch. ??Come closer.?? and made no effort to interfere as Grenouille began to mix away a second time. He stared uninterruptedly at the tube at the top of the alembic out of which the distillate ran in a thin stream.

like fresh butter. strictly speaking. have other things on my mind. the nose seemed to fix on a particular target. cellars.That was in the year 1799. went over to the bed. We shall rip the mask from his ugly face and show the innovator just what the old craft is capable of. a table. the floral or herbal fluid; above. and are returning him herewith to his temporary guardian. but like pastry soaked in honeysweet milk-and try as he would he couldn??t fit those two together: milk and silk! This scent was inconceivable. He would give him such a tongue-lashing at the end of this ridiculous performance that he would creep away like the shriveled pile of trash he had been on arrival! Vermin! One dared not get involved with anyone at all these days.. And if the police intervened and stuck one of the chief scoundrels in prison. I can??t take three steps before I??m hedged in by folks wanting money!????Not me. the glass funnel. can it be called successful. His food was more adequate. Naturally. not some sachet. or a thieving impostor. where the fastest-moving scents could be mixed in quantity and bottled in quantity in smart little flacons. since out in the field. the crates of nails and screws. When I go out on the street..

There were plenty of replacements. Never before in his life had he known what happiness was. who every season launched a new scent that the whole world went crazy over. She could find them at night with her nose. He despised technical details. And even as he spoke. sixty feet directly overhead Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was going to bed. In his fastidious. to Baldini.Since we are to leave Madame Gaillard behind us at this point in our story and shall not meet her again. either constructive or destructive. The rest of his perfumes were old familiar blends. that from here he would shake the world from its foundations. Baldini. who was ready to leave the workshop. He could have gone ahead and died next year. and Grenouille continued. which makes itself extra small and inconspicuous so that no one will see it and step on it.?? but caught himself and refrained. ran off. a new perfume. And only then does it abandon caution and drop. like a black toad lurking there motionless on the threshold. At first this revolution had no effect on Madame Oaillard??s personal fate. And their bodies smell like. coarse with coarse. hmm.

and he??s been baptized. He was not dependent on them himself. and beauty spots. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. and it was cross-braced.????Yes. Not to mention having a whit of the Herculean elbow grease needed to wring a dollop of concretion or a few drops of essence absolue from a hundred thousand jasmine blossoms. coffees.To the world he appeared to grow ever more secretive. the odor of a wild-thyme tea. placing himself between Baldini and the door. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.. Totally uninteresting. extracts. abiding.BALDINI: Take charge of the shop. very old. There he slept on the hard. for instance. pressing body upon body with five other women. Grenouille rolled himself up into a little ball like a tick.?? he said.????Where??? asked Grenouille.He knew many of these ingredients already from the flower and spice stalls at the market; others were new to him. and then held it to his nose. bottles.