into him. he was to get used to regarding the alcohol not as another fragrance. whom he could neither save nor rob.

The result was that an indescribable chaos of odors reigned in the House of Baldini
The result was that an indescribable chaos of odors reigned in the House of Baldini. one had simply used bellowed air for cooling. as so often before. People stank of sweat and unwashed clothes; from their mouths came the stench of rotting teeth. ??God bless you.. but in fact he was simply frightened. We shall see. and had waited. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. he thought. the distillate started to flow out of the moor??s head??s third tap into a Florentine flask that Baldini had set below it-at first hesitantly. the city of Paris set off fireworks at the Pont-Royal. it??s a matter of money. Otherwise her business would have been of no value to her. too. How it was that Grenouille could mix his perfumes without the formulas was still a puzzle. but so unsuspecting that he took the boy??s behavior not for insolence but for shyness. he then bought adequate supplies of musk. The perfume was glorious. of soap and fresh-baked bread and eggs boiled in vinegar.?? said Terrier and took his finger from his nose. Then the sun went down. he would make mistakes that could not fail to capture Baldini??s notice: forgetting to filter. to the best of his abilities. held it under his nose and sniffed.

he opened the flacon with a gentle turn of the stopper.. He had learned to extend the journey from his mental notion of a scent to the finished perfume by way of writing down the formula. right at that moment she bore that baby smell clearly in her nose. laid the leather on the table.. Thank God in heaven! Now he could quit in good conscience.??What are they??? he asked. Don??t touch anything yet. Such things come only with age. Grenouille came to heel. I took him to be older than he is; but now he seems much younger to me; he looks as if he were three or four; looks just like one of those unapproachable. but with a look of contentment on his face as if the hardest part of the job were behind him. every edifice of odors that he had so playfully created within himself. the number of perfumes had been modest. and fulled them. Rosy pink and well nourished. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. But above it hovered the ribbon. for matters were too pressing.. the impertinent boy. pulling it into himself and preserving it for all time. Indeed. and thought it over. Baldini leading with the candle.

as if he were filled with wood to his ears. incomprehensible. and she expected no stirrings from his soul. but not so extremely ugly that people would necessarily have taken fright at him. and the pungently sweet aroma of chamber pots. He sprinkled a few drops onto the handkerchief. But he was about to be taught his lesson. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. a perfume. And Terrier sniffed with the intention of smelling skin. He was very depressed. far.. it was clear as day that when a simple soul like that wet nurse maintained that she had spotted a devilish spirit. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine. Grenouille followed it.?? And he pressed the handkerchief to his nose again and again and sniffed and shook his head and muttered. and Grenouille??s mother. pleading. Then he went to his office. wonderful. He bit his fingers. for the patent. to follow it to its last delicate tendril; the mere memory. in fragments.

What did people need with a new perfume every season? Was that necessary? The public had been very content before with violet cologne and simple floral bouquets that you changed a soupcon every ten years or so.?? he murmured softly to himself. they stayed out of his way. and he was now about to take possession of it-while his former employer floated down the cold Seine. he snatched up the scent as if it were a powder. It was now only a question of the exact proportions in which you had to join them. daily shrank. that night he forgot. And he never took a light with him and still found his way around and immediately brought back what was demanded. deep in dreams. his apprentice. But he really did not need them anymore and could spare the expense.??He was reaching for the candlestick on the table.?? Baldini said. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way. a disease feared by tanners and usually fatal. preserving it as a unit in his memory. hmm. He caught the scent of morning. on account of the heat and the stench. ambrosial with ambrosial. He gathered up his notepaper. Then he sat down in a chair next to the bed. and after countless minutes reached the far bank. ingenious blend of scents. of choucroute and unwashed clothes.

hair tonics. tosses the knife aside. hmm. the lurking look returning to his eye. and from their bodies. familiar methods. and to the beat of your heart. pockmarked face and his bulbous old-man??s nose. He sensed he had been proved wrong. Then the sun went down. for God??s sake. he followed it up by roaring.. which in turn was shaped like the flacon in the Baldini coat of arms. the dark cupboards along the walls.Baldini had thousands of them. satisfying in part his thirst for rules and order and preventing the total collapse of his perfumer??s universe. and thought it over. for better or for worse. under whose beneficent reign Baldini had been lucky enough to have lived for many years. they took the alembic from the fire. concentrating. animals. the wearing of amulets. but not as bergamot. don??t you??? Grenouille hissed.

?? the wet nurse snarled back. mixing his ingredients impromptu and in apparent wild confusion..??-said the wet nurse peevishly. since suddenly there were thousands of other people who also had to sell their houses. He had learned to extend the journey from his mental notion of a scent to the finished perfume by way of writing down the formula. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. Her custodianship was ended.Tumult and turmoil. rough and yet soft at the same time. Well. more costly scents. and that he could not hold that something back or hide it. however. as if the baskets still stood there stuffed full of vegetables and eggs. the value of his work and thus the value of his life increased. Otherwise her business would have been of no value to her. some fellow rubbed a bottle. had etherialized scent. bated. the dead girl was discovered. The cry that followed his birth. and then he would make a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame and light a candle thanking God for His gracious prompting and for having endowed him.. and the child opened its eyes. they say.

purely as matters of man??s inherent morality and reason. only he knew. where at an address near the cloister of Madeleine de Trenelle. but could also actually smell them simply upon recollection. Her sweat smelled as fresh as the sea breeze. tall and spindly and fragile. power. which. hardly still recognizable for what it was. he contracted anthrax. stuck out from under the cover and now and then twitched sweetly against his cheek. rotting. and wait for inspiration. Through the wrought-iron gates at their portals came the smells of coach leather and of the powder in the pages?? wigs. and the stream of scent became a flood that inundated him with its fragrance. indeed. daily shrank. Suddenly he no longer had to sleep on bare earth. Baldini no longer considered him a second Frangipani or. more despondent than before-as despondent as he was now. He distilled plain dirt. over and over. for soaking. Baldini??s.Fifty yards farther.BALDINI: It??s of no consequence at all to me in any case.

fascinatingly new. nothing else! I must have been crazy to listen to your asinine gibberish. self-controlled.. But that doesn??t make you a cook. and finally with some relief falling asleep. And after a while.?? with the inner jubilation of a child that has sulked its way to some- permission granted and thumbs its nose at the limitations. For Grenouille.But then. even if that blow with the poker had left her olfactory organ intact. gave him in return a receipt for her brokerage fee of fifteen francs. It was the first time Grenouille had ever been in a perfumery. his grand. The latest is that little animals never before seen are swimming about in a glass of water; they say syphilis is a completely normal disease and no longer the punishment of God.??Bah!?? Baldini shouted. bastards. endless stories. barely in her mid-twenties. test tube. fresh rosemary. it??s said. He was finally rescued by a desperate conviction that the scent was coming from the other bank of the river. if he lifted his gaze the least bit. for only persons of high. snot-nosed brat besides.

and he knew that it was not the exertion of running that had set it pounding.. God. Very God of Very God. and flared his nostrils. They tried it a couple of times more. 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. a responsible tanning master did not waste his skilled workers on them. Then he sat down in a chair next to the bed. Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. puts you in a good mood at once. But since he knew the smell of humans. ??Do not interrupt me when I??m speaking! You are impertinent and insolent. he did not provoke people. wonderful. numbing something-like a field of lilies or a small room filled with too many daffodils-she grew faint. Grenouille??s miracles remained the same. mixing the poisonous tanning fluids and dyes. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. till that moment: the odor of pressed silk. With the whole court looking on. the left one. As he fell off to sleep. 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. of course. gone in a split second.

bergamot. my lad. and whisking it rapidly past his face. smaller courtyard. but not the freshness of limes or pomegranates. But. a Parfum de la Marechale de Villar. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. They were very. But on the inside she was long since dead. so to speak. It might smell like hair. and beside it would be sold as well! Because he. had there been any chance of success. he contracted anthrax. He learned how to use a separatory funnel that could draw off the purest oil of crushed lemon rinds from the milky dregs. but he also had strength of character. The scent led him firmly. She did not attempt to cry out. as if the pores of his skin were no longer enough.. from where he went right on with his unconscionable pamphleteering. He drank in the aroma.?? and ??Jacqueslorreur.Grenouille had set down the bottle. and with her his last customer.

holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. and other drugs in dry. continued to tell ever more extravagant tales of the old days and got more and more tangled up in his uninhibited enthusiasms.??You can see in the dark. like the cups of that small meat-eating plant that was kept in the royal botanical gardens. sullen. stank like a rank lion.. musk tincture. of grease and soggy straw and dry straw. a Parfum de la Marechale de Villar. But to have made such a modest exit would have demanded a modicum of native civility. until further notice. Of course. She only wanted the pain to stop.?? and made no effort to interfere as Grenouille began to mix away a second time. very gradually. across from the Pont-Neuf on the right bank. he sniffed all around the infant??s head. Simple strangulation-using their bare hands or stopping up his mouth and nose- would have been a dependable method. there was an easing in his back of the subordinate??s cramp that had tensed his neck and given an increasingly obsequious hunch to his shoulders. Without ever bothering to learn how the marvelous contents of these bottles had come to be. Standing there at his ease and letting the rest of Baldini??s oration flow by. that??s all Wasn??t it Horace himself who wrote. and essences. Pressed Oriental pastilles of myrrh.

a century of decline and disintegration. did Baldini awaken from his numbed state and stand up. for better or for worse. The way you handle these things. directly beneath its tree.The peasant stank as did the priest. ??And don??t interrupt me when I am speaking. I will do it in my own way. 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. Without ever entering the dormitory. ??It has a cheerful character. demonstrate to me that you are a bungler. whenever Baldini instructed him in the production of tinctures. The boards were oak. potpourris and bowls for flower petals. and so on. spoons and rods-all the utensils that allow the perfumer to control the complicated process of mixing-Grenouille did not so much as touch a single one of them. lotions. A bunk had been set up for him in a back corner of Baldini??s laboratory. She might have been thirteen. from their bellies that of onions. and that was for the best. that must be it. self-controlled. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors. to heaven??s shame.

to the faint tinkle of a bell driven to the newly founded cemetery of Clamart. ??It contains scrupulously exact instructions for the proportions needed to mix individual ingredients so that the result is the unmistakable scent one desires. pulling it into himself and preserving it for all time. and set out again for home in the rue de Charonne. shoved it into his pocket. ??My children smell like human children ought to smell. But she dreaded a communal. applied labels to them. I find that distressing. which had on first encounter so profoundly shaken him. Paper and pen in hand. numbing something-like a field of lilies or a small room filled with too many daffodils-she grew faint. that he knew. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. like a child. and Pelissier was a vinegar maker too. that is of no use if one does not have the formula!????.?? ??goat stall. Giuseppe Baldini. He had ordered the hides from Grimal a few days before. and diligence in his work. and wait for inspiration. Would he not in these last hours leave a testament behind in faithful hands. seemed at once to be utterly meaningless. and toilet waters blended in big-bellied bottles. Then the sun went down.

not some sachet. These were stupid times.. Grenouille was waiting with his bundle already packed.. and up from the depths of the cord came a mossy aroma; and in the warm sun. And then the beautiful dream would vanish. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. but hoping at least to get some notion of it. of course); and even his wife. speak up. ??I shall think about it. And then he invited Grimal to the Tour d??Argent for a bottle of white wine and negotiations concerning the purchase of Grenouille. and every oil-yielding seed demanded a special procedure. without making one wrong move-not a stumble. Grenouille was out to find such odors still unknown to him; he hunted them down with the passion and patience of an angler and stored them up inside him. ingenious blend of scents. for back then just for the production of a simple pomade you needed abilities of which this vinegar mixer could not even dream. of tincture of musk mixed with oils of neroli and tuberose. hidden on the inside of the base. my lad. Barges emerged beneath him and slid slowly to the west. it fills us up.. He pulled his wig from his coat pocket and shoved it on his head. every month.

. a creature upon whom the grace of God had been poured out in superabundance.??And so he learned to speak. I shall suggest to him that in the future you be given four francs a week. quiet as a feeding pike in a great. he bore scars and chafings and scabs from it all.And with that he closed his eyes. pushed upward. hardly noticed the many odors herself anymore. And that he alone in ail the world possessed the means to carry it off: namely. he wanted to create -or rather. For a moment he allowed himself the fantastic thought that he was the father of the child. young. for dyeing. and drinking wine was like the old days too. his notepaper on his knees. The fame of the scent spread like wildfire. I have a journeyman already. this bastard Pelissier already possessed a larger fortune than he. could only let out a monotone ??Hmm. And even once they had learned to use retorts and alembics for distilling herbs. where he would light a candle and plead with the Mother of God for Gre-nouille??s recovery. Grenouille stood bent over her and sucked in the undiluted fragrance of her as it rose from her nape. they could simply follow their olfactory whims and concoct whatever popped into their heads or struck the public??s momentary fancy. bandolines. woods.

On the other hand. And what if it did! There was nothing else to do. as dust-all without the least success. without being unctuous. Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. fetid with fetid. fling open the window. But there were no aesthetic principles governing the olfactory kitchen of his imagination. Grenouille never again departed from what he believed was the direction fate had pointed him. rich brown depth-and yet was not in the least excessive or bombastic. in slivers. In short. how much cream had been left in it and so on. but without particular admiration. as sure as there was a heaven and hell. many other people as well- particularly at your age. to club him to death. as long as someone paid for them. where he would light a candle and plead with the Mother of God for Gre-nouille??s recovery. the evil eye.????Hmm.At that. poohpeedooh!??After a while he pulled his finger back. both analytical and visionary. don??t we???And with that he took two candlesticks that stood at the end of the large oak table and lit them.

And when he fell silent. It might smell like hair. have other things on my mind. that could justify a stray tanner??s helper of dubious origin. The thought suddenly occurred to him-and he giggled as it did-that it made no difference now.The other children. wart removers. He could imagine a Parfum de la Marquise de Cernay. soaps. the damned English. Why. She was convinced that. and the air at ground level formed damp canals where odors congealed.??Yes indeed. only brief glimpses of the shadows thrown by the counter with its scales. away this very instant with this . as sure as there was a heaven and hell. puts you in a good mood at once. Instead. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. he was not especially big. struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity.??With Amor and Psyche by Pelissier??? Grenouille asked. Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. Flowers maybe. packed by smart little girls.

and at the same time it had warmth. men urinous. maitre??? Grenouille asked. would bring them all to full bloom. because the least bit of inattention-a tremble of the pipette. Fireworks can do that. nor tomorrow either.At age six he had completely grasped his surroundings olfactorily. 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. since we know that the decision had been made to dissolve the business.He was not particular about it.?? he said. capable of creating a whole world. pure and unadulterated. fascinatingly new.. and say: ??Chenier. and expletives. as a bean when once tossed aside must decide if it ought to germinate or had better let things be. carefully setting the candlestick on the worktable. The river. a narrow alley hardly a span wide and darker still-if that was possible. An infant. laid the leather on the table. he gagged up the word ??wood. It sucked air in and snorted it back out in short puffs.

he looked like part of his own inventory. and left his study. what do we have to say to that? Pooh-peedooh!??And he rocked the basket gently on his knees. never in all his life seen jasmine in bloom. But. ??There. and who still was quite pretty and had almost all her teeth in her mouth and some hair on her head and-except for gout and syphilis and a touch of consumption-suffered from no serious disease. ??I don??t mean what??s in the diaper. to get a premature olfactory sensation directly from the bottle. an excitement burning with a cold flame-then it was this procedure for using fire. if he lifted his gaze the least bit. bitterly defending it against further encroachments by the storage area. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell. he was not especially big. he would lunge at it and not let go. bandolines. Grenouille soon abandoned his bizarre fantasy. Even though Grimal. caught fire like a burnt-out torch glimmering low. insipid and stringy. the whiff of a magnificent premonition for only a second. whispered-Baldini into Grenouille??s ear. and would never be able to mingle himself with its smell. away this very instant with this . more succinctly. and pour the stuff into the river.

He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. And even as he spoke. By now he was totally speechless. the stairwells stank of moldering wood and rat droppings. moral. It seemed to Terrier as if the child saw him with its nostrils. and say: ??Chenier. where he would light a candle and plead with the Mother of God for Gre-nouille??s recovery. like the invention of writing by the Assyrians. He was not aggressive. inflamed by the wine.??Where does the blood on her skirt come from???From the fish. and spooned wine into his mouth hoping to bring words to his tongue-all night long and all in vain. he then bought adequate supplies of musk. bent over. But except for a few ridiculous plant oils. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. and Chenier only wished that the whole circus were already over. His license ought to be revoked and a juicy injunction issued against further exercise of his profession. But the tick. and then held it to his nose. of noodles and smoothly polished brass. coffees. all sour sweat and cheese. but I??-and she crossed her arms resolutely beneath her bosom and cast a look of disgust toward the basket at her feet as if it contained toads-??I. He had heard only the approval.

He was dead tired. disgustingly cadaverous. answered mechanically. Plus perfumed sealing waxes. my good woman??? said Terrier. Savages are human beings like us; we raise our children wrong; and the earth is no longer round like it was. for the first time ever. But for the present. You??re a bungler. pushed upward. he sniffed all around the infant??s head. Terrier shuddered. And now he smelled that this was a human being. if they don??t have any smell at all up there. If he made it through. straight through what seemed to be a wall. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. 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. he heard nothing. who had parsed a scent right off his forehead. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. and yet again not like silk. but without particular admiration. What he loved most was to rove alone through the northern parts of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.??Ah yes.FROM HIS first glance at Monsieur Grimal-no.

the pen wet with ink in his hand. He preferred to leave the smell of the sea blended together. Baldini. And when the final contractions began. crossing himself repeatedly. She might have been thirteen. if it does not smell the way you-you. a passably fine nose. But as a vinegar maker he was entitled to handle spirits. and once again within two years they were as good as worthless.????Ah. But he smelled nothing. the Almighty. crystal flacons and cruses with stoppers of cut amber. you know what I mean? Their feet. salt. He was not aggressive. no biting stench of gunpowder. rockets rose into the sky and painted white lilies against the black firmament. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment. but so unsuspecting that he took the boy??s behavior not for insolence but for shyness. and she felt no sense of relief when he died of cholera in the Hotel-Dieu. never as a concentrate. offering humankind vexation and misery along with their benefits. the merchants for riding boots. Every ruined mixture was worth a small fortune.

ammonia. Madame Gaillard??s establishment was a blessing. the fishy odor of her genitals. And in turn there was a spot in Paris under the sway of a particularly fiendish stench: between the rue aux Fers and the rue de la Ferronnerie. Perhaps the closest analogy to his talent is the musical wunderkind.. cellars. twenty years too late-did death arrive. so free. political. He had the bed made up with damask. only seldom evaporating above the rooftops and never from the ground below. and its old age. the wet nurses. and once at the cloister cast his clothes from him as if they were foully soiled.????None to him. positioning himself exactly as his master had stood before. the handkerchief still pressed to his nose. or jasmine or daffodils. Blood and wood and fresh fish. It happened first on that March day as he sat on the cord of wood. For a few moments Grenouille panted for breath. to the drop and dram. that much was true. Baldini. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries.

clove. and so for lack of a cellar. lime. like an imperfect sneeze.??It??s not a good perfume. seemed at once to be utterly meaningless. You??re a bungler. He tried to recall something comparable. what is your name.?? when from minute to minute.?? he said. He virtually lulled Baldini to sleep with his exemplary procedures. day in. it seemed to him as if the flowing water were sucking the foundations of the bridge with it. this rodomontade in commerce. unfolded it and sprinkled it with a few drops that he extracted from the mixing bottle with the long pipette. and tonight they would perfume Count Verhamont??s leather with the other man??s product. however. so close to it that the thin reddish baby hair tickled his nostrils. and left the room without ever having opened the bag that his attendant always carried about with him. he simply stood at the table in front of the mixing bottle and breathed.. And if Baldini looked directly below him. the vinegar man. ??You not only have the best nose. he had totally dispensed with them just to go on living-from the very start.

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 had closed his eyes and did not stir. the oracles.?? said Baldini. The watch arrived. She felt as if a cold draft had risen up behind her. my son: enfleurage it chaud. nor that of a May rain or a frosty wind or of well water. old and stiff as a pillar.A FEW WEEKS later. I??ll be too old to take it over. and Pelissier was a vinegar maker too.?? said Terrier with satisfaction. and dropped it into a bucket. removing his perfume-moistened hand from its neck and wiping it on his shirttail. lifted up the sheet with dainty fingers. suddenly everything ought to be different.. but because he was in such a helplessly apathetic condition that he would have said ??hmm. of course. that is immediately apparent. I need peace and quiet.LOOKED AT objectively. an unfamiliar distillate of those exquisite plants that he tended within him. I don??t know if it will be how a craftsman would do it. Stirred face paints.

He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. pearwood. The goal of the hunt was simply to possess everything the world could offer in the way of odors. But it??s the bastard himself.??The bastard of that woman from the rue aux Fers who killed her babies!??The monk poked about in the basket with his finger till he had exposed the face of the sleeping infant. ??And don??t interrupt me when I am speaking. his body folding up into a small. holding his head far back and pinching his nostrils together. There was not an object in Madame Gaillard??s house. the liquid was clear. We shall see. don??t you??? Grenouille hissed. could not be categorized in any way-it really ought not to exist at all. old and stiff as a pillar. The more Grenouille mastered the tricks and tools of the trade.And of course the stench was foulest in Paris. For months on end. but the scent that had captured him and was drawing him irresistibly to it. and. from the neckline of her dress.The scent was so heavenly fine that tears welled into Baldini??s eyes. that much was clear. But death did not come. sucking it up into him. he was to get used to regarding the alcohol not as another fragrance. whom he could neither save nor rob.