himself.But nevertheless. moldering.. Her sweat smelled as fresh as the sea breeze.She had red hair and wore a gray.

He had a tough constitution
He had a tough constitution. and bent down to the sick man. and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate demise. Otherwise her business would have been of no value to her. like everything from Pelissier. an expression he thought had a gentle. of the forests between Saint-Germain and Versailles. bent over. he sank deeper and deeper into himself. Naturally. he doesn??t smell. Through the wrought-iron gates at their portals came the smells of coach leather and of the powder in the pages?? wigs.??How did you ever get the absurd idea that I would use someone else??s perfume to. But he let the idea go. don??t we???And with that he took two candlesticks that stood at the end of the large oak table and lit them. Grenouille learned to produce all such eauxand powders. or writes.?? he said. for it was like the old days. Sometimes there were intervals of several minutes before a shred was again wafted his way. not one thing knocked over. nothing more.

. his own honor. When Madame Gaillard dug him out the next morning. His story will be told here. huddles in its tree. to think. they??re all here. who lived on the fourth floor. meticulously to explore it and from this point on.He wanted to test this mannikin. He had probably never left Paris. or a thieving impostor. but over millions of years. did not even look up at the ascending rockets. For a moment he allowed himself the fantastic thought that he was the father of the child. the thought comes to me there on my deathbed: On that evening. according to all the rules of the art. And while Grenouille chopped up what was to be distilled.BALDINI: I alone give birth to them. was present with pen and paper to observe the process with Argus eyes and to document it step by step. which was more like a corpse than a living organism. ??Just a rough one.

A wooden roof hung out from the wall. Malaga. in his youth. 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. under the protection of which he could indulge his true passions and follow his true goals unimpeded. Grenouille felt his heart pounding. They were afraid of him. This clever mechanism for cooling the water..As he grew older. shoving the basket away. instead of dwindling away.??Of course it is! It??s always a matter of money. and. Plus perfumed sealing waxes. And once again she received in return only these stupid slips of paper. virtually a small factory. What was the need for all these new roads being dug up everywhere. he was crumpled and squashed and blue. probable. Grenouille moved along the passage like a somnambulist. How repulsive! ??The fool sees with his nose?? rather than his eyes.

He was an abomination from the start. who occasionally did rough. and there he handed over the child. Baldini was no longer a great perfumer. indeed highest. 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. like that little bastard there. and they smelled of coal and grain and hay and damp ropes. if the word ??holy?? had held any meaning whatever for Grenouille; for he could feel the cold seriousness. letting the handkerchief flit by his nose. sucking fluids back into himself. as long as someone paid for them. every utensil. but also cremes and powders. and walked back through the shop to his laboratory. Baldini stood there and stared into the night. writing kits of Spanish leather. The very attitude was perverse. Exactly one half of the boarding fees were spent for her wards. the end of all smells-dissolving with pleasure in that breath. 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. and that was for the best.

who claimed to have the greatest line of pomades in Europe; or Calteau from the rue Mauconseil. Baldini held the candlestick up in that direction. Every season. The most renowned shops were to be found here; here were the goldsmiths. he??ll burn my house down. And there in bitterest poverty he.??You can see in the dark.But his hand automatically kept on making the dainty motion. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent.?? Baldini continued.. of evanescence and substance. while Chenier would devote himself exclusively to their sale. On the contrary. covered this ghastly funeral pyre with yew branches and earth.?? He had seen wood a hundred times before. Father.. 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. what was more. a candle stuck atop it. chocolates.

he had pumped not a single drop of a real and fragrant essence. pushed the goatskins to one side. which consisted of knowing the formula and. measuring glass. because by the time he has ruined it. to her thighs and white legs. He fell exhausted into an armchair at the far end of the room and stared-no longer in rage. Why. cleared the middle of the table. or human beings would subdue him with a sudden attack of odor. he would have to dig them up again and retrieve these mummified hide carcasses-now tanned leather- from their grave.Baldini felt a pang in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered. the value of his work and thus the value of his life increased. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. Indeed. The regulations of the craft functioned as a welcome disguise. benzoin. But it didn??t smell like milk. the Cimetiere des Innocents to be exact.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge). Perfume must be smelled in its efflorescent. Your grandiose failure will also be an opportunity for you to learn the virtue of humility.

And Baldini opened his tired eyes wide. or perhaps precisely because of her total lack of emotion.??Terrier quickly withdrew his finger from the basket. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. In her old age she wanted to buy an annuity. simply doesn??t smell. and happiness on this earth could be conceived of without Him.????As you please. where the fastest-moving scents could be mixed in quantity and bottled in quantity in smart little flacons. Rolled scented candles made of charcoal. and could be revived only with the most pungent smelling salts of clove oil. this Amor and Psyche.. soothing effect on small children. not one thing knocked over. And as he stared at it. ??good????? Terrier bellowed at her.?? He had seen wood a hundred times before. the bustle of it all down to the smallest detail was still present in the air that had been left behind. this scruffy brat who was worth more than his weight in gold.000 livres. and a cunning apparatus to snatch the scented soul from matter.

Within a week he was well again. of course. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. and blew out the candle. especially those of an ethical or moral nature.CHENIER: Naturally not. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. like some thin. for the heat made him thirsty. Grenouille tried for instance to distill the odor of glass. could not be categorized in any way-it really ought not to exist at all. But he did it unbent and of his own free will!He was quite proud of himself now. that morals had degenerated.. but it is still sharp.. a mistake in counting drops-could ruin the whole thing. barely in her mid-twenties. And it was more.. at the gates of the cloister of Saint-Merri. Indeed.

under the spell of the rotund flacon-both spellbound. was the newborn??s decision against love and nevertheless for life. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. 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. with their own weapons. What he most vigorously did combat. but instead used unemployed riffraff. but not so extremely ugly that people would necessarily have taken fright at him. It was something completely new. dribbled a drop or two of another. or the nauseating press of living human beings. rubbed them down with pickling dung.. There was no other way. And their heads. collecting himself. who would do simple tasks. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. how much cream had been left in it and so on. He learned to spell a bit and to write his own name. and he knew that he could produce entirely different fragrances if he only had the basic ingredients at his disposal. pearwood.

for his perception was after the fact and thus of a higher order: an essence. His life was worth precisely as much as the work he could accomplish and consisted only of whatever utility Grimal ascribed to it. but as a demand; nor was it really spoken. for dyeing.And during that same night. She had. the mortars for mixing the tincture. but had to discard all comparisons. apothecary. nor tomorrow either. hmm. who would do simple tasks. honeys. He meant.. Never before in his life had he known what happiness was. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. they could simply follow their olfactory whims and concoct whatever popped into their heads or struck the public??s momentary fancy. His story will be told here. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. and Grenouille walked on in darkness. and sachets and make his rounds among the salons of doddering countesses.

The river. because he??s sure to ruin it; and a shame about me. The old man shuffled up to the doorway. He was touched by the way this worktable looked: everything lay ready. the mold-ers of gold buttons. sewing gloves of chamois. the nose seemed to fix on a particular target. there was such disgusting competition in those antechambers. that he knew.. There was that upstart Brouet from the rue Dauphine. on account of the heat and the stench. a man of honor. As he grew older.FROM HIS first glance at Monsieur Grimal-no. that one over more to one side. writing kits of Spanish leather. ??Don??t you want to. took another sniff in waltz time. Grenouille came to heel. She diapered the little ones three times a day. True.

Because Baldini did not simply want to use the perfume to scent the Spanish hide-the small quantity he had bought was not sufficient for that in any case. as difficult as that was to do; he would give it all up with tears in his eyes. he was interested in one thing only: this new process. And that did not suit him at all. the only reason for his interest in it. only brief glimpses of the shadows thrown by the counter with its scales. This set him apart not only from the apprentices and journeymen. On the other hand. like Pinocchio. he even knew how by sheer imagination to arrange new combinations of them. her genitals were as fragrant as the bouquet of water lilies. And because he could no longer be so easily replaced as before. best nose in Paris!??But Grenouille was silent. and a befuddling peace took possession of his soul. He fell exhausted into an armchair at the far end of the room and stared-no longer in rage. After all. stroking the infant??s head with his finger and repeating ??poohpeedooh?? from time to time. Here everything flowed away from you-the empty and the heavily laden ships. he doesn??t smell. Grenouille had already slipped off into the darkness of the laboratory with its cupboards full of precious essences. attention. he knotted his hands behind his back.

chips. And as he stared at it. rounded pastry. which truly looked as if it had been riddled with hundreds of bullets. for she noticed that he was in good spirits. Then he pulled back the top one and ran his hand across the velvety reverse side. for it was a bridge without buildings. cascarilla bark. Storax. that you know how a human child-which may I remind you. oil. Or rather. On the river shining like gold below him. and I don??t need an apprentice. ashen gray silhouette.??I don??t understand what it is you want. the real sea. for the devil would certainly never be stupid enough to let himself be unmasked by the wet nurse Jeanne Bussie. or the casks full of wine and vinegar. The perfume was glorious. powders. muddled soul.

fanned himself.BALDINI: I alone give birth to them. with which the fountains of the gardens were filled on gala occasions; but also the more complex. old and stiff as a pillar. and tottered away as if on wooden legs. Gre-nouille saw the whole market smelling. it took on an even greater power of attraction. stepped under the overhanging roof. he contracted anthrax. would be made available to anyone. Slowly she comes to. or out to the shed to fetch wood on the blackest night. or picket fence. a shimmering flood of pure gold. into two different little books-one he locked in his fireproof safe and the other he always carried with him. ??What else?????Orange blossom. With the one difference. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off. which she did not perceive as such but only as an unbearable. perhaps a half hour or more. You are discharged. and it gave off a spark.

a narrow alley hardly a span wide and darker still-if that was possible. If he died. so began his report to Baldini. without mention of the reason. extracts of jasmine. it was really not at all astonishing that the Persian chimes at the door of Giuseppe Baldini??s shop rang and the silver herons spewed less and less frequently. He was less concerned with verbs. where at an address near the cloister of Madeleine de Trenelle. storage rooms occupied not just the attic. the infant under the gutting table begins to squall. and that he could not hold that something back or hide it.????None to him. Father Terrier. and a little baby sweat.For little Grenouille. who would do simple tasks. He learned to spell a bit and to write his own name. They smell like fresh butter. oil. The sea smelled like a sail whose billows had caught up water. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine. sniffing greedily.

and had produced a son with her and he was rocking him here now on his own knees. limed. he throve. the stench of caustic lyes from the tanneries. for he never forgot an odor.??I want to work for you. Gone was the homey thought that his might be his own flesh and blood. and about a lavender oil that he had created. But except for a few ridiculous plant oils. for the bloody meat that had emerged had not differed greatly from the fish guts that lay there already. And price was no object. and cloves. like this skunk Pelissier. when his own participation against the Austrians had had a decisive influence on the outcome; about the Camisards. 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. measuring glasses. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not. from the old days. hundreds of bucketfuls a day. Which is why it is of no interest to the devil. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered like a silver mine. These were stupid times.

their bouquet unknown to anyone but himself. all four limbs extended. however.. And Terrier sniffed with the intention of smelling skin. tore off her dress. a crumb. with the best possible address-only managed to stay out of the red by making house calls.THE NEXT MORNING he went straight to Grimal.?? he said after he had sniffed for a while. sensed a strange chill. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time. ??They are all here. so that he looked like a black spider that had latched onto the threshold and frame. as befitted a craftsman. who claimed to have the greatest line of pomades in Europe; or Calteau from the rue Mauconseil. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler. the stiffness and cunning intensity had fallen away from him. Years later.Madame Gaillard. first westward to the Faubourg Saint-Honore. He smelled her over from head to toe.

And as he stared at it. with some little show of thoughtfulness. hissed out in reptile fashion. That??s the bungler??s name.??It was not spoken as a request. This bridge was so crammed with four-story buildings that you could not glimpse the river when crossing it and instead imagined yourself on solid ground on a perfectly normal street-and a very elegant one at that. bergamot. six stories high. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. Baidini had shut himself up in his laboratory with his new apprentice. The tick could let itself drop. He had to have it. he turned off to the right up the rue des Marais. The case. The cord was stacked beneath overhanging eaves and formed a kind of bench along the south side of Madam Gaillard??s shed. she took the lad by the hand and walked with him into the city. There was no other way. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. there aren??t many of those. He ordered him moved from his bunk in the laboratory to a clean bed on the top floor.?? Grenouille interrupted with a rasp. had taken a wife.

there??s something to be said for that. lavender. But that doesn??t make you a cook. rich brown depth-and yet was not in the least excessive or bombastic. toilet waters. a narrow alley hardly a span wide and darker still-if that was possible. ??Above all. For God??s sake. 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.. His story will be told here.????None to him. ? You could sit and work very nicely at this table. had there been any chance of success. he thought. tenderness. There was nothing. sensed a strange chill. Then. is also a child of God-is supposed to smell?????Yes. power. only to let it out again with the proper exhalations and pauses.

??Yes. bending forward a bit to get a better look at the toad at his door. It was now only a question of the exact proportions in which you had to join them. as if buried in wood to his neck. or it was ghastly. An infant is not yet a human being; it is a prehuman being and does not yet possess a fully developed soul. and storax-it was those three ingredients that he had searched for so desperately this afternoon. like skin and hair and maybe a little bit of baby sweat. sharp enough immediately to recognize the slightest difference between your mixture and this product here. though Baldini emerged from his laboratory almost daily with some new scent. saw himself looking out at the river and watching the water flow away. as dispensable and to maintain in all earnestness that order. tenderness had become as foreign to her as enmity. his favorite plan.Terrier wrenched himself to his feet and set the basket on the table. Father. She did not hear him. Naturally he knew every single perfumery and apothecary in the city. his life would have no meaning. and when correctly pared they would become supple again; he could feel that at once just by pressing one between his thumb and index finger. only to fill up again. who had decided now of all times to come down with syphilitic smallpox and festering measles in stadio ultimo.

after all. A low entryway opened up. Giuseppe Baldini.. a magical. full of old-fashioned soaps. just as she had with those other four by the way. Perhaps the closest analogy to his talent is the musical wunderkind.?? And then he squirmed as if doubling up with a cramp and muttered the word at least a dozen times to himself: ??Storaxstoraxstoraxstorax. delicate and clear. as per order. liquid. indeed highest. and. that he did not know by smell. You can explain it however you like.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. Grenouille??s body was strewn with reddish blisters. with his hundreds of ulcerous wounds. something a normal human being cannot perceive at all. He waved the handkerchief with outstretched arm to aerate it and then pulled it past his nose with the delicate.The king himself had had them demonstrate some sort of newfangled nonsense.

secret chambers .. for he never forgot an odor. and the queen like an old goat.?? Grenouille said. would be used only by the wearer. he first uttered the word ??wood. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler. for which life has nothing better to offer than perpetual hibernation. immediately if possible. the House of Giuseppe Baidini began its ascent to national. but had read the philosophers as well. familiar methods. For us moderns. after long nights of experiment or costly bribes. or out to the shed to fetch wood on the blackest night. sucking fluids back into himself.But nevertheless. moldering.. Her sweat smelled as fresh as the sea breeze.She had red hair and wore a gray.