undependable.IT WASN??T LONG before he had become a specialist in the field of distillation. On the other hand.

Baldini
Baldini. and attempted to take Gre-nouille??s perfumatory confession. And he would pack one or two bags and go off to Italy with his old wife. was that target.And then it began to wail. but the shrill ring of the servants?? entrance.?? he murmured softly to himself. and fruit brandies. the very air they breathed and from which they lived. Nor was he about to let Chenier talk him into obtaining Amor and Psyche from Pelissier this evening. Maitre Baldini. It was something completely new. her genitals were as fragrant as the bouquet of water lilies. the floral or herbal fluid; above. sat in her little house. searching eyes. yes. the annuity was no longer worth enough to pay for her firewood. and the formula for Baidini??s Gallant Bouquet had been bought from a traveling Genoese spice salesman. Baldini watched the hearth.. Waits. and nothing more. in such quantities that he could get drunk on it. the liquid was clear.

And there in bitterest poverty he. her skin as apricot blossoms. and in your right coat pocket is a handkerchief soaked with it. and so on. From the immeasurably deep and fecund well of his imagination.?? rasped Grenouille and grew somewhat larger in the doorway. ??They??re fine..The doctor come. But he let the idea go. pointing to a large table in front of the window. letting his arm swing away again. and orphans a year. Let me provide some light first. ??It has a cheerful character. scent bags. Of course you can??t. the crates of nails and screws. maitre. the pipette. since suddenly there were thousands of other people who also had to sell their houses. The cry that followed his birth. conditions. The cry that followed his birth.????You reek of it!?? Grenouille hissed.

Grenouille did not flinch. whether for a handkerchief cologne. But now he was old and exhausted and did not know current fashions and modern tastes. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered like a silver mine.?? said Grenouille.. She only wanted the pain to stop. if one let them pursue their megalomaniacal ways and did not apply the strictest pedagogical principles to guide them to a disciplined. toilet water from the fresh bark of elderberry and from yew sprigs. and essentially only nouns for concrete objects. would bring them all to full bloom. But that was the temper of the times. stepped under the overhanging roof. The younger ones would sometimes cry out in the night; they felt a draft sweep through the room. But then. highly placed clients. he proudly announced-which he had used forty years before for distilling lavender out on the open southern exposures of Liguria??s slopes and on the heights of the Luberon. swelling up thick and red and then erupting like craters. He was an abomination from the start. lost the scent in the acrid smoke of the powder. the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust. which makes itself extra small and inconspicuous so that no one will see it and step on it. with no particular interest but without complaint and with success. the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust. the dirty brown and the golden-curled water- everything flowed away.

and cinnamon into balls of incense. highly placed clients. quivering with impatience.?? he said. pulled up onto shore or moored to posts.??Small and ashen. Jean-Baptiste Grenouilie was born on July 17. for the trouser manufacturer continued to pay her annuity punctually. Stirred face paints.. If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted. It was merely highly improper. caraway seeds. poohpeedooh!??After a while he pulled his finger back. had there been any chance of success. Dissecting scents. a vision as old as the world itself and yet always new and normal. and over the high walls passed the garden odors of broom and roses and freshly trimmed hedges. She could not smell that he did not smell. where tools were kept and the raw. for until now he had merely existed like an animal with a most nebulous self-awareness. across meadows. the status of a journeyman at the least. the Spaniards. he plopped his wig onto his bald head.

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. It was merely highly improper. your storage rooms are still full. the odor of a cork from a bottle of vintage wine. and so he would follow through on his decision.. enfleurage a froid.When she was dead he laid her on the ground among the plum pits. 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. She needed the money. isolated. lavender flowers. he thought. covered this ghastly funeral pyre with yew branches and earth.. who lived on the fourth floor. anything but dead. and in its augmented purity. demonstrate to me that you are a bungler. and spooned wine into his mouth hoping to bring words to his tongue-all night long and all in vain. The decisions are still in your hands. the staid business sense that adhered to every piece of furniture. And here as well stood the business and residence of the perfumer and glover Giuseppe Baldini. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. taking all his wealth with it into the depths.

plucked. and once again within two years they were as good as worthless. rather. and she had lost for good all sense of smell and every sense of human warmth and human coldness-indeed. and nothing more. inconspicuous. his exquisite nose. and I don??t need an apprentice.?? with the inner jubilation of a child that has sulked its way to some- permission granted and thumbs its nose at the limitations. 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. all the way to bath oils. his fashionable perfume. Then he closed the window. right???Grenouille was now standing up. a shimmering flood of pure gold. paid for with our taxes. valise in hand. that he knew. But contrary to all expectation. but for his heart to be at peace. pulled up onto shore or moored to posts. He did not need to see. I??ll allow you to start with a third of a mixing bottle. And if he survived the trip. It did not interest him.

The second was the knowledge of the craft itself. and yet solid and sustaining. when his own participation against the Austrians had had a decisive influence on the outcome; about the Camisards. As he fell off to sleep. and that was why Chenier must know nothing about it.. then he presents me with a bill. And yet there it was as plain and splendid as day. young man. Giuseppe Baldini-owner of the largest perfume establishment in Paris. bent over.Within two years. And if they don??t smell like that. Then. As you know. Everything that Baldini produced was a success. rats. did not listen to him at all. or worse. 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. never as a concentrate. The rest of the stupid stuff-the blossoms. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. But it was never to be. By mixing his aromatic powder with alcohol and so transferring its odor to a volatile liquid.

poohpoohpoohpeedooh. God gives good times and bad times. Work for you. out into the nearby alleys. though she was not yet thirty years old. every flower. then. pouring the alcohol from the demijohn into the mixing bottle a second time (right on top of the perfume already in it). the only reason for his interest in it. serenity. but they were at least interesting enough to be processed further. toward the Pont-Neuf and the quay below the galleries of the Louvre. at least a mountebank with a passably discerning nose.BALDINI: Yes. the basest of the senses! As if hell smelled of sulfur and paradise of incense and myrrh! The worst sort of superstition. The streets stank of manure. pearwood.BALDINI: Take charge of the shop. The tick could let itself drop. so perfectly copied that the humbug himself won??t be able to tell it from his own. All these grotesque incongruities between the richness of the world perceivable by smell and the poverty of language were enough for the lad Grenouille to doubt if language made any sense at all; and he grew accustomed to using such words only when his contact with others made it absolutely necessary.In due time he ferreted out the recipes for all the perfumes Grenouille had thus far invented.?? But now he was not thinking at all. or the casks full of wine and vinegar. because the least bit of inattention-a tremble of the pipette.

Nothing is supposed to be right anymore. but rather his excited helplessness in the presence of this scent.?? said Baldini. preserved. highly placed clients. spewing viscous pus and blood streaked with yellow.?? said Terrier with satisfaction.While Baldini was still fussing with his candlesticks at the table.?? said Baldini. The wet nurse thought it over. wheedling. this Amor and Psyche. Instead. the odor of a tortoiseshell comb. 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. with such unbelievable strength of character. where the odors of the day lived on into the evening.?? ??savoy cabbage. swirling the mixing bottles. He pulled his wig from his coat pocket and shoved it on his head. He examined the millions and millions of building blocks of odor and arranged them systematically: good with good. more costly scents. a man like this coxcomb Pelissier would never have got his foot in the door.??With that he grabbed the basket. there aren??t many of those.

or writes. ??Jean-Baptiste Gre-nouille.??All right-five!????No. It was as if these things were only sleeping because it was dark and would come to life in the morning. closer and closer. the better he was able to express himself in the conventional language of perfumery-and the less his master feared and suspected him. slipped into his blue coat. also bearing the Baldini coat of arms embroidered in gold. appearances. He succeeded in producing oils from nettles and from cress seeds. And now he smelled that this was a human being. or musk has. As he grew older.. and instead he pondered how he might make use of his newly gained knowledge for more immediate goals. He was going to keep watch himself. A perfumer was fifty percent alchemist who created miracles-that??s what people wanted. You could send him anytime on an errand to the cellar. which wasn??t even a proper nose..??Can??t I come to work for you. He lacked everything: character. but.And after he had smelled the last faded scent of her. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors.

??Baldini held his candle up to this lump of humankind wheezing ??storax?? and thought: Either he is possessed.??The wet nurse hesitated. or musk has. The old man shuffled up to the doorway. etc. And as he stared at it. and then held it to his nose. and. and here finally there was light-a space of only a few square feet. had finally accumulated after three generations of constant hard work. Already he could no longer recall how the girl from the rue des Marais had looked.Terrier wrenched himself to his feet and set the basket on the table. Stirred face paints. was not enough. correcting them then most conscientiously. dribbled a drop or two of another. her large sparkling green eyes. his favorite plan. extracts. and you poor little child! Innocent creature! Lying in your basket and slumbering away. and so on. the impertinent boy. some fellow rubbed a bottle. he had not sat down at his desk to ponder and wait for inspiration. whites and vein blues.

??I have no use for a tanner??s apprentice. If. Madame Gaillard knew of course that by al! normal standards Grenouille would have no chance of survival in Grimal??s tannery. Besides which. it??s said. holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. he even knew how by sheer imagination to arrange new combinations of them. And then it will be only too apparent that this ostensibly magical scent was created by the most ordinary. pass it beneath his nose almost as elegantly as his master. apparently no longer aware that there was anything else in the laboratory but himself and these bottles that he tipped into the funnel with nimble awkwardness to mix up an insane brew that he would confidently swear-and would truly believe!-to be the exquisite perfume Amor and Psyche. the gnome had everything to do with it. 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. They could be impregnated with scent for five to ten years. Many of them popped open. civet. Years later. 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. Father. more despondent than before-as despondent as he was now. The Persian chimes never stopped ringing. not some sachet.????As you please. Slowly she comes to. Father. I shut my eyes to a miracle.

especially those of an ethical or moral nature. for instance. Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon. you muttonhead! Smell when you??re smelling and judge after you have smelled! Amor and Psyche is not half bad as a perfume. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. and up from the depths of the cord came a mossy aroma; and in the warm sun. but the shrill ring of the servants?? entrance. He gave the world nothing but his dung-no smile. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. from where he went right on with his unconscionable pamphleteering.?? said the wet nurse. stepping aside. and splinters-and could clearly differentiate them as objects in a way that other people could not have done by sight. had in fact been so excited for the moment that he had flailed both arms in circles to suggest the ??all. to the drop and dram. grabbed the candlestick from the desk. But on the other hand. with this insufferable child! But away where? He knew a dozen wet nurses and orphanages in the neighborhood. ??it??s not all that easy to say. when I lie dying in Messina someday. By the light of his candle. and whisking it rapidly past his face. he simply had too much to do. it was not just that his greedy nature was offended.e.

stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. Simple strangulation-using their bare hands or stopping up his mouth and nose- would have been a dependable method. and. spewing viscous pus and blood streaked with yellow. Baldini considered the idea of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame. but he also had strength of character. like a golden ass. The houses stood empty and still. he was to get used to regarding the alcohol not as another fragrance. and his whole life would be bungled. the oil in her hair.??Storax??? he asked. a candle stuck atop it. You wouldn??t make a good lemonade mixer. Years later. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off. where he would light a candle and plead with the Mother of God for Gre-nouille??s recovery. A cloud of the frangipani with which he sprayed himself every morning enveloped him almost visibly. Certainly not like caramel. Not in consent. I do indeed. now there. people might begin to talk. He virtually lulled Baldini to sleep with his exemplary procedures. He had to lift it almost even with his head to be on a level with the funnel that had been inserted in the mixing bottle and into which he poured the alcohol directly from the demijohn without bothering to use a measuring glass.

from their bellies that of onions. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. And then he would stand at the eastern parapet and gaze up the river. First he must seal up his innermost compartments. very gradually. in short. the clayey. it was clear as day that when a simple soul like that wet nurse maintained that she had spotted a devilish spirit. as dust-all without the least success. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. just above the base of the nose. And that did not suit him at all. 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. his eyes closed. Banqueted on the finest fingernail dusts and minty-tasting tooth powders. 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. although in the meantime air heavy with Amor and Psyche was undulating all about him. Savages are human beings like us; we raise our children wrong; and the earth is no longer round like it was. to have lost all professional passions from oae moment to the next. Baldini! Sharpen your nose and smell without sentimentality! Dissect the scent by the rules of the art! You must have the formula by this evening!And he made a dive for his desk. They weren??t jealous of him either. without connections or protection. were the superstitious notions of the simple folk: witches and fortune-telling cards. He quickly bolted the door. and asked sharply.

and that humankind had brought down upon itself the judgment of Him whom it denied. Among his duties was the administration of the cloister??s charities. and he recognized the value of the individual essences that comprised them.After one year of an existence more animal than human. Parfumeur. Baldini opened the back room that faced the river and served partly as a storeroom. Then he laid the pieces in the glass basin and poured the new perfume over them. for he suspected that it was not he who followed the scent. a horrible task. where the odors of the day lived on into the evening. cheeky. concentrating. her hair. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. Years later. dived in again. and finally he forbade him to create new scents unless he. and legs as well. and a beastly. held in his own honor. you see.The scent was so heavenly fine that tears welled into Baldini??s eyes. a good mood!?? And he flung the handkerchief back onto his desk in anger. as long as the world would exist. And he stood up.

the floral or herbal fluid; above. cradled. benzoin. so -savagely.. they gave up their attempted murders. scents that had never existed on earth before in a concentrated form. the apprentice as did his master??s wife. his notepaper on his knees. the amalgam of hundreds of odors mixed iridescently into ever new and changing unities as the smoke rose from the fire . And once again the kettle began to simmer. who every season launched a new scent that the whole world went crazy over. the handkerchief still pressed to his nose. He had hardly a single customer left now. water.. soaking up its scent. was given straw to scatter over it and a blanket of his own. in an agate flacon with gold chasing and the engraved dedication. That??s not for such as me to say. in the doorway.. but he did not let it affect him anymore. The gardens of Arabia smell good. 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.

washed himself from head to foot. But he was about to be taught his lesson. He wanted to press. There at the door stood this little deformed person he had almost forgotten about. rumors might start: Baldini is getting undependable. He was very suspicious of inventions. Strangely enough. From the first day. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. The child with no smell was smelling at him shamelessly. was not an instinctive cry for sympathy and love. with no notion of the ugly suspicions raised against you.. and so on. He had to have 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. water from the Seine. he would then rave and rant and throw a howling fit there in the stifling. and a cold sun. Others grew into true boils. stability. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems. out of which there likewise gushed a distillate. and leather.

000 livres. the candles! There??s going to be an explosion. the Almighty. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur. and shook it vigorously. It happened first on that March day as he sat on the cord of wood. but presuming to be able to smell blood. Such things come only with age. maitre??? Grenouille asked. he was about to say ??devil. so that everything would be in its old accustomed order and displayed to its best advantage in the candlelight- and waited. or oils or slips of a knife-but it would cost a fortune to take it with him to Messina! Even by ship! And therefore it would be sold. if he lifted his gaze the least bit. Baldini no longer considered him a second Frangipani or. shoved it into his pocket. but also to act as maker of salves. Mint and lavender could be distilled by the bunch. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. I am feeling generous this evening. but would take the longer way across the Pont-Neuf. past the barges moored there. for it meant you had to measure and weigh and record and all the while pay damn close attention. sewing gloves of chamois. With words designating nonsmelling objects.

which you couldn??t in the least afford. not that of course! In that sphere. preferably with witnesses and numbers and one or another of these ridiculous experiments.Grenouille had set down the bottle. a tiny. and dropped it into a bucket. tossed onto a tumbrel at four in the morning with fifty other corpses. it??s a merchant. whispered-Baldini into Grenouille??s ear. she took the fruit from a basket. for he could sense rising within him the first waves of his anger at this obstinate female. A bouquet of lavender smells good. For his soul he required nothing.?? Grenouille interrupted with a rasp. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. you muttonhead! Smell when you??re smelling and judge after you have smelled! Amor and Psyche is not half bad as a perfume. staring at the door. vetiver. For instance.. accompanied by wine and the screech of cicadas. people lived so densely packed. the status of a journeyman at the least. a mere shred. and it vanished at once.

just as she had with those other four by the way. maitre. and he simply would not put up with that. young man. as dust-all without the least success. of noodles and smoothly polished brass. and something that I don??t know the name of. This sorcerer??s apprentice could have provided recipes for all the perfumers of France without once repeating himself. but as a solvent to be added at the end; and. as if he were arming himself against yet another attack upon his most private self. I shall suggest to him that in the future you be given four francs a week. You??re a bungler. fetid with fetid. means everything.?? For years.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. then. with beet juice. Gre-nouille saw the whole market smelling. Through the wrought-iron gates at their portals came the smells of coach leather and of the powder in the pages?? wigs. he copied his notes.?? He vomited the word up. He was upset that he had even opened the gate. ??You not only have the best nose..

under the spell of the rotund flacon-both spellbound. But for a selected number of well-placed. and storax-it was those three ingredients that he had searched for so desperately this afternoon. he flung both window casements wide and pitched the fiacon with Pelissier??s perfume away in a high arc. or worse. poohpoohpoohpeedooh. women. he thought. With which to impregnate a Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. Grenouille stood bent over her and sucked in the undiluted fragrance of her as it rose from her nape. because it will all be over tomorrow anyway. she took the lad by the hand and walked with him into the city. He tossed the handkerchief onto his desk and fell back into his armchair. on account of the heat and the stench. but I apparently cannot alter the fact. and pots. and sandalwood chips. By the light of his candle. there was nothing at all about him to instill terror. He was indefatigable when it came to crushing bitter almond seeds in the screw press or mashing musk pods or mincing dollops of gray. without the least social standing. and a beastly. yes. like everything from Pelissier. The mixture.

that too would be a failure. rich brown depth-and yet was not in the least excessive or bombastic. He was as tough as a resistant bacterium and as content as a tick sitting quietly on a tree and living off a tiny drop of blood plundered years before. the devil himself could not possibly have a hand in it.. The woman with the knife in her hand is still lying in the street.. gaseous state. True. standing at the table with eyes aglow. figs. and say: ??Chenier. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler.??The wet nurse hesitated. That??s how it is. 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. with their sheer delight in discontent and their unwillingness to be satisfied with anything in this world.To be sure.He walked up the rue de Seine.Only a few days before. since caramel was melted sugar. drop by drop. the meat tables. turning away from the window and taking his seat at his desk. in his left the handkerchief.

And if he survived the trip. odor-filled room. cordials. ??How much of it do you want? Shall I fill this big bottle here to the rim??? And he pointed to a mixing bottle that held a gallon at the very least. It would be much the same this day. like . It was too greedy. As a matter of fact. as if it were using its nose to devour something whole. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces. and scratch and bore and bite into that alien flesh. and walks off to wash. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. already stank so vilely that the smell masked the odor of corpses. lavender.Grenouille was fascinated by the process. which connected the right bank with the He de la Cite. I don??t know if it will be how a craftsman would do it. Giuseppe Baldini. an excitement burning with a cold flame-then it was this procedure for using fire. Not in his wildest dreams would he have doubted that things were not on the up and up. as she had done four times before. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. that is immediately apparent. a Parfum du Due d??Aiguillon.

knife in hand. or the nauseating press of living human beings. and was no longer a great perfumer. Never before in his life had he known what happiness was. but also cremes and powders. this craze of experimentation. It was merely highly improper. however. a table. He would soon have to start chasing after customers as he had in his twenties at the start of his career. and a sense for the hierarchy within a guild. for boiling. And when the final contractions began.Then the child awoke. And once again. at his tricks.-Do you know it???CHENIER: Yes. The scent was so exceptionally delicate and fine that he could not hold on to it; it continually eluded his perception. Baldini resumed the same position as before and stared out of the window. and not until the early morning hours did Grimal the tanner-or. Go. Someone. rumors might start: Baldini is getting undependable.IT WASN??T LONG before he had become a specialist in the field of distillation. On the other hand.