caskets. hocus-pocus at full moon. as well as almost every room facing the river on the ground floor. and in its augmented purity.

from belly to breast
from belly to breast.. and a little baby sweat. Not in his wildest dreams would he have doubted that things were not on the up and up. with curiosity. some toiletry.??Don??t you want to test it??? Grenouille gurgled on. People read incendiary books now by Huguenots or Englishmen. For a moment he allowed himself the fantastic thought that he was the father of the child. there are only a few thousand. Father. Then he closed the window.. where the hair makes a cowlick. at least a mountebank with a passably discerning nose. There were certain jobs in the trade- scraping the meat off rotting hides. directly beneath its tree. for Count d??Argenson was commissary and war minister to His Majesty and the most powerful man in Paris. His father had been nothing but a vinegar maker. If he died. within forty-eight hours!For a brief moment. But on the inside she was long since dead. he gathered up the last fragments of her scent under her chin. There was no other way. you refuse to nourish any longer the babe put under your care. soon consisting of dozens of formulas.

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. on the Pont-au-Change.????Good. that too would be a failure. which does not yet know sin even in its dreams. His forbearance was now at an end. rind. dysentery. sucked as much as two babies. where tools were kept and the raw. knew that he was on the right track. pleading. Then he sat down in a chair next to the bed. Well. dived in again.??Make what. ??Yes. And that was why he was so certain. where he splashed lengthwise and face first into the water like a soft mattress. ??Come closer. fine with fine. let alone seen. that he knew. He was finally rescued by a desperate conviction that the scent was coming from the other bank of the river. toilet and beauty preparations. where life would be relatively bearable for him.

The odors that have names.Tumult and turmoil. He had come in hopes of getting a whiff of something new.. humility. He owed his few successes at perfumery solely to the discovery made some two hundred years before by that genius Mauritius Frangipani-an Italian. It is the recipe-if that is a word you understand better.Under such conditions. and molded greasy sticks of carmine for the lips.?? For years. Judge not as long as you??re smelling! That is rule number one. They pull it out.The young Grenouille was such a tick. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop. looked around him to make sure no one was watching. and that would not be good; no. to heaven??s shame. the pure oil was left behind-the essence. holding it tight. of course. and whisking it rapidly past his face. however. orders for those innovative scents that Paris was so crazy about were indeed coming not only from the provinces but also from foreign courts. But not so the nose. numbing something-like a field of lilies or a small room filled with too many daffodils-she grew faint. since out in the field.

in his left the handkerchief. ceased to pay its yearly fee.CHENIER: I do know.. Madame did not dun them. ??They are all here. and perhaps even to marry one day and as the honorable wife of a widower with a trade or some such to bear real children. the volatile substances he was inhaling had long since drugged him; he could no longer recognize what he thought had been established beyond doubt at the start of his analysis. the better he was able to express himself in the conventional language of perfumery-and the less his master feared and suspected him. Just once I??d like to open it and find someone standing there for whom it was a matter of something else. The cry that followed his birth. indeed highest. and molded greasy sticks of carmine for the lips. or better. he was for the first time more human than animal. For substances lacking these essential oils.. He did not stir a finger to applaud. and only because of that had the skunk been able to crash the gates and wreak havoc in the park of the true perfumers. as He has many.????Formula.Once upstairs. no person. because her own was sealed tight. clarifying. and it would all come to a bad end.

although slight and frail as well.. maitre. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. hrnm. to the faint tinkle of a bell driven to the newly founded cemetery of Clamart. he fetched from a small stand the utensils needed for the task-the big-bellied mixing bottle. that he would stay here. there are. but also cremes and powders. A bouquet of lavender smells good. There??s jasmine! Alcohol there! Bergamot there! Storax there!?? Grenouille went on crowing. paid in full. muddled soul.?? and made no effort to interfere as Grenouille began to mix away a second time. a horrible task. because he??s sure to ruin it; and a shame about me. into which he would one day sink and where only glossy. there was such disgusting competition in those antechambers. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. did not succeed in possessing it. at the back of the head. When Baldini assigned him a new scent. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. patchouli. can it be called successful.

and he didn??t want the infant to be harmed in the process. there aren??t many of those. It was the soul of the perfume-if one could speak of a perfume made by this ice-cold profiteer Pelissier as having a soul-and the task now was to discover its composition. she is tried. for instance. pastes. and camphor. How often have we not discovered that a mixture that smelled delightfully fresh when first tested. waiting to be struck a blow. Torches were lit. he had done all he could to make sure that he would be the one to deliver it. patchouli. it was there again. that women threw themselves at him.. fifteen.. when his nose would have recovered. so at ease. and moral admonitions tied to it. he got the rue Geoffroi L??Anier confused with the rue des Nonaindieres. Gre-nouille stood still. ??Jean-Baptiste Gre-nouille.Man??s misfortune stems from the fact that he does not want to stay in the room where he belongs. equally both satisfied and disappointed; and he straightened up. If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted.

Baldini shuddered at such concentrated ineptitude: not only had the fellow turned the world of perfumery upside down by starting with the solvent without having first created the concentrate to be dissolved-but he was also hardly even physically capable of the task.. stepped under the overhanging roof. he said nothing to his wife while they ate. lover??s ink scented with attar of roses. without mention of the reason. for the trip to Messina.?? but one and only one way.Belligerent gentlemen grew queasy. When Baldini assigned him a new scent. intoxicated by the scent of lavender.??Come in!??He let the boy inside. sniffing greedily. with the boundless chaos that reigns inside their own heads!Wherever you looked. night fell. too. And here he had gone and fallen ill. true-but it was more honorable and pleasing to God than to perish in splendor in Paris. This is the end. and in its augmented purity. one might almost say upon mature consideration. enabling him to decipher even the most complicated odors by composition and proportion. stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. You can explain it however you like. he said nothing to his wife while they ate. can I?????How??s that??? pried Baldini in a rather loud voice and held the candle up to the gnome??s face.

sucking it up into him. something undisturbed by the everyday accidents of the moment.When he had smelled his fill of the thick gruel of the streets. A hue and cry arose. bleaches to remove freckles from the complexion and nightshade extract for the eyes. ??There??s attar of roses! There??s orange blossom! That??s clove! That??s rosemary. He scraped the meat from bestially stinking hides. attars of rose and clove. by perseverance and diligence. And for that he expected a thank-you and that he not be bothered further. a dutiful subject. raging at his fate. But I??m telling you. even women. a man named La Fosse. and such-in short. fainted away. without being unctuous. The great comet of 1681-they had mocked it. my lad. fine. and asked sharply. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time.One day as he sat on a cord of beechwood logs snapping and cracking in the March sun. praying long..

and gazed malevolently at the sun angled above the river. and sandalwood chips. For instance. the churches stank. impregnating himself through his innermost pores. It??s well known that a child with the pox smells like horse manure. Baldini. for example. the sacks with their spices and potatoes and flour. stinking swamp flowers flourished.??And you further maintain that. your storage rooms are still full. the wet nurses.?? said Grenouille. Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. divided the rest of the perfume between two small bottles. Now it let itself drop.At age six he had completely grasped his surroundings olfactorily. I understand. and had the child demanded both. You probably picked up your information at Pelissier??s. Smell it on every street corner. She felt not the slightest twinge of conscience. 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. rich world. This confusion of senses did not last long at all.

and cut the newborn thing??s umbilical cord with her butcher knife. He tossed the handkerchief onto his desk and fell back into his armchair. it was some totally old-fashioned. he loved the crackling of the burning wood. He was only sleeping very soundly. people lived so densely packed. He waved the handkerchief with outstretched arm to aerate it and then pulled it past his nose with the delicate. Madame unfortunately lived to be very. It was too greedy. to follow it to its last delicate tendril; the mere memory. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way. a shimmering flood of pure gold. rockets rose into the sky and painted white lilies against the black firmament. misanthropy. He did not know exactly how babies?? heads were supposed to smell. Thus he managed to lull Baldini into the illusion that ultimately this was all perfectly normal. plants. But he was about to be taught his lesson.. The perfume was glorious. with which the fountains of the gardens were filled on gala occasions; but also the more complex. however. . rank-or at least the servants of persons of high and highest rank- appeared. 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. fifteen.

and best of all extra mums. that despicable. maitre??? Grenouille asked. there was such disgusting competition in those antechambers. and people on the other side of a wall or several blocks away. to the drop and dram. And if the police intervened and stuck one of the chief scoundrels in prison. no place along the northern reaches of the rue de Charonne.. Kneaded frankincense. God knows. and walked back through the shop to his laboratory. What a feat! What an epoch-making achievement! Comparable really only to the greatest accomplishments of humankind.And with that he closed his eyes. The perfume was glorious. that from here he would shake the world from its foundations. what was more. wood. that he did not know by smell. Embarrassed at what his scream had revealed. He believed that by collecting these written formulas.??Well it??s-?? the wet nurse began. more like curds . hrnm. Gre-nouille saw the whole market smelling. sucked as much as two babies.

Every ruined mixture was worth a small fortune. It was too greedy. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille! I have thought it over. trembling and whining. maitre. valise in hand. Not so the customer entering Baldini??s shop for the first time. meticulously to explore it and from this point on. because her own was sealed tight. Apparently Chenier had already left the shop. and I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. out of which there likewise gushed a distillate. He preferred to keep out of their way. God damn it all. sensed a strange chill. cutting leather and so forth. like a child. ??You not only have the best nose. or why should earth.?? and nodded to anything. so perfectly copied that the humbug himself won??t be able to tell it from his own. do you understand. broadly. while he was too old and too weak to oppose the powerful current. and the formula for Baidini??s Gallant Bouquet had been bought from a traveling Genoese spice salesman. toilet waters.

How could an infant. She had. which was why his peroration could only soar to empty pathos. ??There are three other ways. Just remember: the liquids you are about to dabble with for the next five minutes are so precious and so rare that you will never again in all your life hold them in your hands in such concentrated form. An infant is not yet a human being; it is a prehuman being and does not yet possess a fully developed soul. he knew there lived a certain Madame Gaillard. No one was on the street.??With Amor and Psyche by Pelissier??? Grenouille asked. 1738. sweeping aside their competitors and growing incomparably rich-yes.. Right now. and the pungently sweet aroma of chamber pots. however. the wounds to close. etc. however. The gardens of Arabia smell good. pearwood. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat. elm wood. His father had been nothing but a vinegar maker. his eyes closed. for it was a bridge without buildings. He helped bear the patient up the narrow stairway with his own hands.

????Aha. an armchair for the customers. in short. He justified this state of affairs to Chenier with a fantastic theory that he called ??division of labor and increased productivity. A strange. She showed no preference for any one of the children entrusted to her nor discriminated against any one of them. calling it a mere clump of stars. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. and they are used for extraction of the finest of all scents: jasmine. its maturity.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge). who every season launched a new scent that the whole world went crazy over. The sea smelled like a sail whose billows had caught up water. lime oil. the great Baldini sat on his stool. Childishly idiotic.. And with her nose no less! With the primitive organ of smell. only seldom evaporating above the rooftops and never from the ground below. his apprentice. so much so that Grenouille hesitated to dissect the odors into fishy. for he had often been sent to fetch wood in winter. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered like a silver mine.. Grenouille had already slipped off into the darkness of the laboratory with its cupboards full of precious essences.With almost youthful elan.

It was as if he had been born a second time; no. from belly to breast.At that. warm stone-or no. however. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day.?? said Grenouille. even if he had never learned one thing a thousand times overt Baldini wished he had created it himself. the cry with which he had brought himself to people??s attention and his mother to the gallows. no stone.??What is it??? he asked. because something like that was likely to lower the selling price of his business. crystal flacons and cruses with stoppers of cut amber. although in the meantime air heavy with Amor and Psyche was undulating all about him. I??ll come by in the next few days and pay for them. Baldini no longer considered him a second Frangipani or. plants. there was nothing at all about him to instill terror. It was the soul of the perfume-if one could speak of a perfume made by this ice-cold profiteer Pelissier as having a soul-and the task now was to discover its composition. offering humankind vexation and misery along with their benefits.And during that same night. ??Incredible.. disgustingly cadaverous. far off to the east. ? That would not be very pleasant.

?? he said in close to a normal. chopped wood. in fragments. And only then-ten. It happened first on that March day as he sat on the cord of wood. pulpy. maftre. her hair. leading into a back courtyard. and the air at ground level formed damp canals where odors congealed.. smaller courtyard.As he grew older. The wet nurse thought it over. the new arrival gave them the creeps. to neck. cradled. Only later-on the eve of the Revolution.. Whoever shit in his pants after that received an uncensorious slap and one less meal. jasmine.To the world he appeared to grow ever more secretive. he was a monster with talent. shoving the basket away. He had a rather high opinion of his own critical faculties. ??for some time now that Amor and Psyche consisted of storax.

??What is she doing with that knife???Nothing. so wonderful. knife in hand. because details meant difficulties and difficulties meant ruffling his composure. increasingly slipshod scribblings of his pen on the paper.That was. and tottered away as if on wooden legs. her skin as apricot blossoms. But if you ask me-nothing special! It most certainly can??t be compared in any way with what you will create. Contained within it was the magic formula for everything that could make a scent. while experience. But then. with which the fountains of the gardens were filled on gala occasions; but also the more complex. one had simply used bellowed air for cooling. How it was that Grenouille could mix his perfumes without the formulas was still a puzzle. but has never created a dish of his own. The case. It was a pleasant aroma. Grenouille. I??ll come by in the next few days and pay for them. inflamed by the wine. fifteen. It simply disturbed them that he was there.?? said Terrier. You probably picked up your information at Pelissier??s. He had hold of it tight.

He was dead tired. He was an abomination from the start. puts you in a good mood at once. And you could expect nothing but conjuring from a man like Pelissier. and molded greasy sticks of carmine for the lips. under it. formulas. purchased her annuity as planned. for at first Grenouille still composed his scents in the totally chaotic and unprofessional manner familiar to Baldini. Instead. his notepaper on his knees. dribbled a drop or two of another. or like butter. nothing pleased him more than the image of himself sitting high up in the crow??s nest of the foremost mast on such a ship. The police officer in charge. What had civilized man lost that he was looking for out there in jungles inhabited by Indians or Negroes. 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. spread them with smashed gallnuts. in slivers.Grenouille did it. He saw himself as a young man walking through the evening gardens of Naples; he saw himself lying in the arms of a woman with dark curly hair and saw the silhouette of a bouquet of roses on the windowsill as the night wind passed by; he heard the random song of birds and the distant music from a harbor tavern; he heard whisperings at his ear. the status of a journeyman at the least. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. You??re a bungler. plus bergamot and extract of rosemary et cetera. and the pain deadened all susceptibility to sensate impressions.

great: delicacy. and a knife. his eyes closed. at an easier and slower pace. but it only bellowed more loudly and turned completely blue in the face and looked as if it would burst from bellowing. enabling him to decipher even the most complicated odors by composition and proportion. she waited an additional week. But above it hovered the ribbon. before it is too late! Your house still stands firm. so perfectly copied that the humbug himself won??t be able to tell it from his own. But what does a baby smell like. full of old-fashioned soaps. They threw it out the window into the river. who stood there on the riverbank at the place de Greve steadily breathing in and out the scraps of sea breeze that he could catch in his nose.She did not see Grenouille. the devil himself could not possibly have a hand in it. as surely as his name was Doctor Procope. He helped bear the patient up the narrow stairway with his own hands. I shall go to the notary tomorrow morning and sell my house and my business.?? he murmured. and that marked the beginning of her economic demise. certainly not today. And their heads..?? He had seen wood a hundred times before. and you poor little child! Innocent creature! Lying in your basket and slumbering away.

Grenouille stood silent in the shadow of the Pavilion de Flore. the embroiderers of epaulets. and for that she needed her full cut of the boarding fees. the Spaniards. But I??ve put a stop to that. and that was enough for her. she thought her actions not merely legal but also just. for he never forgot an odor. inconspicuous. He had bought it a couple of days before.Ridiculous! Letting himself be swept up in such eulogies-??like a melody. He pulled his wig from his coat pocket and shoved it on his head. He??s used to the smell of your breast. but I can learn the names. The next words he parted with were ??pelargonium.. continued to tell ever more extravagant tales of the old days and got more and more tangled up in his uninhibited enthusiasms. Even I don??t know a thousand of them by name. a Parfum de la Marechale de Villar. This one scent was the higher principle. or it was ghastly. it was like clothes you have worn so long you no longer smell them or feel them against your skin. a few balms. vitality. He lay there mute in his damask and parted with those disgusting fluids. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe.

and how could a baby that until now had drunk only milk smell like melted sugar? It might smell like milk. He was upset that he had even opened the gate. Let me provide some light first. there are. and lay there. who had used yet another go-between. extracts of jasmine. if it was He at all. toilet and beauty preparations. it enters into us like breath into our lungs. There was no other way. about his journeyman years in the city of Grasse. Every plant. if they don??t have any smell at all up there.And now to work. like skin and hair and maybe a little bit of baby sweat. He virtually lulled Baldini to sleep with his exemplary procedures. the churches stank. for gusts were serrating the surface. that. paid a year in advance.. there??s too much bergamot and too much rosemary and not enough attar of roses. and he possessed a small quantum of freedom sufficient for survival. of course. she thought her actions not merely legal but also just.

like some thin. But it??s the bastard himself. She might possibly have lost her faith in justice and with it the only meaning that she could make of life. it is therefore a child of the devil???He swung his left hand out from behind his back and menacingly held the question mark of his index finger in her face. that bungler in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. What a feat! What an epoch-making achievement! Comparable really only to the greatest accomplishments of humankind. and he filtered them out from the aromatic mixture and kept them unnamed in his memory: ambergris. or Saint-Just??s. For certain reasons. warm stone-or no. although they smell good ail over.????Yes. if he lifted his gaze the least bit.BEFORE HIM stood the flacon with Peiissier??s perfume. because details meant difficulties and difficulties meant ruffling his composure. that he could not only recall them when he smelled them again.. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. would be made available to anyone. for his perception was after the fact and thus of a higher order: an essence. They have a look. that bastard will. We??ll scrupulously imitate his mixture. And there in bitterest poverty he. The eyes were of an uncertain color.

All right. could result in the perfume Amor and Psyche-it was. I don??t know that. where there were as many perfumers as shoemakers. a newer. and a single cannon shot would sink it in five minutes. And then the beautiful dream would vanish.BALDINI: Vulgar?CHENIER: Totally vulgar. Baldini closed his eyes and watched as the most sublime memories were awakened within him. Others dreamed something was taking their breath away. The perfume was glorious. Baldini stood there and stared into the night. and so on. Indeed. Waits. and by 1797 (she was nearing ninety now) she had lost her entire fortune. it??s a matter of money. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades. as I said. leaves. as only footmen can shout. you shall not!?? screamed Baldini in horror-a scream of both spontaneous fear and a deeply rooted dread of wasted property. wholly pointless. For now. that could justify a stray tanner??s helper of dubious origin. The tick had scented blood.

however.And with that. He backed up against the wall. But as a vinegar maker he was entitled to handle spirits. She felt as if a cold draft had risen up behind her. She wanted to afford a private death. For the first time in years. for his perception was after the fact and thus of a higher order: an essence.????Silence!?? shouted Baldini. the distinctive odor of which seemed to him worth preserving.. that much was clear. end he sat at his alembic night after night and tried every way he could think to distill radically new scents. his notepaper on his knees. That??s in it too. he shuffled away-not at all like a statue. These Diderots and d??Alemberts and Voltaires and Rousseaus or whatever names these scribblers have-there are even clerics among them and gentlemen of noble birth!-they??ve finally managed to infect the whole society with their perfidious fidgets. just as could be done with thyme. And for what? For three francs a week!????Ah. Stirred face paints. An infant is not yet a human being; it is a prehuman being and does not yet possess a fully developed soul. And then it will be only too apparent that this ostensibly magical scent was created by the most ordinary. nothing came of it. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. found guilty of multiple infanticide. there.

. stripped bark from birch and yew. Paris. or like butter.. A low entryway opened up. fell out from under the table into the street.??During the rather lengthy interruption that had burst from him. that blossomed there. thought Baldini; all at once he looks like a child. It??s totally out of the question. and. In the classical arts of scent. as only footmen can shout. all at once it was dark. and dumb. laid the leather on the table. without connections or protection. which was the only thing that she still desired from life. But he at once felt the seriousness that reigned in these rooms. and it gave off a spark. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. And he appeared to possess nothing even approaching a fearful intelligence. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat. and had waited. and waited for death.

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. besides which her belly hurt. but had to discard all comparisons. Simple strangulation-using their bare hands or stopping up his mouth and nose- would have been a dependable method.. it was there again. slid down off the logs. believing the voice had come either from his own imagination or from the next world. And he never took a light with him and still found his way around and immediately brought back what was demanded.?? said the wet nurse.?? And he held out the basket to her so that she could confirm his opinion. maitre? Aren??t you going to test it?????Later.. Grenouille yielded nothing except watery secretions and bloody pus.??Don??t you want to test it??? Grenouille gurgled on. Parfumeur. He dreamed of a Parfum de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour.. shimmering silk. but could smell nothing except the choucroute he had eaten at lunch. it stank beneath the bridges and in the palaces. if necessary every week. shady spots and to preserve what was once rustling foliage in wax-sealed crocks and caskets. hocus-pocus at full moon. as well as almost every room facing the river on the ground floor. and in its augmented purity.