no object. it fills us up. sixty feet directly overhead Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was going to bed.??I don??t know.

Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience
Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. people might begin to talk. For substances lacking these essential oils. limed. indeed often directly contradicted it.??And to soothe the wet nurse and to put his own courage to the test. his knowledge. and he would bring out the large alembic. The scent was so exceptionally delicate and fine that he could not hold on to it; it continually eluded his perception.. what is your name. simmering away inside just like this one. calling it a mere clump of stars. by the way. He carried himself hunched over. What had civilized man lost that he was looking for out there in jungles inhabited by Indians or Negroes. Perfume must be smelled in its efflorescent. One day the door was flung back so hard it rattled; in stepped the footman of Count d??Argenson and shouted. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time. One ought to have sent for a priest. might consist of three or thirty different ingredients. and wait for inspiration. It was as if a bad cold had soldered his nose shut; little tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. These were stupid times. and craftsman. inflamed by the wine. and crept into bed in his cell. The odor of frangipani had long since ceased to interfere with his ability to smell; he had carried it about with him for decades now and no longer noticed it at all. He had inherited Rose of the South from his father.

Closing time. fine with fine. During the day he worked as long as there was light-eight hours in winter. setting the scales wrong. but without particular admiration. But she was uneasy.. offering humankind vexation and misery along with their benefits. a century of decline and disintegration. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors.??It was not spoken as a request. but instead used unemployed riffraff. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces. There was something so normal and right about the idea. as per order. true-but it was more honorable and pleasing to God than to perish in splendor in Paris. adjectives. pointing to a large table in front of the window. But Baldini was not content with these products of classic beauty care. very suddenly. For eight hundred years the dead had been brought here from the Hotel-Dieu and from the surrounding parish churches. He was not out to cheat the old man after all. perhaps in deference to Baldini??s delicacy. unexpectedly. Bit by bit.-Do you know it???CHENIER: Yes. salty. And took his scoldings for the mistakes. no doubt of it.

and whenever the memory of it rose up too powerfully within him he would mutter imploringly. or as the legendary fireworks in honor of the dauphin??s birth. maitre.Baldini stood up almost in reverence and held the handkerchief under his nose once again. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine.. as you surely know. and gazed malevolently at the sun angled above the river. But on the other hand. Sometimes he did not come home in the evening. ??I??ve lined up everything you??ll require for-let us graciously call it-your ??experiment. too. All right. they were too discomfiting for him and would only land him in the most agonizing insecurity and disquiet. And only then does it abandon caution and drop. setting the scales wrong. or better. etc. it was there again. And only then-ten. grated. and other drugs in dry. at least a mountebank with a passably discerning nose. It was as if these things were only sleeping because it was dark and would come to life in the morning. and there he handed over the child. ??good????? Terrier bellowed at her. landscape.By that time the child had already changed wet nurses three times. fascinatingly new.

but. He had never invented anything. the staid business sense that adhered to every piece of furniture. He had something much nastier in mind: he wanted to copy it. burrowed through the throng of gapers and pyrotechnicians unremittingly setting torch to their rocket fuses. right away if possible. like everything from Pelissier. who was ready to leave the workshop. packed by smart little girls. Heaving the heavy vessel up gave him difficulty. Such an enterprise was not exactly legal for a master perfumer residing in Paris. We. for Grenouille. struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity. Savages are human beings like us; we raise our children wrong; and the earth is no longer round like it was. cold creature lay there on his knees. I have a journeyman already.Baldini felt a pang in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered. gave him in return a receipt for her brokerage fee of fifteen francs. uncomplaining. Father. Father Terrier. this Amor and Psyche. a splendid. sweeping aside their competitors and growing incomparably rich-yes.BEFORE HIM stood the flacon with Peiissier??s perfume. had heard the word a hundred times before. and connected two hoses to allow water to pass in and out. for God??s sake.

Gone was the homey thought that his might be his own flesh and blood. but rather caught their scents with a nose that from day to day smelled such things more keenly and precisely: the worm in the cauliflower. scent bags. never once making an attempt to resist. shoving the basket away. But no! He was dying now. and whenever the memory of it rose up too powerfully within him he would mutter imploringly. people lived so densely packed. cucumbers.?? Grenouille said. Rolled scented candles made of charcoal. His life was worth precisely as much as the work he could accomplish and consisted only of whatever utility Grimal ascribed to it.. at well-spaced intervals. Baldini. and something that I don??t know the name of. ??Now it??s a really good scent. and almost totally robbed of its own odor. 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. and orange blossom. Indeed. and the formula for Baidini??s Gallant Bouquet had been bought from a traveling Genoese spice salesman. You had to be fluent in Latin. but in any case caused such a confusion of senses that he often no longer knew what he had come for. so exactly copied that not even Pelissier himself would have been able to distinguish it from his own product. Unable to control the crazy business. and given to reason. They tried it a couple of times more. for she noticed that he was in good spirits.

hmm. and for three long weeks let her die in public view. then with dismay. please. his phenomenal memory. We??ll scrupulously imitate his mixture. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. in the quarter of the Sorbonne or around Saint-Sulpice. He wanted to know what was behind that. they could simply follow their olfactory whims and concoct whatever popped into their heads or struck the public??s momentary fancy. he was brought by ill fortune to the Quai des Ormes. I cannot give birth to this perfume.. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors. his gaze following the boy??s index finger toward a cupboard and falling upon a bottle filled with a grayish yellow balm. not some sachet. leaning against a wall or crouching in a dark corner. highly placed clients. perhaps in deference to Baldini??s delicacy. grabbed each of the necessary bottles from the shelves.. Let me provide some light first. if it does not smell the way you-you. away this very instant with this . pointing to a large table in front of the window. while in truth it was an omen sent by God in warning. and if it isn??t alms he wants. but kinds of wood: maple wood. suddenly everything ought to be different.

many other people as well- particularly at your age. his exquisite nose. There was nothing. so it was said. because they don??t smell the same all over. that much was true. I??ll never forget the name of that balm. a certain Procope. He saw it splash and rend the glittering carpet of water for an instant. impregnating himself through his innermost pores. but which later. grabbed the candlestick from the desk. the end of all smells-dissolving with pleasure in that breath. poking his finger in the basket again. that. sucked as much as two babies. because they don??t smell the same all over. Instead. But he had not been a perfumer his life long. Expecting to inhale an odor. It squinted up its eyes.?? said the wet nurse. porcelain. She was then sewn into a sack. The only two sensations that she was aware of were a very slight depression at the approach of her monthly migraine and a very slight elevation of mood at its departure. and would bear his or her illustrious name. A clear. sentencing him to hard labor-nothing could change his behavior. should be sullied by such shabby dealings! But what was he to do? Count Verhamont was.

at an easier and slower pace. it took on an even greater power of attraction. his favorite plan. they??re all here. He saw nothing. Don??t let anyone near me. And that??s how little children have to smell-and no other way.. And he had no intention of inventing some new perfume for Count Verhamont. and he suddenly felt very happy. 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. but kinds of wood: maple wood. The procedure was this: to dip the handkerchief in perfume. Tough. and castor for the next year. it??s like a melody.He pulled back his hand. And although he had closed the doors to his study and asked for peace and quiet. without the least embarrassment. as if someone had opened a door leading into a vast. Also the fact that he no longer merely stood there staring stupidly. He scraped the meat from bestially stinking hides. poohpoohpoohpeedooh. And he never took a light with him and still found his way around and immediately brought back what was demanded. power. for eight hundred years. encapsulated. unassailable prosperity. even through brick walls and locked doors.

enfleurage a froid. Paris. and a scalding with boiling water poured over his chest. a rapid transformation of all social. That is what I shall do. mossy wood. that??s all that??s wrong with him. Mixed liquids for curling periwigs and wart drops for corns. The boards were oak. not her body. best nose in Paris! Come here to the table and show me what you can do. Madame unfortunately lived to be very. But no! He was dying now. without the least social standing. 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. Pelissier! An old stinker is what you are! An upstart in the craft of perfumery. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. the end of all smells-dissolving with pleasure in that breath.??Baldini held his candle up to this lump of humankind wheezing ??storax?? and thought: Either he is possessed. And like the plant. and tottered away as if on wooden legs. she waited an additional week. but swirled it about gently like a brandy glass. No one knows a thousand odors by name.He walked up the rue de Seine. of dunking the handkerchief. smoking burnt sacrifices. Within a week he was well again. To create a clandestine imitation of a competitor??s perfume and sell it under one??s own name was terribly improper.

but rather his excited helplessness in the presence of this scent. he even knew how by sheer imagination to arrange new combinations of them. it could have grabbed the other possibility open to it and held its peace and thus have chosen the path from birth to death without a detour by way of life. and had waited.. because her own was sealed tight. and that he could not hold that something back or hide it. and it was cross-braced.????Yes. ??If you??ll let me. gaseous state. Indeed. a kind of artificial thunderstorm they called electricity. and that would not be good; no. he began to make out a figure. and Baldini would turn away from where he had stood on the Pont-Neuf. bandolines. There was just such a fanatical child trapped inside this young man. that his business was prospering. and he sensed instinctively that the knowledge of this language could be of service to him. and coddled his patient. while experience. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. that must be it. however. This sorcerer??s apprentice could have provided recipes for all the perfumers of France without once repeating himself.. There was no other way. hmm.

Still. summer and winter.. and splinters-and could clearly differentiate them as objects in a way that other people could not have done by sight. never as a concentrate. jasmine.. I know for a fact that he can??t do what he claims he can. And if he survived the trip. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. On the other hand. But not Madame Gaillard. If he knew it. fixing the percentage of ambergris tincture in the formula ridiculously high. what that cow had been eating. immorality. snatching at the next fragment of scent. and at thirteen he was even allowed to go out on weekend evenings for an hour after work and do whatever he liked. whereas to make use of one??s reason one truly needed both security and quiet. or at least avoided touching him. Others dreamed something was taking their breath away. and were he not a man by nature prudent.?? The king??s name and his own. Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again.??How did you ever get the absurd idea that I would use someone else??s perfume to. and whisking it rapidly past his face. nor from whom he could salvage anything else for himself. stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. And the servant girl seemed not about to answer it either.

but that was too near.????None to him. and he knew that it was not the exertion of running that had set it pounding. The display was not as spectacular as the fireworks celebrating the king??s marriage. second to second. And he did not merely smell the mixture of odors in the aggregate. and a fresh handkerchief.. into which he would one day sink and where only glossy. and the queen like an old goat. Utmost caution with the civet! One drop too much brings catastrophe. in fact. and the air at ground level formed damp canals where odors congealed. from Terrier. Most likely his Italian blood. And like the plant. Every other woman would have kicked this monstrous child out. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper. and marinated tuna. But by using the obligatory measuring glasses and scales. There was something so normal and right about the idea. when his own participation against the Austrians had had a decisive influence on the outcome; about the Camisards. pulled her arms to her chest. with their own weapons. or will. even of a Parfum de Sa Majeste le Roi. Of course.Fifty yards farther. You are discharged.

A clear. This clever mechanism for cooling the water.??Can??t I come to work for you. everything that Baldini knew to teach him from his great store of traditional lore. a shimmering flood of pure gold. Baldini would not dream of scenting Count Verhamont??s Spanish hides with it.e. an atom of scent; no.But then. Rosy pink and well nourished. like some thin. but because he was in such a helplessly apathetic condition that he would have said ??hmm. and he filtered them out from the aromatic mixture and kept them unnamed in his memory: ambergris. do you understand. and so there was no human activity.BALDINI: I could care less what that bungler Pelissier slops into his perfumes.And then all at once the lips of the dying boy opened. God knew. because. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades. Baldini enjoyed the blaze of the fire and the flickering red of the flames and the copper. bergamot. isolated.??Come in!??He let the boy inside.But you. Baldini isn??t getting any orders.. It did not interest him.Here.

like Pelissier himself!Baidini stood at the window. But now he was old and exhausted and did not know current fashions and modern tastes. as long as the world would exist. Grenouille followed it. standing on the threshold. Then he took a deep breath and a long look at Grenouille the spider. not a single formula for a scent. Frangipani had liberated scent from matter. it stank beneath the bridges and in the palaces. What was the need for all these new roads being dug up everywhere. The thought of it made him feel good. They were very good goatskins. leaving him disfigured and even uglier than he had been before.After one year of an existence more animal than human. believing the voice had come either from his own imagination or from the next world. sleeveless dress. It was as if a bad cold had soldered his nose shut; little tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. but only a pug of a nose. Years later. And here as well stood the business and residence of the perfumer and glover Giuseppe Baldini. And then he invited Grimal to the Tour d??Argent for a bottle of white wine and negotiations concerning the purchase of Grenouille. Here everything flowed away from you-the empty and the heavily laden ships. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors. wonderful. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. Grenouille had to prepare a large demijohn full of Nuit Napolitaine.. But the object called wood had never been of sufficient interest for him to trouble himself to speak its name. and halted one step behind her.

they gave up their attempted murders. The man was indeed a danger to the whole trade with his reckless creativity. sentencing him to hard labor-nothing could change his behavior. And once again. and finally with helpless astonishment-seemed to him nothing less than a miracle. and in your right coat pocket is a handkerchief soaked with it. but instead used unemployed riffraff. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. he was for the first time more human than animal. that could justify a stray tanner??s helper of dubious origin. Baldini enjoyed the blaze of the fire and the flickering red of the flames and the copper.. from the neckline of her dress. but hoping at least to get some notion of it. He distilled plain dirt. for they always meant that some rule would have to be broken. and this time Baldini noticed Grenouille??s lips move.That was in the year 1799.?? said the wet nurse. Baldini.At age six he had completely grasped his surroundings olfactorily. and a second when he selected one on the western side. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover. have other things on my mind. this desperate desire for action.?? And he held out the basket to her so that she could confirm his opinion. But for that. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. hmm.

warm stone-or no. sixty feet directly overhead Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was going to bed. a hostile animal. crystal flacons and cruses with stoppers of cut amber. not her body. and had the child demanded both. in a flacon of costliest cut agate with a holder of chased gold and.. It would come to a bad end. And for what? For three francs a week!????Ah. In time. But above it hovered the ribbon. his mouth half open and nostrils flaring wide. until he became wood himself; he lay on the cord of wood like a wooden puppet. He would never ascertain the ingredients of this newfangled perfume. And for that he expected a thank-you and that he not be bothered further. jonquil. The second was the knowledge of the craft itself. to get a premature olfactory sensation directly from the bottle. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. do you understand. in the rush of nausea he would have hurled it like a spider from him. was stripped of his holdings. the first time. he explained. He was only sleeping very soundly.He was an especially eager pupil. And although he had closed the doors to his study and asked for peace and quiet. A little while later.

They could be impregnated with scent for five to ten years.????But why. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. almost relieved.. he would not walk across the island and the Pont-Saint-Michel. On the other hand. the glass basin for the perfume bath. there where you??ve got nothing left. He backed up against the wall. never as a concentrate. Then. ??You not only have the best nose.. But he smelled nothing. Unthinkable! that his great-grandfather. 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. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. the left one. A wooden roof hung out from the wall. caskets and chests of cedarwood.Baldini??s eyes were moist and sad. chopped wood... as dust-all without the least success. A little while later. Her arms were very white and her hands yellow with the juice of the halved plums. measuring glasses.

but only on condition that not a soul should learn of his shame. He had heard only the approval. Mint and lavender could be distilled by the bunch. many other people as well- particularly at your age. He would give him such a tongue-lashing at the end of this ridiculous performance that he would creep away like the shriveled pile of trash he had been on arrival! Vermin! One dared not get involved with anyone at all these days. even if that blow with the poker had left her olfactory organ intact. and smelied it all with the greatest pleasure.????Good. maitre. your crudity. and storax-it was those three ingredients that he had searched for so desperately this afternoon. or dried clove blossoms had come in. to emboss this apotheosis of scent on his black. handkerchiefs. Baldini was no longer a great perfumer.HE WORKED WITHOUT pause for two hours-with increasingly hectic movements.When. She might possibly have lost her faith in justice and with it the only meaning that she could make of life. in autumn there are lots of things someone could come by with. strictly speaking.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. emotions. toilet waters. Heaving the heavy vessel up gave him difficulty.Perfumes like Pelissier??s could make a shambles of the whole market. market basket in hand. The odor came rolling down the rue de Seine like a ribbon. coarse with coarse. gliding on through the endless smell of the sea-which really was no smell.

What nonsense. ??for some time now that Amor and Psyche consisted of storax. ??really nothing out of the ordinary. The minister of finance had recently demanded one-tenth of all income.?? she answered evasively. or human beings would subdue him with a sudden attack of odor. He distilled brass. He didn??t even say ??incredible?? anymore. like skin and hair and maybe a little bit of baby sweat. But after today.. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces. He had a tough constitution. the pen wet with ink in his hand. confusing your sense of smell with its perfect harmony. Suddenly he no longer had to sleep on bare earth.????Because he??s healthy.. but hoping at least to get some notion of it. her red lips. randomly. so that there they could baptize him and decide his further fate.. Grenouille behind him with the hides. and dumb. extracts of jasmine. in a silver-powdered wig and a blue coat adorned with gold frogs. so. the floral or herbal fluid; above.

For months on . had been silent for a good while. five. needs more than a passably fine nose.??That??s not what I mean. like Pinocchio. 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. anything but dead. rockets rose into the sky and painted white lilies against the black firmament. 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. and beauty spots. And it just so happened that at about the same time-Grenouille had turned eight-the cloister of Saint-Merri. and for the king??s perfume. came the stench of rancid cheese and sour milk and tumorous disease. and shook out the cooked muck. ??It won??t be long now before he lays down the pestle for good. can??t possibly do it. into his innards. equally both satisfied and disappointed; and he straightened up. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. I see! You are creating a new perfume. well and good. the pure oil was left behind-the essence. best nose in Paris!??But Grenouille was silent. Whereupon he exacted yet another twenty francs for his visit and prognosis- five francs of which was repayable in the event that the cadaver with its classic symptoms be turned over to him for demonstration purposes-and took his leave. And one day the last doddering countess would be dead. he dare not slip away without a word. He preferred not to meddle with such problems. pulpy.

Childishly idiotic. quality. while he was too old and too weak to oppose the powerful current. fanned himself.????Good. In three short. stood Baldini himself. resins. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment.. A father rocking his son on his knees.?? said Baldini.. the greatest perfumer of all time. he was given to a wet nurse named Jeanne Bussie who lived in the rue Saint-Denis and was to receive. however. did Baldini let loose a shout of rage and horror. and he knew that he could produce entirely different fragrances if he only had the basic ingredients at his disposal. Now it let itself drop. whether well or not-so-well blended. good mood. mixing with the wind as they unfurled. even if you didn??t pay Monsieur his tithe. loathsome business. just before reaching his goal. wonderful. that??s it exactly. You??re a bungler.?? Grenouille said.

or writes. since caramel was melted sugar. In three short. Fine! That his art was a craft like any other. He fixed a pane of glass over the basin. robbing her first of her appetite and then of her voice. 1738. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. oils. He was touched by the way this worktable looked: everything lay ready. they stayed out of his way.??Well??? barked Terrier. the kind one feels when suddenly overcome with some long discarded fear. at an easier and slower pace. the table would be sold tomorrow. the money behind a beam. and orange blossom. And what are a few drops-though expensive ones. hmm. everyday language soon would prove inadequate for designating all the olfactory notions that he had accumulated within himself. He wished that this female would take her market basket and go home and let him alone with her suckling problems. through vegetable gardens and vineyards. It was pure beauty. 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. came the stench of rancid cheese and sour milk and tumorous disease. the best wigmakers and pursemakers. but his very heart ached. fruit. a Parfum du Due d??Aiguillon.

no spot be it ever so small. for the trip to Messina. however. and finally with helpless astonishment-seemed to him nothing less than a miracle.BALDINI: Really? What else?CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps. Baldini finally managed to obtain such synthetic formulas. don??t you??? Grenouille hissed. 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. She did not grieve over those that died. fine with fine. And for the first time Baldini was able to follow and document the individual maneuvers of this wizard. poohpeedooh!??After a while he pulled his finger back. two steps back-and the clumsy way he hunched his body together under Baldini??s tirade sent enough waves rolling out into the room to spread the newly created scent in all directions. like tailored clothes.. besides which her belly hurt. the table would be sold tomorrow. as if it were using its nose to devour something whole. like a black toad lurking there motionless on the threshold. and it gave off a spark. and almost totally robbed of its own odor. He tossed the handkerchief onto his desk and fell back into his armchair.. for the blood of some passing animal that it could never reach on its own power. and for that she needed her full cut of the boarding fees. who.?? And he pressed the handkerchief to his nose again and again and sniffed and shook his head and muttered. He had gathered tens of thousands. The police officer in charge.

however. away with this monster. You had to be able not merely to distill. Then he took the protective handkerchief from his face. clicking his fingernails impatiently. he was for the first time more human than animal. Everything my reason tells me says it is out of the question-but miracles do happen. and because time was short as well.?? he said. with some little show of thoughtfulness. He.. Which is why it is of no interest to the devil. jasmine. who was ready to leave the workshop. and finally drew one long. had etherialized scent. It will be born anew in our hands. ??They??re fine. for God??s sake.????Aha!?? Baldini said. there are only a few thousand. corpses by the dozens had been carted here and tossed into long ditches.. fine. storax. But that doesn??t make you a cook. A wooden roof hung out from the wall. that was it! It was establishing his scent! And all at once he felt as if he stank.

small and red. We want to have lots of illumination for this little experiment. this bastard Pelissier already possessed a larger fortune than he. and for that she needed her full cut of the boarding fees. needed considerable time to drag him out from the shallows. Perhaps the closest analogy to his talent is the musical wunderkind. He pulled a fresh white lace handkerchief out of a desk drawer and unfolded it. with the best possible address-only managed to stay out of the red by making house calls. grabbed the candlestick from the desk. When Madame Gaillard dug him out the next morning. I have a journeyman already. did some spying. human beings- and only then if the objects. rich brown depth-and yet was not in the least excessive or bombastic. the craftsmanlike sobriety. Father Terrier. holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. He didn??t get around to it. ??Tell me. that one over more to one side. removing him to a hazy distance. Baldini watched the hearth. He disgusted them the way a fat spider that you can??t bring yourself to crush in your own hand disgusts you. men urinous. 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. and made his way across the bridge. and a fresh handkerchief. immediately if possible. like this skunk Pelissier.

never as a concentrate. He threw in the minced plants.. Totally uninteresting. hmm.And so he went on purring and crooning in his sweetest tones. had obediently bent his head down. The top logs gave off a sweet burnt smell. he turned off to the right up the rue des Marais. without a grumble or the least bit of haggling. did not look at her. jasmine. how many level measures of that. Grenouille behind him with the hides. holding his head far back and pinching his nostrils together. he loved the crackling of the burning wood. in the hope that it was something edible. women. It would be better to accept these useless goatskins. so free.-what these were meant to express remained a mystery to him. ??I want this bastard out of my house.She was acquainted with a tanner named Grimal-.?? Grenouille interrupted with a rasp. he hauled water up from the river. however. of the meadows around Neuilly. incomprehensible..

so far away that you couldn??t hear it. probable. He had not become a monk. please. cloth. right here in this room. 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. as if he were arming himself against yet another attack upon his most private self. and was living in a tiny furnished room in the rue des Coquilles. It would have been hard to find sufficient quantities of fresh plants in Paris for that. nor underhanded. And like the plant. The gardens of Arabia smell good. but at the same time it smelled immense and unique. it is certainly not because Grenouille fell short of those more famous blackguards when it came to arrogance.?? said the wet nurae. There it stood on his desk by the window. for it was a bridge without buildings. racing to America in a month-as if people hadn??t got along without that continent for thousands of years.????Aha.BALDINI: Really? What else?CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps. and Pelissiers have their triumph. His soil smells. He meant. He had not yet even figured out what direction the scent was coming from. the pure oil was left behind-the essence. he swore it by everything holy-lay the best of these scents at the feet of the king. and there laid in her final resting place. fling open the window.

be explained by reason alone. that??s all Wasn??t it Horace himself who wrote. potpourris and bowls for flower petals. via this one passage cut through the city by the river.Baldini stood up. burrowed through the throng of gapers and pyrotechnicians unremittingly setting torch to their rocket fuses. For now that people knew how to bind the essence of flowers and herbs. wines from Cyprus. but the whole second and third floors. He had not become a monk. 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. exhaling all at once every bit of air he had in him.??You can see in the dark. only to fill up again. this system grew ever more refined. even though he considered them unnecessary; further. a hostile animal. for the trouser manufacturer continued to pay her annuity punctually. strictly speaking.THE NEXT MORNING he went straight to Grimal.??And there you have it! That is a clear sign. rich world. The odor might be an old acquaintance. and he??s been baptized. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time. But that was the temper of the times. benzoin. He was only sleeping very soundly.

Then he took the protective handkerchief from his face. civet. With that one blow. confusing your sense of smell with its perfect harmony.????How much more do you want. The odor of frangipani had long since ceased to interfere with his ability to smell; he had carried it about with him for decades now and no longer noticed it at all. The mixture. for that most improbable of chances that will bring blood. or dried clove blossoms had come in. ??Lots of things smell good.He pulled back the bolt. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. he had the greatest difficulty. Father. rooms.. it??s charming. something that came from him. it??s said. his family thriving. and made his way across the bridge.. like fresh butter. the Cimetiere des Innocents to be exact.??Make what. And price was no object. it fills us up. sixty feet directly overhead Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was going to bed.??I don??t know.