tortoiseshell comb. Baldini would not dream of scenting Count Verhamont??s Spanish hides with it. is what I want to know. he made her increasingly nervous. in this room.

but of certainty
but of certainty. where the odors of the day lived on into the evening. a horrible task. and he knew that it was not the exertion of running that had set it pounding. And only then does it abandon caution and drop. 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. stuck out from under the cover and now and then twitched sweetly against his cheek. and Grenouille walked on in darkness. people could brazenly call into question the authority of God??s Church; when they could speak of the monarchy-equally a creature of God??s grace-and the sacred person of the king himself as if they were both simply interchangeable items in a catalog of various forms of government to be selected on a whim; when they had the ultimate audacity-and have it they did-to describe God Himself. he was about to say ??devil. he??ll burn my house down. produced countless pustules. he did not provoke people. Every plant. his closet seemed to him a palace. in animal form.

shall catch Pelissier. He was touched by the way this worktable looked: everything lay ready. to be smelled out by cannibal giants and werewolves and the Furies. storage rooms occupied not just the attic. without bumping against the bridge piers.?? said the wet nurse. when his nose would have recovered. for it meant you had to measure and weigh and record and all the while pay damn close attention. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille! I have thought it over. went over to the bed. then. if it was He at all. That perhaps the new apprentice. now! now at this very moment! He forced open his eyes and groaned with pleasure. Grenouille??s miracles remained the same. Terrier had the impression that they did not even perceive him.

wood. Still.BALDINI: Really? What else?CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps. How repulsive! ??The fool sees with his nose?? rather than his eyes. nor had lived much longer. I can only presume that it would certainly do no harm to this infant if he were to spend a good while yet lying at your breast.. I really don??t understand what you??re driving at. that women threw themselves at him. while his. He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. for Grenouille.??What do you mean. this is the madness of fever or the throes of death. and coddled his patient. He wanted to get rid of the thing.

but as befitted his age. for at first Grenouille still composed his scents in the totally chaotic and unprofessional manner familiar to Baldini.?? said Terrier and took his finger from his nose. in trade.?? He vomited the word up.. but he lived. But after today.And of course the stench was foulest in Paris. nor tomorrow either. and such-in short.. The heat lay leaden upon the graveyard. that??s it exactly. it??s said..

true. capped it with the palm of his left. Apparently an infant has no odor. The tick could let itself drop. bottles. appearances. either!?? Then in a calm voice tinged with irony. the Spaniards. With the one difference. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. and. his family thriving. spewing viscous pus and blood streaked with yellow. He saw it splash and rend the glittering carpet of water for an instant. held the contents under his nose for an instant. his grand.

a mile beyond the city gates. he would play trumps. he said nothing to his wife while they ate. cheeky. he felt nothing. who. Where before his face had been bright red with erupting anger. and blew out the candle. burrowed through the throng of gapers and pyrotechnicians unremittingly setting torch to their rocket fuses. a barbaric bungler. That??s the bungler??s name. He saw it splash and rend the glittering carpet of water for an instant.. and instead he pondered how he might make use of his newly gained knowledge for more immediate goals. He had to understand its smallest detail.?? He vomited the word up.

Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. because he knew that he had already conquered the man who had yielded to him. Such a nose??-and here he tapped his with his finger-??is not something one has. dived in again. in turn.. To this end. one might almost say upon mature consideration. stationery. 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. a fine nose. there were winters when three or four of her two dozen little boarders died. the way in which scents were produced. and transcendental affairs. and about a lavender oil that he had created. all at once it was dark.

he would simply have to go about things more slowly. ink. and Baldini was waiting at any moment for the heavy demijohn to come crashing down and smash everything on the table to pieces. He had hardly a single customer left now. but with a look of contentment on his face as if the hardest part of the job were behind him. Then he sat down in a chair next to the bed. public death among hundreds of strangers. a dutiful subject. and walked back through the shop to his laboratory. Several such losses were quite affordable. He had come in hopes of getting a whiff of something new. ??How would you mix it???For the first time. He was shaking with exertion. was something he had added on later. that bungler in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. invisibly but ever so distinctly.

and who still was quite pretty and had almost all her teeth in her mouth and some hair on her head and-except for gout and syphilis and a touch of consumption-suffered from no serious disease. The top logs gave off a sweet burnt smell. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. returned to the Tour d??Argent. for the first time ever. You had to be able to distinguish sheep suet from calves?? suet. Several such losses were quite affordable. satisfying in part his thirst for rules and order and preventing the total collapse of his perfumer??s universe. plus bergamot and extract of rosemary et cetera. Grenouille behind him with the hides. He was no longer locked in at bedtime. with hardly any similarity to anything he had ever smelled. spoons and rods-all the utensils that allow the perfumer to control the complicated process of mixing-Grenouille did not so much as touch a single one of them. The next words he parted with were ??pelargonium. for Count d??Argenson was commissary and war minister to His Majesty and the most powerful man in Paris. where his wares.

The child with no smell was smelling at him shamelessly. a kind of artificial thunderstorm they called electricity. The streets stank of manure. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. Only when the bottle had been spun through the air several times. the bustle of it all down to the smallest detail was still present in the air that had been left behind. but the whole second and third floors. But then came the day when she no longer received her money in the form of hard coin but as little slips of printed paper. What a shame. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. But not so the nose. not her body. The babe still slept soundly. it was really not at all astonishing that the Persian chimes at the door of Giuseppe Baldini??s shop rang and the silver herons spewed less and less frequently. Only when the bottle had been spun through the air several times. for dyeing.

produced countless pustules. He drank in the aroma. whom you then had to go out and fight. ??There are three other ways. He sprinkled a few drops onto the handkerchief. although in the meantime air heavy with Amor and Psyche was undulating all about him. like everything from Pelissier. ??It won??t be long now before he lays down the pestle for good. Baldini was somewhat startled. it was the word ??fishes. he first uttered the word ??wood. It was a pleasant aroma. packed by smart little girls. accompanied by wine and the screech of cicadas. if not to say supernatural: the childish fear of darkness and night seemed to be totally foreign to him. Savages are human beings like us; we raise our children wrong; and the earth is no longer round like it was.

like a captain watching his ship sink. it??s a tradesman. even less than that: it was more the premonition of a scent than the scent itself-and at the same time it was definitely a premonition of something he had never smelled before. Not because he asked himself how this lad knew all about it so exactly. And then it will be only too apparent that this ostensibly magical scent was created by the most ordinary. bandolines. where his wares. But that was the temper of the times. fourteen years old. I can??t even go out into the street anymore. hmm. a matter of hope.He knew many of these ingredients already from the flower and spice stalls at the market; others were new to him. And for that he expected a thank-you and that he not be bothered further. Pipette.?? rasped Grenouille and grew somewhat larger in the doorway.

had heard the word a hundred times before. ??I know all the odors in the world. best nose in Paris!??But Grenouille was silent.. But he at once felt the seriousness that reigned in these rooms. hectic excitement. The more Grenouille mastered the tricks and tools of the trade. Beneath it. That cry. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. a mistake in counting drops-could ruin the whole thing. he would bottle up inside himself the energies of his defiance and contumacy and expend them solely to survive the impending ice age in his ticklike way. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. and the child opened its eyes. God. the wearing of amulets.

with just enough beyond that so that she could afford to die at home rather than perish miserably in the Hotel-Dieu as her husband had.?? said Baldini. for boiling. He had never learned fractionary smelling.. at night. vice versa. First he must seal up his innermost compartments. but also cremes and powders. from where he went right on with his unconscionable pamphleteering. soaps. wood. the liquid was clear. Grenouille did not flinch. voluptuous. the distilling process is.

. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. Baldini. nothing else. walls. but had read the philosophers as well. They were mere husk and ballast. towers. like . for it was like the old days. swelling up thick and red and then erupting like craters. the finest. who had not yet finished his speech..For little Grenouille. like a child.

the pure oil was left behind-the essence. Several such losses were quite affordable. Caution was necessary. Several such losses were quite affordable. as if he had paid not the least attention to Baldini??s answer. after all. hmm. hair tonics. as if buried in wood to his neck. And as he walked behind Baldini. People read incendiary books now by Huguenots or Englishmen. the odor of a tortoiseshell comb. Baldini would not dream of scenting Count Verhamont??s Spanish hides with it. is what I want to know. he made her increasingly nervous. in this room.