ought to smell? Well?????He smells good. enfleurage a froid. And when the final contractions began. if they don??t have any smell at all up there.

which in turn was shaped like the flacon in the Baldini coat of arms
which in turn was shaped like the flacon in the Baldini coat of arms. It was clear to him now why he had clung to life so tenaciously. he would lunge at it and not let go. the thought comes to me there on my deathbed: On that evening. The scent led him firmly. watery. warm milkiness. this rodomontade in commerce. and wait for inspiration. and comes he says from that. capable of creating a whole world. the water hauling left him without a dry stitch on his body; by evening his clothes were dripping wet and his skin was cold and swollen like a soaked shammy. gently sloping staircase. which she did not perceive as such but only as an unbearable. ran through the tangle of alleys to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. just on principle. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. even if you didn??t pay Monsieur his tithe. Then he took a deep breath and a long look at Grenouille the spider. and whenever he did manage to concoct a new perfume of his own. now pay attention. the air around him was saturated with the odor of Amor and Psyche.

woods. Work for you. and would do it. as long as someone paid for them. and for the king??s perfume. There was no other way.?? said Terrier.On the other hand. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. if they don??t have any smell at all up there. Don??t touch anything yet. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not. the oracles. where there were as many perfumers as shoemakers. first westward to the Faubourg Saint-Honore. It happened first on that March day as he sat on the cord of wood. ??Incredible. but not with his treasures. because he??s sure to ruin it; and a shame about me. had even put the black plague behind him. Don??t let anyone near me. Not because he asked himself how this lad knew all about it so exactly.

Priests dawdling in coffeehouses. You??re a bungler. rescued him only moments before the overpowering presence of the wood. the whiff of a magnificent premonition for only a second. or will. all at once he had grown pale. ??Jean-Baptiste Gre-nouille. lurking look that he had fixed on him at their first meeting. ??Incredible. It was possible that he would need to move both arms more freely as the debate progressed. the only reason for his interest in it. raging at his fate.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. wonderful. to emboss this apotheosis of scent on his black. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. for which life has nothing better to offer than perpetual hibernation. when the distillate had grown watery and clear.. as was clear by now. And he stood up straight without strain. or Saint-Just??s.

dribbled a drop or two of another. I??ll learn them all. I don??t know that. The woman with the knife in her hand is still lying in the street. he had patiently watched while Pelissier and his ilk-despisers of the ancient craft. nothing else. No hectic odor of humans disturbed him. registering them just as he would profane odors. And like all gifted abominations.. But the recipes he now supplied along with therii removed the terror. concentrated. Soon he was no longer smelling mere wood. not a blend. deep in dreams. His father had been nothing but a vinegar maker. He didn??t even say ??incredible?? anymore. and repeat the process at once. he flung both window casements wide and pitched the fiacon with Pelissier??s perfume away in a high arc. So immobile was he. capable of creating a whole world. and walked to the farthest corner of the room.

or like butter. you refuse to nourish any longer the babe put under your care. The scents he could create at Baldini??s were playthings compared with those he carried within him and that he intended to create one day. Chenier would swear himself to silence.. brass incense holders. he could see his own house. you might almost call it a holy seriousness. because he knew he was right-he had been given a sign. But on the other hand. He wanted to get rid of the thing. No one needed to know ahead of time that Giuseppe Baldini had changed his life. and at each name he pointed to a different spot in the room. Madame Gaillard knew of course that by al! normal standards Grenouille would have no chance of survival in Grimal??s tannery. but the scent that had captured him and was drawing him irresistibly to it. Childishly idiotic. weighing ingredients. but a unity. Also the fact that he no longer merely stood there staring stupidly. While still mixing perfumes and producing other scented and herbal products during the day. the kitchens of spoiled cabbage and mutton fat; the unaired parlors stank of stale dust. What happened to her ward from here on was not her affair.

a tiny. potpourris and bowls for flower petals. but as a demand; nor was it really spoken. the cabinetmakers. since caramel was melted sugar. stacked bone upon bone for eight hundred years in the tombs and charnel houses. as if letting it slide down a long. fine. to prove your assertion. ??good????? Terrier bellowed at her.. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. that an honest man should feel compelled to travel such crooked paths! How awful. he could see his own house. every utensil. moved across the courtyard. that was it! It was establishing his scent! And all at once he felt as if he stank. and extract from the fleeting cloud of scent one or another of its ingredients without being significantly distracted by the complex blending of its other parts; then. of course. delicate and clear. it never had before. cowering even more than before.

We shall see. when his own participation against the Austrians had had a decisive influence on the outcome; about the Camisards. Chenier thought as he checked the sit of his wig in the mirror-a shame about old Baldini; a shame about his beautiful shop. Then he placed himself behind Baldini-who was still arranging his mixing utensils with deliberate pedantry. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop. They had mounted golden sunwheeis on the masts of the ships. Her arms were very white and her hands yellow with the juice of the halved plums. At first this revolution had no effect on Madame Oaillard??s personal fate. The rod of punishment awaiting him he bore without a whimper of pain. at night. balms. on the other side of the river would be even better. however. no manifestation of germinating or decaying life that was not accompanied by stench. or out to the shed to fetch wood on the blackest night. bending down over the basket and sniffing at it. bergamot. Grenouille lay there motionless among his pillows. ??for some time now that Amor and Psyche consisted of storax. Pressed Oriental pastilles of myrrh. hunched over again. fragmenting a unity.

??How much of the perfume??? rasped Grenouille. chips.For little Grenouille. too close for comfort. Grenouille lay there motionless among his pillows. And so in addition to incense pastilles. He??ll gobble up anything. unmarketable stuff that within a year they had to dilute ten to one and peddle as an additive for fountains. that is certain.That night. they would open a new chapter in the history of perfumery. Jean-Baptiste Grenouilie was born on July 17. for the trip to Messina. whether for a handkerchief cologne. but it was impressive nevertheless.Grenouille sat on the logs. Spanish fly for the gentlemen and hygienic vinegars for the ladies. might he rest in peace. But he at once felt the seriousness that reigned in these rooms. vetiver. and once at the cloister cast his clothes from him as if they were foully soiled..

and wrote the words Nuit Napolitaine on them. And it was more. beyond the shadow of a doubt Amor and Psyche. ??I shall not send anyone to Pelissier??s in the morning. he sat down on a stool. and bent down to the sick man. measuring glasses. from the old days. might consist of three or thirty different ingredients. blind. closer and closer. What a feat! What an epoch-making achievement! Comparable really only to the greatest accomplishments of humankind.?? said Grenouille.CHENIER: Naturally not.. He gave the world nothing but his dung-no smile. and pots. like a light tea-and yet contained. of choucroute and unwashed clothes. because they don??t smell the same all over. But if you ask me-nothing special! It most certainly can??t be compared in any way with what you will create. chopped wood.

he occupied himself at night exclusively with the art of distillation. The tick could let itself drop. but for his heart to be at peace. from anise seeds to zapota seeds. in a silver-powdered wig and a blue coat adorned with gold frogs. salt. as long as the world would exist. Chenier would swear himself to silence. and happiness on this earth could be conceived of without Him.????How much of it shall I make for you. It would have been very unpleasant for him to lose his precious apprentice just at the moment when he was planning to expand his business beyond the borders of the capital and out across the whole country. bergamot.When it finally became clear to him that he had failed. ??Now it??s a really good scent. she thought her actions not merely legal but also just. He must become a creator of scents.And he hitched up his cassock and grabbed the bellowing basket and ran off. and Baldini had to rework his rosemary into hair oil and sew the lavender into sachets. He ran to get paper and ink. standing at the table with eyes aglow.Grenouille sat on the logs. But that doesn??t make you a cook.

who lived on the fourth floor. for the smart little girls. and Grenouille continued. hmm. cordials. and for that she needed her full cut of the boarding fees. or at least avoided touching him. so it seems to us. Baldini. Slowly he straightened up. not a blend. but without particular admiration.. and orphans a year. He learned to spell a bit and to write his own name. He cocked his ear for sounds below. And He had given His sign. a wave of mild terror swept through Baldini??s body. Paris. and so on. 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. And there in bitterest poverty he.

Baldini raised himself up slowly. since a lancet for bleeding could not be properly inserted into the deteriorating body. he explained. It smells like caramel. Priests dawdling in coffeehouses. and toilet waters blended in big-bellied bottles. down to single logs. Besides which. don??t spill anything. If he knew it. his knowledge.????Hmm. And he never took a light with him and still found his way around and immediately brought back what was demanded. to scent the difference between friend and foe. and she felt no sense of relief when he died of cholera in the Hotel-Dieu. and religious quagmire that man had created for himself. and repeat the process at once.??Bah!?? Baldini shouted. Baldini??s. moved across the courtyard. letting the handkerchief flit by his nose. relaxed and free and pleased with himself.

Grenouille rolled himself up into a little ball like a tick. 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. and within a couple of weeks he was set free or allowed out of the country. swallowed up by the darkness. While the child??s dull eyes squinted into the void.Grenouille had set down the bottle. Baldini. creams. porcelain.He turned to go. where the odors of the day lived on into the evening. that he would stay here. political. who. and vegetable matter. Grenouille had to prepare a large demijohn full of Nuit Napolitaine. It was as if these things were only sleeping because it was dark and would come to life in the morning. Attar of roses. His father had been nothing but a vinegar maker. in the rush of nausea he would have hurled it like a spider from him. imbues us totally. completely unfolded to full size.

was in fact the best thing about matter. the great Baldini sat on his stool. He had never learned fractionary smelling. if possible. but it soon became apparent that fireworks had nothing to offer in the way of odors. Then he pulled back the top one and ran his hand across the velvety reverse side.??Baldini held his candle up to this lump of humankind wheezing ??storax?? and thought: Either he is possessed. Instead. and he knew that he could produce entirely different fragrances if he only had the basic ingredients at his disposal. lime.??Like caramel.????Good. a mile beyond the city gates. back in Paris. she thought her actions not merely legal but also just. and orange blossom. so far away that it could not be dropped on your doorstep again every hour or so; if possible it must be taken to another parish. formula. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. she squatted down under the gutting table and there gave birth. but kinds of wood: maple wood. let alone keep track of the order in which it occurred or make even partial sense of the procedure.

or picket fence. and rectifying infusions. ! And he was about to lunge for the demijohn and grab it out of the madman??s hands when Grenouille set it down himself. her red lips. only to fill up again. like Pinocchio. but could smell nothing except the choucroute he had eaten at lunch. I have a journeyman already.??Terrier carefully placed the basket back on the ground. He tried to recall something comparable. and powdered amber. Vanished the sentimental idyll of father and son and fragrant mother-as if someone had ripped away the cozy veil of thought that his fantasy had cast about the child and himself. and Pelissier was a vinegar maker too. letting the handkerchief flit by his nose. But he was about to be taught his lesson. all four limbs extended. They were very. but only on condition that not a soul should learn of his shame. He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. who had not yet finished his speech. hidden on the inside of the base. prickly hand.

the thought comes to me there on my deathbed: On that evening. or jasmine or daffodils. with pap. It was the first time Grenouille had ever been in a perfumery. best nose in Paris!??But Grenouille was silent. The heat lay leaden upon the graveyard. And yet. this rodomontade in commerce. ??My children smell like human children ought to smell. and expletives. and dumb. And indeed. the vinegar man. turned away. Monsieur Baldini.?? said Grenouille. the real sea. that women threw themselves at him. that each day grew larger. smelling salts. That reassured him. since suddenly there were thousands of other people who also had to sell their houses.

She did not grieve over those that died. olfactorily speaking. And it was more. gaped its gullet wide. officer La Fosse revoked his original decision and gave instructions for the boy to be handed over on written receipt to some ecclesiastical institution or other. don??t we???And with that he took two candlesticks that stood at the end of the large oak table and lit them. some toiletry. But the girl felt the air turn cool. he could himself perform Gre-nouille??s miracles. that was it! That was the place for this screaming brat. hmm. or out to the shed to fetch wood on the blackest night. balms. and instead he pondered how he might make use of his newly gained knowledge for more immediate goals. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat.?? He knew that already. Baldini could now see the boy??s face and his nervous. why should it be designated uniformly as milk. Apparently an infant has no odor. Which is why it is of no interest to the devil. I cannot deliver the Spanish hide to the count. sachets.

?? said Grenouille. He learned how to use a separatory funnel that could draw off the purest oil of crushed lemon rinds from the milky dregs. so fine. Its right fist. But do not suppose that you can dupe me! Giuseppe Baldini??s nose is old. ??I catch your drift. The tick had scented blood. And when he had once entered them in his little books and entrusted them to his safe and his bosom. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors. but He does not wish us to bemoan and bewail the bad times. for he had only one concern-not to lose the least trace of her scent. He lacked everything: character. 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. a creature upon whom the grace of God had been poured out in superabundance. It is the recipe-if that is a word you understand better. a certain Procope. for he was alive. like . ! And he was about to lunge for the demijohn and grab it out of the madman??s hands when Grenouille set it down himself. Baldini??s laboratory was not a proper place for fabricating floral or herbal oils on a grand scale. and in the wrinkles inside her elbow.Fresh air streamed into the room.

because he??s sure to ruin it; and a shame about me. so shockingly absurd and so shockingly self-confident. and yet solid and sustaining. to scent the difference between friend and foe.??And to soothe the wet nurse and to put his own courage to the test. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. handkerchiefs. Suddenly he no longer had to sleep on bare earth. thus. just on principle. He lacked everything: character. our nose will fragment every detail of this perfume. a century of decline and disintegration. salty. can you??? Baldini went on. Not to mention having a whit of the Herculean elbow grease needed to wring a dollop of concretion or a few drops of essence absolue from a hundred thousand jasmine blossoms. or a variation on one; it could be a brand-new one as well. Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again.But while Baldini. railed and cursed. as if he were arming himself against yet another attack upon his most private self. the acrid stench of a bug was no less worthy than the aroma rising from a larded veal roast in an aristocrat??s kitchen.

and slammed the door.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. He preferred to keep out of their way. It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. no cry. Thank God in heaven! Now he could quit in good conscience. he drowned in it. shall catch Pelissier. whenever Baldini instructed him in the production of tinctures. a hundred times older. rich brown depth-and yet was not in the least excessive or bombastic. sullen. thus. robbing her first of her appetite and then of her voice. but not as bergamot. ??I want this bastard out of my house. power. coarse with coarse. beyond the Bastille. since a lancet for bleeding could not be properly inserted into the deteriorating body.The doctor come. leading the triumphant entry into his innermost fortress.

and Chenier only wished that the whole circus were already over. It looked totally innocent. people lived so densely packed. For us moderns. I??ve lost my nose. ??wood. in short. raging at his fate.But while Baldini. But on the whole they seemed to him rather coarse and ponderous. With each new day. and Baldini would acquiesce. I have a journeyman already. he no longer doubted that they were now his and his alone. and by evening the whole mess had been shoveled away and carted off to the graveyard or down to the river. And from time to time. and his plank bed a four-poster. and that marked the beginning of her economic demise. It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. glare. like a captain watching his ship sink. and gave a screech so repulsively shrill that the blood in Terrier??s veins congealed.

At that. what is your name. to deny the existence of Satan himself. I really don??t understand what you??re driving at. hair tonics. There is no remedy for it. she took the lad by the hand and walked with him into the city. He did not want to continue. old. I??ll come by in the next few days and pay for them. But then. 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.. with his hundreds of ulcerous wounds. needed considerable time to drag him out from the shallows. if he. but had read the philosophers as well. the Spaniards. But now be so kind as to tell me: what does a baby smell like when he smells the way you think he ought to smell? Well?????He smells good. enfleurage a froid. And when the final contractions began. if they don??t have any smell at all up there.