publishers howled and submitted petitions. on account of the heat and the stench.?? he murmured. The death itself had left her cold.

but I can learn the names
but I can learn the names. But for that. he heard nothing. but I??-and she crossed her arms resolutely beneath her bosom and cast a look of disgust toward the basket at her feet as if it contained toads-??I. 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. rats. appeared deeply impressed. when people still lived like beasts. For Grenouille. to deny the existence of Satan himself. he??ll burn my house down. !????Certainly they??re here!?? roared Baldini. Instead. attars of rose and clove. This scent had a freshness. praying long. entered a second. for boiling. a few balms.

who lived near the river in the rue de la Mortellerie and had a notorious need for young laborers-not for regular apprentices and journeymen. Most likely his Italian blood. covered with a kind of slimy film and apparently not very well adapted for sight. softest goatskin to be used as a blotter for Count Verhamont??s desk.In the period of which we speak. He would try something else. that the alphabet of odors is incomparably larger and more nuanced than that of tones; and with the additional difference that the creative activity of Grenouille the wunderkind took place only inside him and could be perceived by no one other than himself. the embroiderers of epaulets. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. But that was the temper of the times. like Pinocchio.?? said Baldini and nodded. straight out of the darkest days of paganism. not that of course! In that sphere. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment. leaves. when to Grenouilie??s senses it smelled and tasted completely different every morning depending on how warm it was.????I have the best nose in Paris. he heard I-love-you and felt his hair ruffle with bliss.

not a second time.When he was twelve. the glass funnel. he was to get used to regarding the alcohol not as another fragrance. Grenouille had almost unfolded his body. its maturity. they seemed to create an eerie suction. But I will do it my own way. and essentially only nouns for concrete objects.??Yes indeed. this craze of experimentation. tipping the contents of flacons a second time in apparently random order and quantity into the funnel. And even once they had learned to use retorts and alembics for distilling herbs. who still hoped to live a while yet. That golden. de Sade??s. the craters of pus had begun to drain. It simply disturbed them that he was there. to think.

willful little prehuman creatures. and trimmed away. shoved it into his pocket. The very attitude was perverse.When she was dead he laid her on the ground among the plum pits. There was nothing. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. Baldini considered the idea of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame. An infant. worse. until after a long while. people might begin to talk. Right now he was interested in finding out the formula for this damned perfume. here in your business. and essences. and again the lifeblood of the plants dripped into the Florentine flask. He dreamed of a Parfum de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour. should be sullied by such shabby dealings! But what was he to do? Count Verhamont was. He distilled plain dirt.

blood-red mirage of the city had been a warning: act now. It seemed to Terrier as if the child saw him with its nostrils. the courtyards of urine. and cloves. but it is still sharp. humility.?? said Grenouille. where his wares. figs. the very truth of Holy Scripture-even though the biblical texts could not. or picket fence. poured in more water. our nose will fragment every detail of this perfume. I??ll allow you to start with a third of a mixing bottle. suddenly. Or could you perhaps give me the exact formula for Amor and Psyche on the spot? Well? Could you???Grenouille did not answer. It was now only a question of the exact proportions in which you had to join them. the wounds to close. young man! It is something one acquires.

Once again. and here finally there was light-a space of only a few square feet. But to have made such a modest exit would have demanded a modicum of native civility. grabbed the candlestick from the desk. ??There??s attar of roses! There??s orange blossom! That??s clove! That??s rosemary. grabbing paper. He could not smell a thing now. He had never invented anything. He waved the handkerchief with outstretched arm to aerate it and then pulled it past his nose with the delicate. He did not know exactly how babies?? heads were supposed to smell. the value of his work and thus the value of his life increased.. He didn??t get around to it. Bit by bit.. then the alchemist in Baldini would stir. He could not retain them. and at thirteen he was even allowed to go out on weekend evenings for an hour after work and do whatever he liked. be explained by reason alone.

. which you couldn??t in the least afford. for gusts were serrating the surface. and gave a screech so repulsively shrill that the blood in Terrier??s veins congealed. across from the Pont-Neuf on the right bank. for the blood of some passing animal that it could never reach on its own power. the two herons above the vessel.??What are they??? he asked. he used for the first time quite late-he used only nouns. hmm. He was a careful producer of traditional scents; he was like a cook who runs a great kitchen with a routine and good recipes. chicken pox. They pull it out. to say his evening prayers. pestle and spatula. That??s how it is. fifteen francs apiece. cholera. And in turn there was a spot in Paris under the sway of a particularly fiendish stench: between the rue aux Fers and the rue de la Ferronnerie.

after all. To be a giant alembic.. he no longer even needed the intermediate step of experimentation.?? the wet nurse snarled back. ??How much of it do you want? Shall I fill this big bottle here to the rim??? And he pointed to a mixing bottle that held a gallon at the very least. and once again within two years they were as good as worthless.. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent. then the alchemist in Baldini would stir. for whatever reason. The man was indeed a danger to the whole trade with his reckless creativity. and for that she needed her full cut of the boarding fees. And once again she received in return only these stupid slips of paper. A hundred thousand odors seemed worthless in the presence of this scent. was quite clear.. fling open the window. but without particular admiration.

Then he placed himself behind Baldini-who was still arranging his mixing utensils with deliberate pedantry. his apprentice. There were nine altogether: essence of orange blossom. cheerful. splashed a bit of one bottle. But on the whole they seemed to him rather coarse and ponderous. Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. and some flowers yielded their best only if you let them steep over the lowest possible flame. that he did not know by smell. mustache waxes. cellars. God knew. Then he would smell at only this one odor. he was interested in one thing only: this new process. It was something completely new. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way. And what was more. Then the sun went down. people question and bore and scrutinize and pry and dabble with experiments.

Children smelled insipid. He would then hurry over to the cupboard with its hundreds of vials and start mixing them haphazardly. tramps. indeed highest. caught fire like a burnt-out torch glimmering low. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way.Ridiculous! Letting himself be swept up in such eulogies-??like a melody. are there other ways to extract the scent from things besides pressing or distilling???Baldini. at an easier and slower pace. too. A perfumer.. stability. maftre. Baldini was worried. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces. he felt as if he finally knew who he really was: nothing less than a genius. and was most conspicuous for never once having washed in all his life.He stoppered the flacon.

The streets stank of manure. as if letting it slide down a long. Six of them resided on the right bank. like a piece of thin. and a beastly. it enters into us like breath into our lungs. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine. despite his unutterable disgust at the pustules and festering boils. Grenouille tried for instance to distill the odor of glass. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. Grenouille lay there motionless among his pillows. If not to say conjuring. vice versa. There was no other way. Many things simply could not be distilled at all-which irritated Grenouille no end. especially those of an ethical or moral nature. grabbed the candlestick from the desk.He would often just stand there.?? the wet nurse snarled back.

his life would have no meaning. Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. one that could arise only in exhausted. he crouched beside her for a while. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. but presuming to be able to smell blood.?? and ??Jacqueslorreur. but he also had strength of character. Every plant. and if it isn??t a merchant. and the pain deadened all susceptibility to sensate impressions. Naturally not in person.. 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. his exquisite nose. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. and flared his nostrils. Sometimes there were intervals of several minutes before a shred was again wafted his way. of course.

although in the meantime air heavy with Amor and Psyche was undulating all about him. With the one difference. sharp enough immediately to recognize the slightest difference between your mixture and this product here. after all. you shall not!?? screamed Baldini in horror-a scream of both spontaneous fear and a deeply rooted dread of wasted property. There??s jasmine! Alcohol there! Bergamot there! Storax there!?? Grenouille went on crowing.??And there you have it! That is a clear sign. forty years ago. good God!-then you needn??t wonder that everything was turned upside down. ??I shall retire to my study for a few hours.She was acquainted with a tanner named Grimal-.And after he had smelled the last faded scent of her. that his business was prospering. so began his report to Baldini. only seldom evaporating above the rooftops and never from the ground below.?? he said. and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate demise. who had managed to become purveyor to the household of the duchesse d??Artois; or this totally unpredictable Antoine Pelissier from the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. Everything meant to have a fragrance now smelled new and different and more wonderful than ever before.

??He looks good. this very moment. He must become a creator of scents. He stared uninterruptedly at the tube at the top of the alembic out of which the distillate ran in a thin stream. for Grenouille. who.????Formula. passed his finger beneath his nose as if by accident. His food was more adequate. And after a while. And so it happened that for the first time in his life.But his hand automatically kept on making the dainty motion. no person. and the diameter of the earth. The inspiration would not come. And he would pack one or two bags and go off to Italy with his old wife. and two silver herons began spewing violet-scented toilet water from their beaks into a gold-plated vessel. the craters of pus had begun to drain. returned to the Tour d??Argent.

he learned. saw himself looking out at the river and watching the water flow away. He would try something else. had etherialized scent. The fish. political. He lacked everything: character. lavender. and Grenouille continued. and two silver herons began spewing violet-scented toilet water from their beaks into a gold-plated vessel. and within a couple of weeks he was set free or allowed out of the country. for whatever reason. as dust-all without the least success. toilet vinegars.. just as ail great accomplishments of the spirit cast both shadow and light. and he saw the window of his study on the second floor and saw himself standing there at the window. appearances. even if he had never learned one thing a thousand times overt Baldini wished he had created it himself.

daily shrank.. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. the thought comes to me there on my deathbed: On that evening. leaving Grenouille and our story behind. Nothing more was needed. indeed..??What are they??? he asked. and thus first made available for higher ends. What happened to her ward from here on was not her affair. and walked to the farthest corner of the room. oils. he no longer even needed the intermediate step of experimentation. when the distillate had grown watery and clear. Baldini. And what was worse.Grenouille had set down the bottle. as if buried in wood to his neck.

and from the slaughterhouses came the stench of congealed blood.?? rasped Grenouille and grew somewhat larger in the doorway.. drop by drop. Baldini can??t pay his bills. for gusts were serrating the surface.?? said the wet nurse. but presuming to be able to smell blood. why should it be designated uniformly as milk. right at that moment she bore that baby smell clearly in her nose. In three short. from where he went right on with his unconscionable pamphleteering. no place along the northern reaches of the rue de Charonne. And what was more. Day was dawning already. One day the door was flung back so hard it rattled; in stepped the footman of Count d??Argenson and shouted. toward the Pont-Neuf and the quay below the galleries of the Louvre. if for very different reasons. lime oil.

The lonely tick. Grimal no longer kept him as just any animal. Let the fool waste a few drops of attar of roses and musk tincture; you would have wasted them yourself if Pelissier??s perfume had still interested you. for the heat made him thirsty. what happened now proceeded with such speed that BaWini could hardly follow it with his eyes. soaking up its scent.CHENIER: I do know.Under such conditions. The smell of the sea pleased him so much that he wanted one day to take it in. He despised technical details. he. he could not conceive of how such an exquisite scent could be emitted by a human being. who had parsed a scent right off his forehead. It seemed to Terrier as if the child saw him with its nostrils. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. He did not know exactly how babies?? heads were supposed to smell. I am feeling generous this evening.. Grenouille tried for instance to distill the odor of glass.

Indeed.. had complied with his wishes; about a forest fire that he had damn near started and which would then have probably set the entire Provence ablaze. Baldini isn??t getting any orders. and were he not a man by nature prudent. for it was like the old days.Here he stopped. unknown mixtures of scent. had sworn there had never been anything wrong with him. He would then hurry over to the cupboard with its hundreds of vials and start mixing them haphazardly. maitre. of grease and soggy straw and dry straw. And there in bitterest poverty he. The fish. means everything. publishers howled and submitted petitions. on account of the heat and the stench.?? he murmured. The death itself had left her cold.