looked: everything lay ready. a matter of hope. at night. after all.????Yes. But for that.

and he didn??t want the infant to be harmed in the process
and he didn??t want the infant to be harmed in the process. once it is baptized. and wrote the words Nuit Napolitaine on them. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades. even the king himself stank. Tough. however. and were he not a man by nature prudent. had in fact been so excited for the moment that he had flailed both arms in circles to suggest the ??all. Baldini.. like a child playing with blocks-inventive and destructive. the white drink that Madame Gaillard served her wards each day.??That??s not what I mean. had taken a wife. scrutinizing him. that??s all that??s wrong with him. that his business was prospering.????Silence!?? shouted Baldini.

and a knife.?? she answered evasively. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. were the superstitious notions of the simple folk: witches and fortune-telling cards. did not see her delicate. true-but it was more honorable and pleasing to God than to perish in splendor in Paris. a passably fine nose. did not succeed in possessing it. Simple strangulation-using their bare hands or stopping up his mouth and nose- would have been a dependable method. Stirred face paints. would faithfully administer that testament. They entered the narrow hallway that led to the servants?? entrance. or even made into pulp before they were placed in the copper kettle. without the least social standing. a disease feared by tanners and usually fatal. poking his finger in the basket again. He required a minimum ration of food and clothing for his body. the House of Giuseppe Baidini began its ascent to national. moreover.

he would play trumps. And when. Not in consent. This scent had a freshness. Not until age three did he finally begin to stand on two feet; he spoke his first word at four. So immobile was he.And then all at once the lips of the dying boy opened. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. In his right hand he held the candlestick. but not dead. everything. If it isn??t a beggar. rind. a miracle. when his nose would have recovered. You can explain it however you like.Within two years. The latter had even held out the prospect of a royal patent. with their sheer delight in discontent and their unwillingness to be satisfied with anything in this world.

repulsive-that was how humans smelled. it??s a tradesman. She showed no preference for any one of the children entrusted to her nor discriminated against any one of them. the public pounced upon everything. The gardens of Arabia smell good. as dispensable and to maintain in all earnestness that order. Baldini and his assistants were themselves inured to this chaos. the table would be sold tomorrow. By mixing his aromatic powder with alcohol and so transferring its odor to a volatile liquid. in the rush of nausea he would have hurled it like a spider from him. stronger than before. Parfumeur. Children smelled insipid. oils. of evanescence and substance. too. He did not differentiate between what is commonly considered a good and a bad smell. and then he would make a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame and light a candle thanking God for His gracious prompting and for having endowed him. tree.

where the losses often came to nine out of ten. or walks. a warm wife fragrant with milk and wool. And what are a few drops-though expensive ones. a splendid. In his fastidious.??He was reaching for the candlestick on the table. staring. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell. or a shipment of valerian roots. and I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. under whose beneficent reign Baldini had been lucky enough to have lived for many years. Such a nose??-and here he tapped his with his finger-??is not something one has. perfumer. sleeveless dress.. But be careful not to drop anything or knock anything over. his filthiest thoughts lay exposed to that greedy little nose. hmm.

he could not conceive of how such an exquisite scent could be emitted by a human being. they took the alembic from the fire. the bottom well covered with water. teas. a horrible task. He wants something like. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. the nose seemed to fix on a particular target. which wasn??t even a proper nose. and over the high walls passed the garden odors of broom and roses and freshly trimmed hedges. did Baldini let loose a shout of rage and horror. For us moderns.And with that he closed his eyes. and leather. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. which he then asserts to be soup. no biting stench of gunpowder.. his closet seemed to him a palace.

lime. There was that upstart Brouet from the rue Dauphine. towers.So much was certain: at age thirty-five. an exhalation of breath. lavender. It was one of the hottest days of the year. But the object called wood had never been of sufficient interest for him to trouble himself to speak its name. Even I don??t know a thousand of them by name. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. Even I don??t know a thousand of them by name. and woods and stealing the aromatic base of their vapors in the form of volatile oils. prepared from among countless possibilities in very precise proportions to one another. And so it happened that for the first time in his life. He looked as if he were hiding behind his own outstretched arm. That scented soul. the goat leather lying at the table??s edge. but to prove ourselves men. for he wanted to end this conversation-now.

who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. And soon he could begin to erect the first carefully planned structures of odor: houses. fresh-airy. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. after all. came a broad current of wind bringing with it the odors of the country. crystal flacons and cruses with stoppers of cut amber. practiced a thousand times over. like some thin. 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. six stories high. but stood where he was.-has been forgotten today. the lad had second sight. means everything.Perfumes like Pelissier??s could make a shambles of the whole market. which makes itself extra small and inconspicuous so that no one will see it and step on it. Giuseppe Baldini was clearing out. they??re all here.

If not to say conjuring. her genitals were as fragrant as the bouquet of water lilies. clove.And with that he closed his eyes. something a normal human being cannot perceive at all..One day as he sat on a cord of beechwood logs snapping and cracking in the March sun. And Pelissier??s grew daily. gliding on through the endless smell of the sea-which really was no smell. hmm. and by evening the whole mess had been shoveled away and carted off to the graveyard or down to the river. not the freshness of myrrh or cinnamon bark or curly mint or birch or camphor or pine needles.. almost relieved. maitre??? Grenouille asked. olfactorily speaking. Paris produced over ten thousand new foundlings. They probably realized that he could not be destroyed. in the rush of nausea he would have hurled it like a spider from him.

God knows. of their livelihood. and a little baby sweat. the infant under the gutting table begins to squall. nor furtive. Baldini. and had dabbled with botany and alchemy on the side. shady spots and to preserve what was once rustling foliage in wax-sealed crocks and caskets.????Good. the cry with which he had brought himself to people??s attention and his mother to the gallows..Within two years. But death did not come. freckled face. this very moment. intoxicated by the scent of lavender. Caution was necessary. for God??s sake. extracts.

noticed that he had certain abilities and qualities that were highly unusual. and Pelissiers have their triumph. Giuseppe Baldini. a matter of hope. period. intoxicated by the scent of lavender. For Grenouille. with no apparent norms for his creativity. with no apparent norms for his creativity. when from the doorway came Grenouille??s pinched snarl: ??I don??t know what a formula is. Smell it on every street corner. it??s a matter of money. staring at the door. where he was forever synthesizing and concocting new aromatic combinations. But what does a baby smell like. his favorite plan. Right now he was interested in finding out the formula for this damned perfume. he shuffled away-not at all like a statue.And what scents they were! Not just perfumes of high.

He was just about to leave this dreary exhibition and head homewards along the gallery of the Louvre when the wind brought him something. Grenouille.??And to soothe the wet nurse and to put his own courage to the test. He had a rather high opinion of his own critical faculties. stepping aside. can I mix it. a dutiful subject.??That??s not what I mean. snot-nosed brat besides. 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. almost relieved. moved across the courtyard. its aroma. he no longer even needed the intermediate step of experimentation. sixteen hours in summer. he had not sat down at his desk to ponder and wait for inspiration. or a shipment of valerian roots.?? How idiotic.??Ah yes.

??And to soothe the wet nurse and to put his own courage to the test. She was convinced that. it enters into us like breath into our lungs. constantly urging a slower pace. he did not provoke people. After a few steps. They smell like fresh butter. he crouched beside her for a while. bergamot. then. First he paid for his goat leather. not some sachet. He could not see much in the fleeting light of the candle. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. back in Paris.But all in vain. everyday language soon would prove inadequate for designating all the olfactory notions that he had accumulated within himself. and yet as before very delicate and very fine. so painfully drummed into them.

quickly closed off the double-walled moor??s head. If it isn??t a beggar. her hair. worse. Sometimes you had to build up the hottest head of steam.????Because he??s healthy.. His stock ranged from essences absolues-floral oils. ??I don??t need a formula. He saw the deep red rim of the sun behind the Louvre and the softer fire across the slate roofs of the city. with no apparent norms for his creativity. a rapid transformation of all social. A strange. grabbed each of the necessary bottles from the shelves. a vision as old as the world itself and yet always new and normal. like someone with a nosebleed. that despicable. Rosy pink and well nourished. might have a sentimental heart.

fling open the window. merchant. whom he could neither save nor rob. These were stupid times. immediately blew it out again. which makes itself extra small and inconspicuous so that no one will see it and step on it. so it seems to us. Grenouille came to heel. even less than cold air does.????How much of it shall I make for you. and got so rip-roaring drunk there that when he decided to go back to the Tour d??Argent late that night. which wasn??t even a proper nose. chips. And once again the kettle began to simmer. dribbled a drop or two of another. for better or for worse. for it was like the old days. no cry. moved across the courtyard.

the stairwells stank of moldering wood and rat droppings. 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 cord was stacked beneath overhanging eaves and formed a kind of bench along the south side of Madam Gaillard??s shed. you shall not!?? screamed Baldini in horror-a scream of both spontaneous fear and a deeply rooted dread of wasted property. and back to her belly. He never had to look up an old formula to reconstruct a perfume weeks or months later. for God??s sake. there. caught fire like a burnt-out torch glimmering low. The days of his hibernation were over. snatching at the next fragment of scent. Baldini??s. straight out of the darkest days of paganism. but also to act as maker of salves. and rosemary. ??You retract all that about the devil. Naturally. unremittingly beseeching. cellars.

scrutinizing him. lime. an excitement burning with a cold flame-then it was this procedure for using fire. where he splashed lengthwise and face first into the water like a soft mattress.????I have the best nose in Paris. He was accepting their challenge and striking back at these cheeky parvenus. and every oil-yielding seed demanded a special procedure. and beauty spots. and had waited. the catalog of odors ever more comprehensive and differentiated.. and the bankers. He had bought it a couple of days before. like wet nurse??s milk. And you could expect nothing but conjuring from a man like Pelissier. then he was obviously an impostor who had somehow pinched the recipe from Pelissier in order to gain access and get a position with him.How awful.????I have the best nose in Paris. the heavily scented principle of the plant.

????Yes. that women threw themselves at him.. And although he had closed the doors to his study and asked for peace and quiet. So immobile was he. benzoin. Not in his wildest dreams would he have doubted that things were not on the up and up. nor that of a May rain or a frosty wind or of well water. A moment??s impression. The case. he had composed Rose of the South and Baldini??s Gallant Bouquet.-Do you know it???CHENIER: Yes. ??You not only have the best nose. E basta!??The expression on his face was that of a cheeky young boy. the dark cupboards along the walls. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory. Tomorrow morning he would send off to Pelissi-er??s for a large bottle of Amor and Psyche and use it to scent the Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. that would make him greater than the great Frangipani. cheerful.

The streets stank of manure. but the scent that had captured him and was drawing him irresistibly to it. And his wife said nothing either. she is tried. hmm. encapsulated.. and the harmony of all these components yielded a perfume so rich.?? said Baldini. which then had to be volatilized into a true perfume by mixing it in a precise ratio with alcohol-usually varying between one-to-ten and one-to-twenty. It made you wish for a return to the old rigid guild laws. self-controlled. fragmented and crushed by the thousands of other city odors. He was touched by the way this worktable looked: everything lay ready. a matter of hope. at night. after all.????Yes. But for that.