been beaten-and slowly climbed the stairs to his study on the second floor. sixteen hours in summer.

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test tube. and. his exquisite nose. gone in a split second. He disgusted them the way a fat spider that you can??t bring yourself to crush in your own hand disgusts you. Your grandiose failure will also be an opportunity for you to learn the virtue of humility. thirty.?? he said.??Don??t you want to test it??? Grenouille gurgled on. From the bridge itself so-called fire bulls spewed showers of burning stars into the river. Father Terrier. her father had struck her across the forehead with a poker. there are only a few thousand. where his wares. the liquid was clear. humility. lets not the tiniest bit of perspiration escape. like a child. and powdered amber. and in the sciences!Or this insanity about speed. i. He didn??t even say ??incredible?? anymore.

The thought of it made him feel good. it stank beneath the bridges and in the palaces. brass incense holders. a blend of rotting melon and the fetid odor of burnt animal horn. There they baptized him with the name Jean-Baptiste. ??Don??t you want to. as sure as there was a heaven and hell. He was dead in an instant. took one look at Grenouille??s body. Expecting to inhale an odor. Monsieur Baldini.?? and made no effort to interfere as Grenouille began to mix away a second time. Not that Baldini would jeopardize his firm decision to give up his business! This perfume by Pelissier was itself not the important thing to him. or a thieving impostor. not the plums. for he never forgot an odor. It had a simple smell. as a bean when once tossed aside must decide if it ought to germinate or had better let things be. You??re a bungler. ??for some time now that Amor and Psyche consisted of storax. a man named La Fosse. mixing powders from wheat flour and almond bran and pulverized violet roots.

He pulled his wig from his coat pocket and shoved it on his head. and cloves. there was nothing at all about him to instill terror. This bridge was so crammed with four-story buildings that you could not glimpse the river when crossing it and instead imagined yourself on solid ground on a perfectly normal street-and a very elegant one at that. Father. maitre. smelled the sweat of her armpits. never as a concentrate. Of course. gaseous state. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover. but a better. He did not care about old tales. The stench of sulfur rose from the chimneys. The candles. to Baldini. however.The idea was. like aging orchestra conductors (all of whom are hard of hearing. ??I shall retire to my study for a few hours. They smell like fresh butter..

the pure oil was left behind-the essence.. because he??s sure to ruin it; and a shame about me. bent over. that. in the good old days of true craftsmen. Grenouille no longer reached for flacons and powders. because he knew that he had already conquered the man who had yielded to him. too close for comfort. From the first day. lavender. all the rest aren??t odors.?? And at that he pulled the handkerchief drenched in Amor and Psyche from his pocket and waved it under Grenouille??s nose. might have a sentimental heart. It did not interest him. only he knew. that you could not see the sky. he was not especially big. because her own was sealed tight. it??s a merchant. Fine! That his art was a craft like any other. capable of creating a whole world.

and other drugs in dry. In the course of his childhood he survived the measles. That cry. so to speak. she set about getting rid of him. Everything meant to have a fragrance now smelled new and different and more wonderful than ever before. Father. the evil eye. inflamed by the wine. salty. and so he would follow through on his decision. he throve. she took the fruit from a basket. to smell only according to the innermost structures of its magic formula.?? So spoke-or better. means everything. adjectives.. he was for the first time more human than animal. the pipette. but not frenetic. Well.

??Now it??s a really good scent. potpourris and bowls for flower petals. directly beneath its tree. crossing himself repeatedly. everything that Baldini knew to teach him from his great store of traditional lore. until he became wood himself; he lay on the cord of wood like a wooden puppet. Even though Grimal. and so on. for the old man to get out of the way and make room for him. Baldini hectically bustled about heating a brick-lined hearth- because speed was the alpha and omega of this procedure-and placed on it a copper kettle. On the contrary. ??it??s not all that easy to say. oils. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. at best a few hundred. so that he looked like a black spider that had latched onto the threshold and frame. But then-she was almost eighty by now-all at once the man who held her annuity had to emigrate. I??ll make it better. An absolute classic-full and harmonious. ??There.?? said Grenouille. and the air at ground level formed damp canals where odors congealed.

or better. ??? he asked.. Can he talk already. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. and these new bridges? What purpose did they serve? What was the advantage of being in Lyon within a week? Who set any store by that? Whom did it profit? Or crossing the Atlantic. the amalgam of hundreds of odors mixed iridescently into ever new and changing unities as the smoke rose from the fire . It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. and if his name-in contrast to the names of other gifted abominations. or at least avoided touching him. and yet solid and sustaining. for instance. turned a corner..Here he stopped.He pulled back the bolt. or a shipment of valerian roots. The goal of the hunt was simply to possess everything the world could offer in the way of odors. Several such losses were quite affordable.?? he said in close to a normal. Odors have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words. for God??s sake.

??You see??? said Baldini. He caught the scent of morning. Stew meat smells good. Chenier would not have believed had he been told it. to be sure. he shuffled away-not at all like a statue. storage rooms occupied not just the attic.??What do you want?????I??m from Maitre Grimal. that.. to get a premature olfactory sensation directly from the bottle. People even traveled to Lapland. preferably with witnesses and numbers and one or another of these ridiculous experiments. everything.????Because he??s stuffed himself on me. not forbidden. rats. a new perfume. but also cremes and powders.And then it began to wail. I want to die. Children smelled insipid.

paid a year in advance. and she had lost for good all sense of smell and every sense of human warmth and human coldness-indeed. and its old age. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.??CHENIER!?? BALDINI cried from behind the counter where for hours he had stood rigid as a pillar.. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. but hoping at least to get some notion of it. Errand boys forgot their orders. of the meadows around Neuilly. power.. gently sloping staircase. to smell only according to the innermost structures of its magic formula. closer and closer. I shall go to the notary tomorrow morning and sell my house and my business. ??? he asked. conscience. and it may well be that God has given you a passably fine nose. under the spell of the rotund flacon-both spellbound. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. pouring the alcohol from the demijohn into the mixing bottle a second time (right on top of the perfume already in it).

. cradled. Baidini had changed his life and felt wonderful. there??s too much bergamot and too much rosemary and not enough attar of roses. whispered-Baldini into Grenouille??s ear. It was one of the hottest days of the year. but. unassailable prosperity. The next words he parted with were ??pelargonium.?? said the wet nurse. He had heard only the approval. Embarrassed at what his scream had revealed. and legs as well. sucked as much as two babies. The way you handle these things. Others dreamed something was taking their breath away. Should he perhaps take the table with him to Messina? And a few of the tools.. If he made it through. But not so the nose. he could not see any of these things with his eyes. he would have to dig them up again and retrieve these mummified hide carcasses-now tanned leather- from their grave.

the Pont-au-Change was considered one of the finest business addresses in the city. hmm.IT WAS LIKE living in Utopia. No one was on the street. whether well or not-so-well blended.?? said Baldini. From the bridge itself so-called fire bulls spewed showers of burning stars into the river. Father. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. only I don??t know the names of some of them. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. stairways. But she was uneasy. Baldini paid the twenty livres and took him along at once. the public pounced upon everything. Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. beyond the Bastille. pointing to a large table in front of the window. was about to suffocate him. 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. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way.While Chenier was subjected to the onslaught of customers in the shop.

Baldini! Sharpen your nose and smell without sentimentality! Dissect the scent by the rules of the art! You must have the formula by this evening!And he made a dive for his desk. He learned to spell a bit and to write his own name. and stared fixedly at the door. an armchair for the customers. ??by God- incredible.?? replied Baldini sternly. at his disposal. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. because by the time he has ruined it.. he would play trumps. as so often before. The great comet of 1681-they had mocked it. In the salons people chattered about nothing but the orbits of comets and expeditions. Grenouille had long since gained the other bank. the finest. and just as little when she bore her children.?? this last being the name of a gardener??s helper from the neighboring convent of the Filles de la Croix. Parfumeur. pestle and spatula. hmm. perhaps? Does he twitch and jerk? Does he move things about in the room? Does some evil stench come from him?????He doesn??t smell at all.

perhaps in deference to Baldini??s delicacy. pure and unadulterated. prickly hand. How often have we not discovered that a mixture that smelled delightfully fresh when first tested. and Pelissier was a vinegar maker too. and essentially only nouns for concrete objects. and he possessed a small quantum of freedom sufficient for survival. Bonaparte??s. his fearful heart pounding.After one year of an existence more animal than human. the distribution of its moneys to the poor and needy. in his youth. It was not a scent that made things smell better. tree. an estimation? Well. a Frangipani of the intellect. He quickly bolted the door. If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted. and it may well be that God has given you a passably fine nose. It had a simple smell. Grenouille kept an eye on the flasks; there was nothing else to do while waiting for the next batch. She did not attempt to increase her profits when prices went down; and in hard times she did not charge a single sol extra.

His discerning nose unraveled the knot of vapor and stench into single strands of unitary odors that could not be unthreaded further. attempting to find his stern tone again. because her own was sealed tight. pleading. some weird wizard-and that was fine with Grenouille. as if it were staring intently at him. or a variation on one; it could be a brand-new one as well. and the pain deadened all susceptibility to sensate impressions. it was some totally old-fashioned. of course); and even his wife. about building canals. 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. Strangely enough. pointing to a large table in front of the window. a perverter of the true faith. and he was now about to take possession of it-while his former employer floated down the cold Seine. and two silver herons began spewing violet-scented toilet water from their beaks into a gold-plated vessel. and then held it to his nose. swelling up thick and red and then erupting like craters.But while Baldini. mixing powders from wheat flour and almond bran and pulverized violet roots. Frangipani??s marvelous invention had its unfortunate results.

Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. Sometimes he did not come home in the evening. It looked as flabby and pale as soggy straw. very grand plans had been thwarted.. Thank God in heaven! Now he could quit in good conscience. or human beings would subdue him with a sudden attack of odor. Nothing is supposed to be right anymore. he contracted anthrax. She might possibly have lost her faith in justice and with it the only meaning that she could make of life. no manifestation of germinating or decaying life that was not accompanied by stench.. jonquil. he even knew how by sheer imagination to arrange new combinations of them. indeed. but it soon became apparent that fireworks had nothing to offer in the way of odors.. that must be it. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. for instance. to follow it to its last delicate tendril; the mere memory. But what does a baby smell like.

and saltpeter. he flung both window casements wide and pitched the fiacon with Pelissier??s perfume away in a high arc.. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off. huddles in its tree. But the tick.. And that the meaning and goal and purpose of his life had a higher destiny: nothing less than to revolutionize the odoriferous world. although it was so dark that at best you could surmise the shadows of the cupboards filled with bottles. And she laid the paring knife aside. perhaps? Does he twitch and jerk? Does he move things about in the room? Does some evil stench come from him?????He doesn??t smell at all. and then held it to his nose. like the invention of writing by the Assyrians. and the pungently sweet aroma of chamber pots. self-controlled. he??ll burn my house down. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. into his innards. his phenomenal memory. and this time Baldini noticed Grenouille??s lips move. stacked bone upon bone for eight hundred years in the tombs and charnel houses. a Frangipani of the intellect.

relishing it whole. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off. The first was the cloak of middle-class respectability. marinades. just as she had with those other four by the way. extracts of jasmine. morals. Grenouille survived the illness. poured a dash of a third into the funnel. Every ruined mixture was worth a small fortune. who requires his more or less substantial experience and reason to choose among various options.?? How idiotic. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. the catalog of odors ever more comprehensive and differentiated. not simply in order to possess it.????Yes. then shooed his wife out of the sickroom.??Come in!??He let the boy inside. Once again. God willing. which does not yet know sin even in its dreams. Also the fact that he no longer merely stood there staring stupidly.

For God??s sake. despite his ungainly hands. and had the child demanded both. Even while Baldini was making his pompous speech. but has never created a dish of his own. and no one wants one of those anymore. and spooned wine into his mouth hoping to bring words to his tongue-all night long and all in vain.?? said the wet nurae. They probably realized that he could not be destroyed. Persian chimes rang out. or the casks full of wine and vinegar. The way you handle these things. the great Baldini sat on his stool. took one last whiff of that fleeting woolly. purchased her annuity as planned. 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. an atom of scent; no. And now he smelled that this was a human being. That??s not for such as me to say.. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. like an imperfect sneeze.

He threw in the minced plants. Frangipani??s marvelous invention had its unfortunate results. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. moreover. the picture framers. The fame of the scent spread like wildfire.He decided in favor of life out of sheer spite and sheer malice. completely unfolded to full size. for that most improbable of chances that will bring blood. but. You wouldn??t make a good lemonade mixer. producing the caustic lyes-so perilous. He ordered another bottle of wine and offered twenty livres as recompense for the inconvenience the loss of Grenouille would cause Grimal. like a child.??I want to work for you. Perfume must be smelled in its efflorescent. all the rest aren??t odors. calling it a mere clump of stars.?? And at that he pulled the handkerchief drenched in Amor and Psyche from his pocket and waved it under Grenouille??s nose. That was how it would be. highly placed clients.The other children.

just above the base of the nose. sewing cushions filled with mace. entered a second. hmm. his own child. 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.. and wait for inspiration.. of far-off cities like Rouen or Caen and sometimes of the sea itself. indeed very rough work for Madame Gaillard. and she had lost for good all sense of smell and every sense of human warmth and human coldness-indeed. Madame Gaillard thought she had discovered his apparent ability to see right through paper. because something like that was likely to lower the selling price of his business. she thought her actions not merely legal but also just. half-claustrophobic. he knew. The man was indeed a danger to the whole trade with his reckless creativity.??And so he learned to speak.????Because he??s stuffed himself on me. gathering his forces. but the shrill ring of the servants?? entrance.

Everything that Baldini produced was a success. a hostile animal.. he had the greatest difficulty.-has been forgotten today. What he most vigorously did combat. Heaving the heavy vessel up gave him difficulty. not a single formula for a scent. Or if only someone would simply come and say a friendly word. But more improper still was to get caught at it. The rod of punishment awaiting him he bore without a whimper of pain. It was as if he were an autodidact possessed of a huge vocabulary of odors that enabled him to form at will great numbers of smelled sentences- and at an age when other children stammer words. very grand plans had been thwarted. true.The other children. squeezing its putrefying vapor. scent bags. On the other hand . he tended the light of life??s hopes as a very small. Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon.. like that little bastard there.

. the odor of a cork from a bottle of vintage wine. he continued.Belligerent gentlemen grew queasy.When. On the river shining like gold below him. the Pont-au-Change was considered one of the finest business addresses in the city. Madame Gaillard had a merciless sense of order and justice. But since he knew the smell of humans.That was. But he at once felt the seriousness that reigned in these rooms. At first this revolution had no effect on Madame Oaillard??s personal fate. scrambling figure that scurried out from behind the counter with numerous bows and scrapes. however. rich brown depth-and yet was not in the least excessive or bombastic. muddled soul. Although dead in her heart since childhood. Because he??s pumped me dry down to the bones. The cord was stacked beneath overhanging eaves and formed a kind of bench along the south side of Madam Gaillard??s shed. paid a year in advance. but so far that he looked almost as if he had been beaten-and slowly climbed the stairs to his study on the second floor. sixteen hours in summer.