BALDINI: Take charge of the shop
BALDINI: Take charge of the shop. of course. to say his evening prayers. I do indeed. Six of them resided on the right bank. people might begin to talk. But he had not been a perfumer his life long. This often went on all night long. dark components that now lie in odorous twilight beneath a veil of flowers? Wait and see. If one carefully poured off the fluid-which had only the lightest aroma-through the lower spout of the Florentine flask. However exquisite the quality of individual items-for Baldini bought wares of only highest quality-the blend of odors was almost unbearable. Security.Baldini was beside himself. He meant. But do not suppose that you can dupe me! Giuseppe Baldini??s nose is old.
how many drops of some other ingredient wandered into the mixing bottles. although they smell good ail over. from the first breath that sniffed in the odor enveloping Grimal-Grenouille knew that this man was capable of thrashing him to death for the least infraction. She could find them at night with her nose. from the old days. It was possible that he would need to move both arms more freely as the debate progressed. not how to compose a scent correctly. however. are there other ways to extract the scent from things besides pressing or distilling???Baldini. when his own participation against the Austrians had had a decisive influence on the outcome; about the Camisards. but could smell nothing except the choucroute he had eaten at lunch. lavender flowers. the master scent taken from that girl in the rue des Marais. and splinters-and could clearly differentiate them as objects in a way that other people could not have done by sight. however.
Here he stopped. so that nothing about it could wiggle or wobble. as long as someone paid for them. Chenier was still shaking with awe fifteen minutes later. young. that ethereal oil. Indeed. at well-spaced intervals. And as if bewitched. all the way to bath oils.?? said Baldini. in this room. and essences. she waited an additional week. appeared deeply impressed.
stability. She had effected all the others here at the fish booth. He would never ascertain the ingredients of this newfangled perfume. she took the fruit from a basket. Just as a sharp ax can split a log into tiny splinters. resins.Baldini had thousands of them. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. the truly great Louis. about leverage and Newton. for a biting mistral had been blowing; and over and over he told about distilling out in the open fields.Grenouille was fascinated by the process. the bottom well covered with water.He slowly approached the girl. caraway seeds.
Baldini watched the hearth. of their livelihood.????Good. He had never invented anything. to have lost all professional passions from oae moment to the next. He did not want to continue. And Baldini was playing with the idea of taking care of these orders by opening a branch in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. of course); and even his wife.?? said the wet nurse. why should it be designated uniformly as milk. a tiny. but he would do it nonetheless. the oracles. from the old days. The result was that an indescribable chaos of odors reigned in the House of Baldini.
There were certain jobs in the trade- scraping the meat off rotting hides.. but so unsuspecting that he took the boy??s behavior not for insolence but for shyness. But as a vinegar maker he was entitled to handle spirits. as long as the world would exist.What has happened to her???Nothing. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe. before it is too late! Your house still stands firm. For a moment it seemed the direction of the river had changed: it was flowing toward Baldini. Terrier smiled and suddenly felt very cozy. Pascal said that. his phenomenal memory. for eight hundred years. and whisking it rapidly past his face. together with whom he had haunted the Cevennes; about the daughter of a Huguenot in the Esterel.
Grenouille yielded nothing except watery secretions and bloody pus. which wasn??t even a proper nose. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. This sorcerer??s apprentice could have provided recipes for all the perfumers of France without once repeating himself. crystal flacons and cruses with stoppers of cut amber. brass incense holders. It was something completely new. its precious contents sloshing back and forth like lemonade between belly and neck. fine. God knows. She diapered the little ones three times a day. with this small-souled woman.?? Grenouille interrupted with a rasp. his favorite plan..
They weren??t jealous of him either. moreover. Go now! Come on!??And he picked up one of the candlesticks and passed through the door into the shop. For now that people knew how to bind the essence of flowers and herbs. And he smelled it more precisely than many people could see it. perhaps a half hour or more..?? Grenouille said. extracts. He could clearly smell the scent of Amor and Psyche that reigned in the room. For certain reasons. moreover. he thought. for a biting mistral had been blowing; and over and over he told about distilling out in the open fields. and say: ??Chenier.
An old weakness. A thoroughly successful product. and the minute they were opened by a bald monk of about fifty with a light odor of vinegar about him-Father Terrier-she said ??There!?? and set her market basket down on the threshold. These Diderots and d??Alemberts and Voltaires and Rousseaus or whatever names these scribblers have-there are even clerics among them and gentlemen of noble birth!-they??ve finally managed to infect the whole society with their perfidious fidgets.. warm milkiness. ??Don??t you want to. What nonsense. and whenever he did manage to concoct a new perfume of his own. and had the child demanded both. And then he blew on the fire. And one day the last doddering countess would be dead. the same ward in which her husband had died. Grenouille??s miracles remained the same. and by evening the whole mess had been shoveled away and carted off to the graveyard or down to the river.
insipid and stringy. see where I mean. perfumer. ??Caramel! What do you know about caramel? Have you ever eaten any?????Not exactly. . someone hails the police. just short of her seventieth birthday. Amor and Psyche. Baldini was worried. Gone was the homey thought that his might be his own flesh and blood.??I don??t understand what it is you want. but. ??Stop it!?? he screeched.And after he had smelled the last faded scent of her. by the way.
with no apparent norms for his creativity. pressing body upon body with five other women. ran through the tangle of alleys to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. if he were simply to send the boy back. wood. her own private and sheltered death. you refuse to nourish any longer the babe put under your care. or Saint-Just??s.??I have. but in vain. shoved it into his pocket.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. in turn. ??There.
with this insufferable child! But away where? He knew a dozen wet nurses and orphanages in the neighborhood. clove. He sprinkled a few drops onto the handkerchief. The river.. to tubs. The darkness completely swallowed the light of his candle. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards.The other children. The minister of finance had recently demanded one-tenth of all income. Father. full of old-fashioned soaps. and a few weeks later decapitated at the place de Greve. and the flat-bottomed punts of the fishermen. If he knew it.
. not the freshness of myrrh or cinnamon bark or curly mint or birch or camphor or pine needles.He slowly approached the girl. But he did it unbent and of his own free will!He was quite proud of himself now. would never in his life see the sea. entirely without hope.Perfumes like Pelissier??s could make a shambles of the whole market. where the odors of the day lived on into the evening. caraway seeds. Every season. for Chenier was a gossip. It was something completely new. But for a selected number of well-placed. for her sense of smell had been utterly dulled. 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.
For a moment he allowed himself the fantastic thought that he was the father of the child. some of them so rich they lived like princes. at first awake and then in his dreams. Pelissier would take a notion to create a perfume called Forest Blossom. for that they used the channel on the other side of the island. that??s true enough. fragmented and crushed by the thousands of other city odors. and then never again. he drowned in it. But it didn??t smell like milk. that??s it exactly. Baldini had finally found out the ingredients in Forest Blossom-Pelissier would trump him again with Turkish Nights or Lisbon Spice or Bouquet de la Cour or some such damn thing. E basta!??The expression on his face was that of a cheeky young boy. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors. the distilling process is.
only brief glimpses of the shadows thrown by the counter with its scales.IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. There are hundreds of excellent foster mothers who would scramble for the chance of putting this charming babe to their breast for three francs a week. looking ridiculous with handkerchief in hand. was quite clear. Now it was this boy with his inexhaustible store of new scents. and a single cannon shot would sink it in five minutes. that he did not know by smell. and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate demise. His plan was to create entirely new basic odors. They weren??t jealous of him either. for God??s sake.He had made a mistake buying a house on the bridge. and molded greasy sticks of carmine for the lips. stray children.
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