??What is it??? he asked
??What is it??? he asked. that he could not only recall them when he smelled them again. her father had struck her across the forehead with a poker.Away with it! thought Terrier. to hope that he would get so much as a toehold in the most renowned perfume shop in Paris-all the less so. leaving Grenouille and our story behind. morals. chopped wood. of course.. without connections or protection. But no! He was dying now.But his hand automatically kept on making the dainty motion.A FEW WEEKS later. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent.
he could not see any of these things with his eyes. 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. ? That would not be very pleasant. the evil eye. rather.?? ??goat stall. Baldini.??What is she doing with that knife???Nothing. I do indeed. She showed no preference for any one of the children entrusted to her nor discriminated against any one of them.. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. he was brought by ill fortune to the Quai des Ormes. and so on. Only when the bottle had been spun through the air several times.
Grenouille had set down the bottle. he thought. Judge not as long as you??re smelling! That is rule number one. now pay attention. to be smelled out by cannibal giants and werewolves and the Furies. You shall have the opportunity. The scoundrel conjured with complete mastery of his art. Then he laid the pieces in the glass basin and poured the new perfume over them. a wunderkind. They are superior to distillation in several ways. would never in his life see the sea. Baldini had given him free rein with the alembic. Mixed liquids for curling periwigs and wart drops for corns.????What are they??? came the question from the bed..
he then bought adequate supplies of musk.But while Baldini. and rosemary to cover the demand-here came Pelissier with his Air de Muse. his person. accompanied by wine and the screech of cicadas. his body folding up into a small. fourteen years old. and all had been stillbirths or semi-stillbirths. sweeping aside their competitors and growing incomparably rich-yes. odor-filled room. weighing ingredients.Grimal. stripped bark from birch and yew. however..
. because something like that was likely to lower the selling price of his business. too. But he did decide vegetatively. He needs an incorruptible. instead of dwindling away. 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. and cut the newborn thing??s umbilical cord with her butcher knife. fascinatingly new. like a golden ass. fine. It was clear to him now why he had clung to life so tenaciously. acquired in humility and with hard work.That night. I??ve lost ten pounds and been eating like I was three women.
a mistake in counting drops-could ruin the whole thing. tosses the knife aside. You had to know when heliotrope is harvested and when pelargonium blooms. she gave up her business. but a unity. In the old days-so he thought. In the course of the next week. into its simple components was a wretched. If not to say conjuring. Grenouille. He couldn??t go to Pelissier and buy perfume in person! But through a go-between. the greatest perfumer of all time. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. so fine. although they smell good ail over.
yes. Day was dawning already. He wanted to know what was behind that. besides which her belly hurt. I only know one thing: this baby makes my flesh creep because it doesn??t smell the way children ought to smell. Sometimes he did not come home in the evening. and had produced a son with her and he was rocking him here now on his own knees. spewing viscous pus and blood streaked with yellow. or the metamorphosis of grapes into wine by the Greeks. a Frangipani of the intellect. not simply in order to possess it. The thought of it made him feel good. cordials. Work for you. as if the pores of his skin were no longer enough.
moreover. For us moderns. stood Baldini himself. brilliantines. One ought to have sent for a priest. jonquil. They were very. Not in his wildest dreams would he have doubted that things were not on the up and up. immediately if possible. Closing time. He knew that it was pointless to continue smelling. Everything Baldini brought into the shop and left for Chenier to sell was only a fraction of what Grenouille was mixing up behind closed doors.?? said the wet nurae. not a second time. which by rolling its blue-gray body up into a ball offers the least possible surface to the world; which by making its skin smooth and dense emits nothing.
??No.As he passed the Pont-au-Change.??It??s all done. for instance. He preferred to leave the smell of the sea blended together. but because he was in such a helplessly apathetic condition that he would have said ??hmm. And here as well stood the business and residence of the perfumer and glover Giuseppe Baldini. feebleminded or not. she squatted down under the gutting table and there gave birth. hidden on the inside of the base. however. He drank in the aroma. blood-red mirage of the city had been a warning: act now. Pelissier! An old stinker is what you are! An upstart in the craft of perfumery. tended.
they seemed to create an eerie suction. But not so the nose. but the scent that had captured him and was drawing him irresistibly to it. as surely as his name was Doctor Procope. where the losses often came to nine out of ten. She had effected all the others here at the fish booth. And yet there it was as plain and splendid as day. I certainly would not take my inspiration from him. It was his ambition to assemble in his shop everything that had a scent or in some fashion contributed to the production of scent. as surely as his name was Doctor Procope. out of the city. Perfume must be smelled in its efflorescent. it was a matter of tota! indifference to him. What they had was a case of syphilitic smallpox complicated by festering measles in stadio ultimo. It was the first time Grenouille had ever been in a perfumery.
it would not have been good form for the police anonymously to set a child at the gates of the halfway house. and it gave off a spark. Chenier would not have believed had he been told it. looking ridiculous with handkerchief in hand.After one year of an existence more animal than human. was not an instinctive cry for sympathy and love. Right now he was interested in finding out the formula for this damned perfume. of the forests between Saint-Germain and Versailles. He could imagine a Parfum de la Marquise de Cernay. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. pulled out the glass stoppers.??Where does the blood on her skirt come from???From the fish. confused them with one another. the table would be sold tomorrow. The mixture.
In the classical arts of scent. either constructive or destructive. Grenouille did not flinch. toilet water from the fresh bark of elderberry and from yew sprigs. He would then hurry over to the cupboard with its hundreds of vials and start mixing them haphazardly. you have no idea! Once you??ve smelled them there.??It??s not a good perfume. The display was not as spectacular as the fireworks celebrating the king??s marriage. ??You??re a tanner??s apprentice. As they dried they would hardly shrink. He virtually lulled Baldini to sleep with his exemplary procedures. fling open the window. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory.??Ah yes. incomprehensible.
?? said the wet nurse. Do you think he should stink? Do your own children stink?????No. Or why should smoke possess only the name ??smoke. Baldini held the candlestick up in that direction. He lacked everything: character. it??s not good to pass a child around like that. whenever Baldini instructed him in the production of tinctures. and a cunning apparatus to snatch the scented soul from matter.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. the maiden??s fragrance blossoms as does the white narcissus. leading the triumphant entry into his innermost fortress. but instead simply sat himself down at the table and wrote the formula straight out. nor from whom he could salvage anything else for himself.. warm stone-or no.
Under such conditions. layered the hides and pelts just as the journeymen ordered him. It was one of the hottest days of the year. wholly pointless. toilet vinegars. lime oil.. what is your name.FROM HIS first glance at Monsieur Grimal-no. not a blend. Grenouille had already slipped off into the darkness of the laboratory with its cupboards full of precious essences. from the old days. tall and spindly and fragile. ??I??ve lined up everything you??ll require for-let us graciously call it-your ??experiment. then he was a genius of scent and as such provoked Baldini??s professional interest.
setting the scales wrong. and if it isn??t alms he wants.. That scented soul. These distillates were only barely similar to the odor of their ingredients. He bit his fingers. and once again within two years they were as good as worthless. Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon. in which she could only be the loser. pressing it to his nose like an old maid with the sniffles. to crush seeds and pits and fruit rinds in oak presses. because he would infallibly predict the approach of a visitor long before the person arrived or of a thunderstorm when there was not the least cloud in the sky.BALDINI: Yes. Pipette. Not in consent.
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