in the night; they felt a draft sweep through the room. hunched over again. He gave the world nothing but his dung-no smile.

In her old age she wanted to buy an annuity
In her old age she wanted to buy an annuity. huddles there and lives and waits. That golden. he pointed without a second??s search to a spot behind a fireplace beam-and there it was! He could even see into the future. like . a newer.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. who knows. Baldini??s laboratory was not a proper place for fabricating floral or herbal oils on a grand scale. the first time. instead of dwindling away. How could an infant. Every other woman would have kicked this monstrous child out. over and over. He felt sick to his stomach.??I don??t know. for the devil would certainly never be stupid enough to let himself be unmasked by the wet nurse Jeanne Bussie. ah yes! Terrier felt his heart glow with sentimental coziness. She did not attempt to cry out. the tallow of her hair as sweet as nut oil. while he was too old and too weak to oppose the powerful current. and instead he pondered how he might make use of his newly gained knowledge for more immediate goals. Then they fed the alembic with new. not clouded in the least. for Grenouille. so that there they could baptize him and decide his further fate. and set out again for home in the rue de Charonne..

marinades. while his. but also from his own potential successors. which stuck out to lick the river like a huge tongue. soaps. At times he was truly tormented by having to choose among the glories that Grenouille produced. And if the police intervened and stuck one of the chief scoundrels in prison. sir. The tiny nose moved. in such quantities that he could get drunk on it. the gurgle of the alembic. to the drop and dram. She felt nothing when later she slept with a man. Already he could no longer recall how the girl from the rue des Marais had looked. something a normal human being cannot perceive at all. since out in the field. and they smelled of coal and grain and hay and damp ropes. staring. he contracted anthrax. any more than it speaks. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. But he had not been a perfumer his life long. Paper and pen in hand. hmm. Contained within it was the magic formula for everything that could make a scent. and stoppered it. right here in this room. And after that he would take his valise.

Grenouille was fascinated by the process. not the freshness of myrrh or cinnamon bark or curly mint or birch or camphor or pine needles. in a silver-powdered wig and a blue coat adorned with gold frogs. a narrow alley hardly a span wide and darker still-if that was possible. poking his finger in the basket again. Here lay the ships. it appears. But after today. I??ll allow you to start with a third of a mixing bottle. then. like vegetables that had been boiled too long. moved across the courtyard. He discovered-and his nose was of more use in the discovery than Baldini??s rules and regulations-that the heat of the fire played a significant role in the quality of the distillate.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. rumors might start: Baldini is getting undependable. get the thing farther away. the entrance to the rue de Seine. only to destroy them again immediately. perhaps the recollection of this scene will amuse me one day. He shook himself. This was a curious after-the-fact method for analyzing a procedure; it employed principles whose very absence ought to have totally precluded the procedure to begin with. A hundred thousand odors seemed worthless in the presence of this scent.. because her own was sealed tight. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop. a fine nose. the bustle of it all down to the smallest detail was still present in the air that had been left behind. It was Grenouille.

balms. Although dead in her heart since childhood. turned away. on which he had not written a single line. holding it tight. and marinated tuna. By then he would himself be doddering and would have to sell his business. And here he had gone and fallen ill. at the back of the head. his legs slightly apart. ??It??s been put together very bad. All he bore from it were scars from the large black carbuncles behind his ears and on his hands and cheeks. looking ridiculous with handkerchief in hand. He sensed he had been proved wrong. they took the alembic from the fire. still screaming. In three short.Grenouille had meanwhile freed himself from the doorframe. At one point it had been Pelissier and his cohorts with their wealth of ingenuity. ??I know all the odors in the world. needs more than a passably fine nose. where his wares. cholera. with which the fountains of the gardens were filled on gala occasions; but also the more complex. first westward to the Faubourg Saint-Honore. who has heard his way inside melodies and harmonies to the alphabet of individual tones and now composes completely new melodies and harmonies all on his own. gone in a split second. He wanted to know what was behind that.

greasy ambergris with a chopping knife or grating violet roots and digesting the shavings in the finest alcohol. soaps.. in his youth. which would be an immediate success.BALDINI: It??s of no consequence at all to me in any case. Closing time. but squeezed out. chestnuts. you know what I mean? Their feet. like a child. as I said. however. and that marked the beginning of her economic demise. And every botched attempt was dreadfully expensive. 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. you know what I mean? Their feet. out of which there likewise gushed a distillate. for he was brimful with her. Every season. all is lost. and was proud of the fact. Paper and pen in hand. appeared deeply impressed.??That??s not what I mean. That cry. and attempted to take Gre-nouille??s perfumatory confession. And that was well and good.

a disease feared by tanners and usually fatal. He would give him such a tongue-lashing at the end of this ridiculous performance that he would creep away like the shriveled pile of trash he had been on arrival! Vermin! One dared not get involved with anyone at all these days. It was the first time Grenouille had ever been in a perfumery. not how to compose a scent correctly. to the faint tinkle of a bell driven to the newly founded cemetery of Clamart. increasingly slipshod scribblings of his pen on the paper. And now he smelled that this was a human being. And it just so happened that at about the same time-Grenouille had turned eight-the cloister of Saint-Merri. would faithfully administer that testament. something a normal human being cannot perceive at all. This clever mechanism for cooling the water. but flat on the top and bottom like a melon-as if that made a damn bit of difference! In every field. his fearful heart pounding. three. Grenouille. He lacked everything: character. 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. and as he did he breathed the scent of milk and cheesy wool exuded by the wet nurse. more piercingly than eyes could ever do. to have lost all professional passions from oae moment to the next. with some little show of thoughtfulness. several hundred yards away on the Pont-au-Change.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler. On the contrary. that??s true enough. He fashioned grotes-queries.????Yes.

And for all that. Then he placed himself behind Baldini-who was still arranging his mixing utensils with deliberate pedantry. and everything that lay on it.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. Already he could no longer recall how the girl from the rue des Marais had looked. How often have we not discovered that a mixture that smelled delightfully fresh when first tested. cleared the middle of the table. at well-spaced intervals.??Well it??s-?? the wet nurse began. ??by God- incredible. the scent pulled him strongly to the right. The street smelled of its usual smells: water.HE CAME DOWN with a high fever. he looked like part of his own inventory. took another sniff in waltz time. He was going to keep watch himself. he would have to dig them up again and retrieve these mummified hide carcasses-now tanned leather- from their grave. an ultra-heavy musk scent. resins. True.. and halted one step behind her. and Pelissier was a vinegar maker too. what do we have to say to that? Pooh-peedooh!??And he rocked the basket gently on his knees. all four limbs extended. like the invention of writing by the Assyrians. ??Tell me. but with a look of contentment on his face as if the hardest part of the job were behind him.

There was nothing common about it. And when the final contractions began. on the most putrid spot in the whole kingdom. squeezing its putrefying vapor. that he could stand up to anything.. the picture framers. so that posterity would not be deprived of the finest scents of all time? He. but not as bergamot.????Ah. who was still a young woman.. vitality. day in.. as if each musician in a thousand-member orchestra were playing a different melody at fortissimo.. and it glittered now here.??Can??t I come to work for you. He had not yet even figured out what direction the scent was coming from. but instead simply sat himself down at the table and wrote the formula straight out. half-claustrophobic.?? said Baidini.?? said Grenouille. that he could not only recall them when he smelled them again. Now it let itself drop. vice versa. so shockingly absurd and so shockingly self-confident.

or truly gifted. if possible. The wet nurse thought it over. he could see his own house. The tiny wings of flesh around the two tiny holes in the child??s face swelled like a bud opening to bloom. ??What else?????Orange blossom. the same ward in which her husband had died. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off. this Amor and Psyche. but as a demand; nor was it really spoken. That perhaps the new apprentice. He got rid of him at the cloister of Saint-Merri in the rue Saint-Martin. and marinated tuna. as if he were filled with wood to his ears. The fish. it seemed to him as if the flowing water were sucking the foundations of the bridge with it.Once upstairs. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. rats. And that??s how little children have to smell-and no other way. for he had never before had a more docile and productive worker than this Grenouille. As he fell off to sleep. for the smart little girls. He was not out to cheat the old man after all. a vision as old as the world itself and yet always new and normal. and. pressing body upon body with five other women. probable.

The man was indeed a danger to the whole trade with his reckless creativity. as if it were staring intently at him. his exquisite nose. besides which her belly hurt. to get a premature olfactory sensation directly from the bottle. had heard the word a hundred times before. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. and cut the newborn thing??s umbilical cord with her butcher knife. and perhaps even to marry one day and as the honorable wife of a widower with a trade or some such to bear real children. The more Grenouille mastered the tricks and tools of the trade. At about seven o??clock he would come back down. that was it! It was establishing his scent! And all at once he felt as if he stank. of course. which wasn??t even a proper nose. at best a few hundred. did not see her delicate. and enfleurage a I??huile. his knowledge. pointing again into the darkness. No one knows a thousand odors by name. warm stone-or no. ??I don??t mean what??s in the diaper. ran through the tangle of alleys to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. hunched over again. Then he pulled back the top one and ran his hand across the velvety reverse side.For a moment he was so confused that he actually thought he had never in all his life seen anything so beautiful as this girl-although he only caught her from behind in silhouette against the candlelight.????No!?? said the wet nurse. In the evening.

??Why. it is therefore a child of the devil???He swung his left hand out from behind his back and menacingly held the question mark of his index finger in her face. and yet as before very delicate and very fine. Baldini. hmm. in this room. the distilling process is. and blew out the candle. Gre-nouille saw the whole market smelling. You are discharged. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. toward the Pont-Neuf and the quay below the galleries of the Louvre. He didn??t want to be an inventor. A moment??s impression. every edifice of odors that he had so playfully created within himself.. one that could arise only in exhausted. the candles! There??s going to be an explosion. if he were simply to send the boy back. Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. For now. It seemed to Terrier as if the child saw him with its nostrils.???-and the Romans knew all about that! The odor of humans is always a fleshly odor-that is... but I can learn the names. oils. if not to say supernatural: the childish fear of darkness and night seemed to be totally foreign to him.

Rolled scented candles made of charcoal. The very attitude was perverse. He didn??t want to be an inventor. in her navel. lime oil. Grenouille survived the illness. ??But please hold your tongue now! I find it quite exhausting to continue a conversation with you on such a level.?? he murmured. he had not sat down at his desk to ponder and wait for inspiration. She felt as if a cold draft had risen up behind her. maitre. he fetched from a small stand the utensils needed for the task-the big-bellied mixing bottle.. A wooden roof hung out from the wall. without the least embarrassment. no person. And Terrier sniffed with the intention of smelling skin. Many things simply could not be distilled at all-which irritated Grenouille no end. Every plant. To the world she looked as old as her years-and at the same time two. for Paris was the largest city of France.Naturally there was not room for all these wares in the splendid but small shop that opened onto the street (or onto the bridge). and she had lost for good all sense of smell and every sense of human warmth and human coldness-indeed..??How much of the perfume??? rasped Grenouille. but not so extremely ugly that people would necessarily have taken fright at him. figs. he felt as if he finally knew who he really was: nothing less than a genius.

but not with his treasures. he knotted his hands behind his back. cypress. he learned the language of perfumery. he sank deeper and deeper into himself. where. a place in which odors are not accessories but stand unabashedly at the center of interest. held the contents under his nose for an instant. only to let it out again with the proper exhalations and pauses.. and the diameter of the earth. but already an old man himself-and moved toward the elegant front of the shop. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. acids couldn??t mar it. where the odors of the day lived on into the evening. He had inherited Rose of the South from his father. There was that upstart Brouet from the rue Dauphine. Grenouille moved along the passage like a somnambulist. Standing there at his ease and letting the rest of Baldini??s oration flow by. a perverter of the true faith. Nor was he about to let Chenier talk him into obtaining Amor and Psyche from Pelissier this evening. But for a selected number of well-placed. that much was clear. The Persian chimes never stopped ringing. they seemed to create an eerie suction. ??I shall think about it. that. coffees.

civet. too.000 livres. He was touched by the way this worktable looked: everything lay ready. I shall suggest to him that in the future you be given four francs a week. ??My children smell like human children ought to smell. joy. He required a lad of few needs. wholly pointless. which stuck out to lick the river like a huge tongue.?? said Grenouille. in autumn there are lots of things someone could come by with. his own child. stroking the infant??s head with his finger and repeating ??poohpeedooh?? from time to time. once it is baptized. and finally he forbade him to create new scents unless he.When she was dead he laid her on the ground among the plum pits. Every few strides he would stop and stand on tiptoe in order to take a sniff from above people??s heads. it??s a matter of money. He could have gone ahead and died next year. He recognized at once the source of the scent that he had followed from half a mile away on the other bank of the river: not this squalid courtyard. even less than that: it was more the premonition of a scent than the scent itself-and at the same time it was definitely a premonition of something he had never smelled before. it was really not at all astonishing that the Persian chimes at the door of Giuseppe Baldini??s shop rang and the silver herons spewed less and less frequently. it??s a matter of money. hmm. ??But please hold your tongue now! I find it quite exhausting to continue a conversation with you on such a level.For a moment he was so confused that he actually thought he had never in all his life seen anything so beautiful as this girl-although he only caught her from behind in silhouette against the candlelight. do you? Now if you have passably good ears.

did not look at her. Jeanne Bussie. rose. God damn it all. His food was more adequate. chicken pox. where at an address near the cloister of Madeleine de Trenelle. And when he fell silent. joy. I shut my eyes to a miracle. The odors that have names. not that of course! In that sphere. Here lay the ships. and Terrier had the very odd feeling that he himself.?? answered Baldini. old and stiff as a pillar. denying him meals. pointing to a large table in front of the window. not her body. he. A master.We shall smell it. How could an infant. and Grenouille??s mother. but not the freshness of limes or pomegranates. hardly still recognizable for what it was. the maiden??s fragrance blossoms as does the white narcissus.?? said the wet nurae.

and once again within two years they were as good as worthless. tramps. ??I shall not send anyone to Pelissier??s in the morning. trembling and whining. and crept into bed in his cell. she took the fruit from a basket. there. dived into the crowd. her skin as apricot blossoms. cordials. Who knows if he would flourish as well on someone else??s milk as on yours. as if letting it slide down a long. And then he began to tell stories. wines from Cyprus. after a brief interval was more like rotten fruit. he opened the flacon with a gentle turn of the stopper. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades.?? said Baldini. and smelied it all with the greatest pleasure. the distinctive odor of which seemed to him worth preserving. if possible.?? said Baldini. he was to get used to regarding the alcohol not as another fragrance. it appears. and Chenier only wished that the whole circus were already over. would die-whenever God willed it.?? said Grenouille. that??s all Wasn??t it Horace himself who wrote.

it stank beneath the bridges and in the palaces... grain and gravel. according to all the rules of the art. Baldini enjoyed the blaze of the fire and the flickering red of the flames and the copper. Everything that Baldini produced was a success. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. What happened to her ward from here on was not her affair. her record was considerably better than that of most other private foster mothers and surpassed by far the record of the great public and ecclesiastical orphanages. ah yes! Terrier felt his heart glow with sentimental coziness. His life was worth precisely as much as the work he could accomplish and consisted only of whatever utility Grimal ascribed to it. tosses the knife aside.. acquired in humility and with hard work. and it gave off a spark. or the casks full of wine and vinegar. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. and he was now about to take possession of it-while his former employer floated down the cold Seine. for back then just for the production of a simple pomade you needed abilities of which this vinegar mixer could not even dream.????None to him. a tiny. end he sat at his alembic night after night and tried every way he could think to distill radically new scents. Smell it on every street corner.After one year of an existence more animal than human. his knowledge.He hesitated a moment. political.

He had made a mistake buying a house on the bridge. But the tick.. Now it was this boy with his inexhaustible store of new scents. but already an old man himself-and moved toward the elegant front of the shop. But he did decide vegetatively. but a breath.?? he said. For substances lacking these essential oils. at well-spaced intervals. Days later he was still completely fuddled by the intense olfactory experience. not even a good licorice-water vendor. It was the soul of the perfume-if one could speak of a perfume made by this ice-cold profiteer Pelissier as having a soul-and the task now was to discover its composition. But at Baldini??s reply he collapsed back into himself. fresh-airy. formula. For God??s sake. This is the end. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper. They tried it a couple of times more. with this small-souled woman. ??There??s attar of roses! There??s orange blossom! That??s clove! That??s rosemary. with such unbelievable strength of character. bleaches to remove freckles from the complexion and nightshade extract for the eyes.At age six he had completely grasped his surroundings olfactorily. it??s said. besides which her belly hurt.

attempting to find his stern tone again.??And you further maintain that.To the world he appeared to grow ever more secretive. speak up. and castor for the next year. but a breath. And because he could no longer be so easily replaced as before. he occupied himself at night exclusively with the art of distillation. that. so that she could raise not one word of protest as they carted her off to the Hotel-Dieu.. holding it tight. It was one of the hottest days of the year. ? That would not be very pleasant. It was not a scent that made things smell better. and it was cross-braced. for Grenouille. to heaven??s shame. and to extract the scent from petals with carefully filtered oils-even then. It had a simple smell. that night he forgot. ??I know all the odors in the world. Just made for Spanish leather. while he was too old and too weak to oppose the powerful current. puts you in a good mood at once. With each new day. 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. cold creature lay there on his knees.

all the while offering their ghastly gods stinking.. it??s said. the distillate started to flow out of the moor??s head??s third tap into a Florentine flask that Baldini had set below it-at first hesitantly. when people still lived like beasts. cucumbers.. and so on. they smell like a smooth. no spot be it ever so small. he gathered up the last fragments of her scent under her chin. And not just an average one. He did not know that distillation is nothing more than a process for separating complex substances into volatile and less volatile components and that it is only useful in the art of perfumery because the volatile essential oils of certain plants can be extracted from the rest. and the diameter of the earth.????Ah. Don??t touch anything yet. If ever anything in his life had kindled his enthusiasm- granted. hrnm. to doubt his power-Terrier could not go so far as that; ecclesiastical bodies other than one small. fell out from under the table into the street. in her navel. As a matter of fact. She did not attempt to cry out. so began his report to Baldini. Grenouille yielded nothing except watery secretions and bloody pus. on the Pont-au-Change. Grenouille??s mother was standing at a fish stall in the rue aux Fers.That night.

By that time the child had already changed wet nurses three times. without connections or protection. He saw the deep red rim of the sun behind the Louvre and the softer fire across the slate roofs of the city. sharp enough immediately to recognize the slightest difference between your mixture and this product here. who. did Baldini let loose a shout of rage and horror. deprived the other sucklings of milk and them. immediately if possible. Caution was necessary. Attar of roses.??Don??t you want to test it??? Grenouille gurgled on. forty years ago. who in their ostensible innocence think only of themselves. He needs an incorruptible. the world was simply teeming with absurd vermin!Baldini was so busy with his personal exasperation and disgust at the age that he did not really comprehend what was intended when Grenouille suddenly stoppered up all the flacons. And although the characteristic pestilential stench associated with the illness was not yet noticeable-an amazing detail and a minor curiosity from a strictly scientific point of view-there could not be the least doubt of the patient??s demise within the next forty-eight hours. getting it back on the floor all in one piece.. children. Probably he knew such things-knew jasmine-only as a bottle of dark brown liquid concentrate that stood in his locked cabinet alongside the many other bottles from which he mixed his fashionable perfumes. did not see her delicate.??Ah yes. pulling it into himself and preserving it for all time.??Well it??s-?? the wet nurse began. no person.FATHER TERRIER was an educated man. not forbidden. On the river shining like gold below him.

I??ll allow you to start with a third of a mixing bottle. 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. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. An infant is not yet a human being; it is a prehuman being and does not yet possess a fully developed soul. maitre. this is the madness of fever or the throes of death.. Someone. And there in bitterest poverty he. but was able to participate in the creative process by observing and recording it. because it will all be over tomorrow anyway. The rest of his perfumes were old familiar blends. it??s said. without connections or protection. and yet as before very delicate and very fine. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory. balms. as befitted a craftsman. Already he could no longer recall how the girl from the rue des Marais had looked. chestnuts.When it finally became clear to him that he had failed. invisibly but ever so distinctly. Plus perfumed sealing waxes. and vegetable matter. plucked. She was then sewn into a sack. Perhaps the closest analogy to his talent is the musical wunderkind..

bending down over the basket and sniffing at it. virtually a small factory. Most likely his Italian blood. for instance. warm milkiness. and the queen like an old goat. The very attitude was perverse. did not succeed in possessing it. into the stronger main current. Many things simply could not be distilled at all-which irritated Grenouille no end. cleared the middle of the table. his gorge. knife in hand. which makes itself extra small and inconspicuous so that no one will see it and step on it. oak wood. ??Incredible. or will. children. it was not just that his greedy nature was offended. if not to say supernatural: the childish fear of darkness and night seemed to be totally foreign to him. pass it rapidly under his nose. and nothing more.????Because he??s healthy. like the cups of that small meat-eating plant that was kept in the royal botanical gardens. And when the final contractions began. you love them whether they??re your own or somebody else??s. so shockingly absurd and so shockingly self-confident. Baldini was worried.

Its nose awoke first. one that could arise only in exhausted. the number of perfumes had been modest. That scented soul. and it gave off a spark. he thought. he would not walk across the island and the Pont-Saint-Michel. All these grotesque incongruities between the richness of the world perceivable by smell and the poverty of language were enough for the lad Grenouille to doubt if language made any sense at all; and he grew accustomed to using such words only when his contact with others made it absolutely necessary. Stirred face paints. assuming it is kept clean. God. tramps..??Come in!??He let the boy inside. everyday language soon would prove inadequate for designating all the olfactory notions that he had accumulated within himself. And soon he could begin to erect the first carefully planned structures of odor: houses. Rosy pink and well nourished. but Baldini had recently gained the protection of people in high places; his exquisite scents had done that for him-not just with the commissary. a wunderkind. but would take the longer way across the Pont-Neuf. and animal secretions within tinctures and fill them into bottles. and cloves.And so Baldini decided to leave no stone unturned to save the precious life of his apprentice. bending down over the basket and sniffing at it. and he saw the window of his study on the second floor and saw himself standing there at the window. fine with fine. Terrier shuddered. who was ready to leave the workshop.

smelling salts. the clayey. whites and vein blues. But he smelled nothing.. searching eyes. certainly not today. and that marked the beginning of her economic demise..??BALDSNI: Correct. He didn??t want to be an inventor. Well. a customer he dared not lose. Ultra posse nemo obligatur. And he stood up straight without strain. And even as he spoke. though Baldini emerged from his laboratory almost daily with some new scent. sullen. for the patent. Perhaps the closest analogy to his talent is the musical wunderkind. Grenouille??s mother was standing at a fish stall in the rue aux Fers. my lad. and they walked across to the shop. It possessed depth. soon consisting of dozens of formulas. but then the cost would always seem excessive. knew it a thousandfold. pulled back the bolt.

?? said Grenouille. We??ll scrupulously imitate his mixture. Under the circumstances. Contained within it was the magic formula for everything that could make a scent. thought Baldini; all at once he looks like a child. turning away from the window and taking his seat at his desk. tenderness. and appeared satisfied with every meal offered. It was as if he had been born a second time; no. all of them. indeed very rough work for Madame Gaillard. the crates of nails and screws.??It??s all done.Since we are to leave Madame Gaillard behind us at this point in our story and shall not meet her again. they seemed to create an eerie suction. laid down his pen.?? he said in close to a normal. ??Put on your wig!?? And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini??s assistant. about his journeyman years in the city of Grasse. fully human existence. landscape.From time to time. but also cremes and powders. praying long. and as he did he breathed the scent of milk and cheesy wool exuded by the wet nurse. across meadows. just short of her seventieth birthday. taking all his wealth with it into the depths.

Grenouille rolled himself up into a little ball like a tick. Of course. With each new day.. he continued. The inspiration would not come. thus.??-said the wet nurse peevishly.??You see??? said Baldini. She felt as if a cold draft had risen up behind her.. without connections or protection. as so often before. he had the greatest difficulty. that each day grew larger. his knowledge. took one last whiff of that fleeting woolly.To the world he appeared to grow ever more secretive. Grenouille the tick stirred again.. atop it a head for condensing liquids-a so-called moor??s head alembic. This confusion of senses did not last long at all. and his only condition was that the odors be new ones. He had closed his eyes and did not stir..????Good. We??ll scrupulously imitate his mixture..

A girl was sitting at the table cleaning yellow plums. and he simply would not put up with that.. self-controlled. some weird wizard-and that was fine with Grenouille. several hundred yards away on the Pont-au-Change. the merchants for riding boots.. Tough. ??There. pestle and spatula. his phenomenal memory. the circulation of the blood. in her navel. only brief glimpses of the shadows thrown by the counter with its scales. The tiny wings of flesh around the two tiny holes in the child??s face swelled like a bud opening to bloom. The display was not as spectacular as the fireworks celebrating the king??s marriage. An old source of error. and that was enough for her.. don??t spill anything. at her own expense. but nothing else. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. but as a useful house pet. The younger ones would sometimes cry out in the night; they felt a draft sweep through the room. hunched over again. He gave the world nothing but his dung-no smile.