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The
regulations
of
the
craft
functioned
as
a
welcome
disguise
.
He
virtually
lulled
Baldini
to
sleep
with
his
exemplary
procedures
,
weighing
ingredients
,
swirling
the
mixing
bottles
,
sprinkling
the
test
handkerchief
.
He
could
shake
it
out
almost
as
delicately
,
pass
it
beneath
his
nose
almost
as
elegantly
as
his
master
.
And
from
time
to
time
,
at
well-spaced
intervals
,
he
would
make
mistakes
that
could
not
fail
to
capture
Baldini
's
notice
:
forgetting
to
filter
,
setting
the
scales
wrong
,
fixing
the
percentage
of
ambergris
tincture
in
the
formula
ridiculously
high
.
And
took
his
scoldings
for
the
mistakes
,
correcting
them
then
most
conscientiously
.
Thus
he
managed
to
lull
Baldini
into
the
illusion
that
ultimately
this
was
all
perfectly
normal
.
He
was
not
out
to
cheat
the
old
man
after
all
.
He
truly
wanted
to
learn
from
him
.
Not
how
to
mix
perfumes
,
not
how
to
compose
a
scent
correctly
,
not
that
of
course
!
In
that
sphere
,
there
was
no
one
in
the
world
who
could
have
taught
him
anything
,
nor
would
the
ingredients
available
in
Baldini
's
shop
have
even
begun
to
suffice
for
his
notions
about
how
to
realize
a
truly
great
perfume
.
The
scents
he
could
create
at
Baldini
's
were
playthings
compared
with
those
he
carried
within
him
and
that
he
intended
to
create
one
day
.
But
for
that
,
he
knew
,
two
indispensable
prerequisites
must
be
met
.
The
first
was
the
cloak
of
middle-class
respectability
,
the
status
of
a
journeyman
at
the
least
,
under
the
protection
of
which
he
could
indulge
his
true
passions
and
follow
his
true
goals
unimpeded
The
second
was
the
knowledge
of
the
craft
itself
,
the
way
in
which
scents
were
produced
,
isolated
,
concentrated
,
preserved
,
and
thus
first
made
available
for
higher
ends
.
For
Grenouille
did
indeed
possess
the
best
nose
in
the
world
,
both
analytical
and
visionary
,
but
he
did
not
yet
have
the
ability
to
make
those
scents
realities
.
AND
SO
HE
gladly
let
himself
be
instructed
in
the
arts
of
making
soap
from
lard
,
sewing
gloves
of
chamois
,
mixing
powders
from
wheat
flour
and
almond
bran
and
pulverized
violet
roots
.
Rolled
scented
candles
made
of
charcoal
,
saltpeter
,
and
sandalwood
chips
.
Pressed
Oriental
pastilles
of
myrrh
,
benzoin
,
and
powdered
amber
.
Kneaded
frankincense
,
shellac
,
vetiver
,
and
cinnamon
into
balls
of
incense
.
Sifted
and
spatulated
poudre
impermle
out
of
crushed
rose
petals
,
lavender
flowers
,
cascarilla
bark
.
Stirred
face
paints
,
whites
and
vein
blues
,
and
molded
greasy
sticks
of
carmine
for
the
lips
.
Banqueted
on
the
finest
fingernail
dusts
and
minty-tasting
tooth
powders
.
Mixed
liquids
for
curling
periwigs
and
wart
drops
for
corns
,
bleaches
to
remove
freckles
from
the
complexion
and
nightshade
extract
for
the
eyes
,
Spanish
fly
for
the
gentlemen
and
hygienic
vinegars
for
the
ladies
...
Grenouille
learned
to
produce
all
such
eauxand
powders
,
toilet
and
beauty
preparations
,
plus
teas
and
herbal
blends
,
liqueurs
,
marinades
,
and
such-in
short
,
he
learned
,
with
no
particular
interest
but
without
complaint
and
with
success
,
everything
that
Baldini
knew
to
teach
him
from
his
great
store
of
traditional
lore.He
was
an
especially
eager
pupil
,
however
,
whenever
Baldini
instructed
him
in
the
production
of
tinctures
,
extracts
,
and
essences
.
He
was
indefatigable
when
it
came
to
crushing
bitter
almond
seeds
in
the
screw
press
or
mashing
musk
pods
or
mincing
dollops
of
gray
,
greasy
ambergris
with
a
chopping
knife
or
grating
violet
roots
and
digesting
the
shavings
in
the
finest
alcohol
.
He
learned
how
to
use
a
separatory
funnel
that
could
draw
off
the
purest
oil
of
crushed
lemon
rinds
from
the
milky
dregs
.
He
learned
to
dry
herbs
and
flowers
on
grates
placed
in
warm
,
shady
spots
and
to
preserve
what
was
once
rustling
foliage
in
wax-sealed
crocks
and
caskets
.
He
learned
the
art
of
rinsing
pomades
and
producing
,
filtering
,
concentrating
,
clarifying
,
and
rectifying
infusions.To
be
sure
,
Baldini
's
laboratory
was
not
a
proper
place
for
fabricating
floral
or
herbal
oils
on
a
grand
scale
.
It
would
have
been
hard
to
find
sufficient
quantities
of
fresh
plants
in
Paris
for
that
.
But
from
time
to
time
,
when
they
could
get
cheap
,
fresh
rosemary
,
sage
,
mint
,
or
anise
seeds
at
the
market
,
or
a
shipment
of
valerian
roots
,
caraway
seeds
,
nutmegs
,
or
dried
clove
blossoms
had
come
in
,
then
the
alchemist
in
Baldini
would
stir
,
and
he
would
bring
out
the
large
alembic
,
a
copper
distilling
vessel
,
atop
it
a
head
for
condensing
liquids-a
so-called
moor
's
head
alembic
,
he
proudly
announced-which
he
had
used
forty
years
before
for
distilling
lavender
out
on
the
open
southern
exposures
of
Liguria
's
slopes
and
on
the
heights
of
the
Luberon
.
And
while
Grenouille
chopped
up
what
was
to
be
distilled
,
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
,
the
bottom
well
covered
with
water
.
He
threw
in
the
minced
plants
,
quickly
closed
off
the
double-walled
moor
's
head
,
and
connected
two
hoses
to
allow
water
to
pass
in
and
out
.
This
clever
mechanism
for
cooling
the
water
,
he
explained
,
was
something
he
had
added
on
later
,
since
out
in
the
field
,
of
course
,
one
had
simply
used
bellowed
air
for
cooling
.
And
then
he
blew
on
the
fire.Slowly
the
kettle
came
to
a
boil
.
And
after
a
while
,
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
,
drop
by
drop
,
then
in
a
threadlike
stream
.
It
looked
rather
unimpressive
to
begin
with
,
like
some
thin
,
murky
soup
.
Bit
by
bit
,
however-especially
after
the
first
flask
had
been
replaced
with
a
second
and
set
aside
to
settle-the
brew
separated
into
two
different
liquids
:
below
,
the
floral
or
herbal
fluid
;
above
,
a
thick
floating
layer
of
oil
.
If
one
carefully
poured
off
the
fluid-which
had
only
the
lightest
aroma-through
the
lower
spout
of
the
Florentine
flask
,
the
pure
oil
was
left
behind-the
essence
,
the
heavily
scented
principle
of
the
plant.Grenouille
was
fascinated
by
the
process
.
If
ever
anything
in
his
life
had
kindled
his
enthusiasm
--
granted
,
not
a
visible
enthusiasm
but
a
hidden
one
,
an
excitement
burning
with
a
cold
flame-then
it
was
this
procedure
for
using
fire
,
water
,
steam
,
and
a
cunning
apparatus
to
snatch
the
scented
soul
from
matter
.
That
scented
soul
,
that
ethereal
oil
,
was
in
fact
the
best
thing
about
matter
,
the
only
reason
for
his
interest
in
it
.
The
rest
of
the
stupid
stuff-the
blossoms
,
leaves
,
rind
,
fruit
,
color
,
beauty
,
vitality
,
and
all
those
other
useless
qualities-were
of
no
concern
to
him
.
They
were
mere
husk
and
ballast
,
to
be
disposed
of
.
From
time
to
time
,
when
the
distillate
had
grown
watery
and
clear
,
they
took
the
alembic
from
the
fire
,
opened
it
,
and
shook
out
the
cooked
muck
.
It
looked
as
flabby
and
pale
as
soggy
straw
,
like
the
bleached
bones
of
little
birds
,
like
vegetables
that
had
been
boiled
too
long
,
insipid
and
stringy
,
pulpy
,
hardly
still
recognizable
for
what
it
was
,
disgustingly
cadaverous
,
and
almost
totally
robbed
of
its
own
odor
.
They
threw
it
out
the
window
into
the
river
.
Then
they
fed
the
alembic
with
new
,
fresh
plants
,
poured
in
more
water
,
and
set
it
back
on
the
hearth
.
And
once
again
the
kettle
began
to
simmer
,
and
again
the
lifeblood
of
the
plants
dripped
into
the
Florentine
flask
.
This
often
went
on
all
night
long
.
Baldini
watched
the
hearth
,
Grenouille
kept
an
eye
on
the
flasks
;
there
was
nothing
else
to
do
while
waiting
for
the
next
batch.They
sat
on
footstools
by
the
fire
,
under
the
spell
of
the
rotund
flacon-both
spellbound
,
if
for
very
different
reasons
.
Baldini
enjoyed
the
blaze
of
the
fire
and
the
flickering
red
of
the
flames
and
the
copper
,
he
loved
the
crackling
of
the
burning
wood
,
the
gurgle
of
the
alembic
,
for
it
was
like
the
old
days
.
You
could
lose
yourself
in
it
!
He
fetched
a
bottle
of
wine
from
the
shop
,
for
the
heat
made
him
thirsty
,
and
drinking
wine
was
like
the
old
days
too
.
And
then
he
began
to
tell
stories
,
from
the
old
days
,
endless
stories
.
About
the
War
of
the
Spanish
Succession
,
when
his
own
participation
against
the
Austrians
had
had
a
decisive
influence
on
the
outcome
;
about
the
Camisards
,
together
with
whom
he
had
haunted
the
Cevennes
;
about
the
daughter
of
a
Huguenot
in
the
Esterel
,
who
,
intoxicated
by
the
scent
of
lavender
,
had
complied
with
his
wishes
;
about
a
forest
fire
that
he
had
damn
near
started
and
which
would
then
have
probably
set
the
entire
Provence
ablaze
,
as
sure
as
there
was
a
heaven
and
hell
,
for
a
biting
mistral
had
been
blowing
;
and
over
and
over
he
told
about
distilling
out
in
the
open
fields
,
at
night
,
by
moonlight
,
accompanied
by
wine
and
the
screech
of
cicadas
,
and
about
a
lavender
oil
that
he
had
created
,
one
so
refined
and
powerful
that
you
could
have
weighed
it
out
in
silver
;
about
his
apprentice
years
in
Genoa
,
about
his
journeyman
years
in
the
city
of
Grasse
,
where
there
were
as
many
perfumers
as
shoemakers
,
some
of
them
so
rich
they
lived
like
princes
,
in
magnificent
houses
with
shaded
gardens
and
terraces
and
wainscoted
dining
rooms
where
they
feasted
with
porcelain
and
golden
cutlery
,
and
so
on
...
Such
were
the
stories
Baldini
told
while
he
drank
his
wine
and
his
cheeks
grew
ruddy
from
the
wine
and
the
blazing
fire
and
from
his
own
enthusiastic
story-telling
.
Grenouille
,
however
,
who
sat
back
more
in
the
shadows
,
did
not
listen
to
him
at
all
.
He
did
not
care
about
old
tales
,
he
was
interested
in
one
thing
only
:
this
new
process
.
He
stared
uninterruptedly
at
the
tube
at
the
top
of
the
alembic
out
of
which
the
distillate
ran
in
a
thin
stream
And
as
he
stared
at
it
,
he
imagined
that
he
himself
was
such
an
alembic
,
simmering
away
inside
just
like
this
one
,
out
of
which
there
likewise
gushed
a
distillate
,
but
a
better
,
a
newer
,
an
unfamiliar
distillate
of
those
exquisite
plants
that
he
tended
within
him
,
that
blossomed
there
,
their
bouquet
unknown
to
anyone
but
himself
,
and
that
with
their
unique
scent
he
could
turn
the
world
into
a
fragrant
Garden
of
Eden
,
where
life
would
be
relatively
bearable
for
him
,
olfactorily
speaking
.
To
be
a
giant
alembic
,
flooding
the
whole
world
with
a
distillate
of
his
own
making
,
that
was
the
daydream
to
which
Grenouille
gave
himself
up.But
while
Baldini
,
inflamed
by
the
wine
,
continued
to
tell
ever
more
extravagant
tales
of
the
old
days
and
got
more
and
more
tangled
up
in
his
uninhibited
enthusiasms
,
Grenouille
soon
abandoned
his
bizarre
fantasy
.
For
the
moment
he
banished
from
his
thoughts
the
notion
of
a
giant
alembic
,
and
instead
he
pondered
how
he
might
make
use
of
his
newly
gained
knowledge
for
more
immediate
goals
.
IT
WAS
N'T
LONG
before
he
had
become
a
specialist
in
the
field
of
distillation
.
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
.
Every
plant
,
every
flower
,
every
sort
of
wood
,
and
every
oil-yielding
seed
demanded
a
special
procedure
.
Sometimes
you
had
to
build
up
the
hottest
head
of
steam
,
sometimes
you
just
left
it
at
a
moderate
boil
,
and
some
flowers
yielded
their
best
only
if
you
let
them
steep
over
the
lowest
possible
flame.It
was
much
the
same
with
their
preparation
.
Mint
and
lavender
could
be
distilled
by
the
bunch
.
Other
things
needed
to
be
carefully
culled
,
plucked
,
chopped
,
grated
,
crushed
,
or
even
made
into
pulp
before
they
were
placed
in
the
copper
kettle
.
Many
things
simply
could
not
be
distilled
at
all-which
irritated
Grenouille
no
end.Having
observed
what
a
sure
hand
Grenouille
had
with
the
apparatus
,
Baldini
had
given
him
free
rein
with
the
alembic
,
and
Grenouille
had
taken
full
advantage
of
that
freedom
.
While
still
mixing
perfumes
and
producing
other
scented
and
herbal
products
during
the
day
,
he
occupied
himself
at
night
exclusively
with
the
art
of
distillation
.
His
plan
was
to
create
entirely
new
basic
odors
,
and
with
them
to
produce
at
least
some
of
the
scents
that
he
bore
within
him
.
At
first
he
had
some
small
successes
.
He
succeeded
in
producing
oils
from
nettles
and
from
cress
seeds
,
toilet
water
from
the
fresh
bark
of
elderberry
and
from
yew
sprigs
.
These
distillates
were
only
barely
similar
to
the
odor
of
their
ingredients
,
but
they
were
at
least
interesting
enough
to
be
processed
further
.
But
there
were
also
substances
with
which
the
procedure
was
a
complete
failure
.
Grenouille
tried
for
instance
to
distill
the
odor
of
glass
,
the
clayey
,
cool
odor
of
smooth
glass
,
something
a
normal
human
being
can
not
perceive
at
all
.
He
got
himself
both
window
glass
and
bottle
glass
and
tried
working
with
it
in
large
pieces
,
in
fragments
,
in
slivers
,
as
dust-all
without
the
least
success
.
He
distilled
brass
,
porcelain
,
and
leather
,
grain
and
gravel
.
He
distilled
plain
dirt
.
Blood
and
wood
and
fresh
fish
.
His
own
hair
.
By
the
end
he
was
distilling
plain
water
,
water
from
the
Seine
,
the
distinctive
odor
of
which
seemed
to
him
worth
preserving
.
He
believed
that
with
the
help
of
an
alembic
he
could
rob
these
materials
of
their
characteristic
odors
,
just
as
could
be
done
with
thyme
,
lavender
,
and
caraway
seeds
.
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
,
which
have
little
or
no
scent
.
For
substances
lacking
these
essential
oils
,
the
distilling
process
is
,
of
course
,
wholly
pointless
.
For
us
moderns
,
educated
in
the
natural
sciences
,
that
is
immediately
apparent
.
For
Grenouille
,
however
,
this
knowledge
was
won
painfully
after
a
long
chain
of
disappointing
experiments
