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What
kinds
of
conditions
were
those
anyway
!
Not
enter
Paris
again
?
What
did
he
need
Paris
for
!
He
knew
it
down
to
its
last
stinking
cranny
,
he
took
it
with
him
wherever
he
went
,
he
had
owned
Paris
for
years
now
.
-
Not
produce
any
of
Baldini
's
top-selling
perfumes
,
not
pass
on
their
formulas
?
As
if
he
could
not
invent
a
thousand
others
,
just
as
good
and
better
,
if
and
when
he
wanted
to
!
But
he
did
n't
want
to
at
all
.
He
did
not
in
the
least
intend
to
go
into
competition
with
Baldini
or
any
other
bourgeois
perfumer
.
He
was
not
out
to
make
his
fortune
with
his
art
;
he
did
n't
even
want
to
live
from
it
if
he
could
find
another
way
to
make
a
living
.
He
wanted
to
empty
himself
of
his
innermost
being
,
of
nothing
less
than
his
innermost
being
,
which
he
considered
more
wonderful
than
anything
else
the
world
had
to
offer
.
And
thus
Baldini
's
conditions
were
no
conditions
at
all
for
Grenouille.He
set
out
in
spring
,
early
one
May
morning
.
Baldini
had
given
him
a
little
rucksack
,
a
second
shirt
,
two
pairs
of
stockings
,
a
large
sausage
,
a
horse
blanket
,
and
twenty-five
francs
.
That
was
far
more
than
he
was
obligated
to
do
,
Baldini
said
,
considering
that
Grenouille
had
not
paid
a
sol
in
fees
for
the
profound
education
he
had
received
.
He
was
obligated
to
pay
two
francs
in
severance
,
nothing
more
.
But
he
could
no
more
deny
his
own
kindly
nature
than
he
could
the
deep
sympathy
for
Jean-Baptiste
that
had
accumulated
in
his
heart
over
the
years
.
He
wished
him
good
luck
in
his
wanderings
and
once
more
warned
him
emphatically
not
to
forget
his
oath
With
that
,
he
accompanied
him
to
the
servants
'
entrance
where
he
had
once
taken
him
in
,
and
let
him
go.He
did
not
give
him
his
hand-his
sympathy
did
not
reach
quite
that
far
.
He
had
never
shaken
hands
with
him
.
He
had
always
avoided
so
much
as
touching
him
,
out
of
some
kind
of
sanctimonious
loathing
,
as
if
there
were
some
danger
that
he
could
be
infected
or
contaminated
.
He
merely
said
a
brief
adieu
.
And
Grenouille
nodded
and
ducked
away
and
was
gone
.
The
street
was
empty
.
BALDINI
WATCHED
him
go
,
shuffling
across
the
bridge
to
the
island
,
small
,
bent
,
bearing
his
rucksack
like
a
hunchback
,
looking
from
the
rear
like
an
old
man
.
On
the
far
side
,
where
the
street
made
a
dogleg
at
the
Palais
de
Parlement
,
he
lost
sight
of
him
and
felt
extraordinarily
relieved.He
had
never
liked
the
fellow
,
he
could
finally
admit
it
now
.
He
had
never
felt
comfortable
the
whole
time
he
had
housed
him
under
his
roof
and
plundered
him
.
He
felt
much
as
would
a
man
of
spotless
character
who
does
some
forbidden
deed
for
the
first
time
,
who
uses
underhanded
tricks
when
playing
a
game
.
True
,
the
risk
that
people
might
catch
up
with
him
was
small
,
and
the
prospects
for
success
had
been
great
;
but
even
so
,
his
nervousness
and
bad
conscience
were
equally
great
.
In
fact
,
not
a
day
had
passed
in
all
those
years
when
he
had
not
been
haunted
by
the
notion
that
in
some
way
or
other
he
would
have
to
pay
for
having
got
involved
with
this
man
.
If
only
it
turns
out
all
right
!
-
that
had
been
his
continual
anxious
prayer-if
only
I
succeed
in
reaping
the
profits
of
this
risky
adventure
without
having
to
pay
the
piper
!
If
only
I
succeed
!
What
I
'm
doing
is
not
right
,
but
God
will
wink
His
eye
,
I
'm
sure
He
will
.
He
has
punished
me
hard
enough
many
times
in
my
life
,
without
any
cause
,
so
that
it
would
only
be
just
if
He
would
deal
graciously
with
me
this
time
.
What
wrong
have
I
actually
done
,
if
there
has
been
a
wrong
?
At
the
worst
I
am
operating
somewhat
outside
guild
regulations
by
exploiting
the
wonderful
gifts
of
an
unskilled
worker
and
passing
off
his
talent
as
my
own
.
At
the
worst
I
have
wandered
a
bit
off
the
traditional
path
of
guild
virtue
.
At
the
very
worst
,
I
am
doing
today
what
I
myself
have
condemned
in
the
past
.
Is
that
a
crime
?
Other
people
cheat
their
whole
life
long
.
I
have
only
fudged
a
bit
for
a
couple
of
years
.
And
only
because
of
purest
chance
I
was
given
a
once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity
.
Perhaps
it
was
n't
chance
at
all
,
but
God
Himself
,
who
sent
this
wizard
into
my
house
,
to
make
up
for
the
days
of
humiliation
by
Pelissier
and
his
cohorts
.
Perhaps
Divine
Providence
was
not
directing
Himself
at
me
at
all
,
but
against
Pelissier
!
That
's
perfectly
possible
!
How
else
would
God
have
been
able
to
punish
Pelissier
other
than
by
raising
me
up
?
My
luck
,
in
that
case
,
would
be
the
means
by
which
divine
justice
has
achieved
its
end
,
and
thus
I
not
only
ought
to
accept
it
,
but
I
must
,
without
shame
and
without
the
least
regret
...
Such
had
often
been
Baldini
's
thoughts
during
those
years-mornings
,
when
he
would
descend
the
narrow
stairway
to
his
shop
,
evenings
,
when
he
would
climb
back
up
carrying
the
contents
of
the
cashbox
to
count
the
heavy
gold
and
silver
coins
,
and
at
night
,
when
he
lay
next
to
the
snoring
bag
of
bones
that
was
his
wife
,
unable
to
sleep
for
fear
of
his
good
fortune.But
now
such
sinister
thoughts
had
come
to
an
end
.
His
uncanny
guest
was
gone
and
would
never
return
again
.
Yet
the
riches
remained
and
were
secure
far
into
the
future
.
Baldini
laid
a
hand
to
his
chest
and
felt
,
beneath
the
cloth
of
his
coat
,
that
little
book
beside
his
beating
heart
.
Six
hundred
formulas
were
recorded
there
,
more
than
a
whole
generation
of
perfumers
would
ever
be
able
to
implement
.
If
he
were
to
lose
everything
today
,
he
could
,
with
just
this
wonderful
little
book
,
be
a
rich
man
once
again
within
a
year
.
Truly
he
could
not
ask
for
more!From
the
gables
of
the
houses
across
the
way
,
the
morning
sun
fell
golden
and
warm
on
his
face
.
Baldini
was
still
looking
to
the
south
,
down
the
street
in
the
direction
of
the
Palais
de
Parlement-it
was
simply
too
delightful
not
to
see
anything
more
of
Grenouille
!
-
and
,
washed
over
by
a
sense
of
gratitude
,
he
decided
to
make
that
pilgrimage
to
Notre-Dame
today
,
to
cast
a
gold
coin
in
the
alms
box
,
to
light
three
candles
,
and
on
his
knees
to
thank
his
Lord
for
having
heaped
such
good
fortune
on
him
and
having
spared
him
from
retribution.But
then
that
same
afternoon
,
just
as
he
was
about
to
head
for
the
church
,
something
absurd
happened
:
a
rumor
surfaced
that
the
English
had
declared
war
on
France
.
That
was
of
itself
hardly
disquieting
.
But
since
Baldini
had
planned
to
send
a
shipment
of
perfume
to
London
that
very
day
,
he
postponed
his
visit
to
Notre-Dame
and
instead
went
into
the
city
to
make
inquiries
and
from
there
to
go
out
to
his
factory
in
the
Faubourg
Saint-Antoine
and
cancel
the
shipment
to
London
for
the
present
.
That
night
in
bed
,
just
before
falling
asleep
,
he
had
a
brilliant
idea
:
in
light
of
the
hostilities
about
to
break
out
over
the
colonies
in
the
New
World
,
he
would
launch
a
perfume
under
the
name
of
Prestige
du
Quebec
,
a
heroic
,
resinous
scent
,
whose
success-this
much
was
certain-would
more
than
repay
him
for
the
loss
of
business
with
England
.
With
that
sweet
thought
in
his
silly
old
head
,
relieved
and
bedded
now
on
its
pillow
,
beneath
which
the
pressure
of
the
little
book
of
formulas
was
pleasantly
palpable
,
Maitre
Baldini
fell
asleep
and
awoke
no
more
in
this
life.For
that
night
a
minor
catastrophe
occurred
,
which
,
with
appropriate
delays
,
resulted
in
a
royal
decree
requiring
that
little
by
little
all
the
buildings
on
all
the
bridges
of
Paris
be
torn
down
.
For
with
no
apparent
reason
,
the
west
side
of
the
Pont-au-Change
,
between
the
third
and
fourth
piers
,
collapsed
.
Two
buildings
were
hurtled
into
the
river
,
so
completely
and
suddenly
that
none
of
their
occupants
could
be
rescued
.
Fortunately
,
it
was
a
matter
of
only
two
persons
,
to
wit
:
Giuseppe
Baldini
and
his
wife
,
Teresa
.
The
servants
had
gone
out
,
either
with
or
without
permission
.
Chenier
,
who
first
returned
home
in
the
small
hours
slightly
drunk-or
rather
,
intended
to
return
home
,
since
there
was
no
home
left-suffered
a
nervous
breakdown
.
He
had
sacrificed
thirty
long
years
of
his
life
in
hopes
of
being
named
heir
in
Baldini
's
will
,
for
the
old
man
had
neither
children
nor
relatives
And
now
,
at
one
blow
,
the
entire
inheritance
was
gone
,
everything
,
house
,
business
,
raw
materials
,
laboratory
,
Baldini
himself-indeed
even
the
will
,
which
perhaps
might
have
offered
him
a
chance
of
becoming
owner
of
the
factory.Nothing
was
found
,
not
the
bodies
,
not
the
safe
,
not
the
little
books
with
their
six
hundred
formulas
.
Only
one
thing
remained
of
Giuseppe
Baldini
,
Europe
's
greatest
perfumer
:
a
very
motley
odor-of
musk
,
cinnamon
,
vinegar
,
lavender
,
and
a
thousand
other
things-that
took
several
weeks
to
float
high
above
the
Seine
from
Paris
to
Le
Havre
.
WHEN
THE
House
of
Giuseppe
Baldini
collapsed
,
Grenouille
was
already
on
the
road
to
Orleans
.
He
had
left
the
enveloping
haze
of
the
city
behind
him
;
and
with
every
step
he
took
away
from
it
,
the
air
about
him
grew
clearer
,
purer
,
and
cleaner
.
It
became
thinner
as
well
.
Gone
was
the
roiling
of
hundreds
,
thousands
of
changing
odors
at
every
pace
;
instead
,
the
few
odors
there
were-of
the
sandy
road
,
meadows
,
the
earth
,
plants
,
water-extended
across
the
countryside
in
long
currents
,
swelling
slowly
,
abating
slowly
,
with
hardly
an
abrupt
break.For
Grenouille
,
this
simplicity
seemed
a
deliverance
.
The
leisurely
odors
coaxed
his
nose
.
For
the
first
time
in
his
life
he
did
not
have
to
prepare
himself
to
catch
the
scent
of
something
new
,
unexpected
,
hostile
-
or
to
lose
a
pleasant
smell-with
every
breath
.
For
the
first
time
he
could
almost
breathe
freely
,
did
not
constantly
have
to
be
on
the
olfactory
lookout
.
We
say
"
almost
,
"
for
of
course
nothing
ever
passed
truly
freely
through
Grenouille
's
nose
.
Even
when
there
was
not
the
least
reason
for
it
,
he
was
always
alert
to
,
always
wary
of
everything
that
came
from
outside
and
had
to
be
let
inside
.
His
whole
life
long
,
even
in
those
few
moments
when
he
had
experienced
some
inkling
of
satisfaction
,
contentment
,
and
perhaps
even
happiness
,
he
had
preferred
exhaling
to
inhaling-just
as
he
had
begun
life
not
with
a
hopeful
gasp
for
air
but
with
a
bloodcurdling
scream
.
But
except
for
that
one
proviso
,
which
for
him
was
simply
a
constitutional
limitation
,
the
farther
Grenouille
got
from
Paris
,
the
better
he
felt
,
the
more
easily
he
breathed
,
the
lighter
his
step
,
until
he
even
managed
sporadically
to
carry
himself
erect
,
so
that
when
seen
from
a
distance
he
looked
almost
like
an
ordinary
itinerant
journeyman
,
like
a
perfectly
normal
human
being.Most
liberating
for
him
was
the
fact
that
other
people
were
so
far
away
.
More
people
lived
more
densely
packed
in
Paris
than
in
any
other
city
in
the
world
.
Six
,
seven
hundred
thousand
people
lived
in
Paris
.
Its
streets
and
squares
teemed
with
them
,
and
the
houses
were
crammed
full
of
them
from
cellars
to
attics
.
There
was
hardly
a
corner
of
Paris
that
was
not
paralyzed
with
people
,
not
a
stone
,
not
a
patch
of
earth
that
did
not
reek
of
humans.As
he
began
to
withdraw
from
them
,
it
became
clear
to
Grenouille
for
the
first
time
that
for
eighteen
years
their
compacted
human
effluvium
had
oppressed
him
like
air
heavy
with
an
imminent
thunderstorm
.
Until
now
he
had
thought
that
it
was
the
world
in
general
he
wanted
to
squirm
away
from
.
But
it
was
not
the
world
,
it
was
the
people
in
it
.
You
could
live
,
so
it
seemed
,
in
this
world
,
in
this
world
devoid
of
humanity.On
the
third
day
of
his
journey
he
found
himself
under
the
influence
of
the
olfactory
gravity
of
Orleans
.
Long
before
any
visible
sign
indicated
that
he
was
in
the
vicinity
of
a
city
,
Grenouille
sensed
a
condensation
of
human
stuff
in
the
air
and
,
reversing
his
original
plan
,
decided
to
avoid
Orleans
.
He
did
not
want
to
have
his
newfound
respiratory
freedom
ruined
so
soon
by
the
sultry
climate
of
humans
.
He
circled
the
city
in
a
giant
arc
,
came
upon
the
Loire
at
Chateauneuf
,
and
crossed
it
at
Sully
.
His
sausage
lasted
that
far
.
He
bought
himself
a
new
one
and
,
leaving
the
river
behind
,
pushed
on
to
the
interior.He
now
avoided
not
just
cities
,
but
villages
as
well
.
He
was
almost
intoxicated
by
air
that
grew
ever
more
rarefied
,
ever
more
devoid
of
humankind
.
He
would
approach
a
settlement
or
some
isolated
farm
only
to
get
new
supplies
,
buying
his
bread
and
disappearing
again
into
the
woods
.
After
a
few
weeks
even
those
few
travelers
he
met
on
out-of-the-way
paths
proved
too
much
for
him
;
he
could
no
longer
bear
the
concentrated
odor
that
appeared
punctually
with
farmers
out
to
mow
the
first
hay
on
the
meadows
.
He
nervously
skirted
every
herd
of
sheep-not
because
of
the
sheep
,
but
to
get
away
from
the
odor
of
the
shepherds
.
He
headed
straight
across
country
and
put
up
with
mile-long
detours
whenever
he
caught
the
scent
of
a
troop
of
riders
still
several
hours
distant
.
Not
because
,
like
other
itinerant
journeymen
and
vagabonds
,
he
feared
being
stopped
and
asked
for
his
papers
and
then
perhaps
pressed
into
military
service
-
he
did
n't
even
know
there
was
a
war
on-but
solely
because
he
was
disgusted
by
the
human
smell
of
the
horsemen
.
And
so
it
happened
quite
naturally
and
as
the
result
of
no
particular
decision
that
his
plan
to
take
the
fastest
road
to
Grasse
gradually
faded
;
the
plan
unraveled
in
freedom
,
so
to
speak
,
as
did
all
his
other
plans
and
intentions
.
