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NOT
FAR
FROM
the
Porte
des
F6n6ants
,
in
the
rue
de
la
Louve
,
Grenouille
discovered
a
small
perfumer
's
workshop
and
asked
for
a
job.It
turned
out
that
the
proprietor
,
maitre
parfumeur
Honore
Arnulfi
,
had
died
the
winter
before
and
that
his
widow
,
a
lively
,
black-haired
woman
of
perhaps
thirty
,
was
managing
the
business
alone
,
with
the
help
of
a
journeyman.After
complaining
at
length
about
the
bad
times
and
her
own
precarious
financial
situation
,
Madame
Arnulfi
declared
that
she
really
could
not
afford
a
second
journeyman
,
but
on
the
other
hand
she
needed
one
for
all
the
upcoming
work
;
that
she
could
not
possibly
put
up
a
second
journeyman
here
in
the
house
,
but
on
the
other
hand
she
did
have
at
her
disposal
a
small
cabin
in
an
olive
grove
behind
the
Franciscan
cloister-not
ten
minutes
away-in
which
a
young
man
of
modest
needs
could
sleep
in
a
pinch
;
further
,
that
as
an
honest
mistress
she
certainly
knew
that
she
was
responsible
for
the
physical
well-being
of
her
journeymen
,
but
that
on
the
other
hand
she
did
not
see
herself
in
a
position
to
provide
two
warm
meals
a
day-in
short
(
as
Grenouille
had
of
course
smelled
for
some
time
already
)
:
Madame
Amulfi
was
a
woman
of
solid
prosperity
and
sound
business
sense
.
And
since
he
was
not
concerned
about
money
and
declared
himself
satisfied
with
a
salary
of
two
francs
a
week
and
with
the
other
niggardly
provisions
,
they
quickly
came
to
an
agreement
.
The
first
journeyman
was
called
in
,
a
giant
of
a
man
named
Druot
.
Grenouille
at
once
guessed
that
he
regularly
shared
Madame
's
bed
and
that
she
apparently
did
not
make
certain
decisions
without
first
consulting
him
.
With
legs
spread
wide
and
exuding
a
cloud
of
spermy
odor
,
he
planted
himself
before
Grenouille
,
who
looked
ridiculously
frail
in
the
presence
of
this
Hun
,
and
inspected
him
,
looked
him
straight
in
the
eye-as
if
this
technique
would
allow
him
to
recognize
any
improper
intentions
or
a
possible
rival-finally
grinned
patronizingly
,
and
signaled
his
agreement
with
a
nod.That
settled
it
.
Grenouille
got
a
handshake
,
a
cold
evening
snack
,
a
blanket
,
and
a
key
to
the
cabin-a
windowless
shack
that
smelled
pleasantly
of
old
sheep
dung
and
hay
,
where
he
made
himself
at
home
as
well
as
he
could
.
The
next
day
he
began
work
for
Madame
Arnulfi.It
was
jonquil
season
.
Madame
Arnulfi
had
the
flowers
grown
on
small
parcels
of
land
that
she
owned
in
the
broad
basin
below
the
city
,
or
she
bought
them
from
farmers
,
with
whom
she
haggled
fiercely
over
every
ounce
.
The
blossoms
were
delivered
very
early
in
the
morning
,
emptied
out
in
the
workshop
by
the
basketfuls
into
massive
but
lightweight
and
fragrant
piles
.
Meanwhile
,
in
a
large
caldron
Druot
melted
pork
lard
and
beef
tallow
to
make
a
creamy
soup
into
which
he
pitched
shovelfuls
of
fresh
blossoms
,
while
Grenouille
constantly
had
to
stir
it
all
with
a
spatula
as
long
as
a
broom
.
They
lay
on
the
surface
for
a
moment
,
like
eyes
facing
instant
death
,
and
lost
all
color
the
moment
the
spatula
pushed
them
down
into
the
warm
,
oily
embrace
.
And
at
almost
the
same
moment
they
wilted
and
withered
,
and
death
apparently
came
so
rapidly
upon
them
that
they
had
no
choice
but
to
exhale
their
last
fragrant
sighs
into
the
very
medium
that
drowned
them
;
for-and
Gre-aouille
observed
this
with
indescribable
fascination
-
the
more
blossoms
he
stirred
under
into
the
caldron
,
the
sweeter
the
scent
of
the
oil
.
And
it
was
not
that
the
dead
blossoms
continued
to
give
off
scent
there
in
the
oil-no
,
the
oil
itself
had
appropriated
the
scent
of
the
blossoms.Now
and
then
the
soup
got
too
thick
,
and
they
had
to
pour
it
quickly
through
a
sieve
,
freeing
it
of
macerated
cadavers
to
make
room
for
fresh
blossoms
.
Then
they
dumped
and
mixed
and
sieved
some
more
,
all
day
long
without
pause
,
for
the
procedure
allowed
no
delays
,
until
,
as
evening
approached
,
all
the
piles
of
blossoms
had
passed
through
the
caldron
of
oil
.
Then-so
that
nothing
might
be
wasted-the
refuse
was
steeped
in
boiling
water
and
wrung
out
to
the
last
drop
in
a
screw
press
,
yielding
still
more
mildly
fragrant
oil
.
The
majority
of
the
scent
,
however
,
the
soul
of
the
sea
of
blossoms
,
had
remained
in
the
caldron
,
trapped
and
preserved
in
an
unsightly
,
slowly
congealing
grayish
white
grease.The
following
day
,
the
maceration
,
as
this
procedure
was
called
,
continued-the
caldron
was
heated
once
again
,
the
oil
melted
and
fed
with
new
blossoms
.
This
went
on
for
several
days
,
from
morning
till
evening
.
It
was
tiring
work
.
Grenouille
had
arms
of
lead
,
calluses
on
his
hands
,
and
pains
in
his
back
as
he
staggered
back
to
his
cabin
in
the
evening
.
Although
Druot
was
at
least
three
times
as
strong
as
he
,
he
did
not
once
take
a
turn
at
stirring
,
but
was
quite
content
to
pour
in
more
feather-light
blossoms
,
to
tend
the
fire
,
and
now
and
then
,
because
of
the
heat
,
to
go
out
for
a
drink
.
But
Grenouille
did
not
mutiny
.
He
stirred
the
blossoms
into
the
oil
without
complaint
,
from
morning
till
night
,
and
hardly
noticed
the
exertion
of
stirring
,
for
he
was
continually
fascinated
by
the
process
taking
place
before
his
eyes
and
under
his
nose
:
the
sudden
withering
of
the
blossoms
and
the
absorption
of
their
scent.After
a
while
,
Druot
would
decide
that
the
oil
was
finally
saturated
and
could
absorb
no
more
scent
.
He
would
extinguish
the
fire
,
sieve
the
viscous
soup
one
last
time
,
and
pour
it
into
stoneware
crocks
,
where
almost
immediately
it
solidified
to
a
wonderfully
fragrant
pomade.This
was
the
moment
for
Madame
Araulfi
,
who
came
to
assay
the
precious
product
,
to
label
it
,
and
to
record
in
her
books
the
exact
quality
and
quantity
of
the
yield
.
After
she
had
personally
capped
the
crocks
,
had
sealed
them
and
borne
them
to
the
cool
depths
of
her
cellar
,
she
donned
her
black
dress
,
took
out
her
widow
's
veil
,
and
made
the
rounds
of
the
city
's
wholesalers
and
vendors
of
perfume
.
In
touching
phrases
she
described
to
these
gentlemen
her
situation
as
a
woman
left
all
on
her
own
,
let
them
make
their
offers
,
compared
the
prices
,
sighed
,
and
finally
sold
--
or
did
not
sell
.
Perfumed
pomades
,
when
stored
in
a
cool
place
,
keep
for
a
long
time
.
And
when
the
price
leaves
something
to
be
desired
,
who
knows
,
perhaps
it
will
climb
again
come
winter
or
next
spring
.
Also
you
had
to
consider
whether
instead
of
selling
to
these
hucksters
you
ought
not
to
join
with
other
small
producers
and
together
ship
a
load
of
pomade
to
Genoa
or
share
in
a
convoy
to
the
autumn
fair
in
Beaucaire-risky
enterprises
,
to
be
sure
,
but
extremely
profitable
when
successful
.
Madame
Arnulfi
carefully
weighed
these
various
possibilities
against
one
another
,
and
sometimes
she
would
indeed
sign
a
contract
,
selling
a
portion
of
her
treasure
,
but
hold
another
portion
of
it
in
reserve
,
and
risk
negotiating
for
a
third
part
all
on
her
own
.
But
if
during
her
inquiries
she
had
got
the
impression
that
there
was
a
glut
on
the
pomade
market
and
that
in
the
foreseeable
future
there
would
be
no
scarcity
to
her
advantage
,
she
would
hurry
back
home
,
her
veil
wafting
behind
her
,
and
give
Druot
instructions
to
subject
the
whole
yield
to
a
lavage
and
transform
it
into
an
essence
absolue.And
the
pomade
would
be
brought
up
again
from
the
cellar
,
carefully
warmed
in
tightly
covered
pots
,
diluted
with
rectified
spirits
,
and
thoroughly
blended
and
washed
with
the
help
of
a
built-in
stirring
apparatus
that
Grenouille
operated
.
Returned
to
the
cellar
,
this
mixture
quickly
cooled
;
the
alcohol
separated
from
the
congealed
oil
of
the
pomade
and
could
be
drained
off
into
a
bottle
.
A
kind
of
perfume
had
been
produced
,
but
one
of
enormous
intensity
,
while
the
pomade
that
was
left
behind
had
lost
most
of
its
fragrance
.
Thus
the
fragrance
of
the
blossoms
had
been
transferred
to
yet
another
medium
.
But
the
operation
was
still
not
at
an
end
.
After
carefully
filtering
the
perfumed
alcohol
through
gauze
that
retained
the
least
little
clump
of
oil
,
Druot
filled
a
small
alembic
and
distilled
it
slowly
over
a
minimum
flame
.
What
remained
in
the
matrass
was
a
tiny
quantity
of
a
pale-hued
liquid
that
Grenouille
knew
quite
well
,
but
had
never
smelled
in
such
quality
and
purity
either
at
Baldini
's
or
Runel
's
:
the
finest
oil
of
the
blossom
,
its
polished
scent
concentrated
a
hundred
times
over
to
a
little
puddle
of
essence
absolue
.
This
essence
no
longer
had
a
sweet
fragrance
.
Its
smell
was
almost
painfully
intense
,
pungent
,
and
acrid
.
And
yet
one
single
drop
,
when
dissolved
in
a
quart
of
alcohol
,
sufficed
to
revitalize
it
and
resurrect
a
whole
field
of
flowers.The
yield
was
frightfully
small
.
The
liquid
from
the
matrass
filled
three
little
flacons
and
no
more
.
Nothing
was
left
from
the
scent
of
hundreds
of
thousands
of
blossoms
except
those
three
flacons
.
But
they
were
worth
a
fortune
,
even
here
in
Grasse
.
And
worth
how
much
more
once
delivered
to
Paris
or
Lyon
,
to
Grenoble
,
Genoa
,
or
Marseille
!
Madame
Arnulfi
's
glance
was
suffused
with
beauty
when
she
looked
at
the
little
bottles
,
she
caressed
them
with
her
eyes
;
and
when
she
picked
them
up
and
stoppered
them
with
snugly
fitting
glass
stoppers
,
she
held
her
breath
to
prevent
even
the
least
bit
of
the
precious
contents
from
being
blown
away
.
And
to
make
sure
that
after
stoppering
not
the
tiniest
atom
would
evaporate
and
escape
,
she
sealed
them
with
wax
and
encapsulated
them
in
a
fish
bladder
tightly
tied
around
the
neck
of
the
bottle
Then
she
placed
them
in
a
crate
stuffed
with
wadded
cotton
and
put
them
under
lock
and
key
in
the
cellar
.
IN
APRIL
THEY
macerated
broom
and
orange
blossoms
,
in
May
a
sea
of
roses
,
the
scent
from
which
submerged
the
city
in
a
creamy
,
sweet
,
invisible
fog
for
a
whole
month
.
Grenouille
worked
like
a
horse
.
Self-effacing
and
as
acquiescent
as
a
slave
,
he
did
every
menial
chore
Druot
assigned
him
.
But
all
the
while
he
stirred
,
spatulated
,
washed
out
tubs
,
cleaned
the
workshop
,
or
lugged
firewood
with
apparent
mindlessness
,
nothing
of
the
essential
business
,
nothing
of
the
metamorphosis
of
scent
,
escaped
his
notice
.
Grenouille
used
his
nose
to
observe
and
monitor
more
closely
than
Druot
ever
could
have
the
migration
of
scent
of
the
flower
petals-through
the
oil
and
then
via
alcohol
to
the
precious
little
flacons
.
Long
before
Druot
noticed
it
,
he
would
smell
when
the
oil
was
overheated
,
smell
when
the
blossoms
were
exhausted
,
when
the
broth
was
impregnated
with
scent
.
He
could
smell
what
was
happening
in
the
interior
of
the
mixing
pots
and
the
precise
moment
when
the
distilling
had
to
be
stopped
.
And
occasionally
he
let
this
be
known-of
course
,
quite
unassumingly
and
without
abandoning
his
submissive
demeanor
.
It
seemed
to
him
,
he
said
,
that
the
oil
might
possibly
be
getting
too
hot
;
he
almost
thought
that
they
could
filter
shortly
;
he
somehow
had
the
feeling
that
the
alcohol
in
the
alembic
had
evaporated
now
...
And
in
time
Druot
,
who
was
not
fabulously
intelligent
,
but
not
a
complete
idiot
either
,
came
to
realize
that
his
decisions
turned
out
for
the
best
when
he
did
or
ordered
to
be
done
whatever
Grenouille
"
almost
thought
"
or
"
somehow
had
a
feeling
about
.
"
And
since
Grenouille
was
never
cocky
or
know-it-all
when
he
said
what
he
thought
or
felt
,
and
because
he
never-particularly
never
in
the
presence
of
Madame
Arnulfi
!
-
cast
Druofs
authority
and
superior
position
of
first
journeyman
in
doubt
,
not
even
ironically
,
Druot
saw
no
reason
not
to
follow
Grenouille
's
advice
or
,
as
time
went
on
,
not
to
leave
more
and
more
decisions
entirely
to
his
discretion.It
was
increasingly
the
case
that
Grenouille
did
not
just
do
the
stirring
,
but
also
the
feeding
,
the
heating
,
and
the
sieving
,
while
Druot
stepped
round
to
the
Quatre
Dauphins
for
a
glass
of
wine
or
went
upstairs
to
check
out
how
things
were
doing
with
Madame
.
He
knew
that
he
could
depend
on
Grenouille
.
And
although
it
meant
twice
the
work
,
Grenouille
enjoyed
being
alone
,
perfecting
himself
in
these
new
arts
and
trying
an
occasional
experiment
.
And
with
malicious
delight
,
he
discovered
that
the
pomades
he
made
were
incomparably
finer
,
that
his
essence
absolue
was
several
percent
purer
than
those
that
he
produced
together
with
Druot.Jasmine
season
began
at
the
end
of
July
,
August
was
for
tuberoses
.
The
perfume
of
these
two
flowers
was
both
so
exquisite
and
so
fragile
that
not
only
did
the
blossoms
have
to
be
picked
before
sunrise
,
but
they
also
demanded
the
most
gentle
and
special
handling
.
Warmth
diminished
their
scent
;
suddenly
to
plunge
them
into
hot
,
macerating
oil
would
have
completely
destroyed
it
.
The
souls
of
these
noblest
of
blossoms
could
not
be
simply
ripped
from
them
,
they
had
to
be
methodically
coaxed
away
.
In
a
special
impregnating
room
,
the
flowers
were
strewn
on
glass
plates
smeared
with
cool
oil
or
wrapped
in
oil-soaked
cloths
;
there
they
would
die
slowly
in
their
sleep
.
It
took
three
or
four
days
for
them
to
wither
and
exhale
their
scent
into
the
adhering
oil
.
Then
they
were
carefully
plucked
off
and
new
blossoms
spread
out
.
This
procedure
was
repeated
a
good
ten
,
twenty
times
,
and
it
was
September
before
the
pomade
had
drunk
its
fill
and
the
fragrant
oil
could
be
pressed
from
the
cloths
.
The
yield
was
considerably
less
than
with
maceration
.
But
in
purity
and
verisimilitude
,
the
quality
of
the
jasmine
paste
or
the
huile
antique
de
tubereuse
won
by
such
a
cold
enfleurage
exceeded
that
of
any
other
product
of
the
perfumer
's
art
.
Particularly
with
jasmine
,
it
seemed
as
if
the
oiled
surface
were
a
mirror
image
that
radiated
the
sticky-sweet
,
erotic
scent
of
the
blossom
with
lifelike
fidelity-cum
grano
sails
,
of
course
.
For
Grenouille
's
nose
obviously
recognized
the
difference
between
the
odor
of
the
blossoms
and
their
preserved
scent
:
the
specific
odor
of
the
oil-no
matter
how
pure-lay
like
a
gossamer
veil
over
the
fragrant
tableau
of
the
original
,
softening
it
,
gently
diluting
its
bravado-and
,
perhaps
,
only
then
making
its
beauty
bearable
for
normal
people
...
But
in
any
case
,
cold
enfleurage
was
the
most
refined
and
effective
method
to
capture
delicate
scents
.
There
was
no
better
.
And
even
if
the
method
was
not
good
enough
completely
to
satisfy
Grenouille
's
nose
,
he
knew
quite
well
that
it
would
suffice
a
thousand
times
over
for
duping
a
world
of
numbed
noses
.
