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So
much
was
certain
:
at
age
thirty-five
,
this
bastard
Pelissier
already
possessed
a
larger
fortune
than
he
,
Baldini
,
had
finally
accumulated
after
three
generations
of
constant
hard
work
.
And
Pelissier
's
grew
daily
,
while
his
,
Baldini
's
,
daily
shrank
.
That
sort
of
thing
would
not
have
been
even
remotely
possible
before
!
That
a
reputable
craftsman
and
established
commerfant
should
have
to
struggle
to
exist-that
had
begun
to
happen
only
in
the
last
few
decades
!
And
only
since
this
hectic
mania
for
novelty
had
broken
out
in
every
quarter
,
this
desperate
desire
for
action
,
this
craze
of
experimentation
,
this
rodomontade
in
commerce
,
in
trade
,
and
in
the
sciences!Or
this
insanity
about
speed
.
What
was
the
need
for
all
these
new
roads
being
dug
up
everywhere
,
and
these
new
bridges
?
What
purpose
did
they
serve
?
What
was
the
advantage
of
being
in
Lyon
within
a
week
?
Who
set
any
store
by
that
?
Whom
did
it
profit
?
Or
crossing
the
Atlantic
,
racing
to
America
in
a
month-as
if
people
had
n't
got
along
without
that
continent
for
thousands
of
years
.
What
had
civilized
man
lost
that
he
was
looking
for
out
there
in
jungles
inhabited
by
Indians
or
Negroes
.
People
even
traveled
to
Lapland
,
up
there
in
the
north
,
with
its
eternal
ice
and
savages
who
gorged
themselves
on
raw
fish
.
And
now
they
hoped
to
discover
yet
another
continent
that
was
said
to
lie
in
the
South
Pacific
,
wherever
that
might
be
.
And
why
all
this
insanity
?
Because
the
others
were
doing
the
same
,
the
Spaniards
,
the
damned
English
,
the
impertinent
Dutch
,
whom
you
then
had
to
go
out
and
fight
,
which
you
could
n't
in
the
least
afford
.
One
of
those
battleships
easily
cost
a
good
300,000
livres
,
and
a
single
cannon
shot
would
sink
it
in
five
minutes
,
for
good
and
all
,
paid
for
with
our
taxes
.
The
minister
of
finance
had
recently
demanded
one-tenth
of
all
income
,
and
that
was
simply
ruinous
,
even
if
you
did
n't
pay
Monsieur
his
tithe
.
The
very
attitude
was
perverse.Man
's
misfortune
stems
from
the
fact
that
he
does
not
want
to
stay
in
the
room
where
he
belongs
.
Pascal
said
that
.
And
Pascal
was
a
great
man
,
a
Frangipani
of
the
intellect
,
a
real
craftsman
,
so
to
speak
,
and
no
one
wants
one
of
those
anymore
.
People
read
incendiary
books
now
by
Huguenots
or
Englishmen
.
Or
they
write
tracts
or
so-called
scientific
masterpieces
that
put
anything
and
everything
in
question
.
Nothing
is
supposed
to
be
right
anymore
,
suddenly
everything
ought
to
be
different
.
The
latest
is
that
little
animals
never
before
seen
are
swimming
about
in
a
glass
of
water
;
they
say
syphilis
is
a
completely
normal
disease
and
no
longer
the
punishment
of
God
.
God
did
n't
make
the
world
in
seven
days
,
it
's
said
,
but
over
millions
of
years
,
if
it
was
He
at
all
.
Savages
are
human
beings
like
us
;
we
raise
our
children
wrong
;
and
the
earth
is
no
longer
round
like
it
was
,
but
flat
on
the
top
and
bottom
like
a
melon-as
if
that
made
a
damn
bit
of
difference
!
In
every
field
,
people
question
and
bore
and
scrutinize
and
pry
and
dabble
with
experiments
.
It
's
no
longer
enough
for
a
man
to
say
that
something
is
so
or
how
it
is
so-everything
now
has
to
be
proven
besides
,
preferably
with
witnesses
and
numbers
and
one
or
another
of
these
ridiculous
experiments
.
These
Diderots
and
d'Alemberts
and
Voltaires
and
Rousseaus
or
whatever
names
these
scribblers
have-there
are
even
clerics
among
them
and
gentlemen
of
noble
birth
!
-
they
've
finally
managed
to
infect
the
whole
society
with
their
perfidious
fidgets
,
with
their
sheer
delight
in
discontent
and
their
unwillingness
to
be
satisfied
with
anything
in
this
world
,
in
short
,
with
the
boundless
chaos
that
reigns
inside
their
own
heads!Wherever
you
looked
,
hectic
excitement
.
People
reading
books
,
even
women
.
Priests
dawdling
in
coffeehouses
.
And
if
the
police
intervened
and
stuck
one
of
the
chief
scoundrels
in
prison
,
publishers
howled
and
submitted
petitions
,
ladies
and
gentlemen
of
the
highest
rank
used
their
influence
,
and
within
a
couple
of
weeks
he
was
set
free
or
allowed
out
of
the
country
,
from
where
he
went
right
on
with
his
unconscionable
pamphleteering
.
In
the
salons
people
chattered
about
nothing
but
the
orbits
of
comets
and
expeditions
,
about
leverage
and
Newton
,
about
building
canals
,
the
circulation
of
the
blood
,
and
the
diameter
of
the
earth.The
king
himself
had
had
them
demonstrate
some
sort
of
newfangled
nonsense
,
a
kind
of
artificial
thunderstorm
they
called
electricity
.
With
the
whole
court
looking
on
,
some
fellow
rubbed
a
bottle
,
and
it
gave
off
a
spark
,
and
His
Majesty
,
so
it
was
said
,
appeared
deeply
impressed
.
Unthinkable
!
that
his
great-grandfather
,
the
truly
great
Louis
,
under
whose
beneficent
reign
Baldini
had
been
lucky
enough
to
have
lived
for
many
years
,
would
have
allowed
such
a
ridiculous
demonstration
in
his
presence
.
But
that
was
the
temper
of
the
times
,
and
it
would
all
come
to
a
bad
end
.
When
,
without
the
least
embarrassment
,
people
could
brazenly
call
into
question
the
authority
of
God
's
Church
;
when
they
could
speak
of
the
monarchy-equally
a
creature
of
God
's
grace-and
the
sacred
person
of
the
king
himself
as
if
they
were
both
simply
interchangeable
items
in
a
catalog
of
various
forms
of
government
to
be
selected
on
a
whim
;
when
they
had
the
ultimate
audacity-and
have
it
they
did-to
describe
God
Himself
,
the
Almighty
,
Very
God
of
Very
God
,
as
dispensable
and
to
maintain
in
all
earnestness
that
order
,
morals
,
and
happiness
on
this
earth
could
be
conceived
of
without
Him
,
purely
as
matters
of
man
's
inherent
morality
and
reason
...
God
,
good
God
!
-
then
you
need
n't
wonder
that
everything
was
turned
upside
down
,
that
morals
had
degenerated
,
and
that
humankind
had
brought
down
upon
itself
the
judgment
of
Him
whom
it
denied
.
It
would
come
to
a
bad
end
.
The
great
comet
of
1681-they
had
mocked
it
,
calling
it
a
mere
clump
of
stars
,
while
in
truth
it
was
an
omen
sent
by
God
in
warning
,
for
it
had
portended
,
as
was
clear
by
now
,
a
century
of
decline
and
disintegration
,
ending
in
the
spiritual
,
political
,
and
religious
quagmire
that
man
had
created
for
himself
,
into
which
he
would
one
day
sink
and
where
only
glossy
,
stinking
swamp
flowers
flourished
,
like
Pelissier
himself!Baidini
stood
at
the
window
,
an
old
man
,
and
gazed
malevolently
at
the
sun
angled
above
the
river
.
Barges
emerged
beneath
him
and
slid
slowly
to
the
west
,
toward
the
Pont-Neuf
and
the
quay
below
the
galleries
of
the
Louvre
.
No
one
poled
barges
against
the
current
here
,
for
that
they
used
the
channel
on
the
other
side
of
the
island
.
Here
everything
flowed
away
from
you-the
empty
and
the
heavily
laden
ships
,
the
rowboats
,
and
the
flat-bottomed
punts
of
the
fishermen
,
the
dirty
brown
and
the
golden-curled
water
--
everything
flowed
away
,
slowly
,
broadly
,
and
inevitably
.
And
if
Baldini
looked
directly
below
him
,
straight
down
the
wall
,
it
seemed
to
him
as
if
the
flowing
water
were
sucking
the
foundations
of
the
bridge
with
it
,
and
he
grew
dizzy.He
had
made
a
mistake
buying
a
house
on
the
bridge
,
and
a
second
when
he
selected
one
on
the
western
side
.
Because
constantly
before
his
eyes
now
was
a
river
flowing
from
him
;
and
it
was
as
if
he
himself
and
his
house
and
the
wealth
he
had
accumulated
over
many
decades
were
flowing
away
like
the
river
,
while
he
was
too
old
and
too
weak
to
oppose
the
powerful
current
.
Sometimes
when
he
had
business
on
the
left
bank
,
in
the
quarter
of
the
Sorbonne
or
around
Saint-Sulpice
,
he
would
not
walk
across
the
island
and
the
Pont-Saint-Michel
,
but
would
take
the
longer
way
across
the
Pont-Neuf
,
for
it
was
a
bridge
without
buildings
.
And
then
he
would
stand
at
the
eastern
parapet
and
gaze
up
the
river
,
just
for
once
to
see
everything
flowing
toward
him
;
and
for
a
few
moments
he
basked
in
the
notion
that
his
life
had
been
turned
around
,
that
his
business
was
prospering
,
his
family
thriving
,
that
women
threw
themselves
at
him
,
that
his
own
life
,
instead
of
dwindling
away
,
was
growing
and
growing
But
then
,
if
he
lifted
his
gaze
the
least
bit
,
he
could
see
his
own
house
,
tall
and
spindly
and
fragile
,
several
hundred
yards
away
on
the
Pont-au-Change
,
and
he
saw
the
window
of
his
study
on
the
second
floor
and
saw
himself
standing
there
at
the
window
,
saw
himself
looking
out
at
the
river
and
watching
the
water
flow
away
,
just
as
now
.
And
then
the
beautiful
dream
would
vanish
,
and
Baldini
would
turn
away
from
where
he
had
stood
on
the
Pont-Neuf
,
more
despondent
than
before-as
despondent
as
he
was
now
,
turning
away
from
the
window
and
taking
his
seat
at
his
desk
.
BEFORE
HIM
stood
the
flacon
with
Peiissier
's
perfume
.
Glistening
golden
brown
in
the
sunlight
,
the
liquid
was
clear
,
not
clouded
in
the
least
.
It
looked
totally
innocent
,
like
a
light
tea-and
yet
contained
,
in
addition
to
four-fifths
alcohol
,
one-fifth
of
a
mysterious
mixture
that
could
set
a
whole
city
trembling
with
excitement
.
The
mixture
,
moreover
,
might
consist
of
three
or
thirty
different
ingredients
,
prepared
from
among
countless
possibilities
in
very
precise
proportions
to
one
another
.
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.Baldini
blew
his
nose
carefully
and
pulled
down
the
blind
at
the
window
,
since
direct
sunlight
was
harmful
to
every
artificial
scent
or
refined
concentration
of
odors
.
He
pulled
a
fresh
white
lace
handkerchief
out
of
a
desk
drawer
and
unfolded
it
.
Then
,
holding
his
head
far
back
and
pinching
his
nostrils
together
,
he
opened
the
flacon
with
a
gentle
turn
of
the
stopper
.
He
did
not
want
,
for
God
's
sake
,
to
get
a
premature
olfactory
sensation
directly
from
the
bottle
.
Perfume
must
be
smelled
in
its
efflorescent
,
gaseous
state
,
never
as
a
concentrate
.
He
sprinkled
a
few
drops
onto
the
handkerchief
,
waved
it
in
the
air
to
drive
off
the
alcohol
,
and
then
held
it
to
his
nose
.
In
three
short
,
jerky
tugs
,
he
snatched
up
the
scent
as
if
it
were
a
powder
,
immediately
blew
it
out
again
,
fanned
himself
,
took
another
sniff
in
waltz
time
,
and
finally
drew
one
long
,
deep
breath
,
which
he
then
exhaled
slowly
with
several
pauses
,
as
if
letting
it
slide
down
a
long
,
gently
sloping
staircase
.
He
tossed
the
handkerchief
onto
his
desk
and
fell
back
into
his
armchair.The
perfume
was
disgustingly
good
.
That
miserable
Pelissier
was
unfortunately
a
virtuoso
.
A
master
,
to
heaven
's
shame
,
even
if
he
had
never
learned
one
thing
a
thousand
times
overt
Baldini
wished
he
had
created
it
himself
,
this
Amor
and
Psyche
.
There
was
nothing
common
about
it
.
An
absolute
classic-full
and
harmonious
.
And
for
all
that
,
fascinatingly
new
.
It
was
fresh
,
but
not
frenetic
.
It
was
floral
,
without
being
unctuous
.
It
possessed
depth
,
a
splendid
,
abiding
,
voluptuous
,
rich
brown
depth-and
yet
was
not
in
the
least
excessive
or
bombastic.Baldini
stood
up
almost
in
reverence
and
held
the
handkerchief
under
his
nose
once
again
.
"
Wonderful
,
wonderful
...
"
he
murmured
,
sniffing
greedily
.
"
It
has
a
cheerful
character
,
it
's
charming
,
it
's
like
a
melody
,
puts
you
in
a
good
mood
at
once
...
What
nonsense
,
a
good
mood
!
"
And
he
flung
the
handkerchief
back
onto
his
desk
in
anger
,
turned
away
,
and
walked
to
the
farthest
corner
of
the
room
,
as
if
ashamed
of
his
enthusiasm.Ridiculous
!
Letting
himself
be
swept
up
in
such
eulogies
-
"
like
a
melody
,
cheerful
,
wonderful
,
good
mood
.
"
How
idiotic
.
Childishly
idiotic
.
A
moment
's
impression
.
An
old
weakness
.
A
matter
of
temperament
.
Most
likely
his
Italian
blood
.
Judge
not
as
long
as
you
're
smelling
!
That
is
rule
number
one
,
Baldini
,
you
muttonhead
!
Smell
when
you
're
smelling
and
judge
after
you
have
smelled
!
Amor
and
Psyche
is
not
half
bad
as
a
perfume
.
A
thoroughly
successful
product
.
A
cleverly
managed
bit
of
concocting
.
If
not
to
say
conjuring
.
And
you
could
expect
nothing
but
conjuring
from
a
man
like
Pelissier
.
Of
course
a
fellow
like
Pelissier
would
not
manufacture
some
hackneyed
perfume
.
The
scoundrel
conjured
with
complete
mastery
of
his
art
,
confusing
your
sense
of
smell
with
its
perfect
harmony
.
In
the
classical
arts
of
scent
,
the
man
was
a
wolf
in
sheep
's
clothing
.
In
short
,
he
was
a
monster
with
talent
.
And
what
was
worse
,
a
perverter
of
the
true
faith.But
you
,
Baldini
,
are
not
going
to
be
fooled
.
You
were
surprised
for
a
moment
by
your
first
impression
of
this
concoction
.
But
do
you
know
how
it
will
smell
an
hour
from
now
when
its
volatile
ingredients
have
fled
and
the
central
structure
emerges
?
Or
how
it
will
smell
this
evening
when
all
that
is
still
perceptible
are
the
heavy
,
dark
components
that
now
lie
in
odorous
twilight
beneath
a
veil
of
flowers
?
Wait
and
see
,
Baldini!The
second
rule
is
:
perfume
lives
in
time
;
it
has
its
youth
,
its
maturity
,
and
its
old
age
.
And
only
if
it
gives
off
a
scent
equally
pleasant
at
all
three
different
stages
of
its
life
,
can
it
be
called
successful
.
How
often
have
we
not
discovered
that
a
mixture
that
smelled
delightfully
fresh
when
first
tested
,
after
a
brief
interval
was
more
like
rotten
fruit
,
and
finally
reeked
of
nothing
but
the
pure
civet
we
had
used
too
much
of
.
Utmost
caution
with
the
civet
!
One
drop
too
much
brings
catastrophe
.
An
old
source
of
error
.
Who
knows
--
perhaps
Pelissier
got
carried
away
with
the
civet
.
Perhaps
by
this
evening
all
that
's
left
of
his
ambitious
Amor
and
Psyche
will
be
just
a
whiff
of
cat
piss
.
We
shall
see.We
shall
smell
it
.
Just
as
a
sharp
ax
can
split
a
log
into
tiny
splinters
,
our
nose
will
fragment
every
detail
of
this
perfume
.
And
then
it
will
be
only
too
apparent
that
this
ostensibly
magical
scent
was
created
by
the
most
ordinary
,
familiar
methods
.
We
,
Baldini
,
perfumer
,
shall
catch
Pelissier
,
the
vinegar
man
,
at
his
tricks
.
We
shall
rip
the
mask
from
his
ugly
face
and
show
the
innovator
just
what
the
old
craft
is
capable
of
.
We
'll
scrupulously
imitate
his
mixture
,
his
fashionable
perfume
.
It
will
be
born
anew
in
our
hands
,
so
perfectly
copied
that
the
humbug
himself
wo
n't
be
able
to
tell
it
from
his
own
.
No
!
That
's
not
enough
!
We
shall
improve
on
it
!
We
'll
show
up
his
mistakes
and
rinse
them
away
,
and
then
rub
his
nose
in
it
.
You
're
a
bungler
,
Pelissier
!
An
old
stinker
is
what
you
are
!
An
upstart
in
the
craft
of
perfumery
,
and
nothing
more.And
now
to
work
,
Baldini
!
Sharpen
your
nose
and
smell
without
sentimentality
!
Dissect
the
scent
by
the
rules
of
the
art
!
You
must
have
the
formula
by
this
evening!And
he
made
a
dive
for
his
desk
,
grabbing
paper
,
ink
,
and
a
fresh
handkerchief
,
laid
it
all
out
properly
,
and
began
his
analysis
