Perfume: The Story of a Murderer Page #5

allowing the essence

to condense here

until it finally appears

here.

Of course,

out on the hillside above Grasse

we had only to bellow

pure, fresh air.

Ah, Grasse. What a town.

The Rome of scents.

The Promised Land of perfume.

No man can rightly

call himself a perfumer

unless he has proved his worth

in that hallowed place.

Not to worry.

Happens all the time.

To Grasse.

Master.

Look.

The very soul of the rose.

Jean-Baptiste.

What's wrong?

Jean-Baptiste.

What have you done?

- You lied.

- What?

You lied to me.

How dare you talk to me like that.

You said I could capture

the scent of anything.

And so you can.

What do you smell?

What do you smell?

Nothing.

What were you expecting to smell?

Glass.

But glass doesn't smell.

Course it does.

What's this?

I don't smell a thing.

It should smell like copper!

Enough!

You were trying to distill

the smell of copper?

Iron? Glass? Copper?

What else did you try?

No!

Have you gone completely insane?

You told me I had to experiment.

Experiment? Experiment?

But not with the cat.

What kind of a human being are you?

Don't you know anything?

You can no more distill

the scent of a cat

than you can distill

the scent of you or me.

I can't?

Of course not!

He is in stadio ultimo.

- What?

- He's dying.

Is there nothing you can do?

- I fear not.

- No! He cannot die.

Well, my fee is 50 francs.

You charlatan!

You can't even name the disease!

No! Jean-Baptiste!

You cannot do this to me.

Not now. Not yet.

Is there

any other way

to preserve smell

besides distill it?

Jean-Baptiste?

Is there, master?

Well, yes, I believe there is.

What is it?

It is known as the mysterious

art of enfleurage.

Can you teach me?

Not even I am intimate

with its secrets.

But could I learn it in Grasse?

- Well...

- Could I?

Where else but in Grasse?

Wthin a week Grenouille

was well again,

but to travel to Grasse to fnd

ajob he needed journey papers.

Baldini agreed to provide them

on condition that

Grenouille left him

not less than one hundred

formulas for new perfumes.

Grenouille did not mind. He

could have given him a thousand.

The morning of Grenouille's

departure, Baldini was pleased.

At last, he felt rewarded for

his many years of hard work.

He could not remember

a happier day.

Deeply satisf/ed,

he went back to sleep

and awoke no more in this life.

Wth every step he took from

the city, the happier he felt.

The air above him grew

clearer, purer, cleaner,

and at last he was able

to breathe freely.

There were two ways

to reach Grasse.

The first followed the winding

roads through the villages

while the second lead across

the mountains, down into Provence.

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