Perfume: The Story of a Murderer Page #2

and don't let anyone come near me.

Inspiration requires

peace and tranquility.

Is there anything else you need?

Inspiration, perhaps.

Ah, my Giuseppe.

You are still

the great perfumer Baldini.

Wonderful.

He did it again.

Lime oil.

Orange blossom,

to be sure.

And a hint of cloves, perhaps.

No.

It's gone.

Cinnamon.

It's not cinnamon.

Cloves.

No.

Musk?

No.

Who's there?

I'm from Grimal's tannery.

I've got the goatskins

you ordered.

Follow me.

This way.

There.

Lay them there.

Tell your master

that the skins are fine.

I'll come by in the next

few days and pay for them.

Yes, Monsieur.

You want to make this leather

smell good, don't you?

Why, of course and so it shall.

With Amor & Psyche

by Pelissier?

Whatever gave you the absurd idea

I would use someone else's perfume?

It's all over you.

It's on your forehead,

your nose, your hands...

It's bad, Amor & Psyche

is, Master.

There's too much rosemary in it.

And too much of...

that and that.

Bergamot and Patchouli?

Pat?

Patchouli.

Patchouli.

What else?

That and that.

That and that.

Orange blossom,

lime...

- Rosemary.

- Musk.

And cloves?

And this.

- Storax?

- That's in it too.

- Storax.

- Storax.

You have, it appears,

a fine nose, young man.

My nose knows all the smells

in the world.

It's the best nose in Paris,

only I don't know the names.

I need to learn the names,

learn them all...

No, no, no!

You dont interrupt me

when I'm speaking.

You are both impertinent

and insolent.

Even I don't know every scent.

I've, of course, known for some time

the ingredients of Amor & Psyche.

But all it needs to find that out is

a passably fine nose, nothing else.

But it needs the craft

of a true perfumer

to detect the exact formula,

which notes, which chords,

and in what precise measurements.

Could you tell me the exact

formula of Amor & Psyche?

Best-nose-in-Paris!

Speak up!

You see, you can't. Can you?

And I'll tell you why.

Because talent means

next to nothing,

while experience acquired

in humility and hard work

means everything.

I don't know what a formula is,

but I can make Amor & Psyche

for you now.

And you think ljust let you

slop around in my laboratory

with essential oils

that are worth a fortune?

You?

Yes.

Now pay attention!

What is your name, anyway?

Jean-Baptiste Grenouille.

Very well,

Jean-Baptiste Grenouille,

you shall have the opportunity now

to prove your assertion.

Your grandiose failure will also

be an opportunity for you

to learn the virtue of humility.

- How much do you want me to make?

- How much of what?

How much Amor & Psyche do you want?

Shall I fill this flask?

No! You shall not!

You may fill this one.

Yes, Master.

But, Master Baldini...

You must let me do it in my own way.

As you please.

No!

Don't drop it. That's pure alcohol.

You want to blow up the building?

You have to measure it first!

Stop, stop it!

That's enough!

You know nothing!

Essential oils are always

to be mixed first,

then the alcohol added

and never ever is perfume

to be shaken like that!

I must have been insane to listen

to your asinine gibberish!

It's all done.

This is Amor & Psyche!

But it's not

a good perfume, Master.

If you let me again, Master,

I'll make it more better.

Now it's a really good perfume.

Don't you want

to smell it, Master?

I'm not in the mood

to test it now.

I have other things

on my mind. Go now.

- But, Master...

- Go! Now!

Can I come to work

for you, master? Can I?

Let me think about it.

Master!

I have to learn

how to keep smell!

What?

Can you teach me that?

I shall have to think

about it. Now, go.

I love you.

I'll give you 50 francs for him.

Grenouille!

Grimal's transaction

had a profound effect

on all three parties.

Not least upon

Monsieur Grimal himself.

As for Giuseppe Baldini,

the acquisition of Grenouille

miraculously transformed

his dwindling business

even surpassing its former glory.

While at last, for Jean-Baptiste,

the mysterious secrets

of the perfumer's craft

began to unfold.

Now, pay careful attention

to what I tell you.

Just like a musical chord,

a perfume chord contains

four essences

or notes, carefully selected

for their harmonic affinity.

Each perfume contains three chords:

The head, the heart and the base,

necessitating twelve notes in all.

The head chord contains

the first impression,

lasting a few minutes

before giving way

to the heart chord,

the theme of the perfume,

lasting several hours.

Finally, the base chord,

the trail of the perfume,

lasting several days.

Mind you, the ancient Egyptians

believed that one can only create

a truly original perfume

by adding an extra note,

one final essence

that will ring out

and dominate the others.

Legend has it that an amphora

was once found in a pharaoh's tomb

and when it was opened

a perfume was released.

After all those thousands of years,

a perfume of such subtle

beauty and yet such power,

that for one single moment

every person on earth believed

they were in paradise.

Twelve essences could be identified,

but the 13th,

the vital one,

could never be determined.

Why not?

Why not?

What do you mean, why not?

Because it's a legend, numbskull!

What's a legend?

Never mind.

Jean-Baptiste.

Jean-Baptiste?

What's the matter?

Master,

I have to learn

how to capture scent.

What are you talking about?

I have to learn

how to capture scent

and reprise it forever.

You mean, preserve.

You have to teach me that.

All right.

Calm down, my boy.

Calm down.

We have work to do.

"The soul of beings is their scent."

You said that, master.

Did I?

I will make you

as many perfumes as you want

but you have to teach me

how to capture

the smell of all things.

Can you do that?

Well, naturally.

Then teach me

everything you know

and I'll make you the best

perfume in the whole world.

Imagine, Jean-Baptiste,

ten thousand roses to produce

one single ounce of essential oil.

Now, keep the air flowing or the

bottom petals will begin to stew

while I set up the alembic.

And take care not to damage them.

We have to let them go to their

deaths with their scent intact.

Perfect.

Now, help me

with the Moor's head.

Temperature is vital.

When the quicksilver is here,

the heat is precisely correct

and the oil will gradually rise.

Note this mechanism is a remarkable

invention of my own devising.

You will observe how cold water

is pumped through here

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?

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