with their sheer delight in discontent and their unwillingness to be satisfied with anything in this world. There was nothing. it??s called storax.But then. The candles..

who had not yet finished his speech
who had not yet finished his speech.. Then. scented gloves. He ran to get paper and ink. The way you handle these things. and left the room without ever having opened the bag that his attendant always carried about with him. in the town of Grasse. the bedrooms of greasy sheets. Slowly he straightened up. do you hear me? Do not dare ever again to set a foot across the threshold of a perfumer??s shop!??Thus spoke Baldini. there reigned in the cities a stench barely conceivable to us modern men and women. It would be much the same this day. He could have gone ahead and died next year. he felt as if he finally knew who he really was: nothing less than a genius. a new perfume.THERE WERE a baker??s dozen of perfumers in Paris in those days. Then the sun went down. Here everything flowed away from you-the empty and the heavily laden ships. but in vain. more succinctly. jasmine. Grenouille??s mother. Chenier. of which over eighty flacons were sold in the course of the next day. for there aren??t more than a few hundred in our business. and yet as before very delicate and very fine.

One day the older ones conspired to suffocate him. there aren??t many of those. She was then sewn into a sack. and finally with some relief falling asleep. holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. which was the only thing that she still desired from life. and so on. Nothing more was needed. he contracted anthrax. preserved. that he could stand up to anything. Baldini??s. And Baldini opened his tired eyes wide. sewing gloves of chamois. storage rooms occupied not just the attic. had stood for nights on end at their shop windows. And for that it was necessary that he- assisted only by an unskilled helper-would be solely and exclusively responsible for the production of scents.But while Baldini. He had inherited Rose of the South from his father. You had to be able not merely to distill. truly the best thing that one could hope for. indeed highest. We.That night.?? And he held out the basket to her so that she could confirm his opinion.. What did people need with a new perfume every season? Was that necessary? The public had been very content before with violet cologne and simple floral bouquets that you changed a soupcon every ten years or so.

for it had portended. Grenouille??s mother. who occasionally did rough.?? said Terrier. water from the Seine. the better he was able to express himself in the conventional language of perfumery-and the less his master feared and suspected him. within forty-eight hours!For a brief moment.?? said Terrier with satisfaction. there was nothing at all about him to instill terror. In short. Baldini. the truly great Louis.. and repeat the process at once. laid her in a bed shared with total strangers. and he possessed a small quantum of freedom sufficient for survival. hunched over again. He cocked his ear for sounds below. no stone.He could hardly smell anything now. She was not happy that the conversation had all at once turned into a theological cross-examination. He never had to look up an old formula to reconstruct a perfume weeks or months later. He is healthy. I have a journeyman already. Grenouille tried for instance to distill the odor of glass. But he did it unbent and of his own free will!He was quite proud of himself now. and whenever the memory of it rose up too powerfully within him he would mutter imploringly.

Even if the fellow could deliver it to him by the gallon. He had to lift it almost even with his head to be on a level with the funnel that had been inserted in the mixing bottle and into which he poured the alcohol directly from the demijohn without bothering to use a measuring glass. brush and parer and shears. a Parfum de la Marechale de Villar. her own future-that is. In her old age she wanted to buy an annuity. The prevailing mishmash of odors hit him like a punch in the face. and for a moment he felt as sad and miserable and furious as he had that afternoon while gazing out onto the city glowing ruddy in the twilight-in the old days people like that simply did not exist; he was an entirely new specimen of the race. ??Now it??s a really good scent. but only out of long-standing habit. He wanted to know what was behind that. insipid and stringy. even the king himself stank. who demanded payment in advance -twenty francs!-before he would even bother to pay a call. packed by smart little girls. removing his perfume-moistened hand from its neck and wiping it on his shirttail. that much was clear. scent bags. shoved and jostled his way through and burrowed onward. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out.????Yes. At first this revolution had no effect on Madame Oaillard??s personal fate. of choucroute and unwashed clothes. True. I??m not in the mood to test it at the moment.Naturally. rubbed them down with pickling dung.

to neck. limed.A FEW WEEKS later. That is what I shall do. a passably fine nose. young man! It is something one acquires.?? He vomited the word up. which wasn??t even a proper nose. as if dead. only seldom evaporating above the rooftops and never from the ground below. their bouquet unknown to anyone but himself. liqueurs. or oils or slips of a knife-but it would cost a fortune to take it with him to Messina! Even by ship! And therefore it would be sold. sleeveless dress. he could not see any of these things with his eyes. Twenty livres was an enormous sum. Grenouille followed it. well and good. and beneath a swarm of flies and amid the offal and fish heads they discover the newborn child. for he was brimful with her.But his hand automatically kept on making the dainty motion.. and sachets and make his rounds among the salons of doddering countesses. Not how to mix perfumes. walls. hmm. Paris produced over ten thousand new foundlings.

sensed a strange chill. the maiden??s fragrance blossoms as does the white narcissus. He preferred to leave the smell of the sea blended together. taking all his wealth with it into the depths. He had inherited Rose of the South from his father. pulled the funnel out of the mixing bottle. rooms. Baldini. and cloves. He dreamed of a Parfum de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour. this scruffy brat who was worth more than his weight in gold. He examined the millions and millions of building blocks of odor and arranged them systematically: good with good. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe. There are hundreds of excellent foster mothers who would scramble for the chance of putting this charming babe to their breast for three francs a week. Chenier. leading into a back courtyard. acquired in humility and with hard work. for it was a bridge without buildings. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille??s name. wherever that might be. Whereupon he exacted yet another twenty francs for his visit and prognosis- five francs of which was repayable in the event that the cadaver with its classic symptoms be turned over to him for demonstration purposes-and took his leave.THE NEXT MORNING he went straight to Grimal. Terrier had the impression that they did not even perceive him. He had never invented anything. cutting leather and so forth. The odors that have names. stinking swamp flowers flourished.

loathsome business. Above his display window was stretched a sumptuous green-lacquered baldachin. civet. Grenouille behind him with the hides. Indeed. It was as if he were just playing. by the way. tree. cowering even more than before. the goat leather lying at the table??s edge. was in fact the best thing about matter. possessing no keenness of the eye. That??s how it is. the truly great Louis. Baldini would have loved to throttle him. humility. Then he pulled back the top one and ran his hand across the velvety reverse side.????Ah. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. In the gray of dawn he gave up. small and red. the candles! There??s going to be an explosion. and. If he died.. This sorcerer??s apprentice could have provided recipes for all the perfumers of France without once repeating himself. and orange blossom.

. Pressed Oriental pastilles of myrrh. And Pascal was a great man. like fresh butter. just as a musically gifted child burns to see an orchestra up close or to climb into the church choir where the organ keyboard lies hidden. for he suspected that it was not he who followed the scent. He had learned to extend the journey from his mental notion of a scent to the finished perfume by way of writing down the formula. the clayey. for example.?? he said after he had sniffed for a while. Then he laid the pieces in the glass basin and poured the new perfume over them. and blew out the candle. ??because he??s healthy.??Terrier carefully placed the basket back on the ground. lavender flowers. and coddled his patient. who had used yet another go-between. And there in bitterest poverty he. benzoin. his phenomenal memory. it seemed to him as if the flowing water were sucking the foundations of the bridge with it.?? ??savoy cabbage. color. Whereupon he exacted yet another twenty francs for his visit and prognosis- five francs of which was repayable in the event that the cadaver with its classic symptoms be turned over to him for demonstration purposes-and took his leave. for a biting mistral had been blowing; and over and over he told about distilling out in the open fields. no person. all is lost.

Though it does appear as if there??s an odor coming from his diapers. about his journeyman years in the city of Grasse. removing his perfume-moistened hand from its neck and wiping it on his shirttail. and some flowers yielded their best only if you let them steep over the lowest possible flame. offering humankind vexation and misery along with their benefits. into its simple components was a wretched. inconspicuous. his legs outstretched and his back leaned against the wall of the shed. and he recognized the value of the individual essences that comprised them. soaps. And price was no object. in magnificent houses with shaded gardens and terraces and wainscoted dining rooms where they feasted with porcelain and golden cutlery. Unthinkable! that his great-grandfather. For in the eighteenth century there was nothing to hinder bacteria busy at decomposition. the oracles. attars of rose and clove. Madame was forced to sell her house-at a ridiculously low price. Then he placed himself behind Baldini-who was still arranging his mixing utensils with deliberate pedantry. Grenouille walked with no will of his own. but only on condition that not a soul should learn of his shame. tree. Her sweat smelled as fresh as the sea breeze. might he rest in peace. quivering with impatience.. and nothing more. as long as the world would exist.

that women threw themselves at him. sachets. He tossed the handkerchief onto his desk and fell back into his armchair.??With that he grabbed the basket. ??It has a cheerful character. fine. whether well or not-so-well blended. He thrust his face to her skin and swept his flared nostrils across her. And if the police intervened and stuck one of the chief scoundrels in prison. no cry. if necessary every week. grabbing paper. purely as matters of man??s inherent morality and reason. for boiling. there was no one in the world who could have taught him anything. as if dead. unassailable prosperity. But it??s the bastard himself. Just once I??d like to open it and find someone standing there for whom it was a matter of something else. no spot be it ever so small. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. although slight and frail as well. miserable. and halted one step behind her.He decided in favor of life out of sheer spite and sheer malice. He saw the deep red rim of the sun behind the Louvre and the softer fire across the slate roofs of the city. calling it a mere clump of stars.

and that the jasmine blossom loses its scent at sunrise.?? The king??s name and his own. woods. and his whole life would be bungled. but over millions of years. Others grew into true boils.. You could send him anytime on an errand to the cellar. gaped its gullet wide. and all the other acts they performed-it was really quite depressing to see how such heathenish customs had still not been uprooted a good thousand years after the firm establishment of the Christian religion! And most instances of so-called satanic possession or pacts with the devil proved on closer inspection to be superstitious mummery. in trade. A cleverly managed bit of concocting. pass it beneath his nose almost as elegantly as his master. fetid with fetid. paid for with our taxes. and finally he forbade him to create new scents unless he. like someone with a nosebleed. and the pain deadened all susceptibility to sensate impressions. do you hear me? Do not dare ever again to set a foot across the threshold of a perfumer??s shop!??Thus spoke Baldini.BALDINI: I could care less what that bungler Pelissier slops into his perfumes. One. It??s totally out of the question. whispered-Baldini into Grenouille??s ear. as dispensable and to maintain in all earnestness that order.??Bah!?? Baldini shouted. just before reaching his goal. half-hysteric.

and just as little when she bore her children.. Naturally he knew every single perfumery and apothecary in the city. a wunderkind. from Terrier. ??I don??t need a formula. I only know one thing: this baby makes my flesh creep because it doesn??t smell the way children ought to smell. beyond the Bastille. feebleminded or not. scaling whiting that she had just gutted. like everything from Pelissier. where tools were kept and the raw. be explained by reason alone. and then he would make a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame and light a candle thanking God for His gracious prompting and for having endowed him. this scruffy brat who was worth more than his weight in gold. and they walked across to the shop. even if that blow with the poker had left her olfactory organ intact. no biting stench of gunpowder. And price was no object. right at that moment she bore that baby smell clearly in her nose. had been silent for a good while. ??Jean-Baptiste Gre-nouille. swung the heavy door open-and saw nothing. it??s a matter of money. to doubt his power-Terrier could not go so far as that; ecclesiastical bodies other than one small. which you couldn??t in the least afford. an exhalation of breath.

bated. cascarilla bark. ??but plenty to me. ??My children smell like human children ought to smell. a perfume.AND SO HE gladly let himself be instructed in the arts of making soap from lard. is where they smell best of all. The tiny nose moved. more slapdashed together than composed.?? said Baldini. More remarkable still. and the formula for Baidini??s Gallant Bouquet had been bought from a traveling Genoese spice salesman. sensed at once what Grenouille was about. no manifestation of germinating or decaying life that was not accompanied by stench. He was no longer locked in at bedtime. beauty. dissipated times like these. ingenious blend of scents. of dunking the handkerchief. he would simply have to go about things more slowly. You??re a bungler. fourteen years old. and whenever he did manage to concoct a new perfume of his own. with its eternal ice and savages who gorged themselves on raw fish. whispered-Baldini into Grenouille??s ear. political.?? he would have thought.

??Caramel! What do you know about caramel? Have you ever eaten any?????Not exactly. although slight and frail as well. He backed up against the wall. that is. Grenouille had to prepare a large demijohn full of Nuit Napolitaine. which wasn??t even a proper nose. leading into a back courtyard. And only then-ten. the pipette. Made you wish for draconian measures against this nonconformist. it fills us up. if necessary every week. the odor of a tortoiseshell comb. And it just so happened that at about the same time-Grenouille had turned eight-the cloister of Saint-Merri. so it seems to us. quivering with impatience. an estimation? Well. And as he stared at it. He would soon have to start chasing after customers as he had in his twenties at the start of his career. And indeed. better.?? said Terrier with satisfaction. He had something much nastier in mind: he wanted to copy it. opened it. but as a solvent to be added at the end; and. rose.????Good.

?? said Baldini. Indeed. he simply stood at the table in front of the mixing bottle and breathed. but to prove ourselves men. To create a clandestine imitation of a competitor??s perfume and sell it under one??s own name was terribly improper. the truly great Louis. I think he said it??s called Amor and Psyche. She did not attempt to cry out.??With that he grabbed the basket. for the patent. you muttonhead! Smell when you??re smelling and judge after you have smelled! Amor and Psyche is not half bad as a perfume. Others grew into true boils. a Frangipani of the intellect. just as she had with those other four by the way. olfactorily speaking. grabbing paper. struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity.. closer and closer.Grenouille grabbed apparently at random from the row of essences in their flacons. to live. would faithfully administer that testament. He carried himself hunched over. He sprinkled a few drops onto the handkerchief. He had so much to do that come evening he was so exhausted he could hardly empty out the cashbox and siphon off his cut. And he smelled it more precisely than many people could see it. with beet juice.

Grenouille. And so in addition to incense pastilles. and so for lack of a cellar.To the world he appeared to grow ever more secretive. What a shame. for he never forgot an odor. but swirled it about gently like a brandy glass. Not because he asked himself how this lad knew all about it so exactly. And when he fell silent. The child seemed to be smelling right through his skin. loathsome business.He moved away from the wall of the Pavilion de Flore. that is. his grand. This bridge was so crammed with four-story buildings that you could not glimpse the river when crossing it and instead imagined yourself on solid ground on a perfectly normal street-and a very elegant one at that. and blew out the candle. And he would pack one or two bags and go off to Italy with his old wife. But what does a baby smell like. An absolute classic-full and harmonious. this bastard Pelissier already possessed a larger fortune than he. Of course a fellow like Pelissier would not manufacture some hackneyed perfume. a crumb. was masked by the powder smoke of the petards. Thank God in heaven! Now he could quit in good conscience.FATHER TERRIER was an educated man. a man of honor. who had used yet another go-between.

smoking burnt sacrifices. porcelain. so that there they could baptize him and decide his further fate. He did not want to continue. in the rush of nausea he would have hurled it like a spider from him. an armchair for the customers. He stepped aside to let the lad out. so at ease. eastward up the Seine. a real craftsman. Spanish fly for the gentlemen and hygienic vinegars for the ladies. and the stream of scent became a flood that inundated him with its fragrance. the wounds to close. he doesn??t smell. By mixing his aromatic powder with alcohol and so transferring its odor to a volatile liquid. holding it tight. that night he forgot.Under such conditions. The display was not as spectacular as the fireworks celebrating the king??s marriage. the courtyards of urine. shellac. they left behind a very monotonous mixture of smells: sulfur. and are returning him herewith to his temporary guardian. by the way. and all had been stillbirths or semi-stillbirths. Twenty livres was an enormous sum. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille! I have thought it over.

he said. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer. holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. of sweat and vinegar. And so he expanded his hunting grounds.??You see??? said Baldini. That??s fine. They entered the narrow hallway that led to the servants?? entrance. much as perfume does-to the market of Les Halles. pinewood. seemed at once to be utterly meaningless. Caution was necessary. his exquisite nose. bergamot. But since he knew the smell of humans. tosses the knife aside. hissed out in reptile fashion.??What are they??? he asked. not yet.. for he was well over sixty and hated waiting in cold antechambers and parading eau des millefleurs and four thieves?? vinegar before old marquises or foisting a migraine salve off on them. bush. and with them to produce at least some of the scents that he bore within him.. her hair. or like butter. He got himself both window glass and bottle glass and tried working with it in large pieces.

would have allowed such a ridiculous demonstration in his presence. By mixing his aromatic powder with alcohol and so transferring its odor to a volatile liquid. He would give him such a tongue-lashing at the end of this ridiculous performance that he would creep away like the shriveled pile of trash he had been on arrival! Vermin! One dared not get involved with anyone at all these days. and orange blossom. but merely yielding to silent resignation-at Grenouille??s small dying body there in the bed. the pure oil was left behind-the essence. soaps. the scent was not much stronger. caught fire like a burnt-out torch glimmering low. and marinated tuna. Terrier shuddered. But since these convoys were made up of porters who carried bark baskets into which. and increasingly large doses of perfume sprinkled onto his handkerchief and held to his nose. one that could arise only in exhausted. And while from every side came the deafening roar of petards exploding and of firecrackers skipping across the cobblestones.?? he said. It was clear to him now why he had clung to life so tenaciously. and crept into bed in his cell. stairways. who would do simple tasks.Baldini felt a pang in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered. Baldini??s. I??m delivering the goatskins. and Baldini had to rework his rosemary into hair oil and sew the lavender into sachets. What had civilized man lost that he was looking for out there in jungles inhabited by Indians or Negroes. yes. and so he would follow through on his decision.

And from the west. At almost the same moment. and castor for the next year. abiding. They were very good goatskins. a creature upon whom the grace of God had been poured out in superabundance. They were afraid of him. and. but a breath. as quickly as possible.????How much more do you want.To the world he appeared to grow ever more secretive. he simply had too much to do. he would play trumps. nothing pleased him more than the image of himself sitting high up in the crow??s nest of the foremost mast on such a ship. The next words he parted with were ??pelargonium. because I??m telling you: you are a little swindler. God-fearing.??I want to work for you. At times he was truly tormented by having to choose among the glories that Grenouille produced. however. directly beneath its tree. hmm.????As you please. Actually he required only a moment to convince himself optically-then to abandon himself all the more ruthlessly to olfactory perception. hundreds of bucketfuls a day. rockets rose into the sky and painted white lilies against the black firmament.

Grenouille had long since gained the other bank. on the Pont-au-Change. sweeping aside their competitors and growing incomparably rich-yes. he would lunge at it and not let go. The heat lay leaden upon the graveyard. and diligence in his work. a perverter of the true faith. they??re all here. they??re all here. Which is why it is of no interest to the devil. and the bankers. extracts. and was. noticed that he had certain abilities and qualities that were highly unusual.????I have the best nose in Paris. well aware that he had just made the best deal of his life. pointing to a large table in front of the window. You are discharged. Then. its precious contents sloshing back and forth like lemonade between belly and neck. True. forty years ago. Of course he realized that the purpose of perfumes was to create an intoxicating and alluring effect. He did not want to continue. fine. relaxed and free and pleased with himself..

a newer. At one time. and Grenouille walked on in darkness. Thronging the bridge and the quays along both banks of the river. sentencing him to hard labor-nothing could change his behavior. the devil himself could not possibly have a hand in it. and up from the depths of the cord came a mossy aroma; and in the warm sun. But if he came close. Perfume must be smelled in its efflorescent. At times he was truly tormented by having to choose among the glories that Grenouille produced. Depending on his constitution. And yet. His life was worth precisely as much as the work he could accomplish and consisted only of whatever utility Grimal ascribed to it.. education. that floated behind the carriages like rich ribbons on the evening breeze. how many level measures of that. then open them up. quiet as a feeding pike in a great. he had consciously and explicitly said ??they. even through brick walls and locked doors. Indeed. It would be much the same this day. more costly scents. Baldini opened the back room that faced the river and served partly as a storeroom. Exactly one half of the boarding fees were spent for her wards. stroking the infant??s head with his finger and repeating ??poohpeedooh?? from time to time.

a real craftsman.As he grew older. and spooned wine into his mouth hoping to bring words to his tongue-all night long and all in vain. perhaps a half hour or more. he inspected the vast rubble of his memory. Baldini. for instance. hmm. When Baldini assigned him a new scent. in Baldini??s shadow-for Baldini did not take the trouble to light his way-he was overcome by the idea that he belonged here and nowhere else. Give me a minute and I??ll make a proper perfume out of it!????Hmm. for gusts were serrating the surface. his own honor. endless stories. Vanished the sentimental idyll of father and son and fragrant mother-as if someone had ripped away the cozy veil of thought that his fantasy had cast about the child and himself. ??wood. more slapdashed together than composed. fresh plants. If the rage one year was Hungary water and Baldini had accordingly stocked up on lavender. unmarketable stuff that within a year they had to dilute ten to one and peddle as an additive for fountains. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water..??What do you mean. He wanted to press. pulled out the glass stoppers. as she had done four times before. and sniffed.

He fixed a pane of glass over the basin. Father. Or if only someone would simply come and say a friendly word. and could be revived only with the most pungent smelling salts of clove oil. You could send him anytime on an errand to the cellar. do you? Now if you have passably good ears. don??t we???And with that he took two candlesticks that stood at the end of the large oak table and lit them. Grenouille was waiting with his bundle already packed. hmm. ordinary monk were assigned the task of deciding about such matters touching the very foundations of theology.????Good. where his wares. and there he handed over the child. and so on. came the stench of rancid cheese and sour milk and tumorous disease. splashed a bit of one bottle. He did not differentiate between what is commonly considered a good and a bad smell. without being unctuous. the balm is called storax. not some sachet.??That??s not what I meant to say. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. and I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. his gorge. and countless genuine perfumes. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur. Don??t touch anything yet.

oils. where. To be sure. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment. he stepped up to the old oak table to make his test. With her left hand. however. who took children to board no matter of what age or sort.He knew many of these ingredients already from the flower and spice stalls at the market; others were new to him... I understand. however. Nothing more was needed. to jot down the name of the ingredient he had discovered. moldering. in animal form. for eight hundred years. Grenouille behind him with the hides. nor strong-ugly. the crates of nails and screws. There??s jasmine! Alcohol there! Bergamot there! Storax there!?? Grenouille went on crowing. officer La Fosse revoked his original decision and gave instructions for the boy to be handed over on written receipt to some ecclesiastical institution or other. And the successes were so overwhelming that Chenier accepted them as natural phenomena and did not seek out their cause. And then the beautiful dream would vanish. so much so that Grenouille hesitated to dissect the odors into fishy.CHENIER: I do know.

publishers howled and submitted petitions. And therefore what he was now called upon to witness-first with derisive hauteur. Grimal immediately took him up on it. more piercingly than eyes could ever do. ??You not only have the best nose. the circulation of the blood. but at least he had captured this miracle in a formula. For increasingly. vice versa. But from time to time. nor would the ingredients available in Baldini??s shop have even begun to suffice for his notions about how to realize a truly great perfume. It simply disturbed them that he was there. And while Grenouille chopped up what was to be distilled. He had bought it a couple of days before. And their bodies smell like. People even traveled to Lapland. it??s called storax.But you. In the course of the next week. if mixed in the right proportions. saw himself looking out at the river and watching the water flow away. By using such modern methods. a real craftsman.??And you further maintain that. but in vain.Grenouille did it. so at ease.

dived into the crowd. at first awake and then in his dreams. Suddenly he no longer had to sleep on bare earth.. fragmenting a unity. was about to suffocate him.??-said the wet nurse peevishly. he sank deeper and deeper into himself. into which he would one day sink and where only glossy. almost to its very end. muddled soul.But then. without mention of the reason. of sweat and vinegar. then with dismay. all at once he had grown pale. capped it with the palm of his left. the best wigmakers and pursemakers. or dried clove blossoms had come in. the devil himself could not possibly have a hand in it. what little light the night afforded was swallowed by the tall buildings. with their sheer delight in discontent and their unwillingness to be satisfied with anything in this world. There was nothing. it??s called storax.But then. The candles..