Skin Scent Baby

Niche fragrance Skin Scent Baby - fantasia on Patrick Suskind's description of baby's skin from the book «Perfume. The story of a murderer».

 

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“Well it’s-” the wet nurse began, “it’s not all that easy to say, because… because they don’t smell the same all over, although they smell good ail over, Father, you know what I mean? Their feet, for instance, they smell like a smooth, warm stone-or no, more like curds… or like butter, like fresh butter, that’s it exactly. They smell like fresh butter. And their bodies smell like… like a griddle cake that’s been soaked in milk. And their heads, up on top, at the back of the head, where the hair makes a cowlick, there, see where I mean,

 

Father, there where you’ve got nothing left…” And she tapped the bald spot on the head of the monk, who, struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity, had obediently bent his head down. “There, right there, is where they smell best of all. It smells like caramel, it smells so sweet, so wonderful, Father, you have no idea! Once you’ve smelled them there, you love them whether they’re your own or somebody else’s. And that’s how little children have to smell-and no other way. And if they don’t smell like that, if they don’t have any smell at all up there, even less than cold air does, like that little bastard there, then… You can explain it however you like, Father, but I”-and she crossed her arms resolutely beneath her bosom and cast a look of disgust toward the basket at her feet as if it contained toads-”I, Jeanne Bussie, will not take that thing back!”

 

Father Terrier slowly raised his lowered head and ran his fingers across his bald head a few tirnes as if hoping to put the hair in order, passed his finger beneath his nose as if by accident, and sniffed thoughtfully.

 

“Like caramel…?” he asked, attempting to find his stern tone again. “Caramel! What do you know about caramel? Have you ever eaten any?”

 

“Not exactly,” said the wet nurae. “But once I was in a grand mansion in the rue Saint-Honore and watched how they made it out of melted sugar and cream. It smelled so good that I’ve never forgotten it.”

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“Yes, yes. All right,” said Terrier and took his finger from his nose. “But please hold your tongue now! I find it quite exhausting to continue a conversation with you on such a level. I have determined that, for whatever reason, you refuse to nourish any longer the babe put under your care, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, and are returning him herewith to his temporary guardian, the cloister of Saint-Merri. I find that distressing, but I apparently cannot alter the fact. You are discharged.”

 

With that he grabbed the basket, took one last whiff of that fleeting woolly, warm milkiness, and slammed the door. Then he went to his office.

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Top notes:

tangerine, condensed milk, biscuits

 

Heart notes:

praline, hazelnut, caramel, cardamom, cinnamon, sage

 

Base notes:

santal, patchouli, amber, rosewood, toluan balm