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A message from Nostredame
One day, a message arrived from Pierre de Nostredame,
Michel’s paternal grandfather. Pierre and his wife
lived in Grasse and invited the whole family to come
and stay with them for a few weeks. Pierre had also
been a court physician, in the service of the son of
the Good King René. After his patient was murdered
in Barcelona, Pierre settled in the developing
perfume town. Jacques and Reyničre decided to accept
his invitation. Many preparations had to be made for
the trip, because Grasse was not exactly next door
and they had had four more children through the
years; all boys. A busy household. A few weeks later,
they were ready and they all climbed into the rented
carriage which was pulled by a team of horses.
Father, mother and three sons. Jean stayed home with
the two youngest ones. After a few days, they
reached Cannes, and from there a path lead them
inland toward Grasse. The landscape was surrounded
on all sides by lush tree-covered hills and invited
them to take a break. It would have been better if
they hadn’t, because little Hector immediately
disappeared and it took three hours to find him in a
crack in the rocks. And guess who found him? Of
course: Michel! Hector got a cuff on the ear and
they continued on their way. Behind them, they could
still catch an occasional glimpse of the
Mediterranean Sea. There were not many flowers
blooming in the perfume region. Summer was coming to
an end and bees were looking for the last of the
honey. Finally, they saw Grasse, situated against a
mountain slope, surrounded by fields that would only
display their flowers again in the spring. When they
entered the wealthy trading town, the boys were very
excited by all the sights. There were all kinds of
tanneries, which, their father told them, used to
spread a terrible stink not too long ago. In order
to dispel the penetrating scent of the leather, the
Grassois got the idea to saturate the leather with a
mixture of animal fats and flowers. Necessity is the
mother of invention and in this way, perfumed
handbags, gloves and belts turned into a true
fashion rage. The carriage bumped along laboriously,
past the many shops with displayed leather wares,
but finally, they reached Place aux Aires, where
their grandparents lived. Bertrand passionately
flung open the carriage doors to get out as quickly
as possible and start horsing around, but his father
stopped him.
“First you’re going to greet your grandparents,
young man,” he said. Meanwhile, Pierre came walking
up, swaying, and immediately began to lug the
suitcases in. Despite his advanced age he was very
vigorous and he still worked for the physicians’
guild. After kissing Grandpa, the three brothers ran
off into the perfectly unknown but oh so alluring
city in great ecstasy.
“Just let them play for a while,” Reyničre said
tiredly to her husband, “that will give us a chance
to unpack our bags in peace.” The children,
meanwhile, were parading past the many perfumers,
soap-boilers, distillers and other merchants. Grasse
was a dazzling but also very dirty town and the open
sewers could barely handle the mountains of waste.
Nevertheless, it smelled wonderful in the streets.
There were cases, bags and balloons full of flower
water, oils, wine, lavender soap, herbs and scented
leather, everywhere. Eleven-year-old Michel found
himself in a virtual paradise for the senses and was
soon enchanted with a specific scent that pulled him
into an alley.
“Where are you going now?” Bertrand and Hector
exclaimed, surprised. But Michel wouldn’t say and
followed the narrow lane toward an archway that led
outside of the town. Beneath the stone arc he
stopped for a moment, closed his eyes and smelled.
Here, the scent was at its strongest. He deeply
inhaled the peculiar odor, which was sweet and dark
at the same time. A few minutes later he returned,
fulfilled, and found his brothers playing in the
square. The days flew by in this fantastic town and
tomorrow would be extra exciting: they were to visit
a well-known perfumery. Grandfather Pierre was
friends with Amalfi, the proprietor of the factory.
She had promised him that his family could have a
tour. That morning, they went among the potential
buyers who had flocked from far and near, and Amalfi
personally gave them a guided tour. The
distinguished people all saw Hector elaborately
picking his nose and Father chastised him. Amalfi,
meanwhile, told them all about her famous line of
scents.
“These azure flasks hold various types of eau de
toilet and Soliflores for women.” After her
introduction, the group shuffled towards the next
table, while the other son started to be troublesome.
Bertrand tried to surreptitiously open the flasks.
“Don’t touch those, Bertrand,” his father warned.
The madam fortunately didn’t notice and continued:
“Soliflores are scent water made from only one type
of flower, plant or fruit.” After an elaborate
listing of the assortment, the guests followed her
to another room, where ingenious devices were set
up.
“These are our distillation alambiks. Distillation
was developed by the Arabs.” While attentively
listening, Michel and his grandfather heard Hector
whining at his mother that he needed to pee. It
distracted the factory owner from her story and she
coughed agitatedly.
“Okay, go outside quickly, but be quiet!” Reyničre
commanded her child.
“Jasmine originally comes from India and Spanish
sailors introduced the flower in Grasse via
North-Africa not long ago. Maître Gantier managed to
get a monopoly on it,” continued Madam.
“This is a good opportunity to buy some perfume,”
Reyničre whispered to her husband. Jacques idly
agreed because he was completely caught up in taking
care of the little ones. Fortunately, they were
hanging around Pierre and were behaving themselves
for the moment. Father even managed to catch the
last part of the story.
“When I compare it to jasmine from abroad, I always
notice that Jasmin Grassois has more depth and
volume. Oh, I could tell you so much more about our
perfumery, but it is time to finish the tour. Are
there any questions or comments?” Unexpectedly,
Michel came forward with panache and asked if he
could say a few words. Father was starting to get a
headache from all the unpredictable behaviors of his
youngsters, whereas Madam Amalfi was quite charmed
with the childish request and agreed. Michel’s heart
started to beat faster. The little prophet squared
his shoulders and with great force pronounced his
first prophesy.
“Some day, this perfumery will be very famous. This
will be because of a student with an exceptionally
good nose. His name is Montesquieu and he will
produce three amazing scents. At the height of his
career, he will create a bizarre perfume for himself
with the scent of recently killed bodies of young
girls. After his death, the success will decline.”
With this, the pre-teen ended his oration and walked
back to his parents with dignity. Everyone was
dumbstruck and even Amalfi didn’t know how to
respond. Jacques decided not to chastise his son,
because the boy had followed all the rules of proper
conduct. No one mentioned the dark prophesy again;
they could not make any sense of it. A little
embarrassed about the behavior of his strange
grandson, Pierre thanked the owner for the
fascinating outing and the family returned home.
Soon the vacation came to an end.
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