Grenouille's murder of Laure Richis

Grenouille's murder of Laure Richis is the culmination of his two-year project to harvest the scent of the most beautiful girl in Grasse, the act that finally brings the serial killer of twenty-five virgins to justice—and then, through the power of his stolen perfume, transforms him into an object of universal adoration before he walks away to die. It is the event that collapses the boundary between the monster and the god, revealing that Grenouille's genius for scent can command love as absolutely as it once commanded death, and that this power leaves him more isolated than ever.

The Hunt and the Flight

By March 1766, Grenouille had already murdered twenty-four young women in and around Grasse, each chosen for her beauty and each processed through cold-oil enfleurage to extract her scent. The twenty-fifth and most precious target was Laure Richis, the sixteen-year-old daughter of Antoine Richis, the second consul and the wealthiest wholesaler in the region. Grenouille had first detected her scent a year earlier, from behind the wall of the Richis garden on the Rue Droite, and recognized it as even finer than the red-haired girl he had killed in Paris in 1753. He planned to break into the well-guarded mansion on the night of the new moon, hide under his cover of odorlessness, and work on her with oil-drenched cloths while she slept. But on the day he intended to act, he smelled that her scent had vanished from the city. Druot told him that Richis had left for Grenoble that morning with twelve mules and his daughter. Grenouille ran to the Porte du Cours, sniffed the west wind, and found the golden thread of Laure's scent coming not from the north-west road to Grenoble but from the south-west, toward Cabris. He packed his knapsack with linen, pomade, a spatula, scissors, and a small olive-wood club, and set out after them.

The Night at La Napoule

Grenouille tracked the party through the Tanneron mountains and reached the coastal village of La Napoule by evening. Richis, traveling under disguise with Laure and her maid, had stopped at an inn and planned to ferry his daughter to the safety of the Monastery of Saint-Honorat on the Îles de Lérins at sunrise. He had locked Laure's door from the outside and slept soundly for the first time in months, convinced that his plan to marry her off to the Baron de Bouyon's son within ten days would foil the murderer. Grenouille, feigning sleep in the stable, observed Richis when he came to inspect the stalls. Richis found him so insignificant that he left without concern. Around nine o'clock, Grenouille prepared his impregnating cloth, brushing the fatty paste in varying thicknesses to match the scent distribution of a human body—heavier at the mouth, armpits, breasts, genitals, and feet, lighter on the shins and back. He folded the cloth, tucked the club in his pocket, and crept out into the moonless night. He used a ladder from the threshing shed to climb to Laure's window, pushed open the casement, and entered. She was lying on her stomach, her head pressed into the pillow, presenting the back of her skull. He struck once with the club. The sound was a dull, grinding thud that he hated. He cut open her nightgown, pulled it off, and wrapped her naked body in the oiled linen, rolling her up like strudel, tucking in every corner so that not a slit or hole remained. He cut off her hair close to the scalp and packed it inside the nightgown. Then he sat down in the armchair, covered himself with her cloak, ate aniseed biscuits from her pocket, and waited for dawn. During those hours, he felt a profound satisfaction, a sense of peace and wholeness he had never known—not even inside his mountain cave. He reviewed his life with gratitude, thanked himself for being what he was, and touched her foot through the cloth with his own.

The Discovery and the Manhunt

At dawn, Grenouille unwrapped the cloth, scraped off the remaining pomade with his spatula, and wiped down her body with her undershirt until even the oil in her pores pearled from her skin. He rolled the cloth, nightgown, and hair into a small package and climbed down the ladder without once looking at the body. The scullery maid found the ladder at first light. Richis, waking at seven in a splendid mood, opened the door to find Laure lying naked, dead, shorn, and sparkling white in the sunlight—exactly as in the nightmare he had dreamed two nights before. The news spread through the region like a declaration of war. The collective terror that had been suppressed after the bishop's anathema returned with full force. People locked up their daughters, barricaded themselves in their houses, and slept in churches. The authorities, for the first time, coordinated efforts across the prefectures of Grasse, Draguignan, and Toulon. Witnesses at La Napoule described a nondescript, shortish fellow with a limp. A reward of two hundred livres was offered. Ten days after the murder, Captain Gabriel Tagliasco of the city watch came forward: he had been questioned by a man fitting the description at the Porte du Cours on the morning of the murder, and had seen that same man limping into the workshop of Maître Druot and Madame Arnulfi in the Rue de la Louve. Grenouille was arrested an hour later. The innkeeper and groom identified him. In his cabin behind the Franciscan cloister, the shredded nightgown, undershirt, and red hair of Laure Richis were found, along with the clothes and hair of the other twenty-four girls, the olive-wood club, and the linen knapsack.

The Trial and the Sentence

The evidence was overwhelming, and Grenouille freely confessed to all the murders. When asked for his motive, he gave only one answer: "I needed them." Torture—hanging by the feet, seven pints of water, clamps on the feet—produced nothing more. The judges considered him insane and discontinued the interrogation. On 15 April 1766, the verdict was read: Grenouille was to be led to the parade ground, bound to a wooden cross with his face toward heaven, and dealt twelve blows with an iron rod, breaking the joints of his arms, legs, hips, and shoulders, then left to hang until death. The customary mercy of strangulation was expressly forbidden. The body was to be buried by night in an unmarked grave in the knacker's yard. Grenouille received the verdict without emotion. When the bailiff asked if he had a last wish, he said, "No, nothing; I have everything I need." A priest came to hear his confession but left after fifteen minutes; Grenouille looked at him with total incomprehension when he mentioned the name of God, then stretched out on his plank-bed and fell asleep.

The Execution and the Orgy

The execution was scheduled for five in the afternoon. By morning, ten thousand people had gathered on the parade grounds, more than for the crowning of the Queen of the Jasmine. Vendors sold lemonade and souvenir biscuits; the executioner, Monsieur Papon, had forged a heavy iron rod and practiced on carcasses at the slaughterhouse. The nobility filled the grandstand; the bishop arrived in a sedan chair. At four, the tension was unbearable. Then a carriage drawn by two horses drove through the Porte du Cours—the police lieutenant's carriage, an unprecedented honor for a condemned man. Grenouille stepped out wearing a blue frock coat, a white shirt, white silk stockings, and buckled black shoes. He was not bound. And then a miracle occurred. From one moment to the next, the ten thousand people were infused with the unshakeable belief that this man could not possibly be a murderer. He was innocence personified. Papon's hands trembled; he could not lift the rod. The footman sank to the ground in prostration. The police lieutenant and the officer wept and flapped their arms. Women bared their breasts and threw themselves on the ground. Men copulated with strangers in every possible combination. The bishop slumped forward, overcome with religious rapture, believing the Lord had performed a miracle. Grenouille stood and smiled—an ugly, cynical smirk of total triumph and total contempt. He had made the world love him. But in that moment, he was terrified. He realized that he could not enjoy his triumph because he did not love them; he hated them. The more they worshipped him, the more he hated them. He wanted them to see through his mask and return his hatred, to kill him. Richis came running across the grounds, his black coat billowing, and Grenouille spread his arms to receive the liberating thrust of a dagger. But Richis threw his arms around him, sobbing, and said, "Forgive me, my son, my dear son, forgive me!" Grenouille sank down and lost consciousness.

The Aftermath

He awoke in Laure Richis's bed. Richis had removed the reliquary of clothes and hair and sat beside him, stroking his hand. The magistrate had overturned the verdict; all witnesses had recanted. Richis offered to adopt him as his son, his heir. Grenouille nodded, and Richis kissed him on the mouth. That night, when the house was silent, Grenouille rose, crossed the garden, and climbed over the wall. He walked across the parade grounds, where thousands of drunken, naked bodies lay in the aftermath of the orgy. He no longer had any scent; the miracle was over. He walked west, toward Paris, to die. The people of Grasse awoke with a terrible hangover and erased the memory of the orgy from their minds. The town council ordered the scaffold dismantled. The judges closed the case of "G." and opened new proceedings against an unidentified murderer. Dominique Druot was arrested, tortured, and executed in place of Grenouille. Within days, the town had forgotten the entire affair. Life returned to normal; they harvested roses.