Moor's head alembic

The Moor's head alembic is a copper distilling apparatus that appears in the laboratory of the perfumer Giuseppe Baldini on the Pont au Change in Paris. It is a specialized piece of equipment consisting of a copper kettle, a double-walled condensing head shaped like a Moor's head, and a system of hoses for cooling water. Baldini, who had used the same alembic forty years earlier for distilling lavender on the open slopes of Liguria and the heights of the Lubéron, brings it out whenever fresh rosemary, sage, mint, anise seeds, valerian roots, caraway seeds, nutmegs, or dried clove blossoms become available at the market. The apparatus is heated on a brick-lined hearth, and Baldini explains that the cooling mechanism—a later addition—replaces the bellowed air he once used in the field.

The Distillation Process

The procedure begins with Grenouille chopping the plant material while Baldini heats the copper kettle, its bottom well covered with water. The minced plants are thrown in, the double-walled Moor's head is quickly closed off, and two hoses are connected to allow water to pass in and out for cooling. As the kettle slowly comes to the boil, the distillate begins to flow out of the Moor's head's third tap into a Florentine flask—at first hesitantly, drop by drop, then as a threadlike stream. The initial output looks unimpressive, like a thin, murky soup, but as the first flask is replaced with a second and set aside to settle, the brew separates into two distinct liquids: below, the floral or herbal fluid; above, a thick floating layer of oil. By carefully pouring off the fluid through the lower spout of the Florentine flask, the pure oil—the essence, the heavily scented principle of the plant—is left behind.

Grenouille's Fascination

Grenouille is fascinated by the process in a way that kindles a hidden, cold-flame excitement. He perceives the procedure as a means of using fire, water, steam, and a cunning apparatus to snatch the scented soul from matter. For him, that ethereal oil is the only reason for his interest in any substance; the rest—blossoms, leaves, rind, fruit, color, beauty, vitality—are mere husk and ballast to be disposed of. When the distillate grows watery and clear, the alembic is taken from the fire and opened, and the cooked muck is shaken out—flabby, pale, like soggy straw or the bleached bones of little birds, almost totally robbed of its own odour—and thrown out the window into the river. New fresh plants are then fed into the alembic, and the cycle repeats, often continuing all night long.

The Night Vigils

During these long nights, Baldini and Grenouille sit on footstools by the fire, both spellbound but for very different reasons. Baldini enjoys the blaze, the flickering red flames, the copper, the crackling wood, and the gurgle of the alembic, which reminds him of the old days. He fetches wine, drinks, and tells endless stories about the War of the Spanish Succession, the Camisards, a Huguenot's daughter in the Estérel, a forest fire in Provence, and his apprentice years in Genoa and Grasse. Grenouille, sitting back in the shadows, does not listen. He stares uninterruptedly at the tube at the top of the alembic out of which the distillate runs in a thin stream, imagining himself as such an alembic—simmering away inside, gushing a distillate of the exquisite plants that blossom within him, whose bouquet is unknown to anyone but himself, and with which he could turn the world into a fragrant Garden of Eden.

Grenouille's Experiments and Failure

Given free rein with the alembic, Grenouille takes full advantage of the freedom. While mixing perfumes and producing other scented products during the day, he occupies himself at night exclusively with distillation. He discovers that the heat of the fire plays a significant role in the quality of the distillate—every plant, flower, wood, and oil-yielding seed demands a special procedure, sometimes requiring the hottest head of steam, sometimes a moderate boil, and some flowers yielding their best only over the lowest possible flame. He succeeds in producing oils from nettles and cress seeds, and toilet water from fresh elderberry bark and yew sprigs. But he also attempts to distill substances that lack essential oils—glass, brass, porcelain, leather, grain, gravel, dirt, blood, wood, fresh fish, his own hair, and even plain water from the Seine—all without success. After months of disappointing experiments, he realizes that distillation is only useful for extracting volatile essential oils from certain plants, and that for substances lacking these oils, the process is pointless. This failure leads him to fall mortally ill, and it is only during his convalescence that he learns from Baldini about the alternative techniques of enfleurage à chaud, enfleurage à froid, and enfleurage à l'huile, which are superior for extracting the finest scents like jasmine, rose, and orange blossom, and which are practiced above all in the town of Grasse.