Muñeca nocturna - Capítulo 29
A wonderful scent he had never smelled before—or rather, a scent he had only ever smelled once… He had to move closer to it.
some.
He considered whether he should go straight through the gate into the manor. But there were many people there busy unloading...
He decided to go back into the street to find an alley or...
A passageway that perhaps extended along the side of the building. After walking a few meters, he had reached Rue de la Drois.
He passed through the city gate. He walked along the left side, following the city wall downhill. He hadn't gone far when he smelled...
He smelled the garden; at first it was faint, mixed with the air of the fields, then it grew stronger. Finally, he knew...
He was already close to the garden. The garden was adjacent to the city wall. He was now right next to the garden. He only needed to step back a little to...
So that one could see the topmost branches of the orange tree from beyond the city wall.
He closed his eyes again. The scent of the garden, as clear as a rainbow ribbon, wafted towards him. A fragrance...
The flavor, a precious fragrance, a fragrance he considered important, was contained within it—Grenouille felt a surge of happiness.
A chill ran through him with fear. His blood rushed to his head like that of a caught child, then retreated back to the middle of his body.
It rose again, then retreated; he was powerless to resist. The attack of this scent was too sudden. In an instant, while inhaling...
The time, eternity, he felt as if it had been extended L times, or vanished in an instant. Because he no longer knew what was happening now.
It is now, this is it, or more precisely, I don't know if now is then, or if this is there.
The fragrance wafting from the garden on Rue Marais in Paris in September 1753 was the very scent he had used to kill...
The scent of the red-haired girl. Now he had found that scent again in the world, which brought tears to his eyes—as for this…
The possibility that it wasn't true terrified him.
He felt dizzy, staggered for a moment, and had to lean against the wall, slowly sliding down onto the haystack.
He concentrated there, suppressing his urge to begin inhaling the rather infrequent, less-than-safe breaths that accompanied the breath.
An unpleasant smell. He concluded that while the smell behind the wall was very similar to the red-haired girl's, it wasn't entirely the same.
Yes. Of course, it was also a red-haired girl who came to the store, that was undeniable. Grenouille seemed to be right in front of him.
He saw this girl in a drawing, a girl he had imagined through his sense of smell: she wasn't sitting quietly, but jumping around.
She went, her body warmed up, then cooled down; clearly, she was doing a type of swimming that required vigorous exercise followed by a rapid stop.
In fact, she was playing a game with someone who had absolutely no distinguishing features or scent of her own. This girl had a pure white...
Skin, pale green eyes, freckles on the face, neck, and chest—…that is to say—Grenouille's call
He paused for a moment, then sniffed more intensely, trying to suppress the memory of the girl's scent on Avenue Marais—this was...
That is to say, this girl doesn't have real breasts yet! Her breasts have barely begun to develop. She is merely...
Some have a very soft texture and a faint fragrance, and are surrounded by freckles; perhaps this has happened in the last few days, or perhaps in the last few weeks.
From childhood... until now, her small nipples have only just begun to swell. In short: this girl is still a child. What to say?
They're just kids!
Grenouille's forehead was beaded with sweat. He knew that children didn't have a distinctive smell, just like rapidly growing children.
The flower appears green before it blooms. But this is the flower; the one behind the wall is still almost closed.
Apart from him and Grenouille, it had not yet been discovered by anyone else; only now were its first fragrant tips emerging.
Its petals, now standing upright with their hair pointing skyward, will surely overflow with fragrance once fully bloomed, a scent yet to be smelled by the world.
A perfume I'd seen before. Her current scent, Grenouille thought, was already more... than the girl's on Rue de Maré back then.
Okay—not so strong, not so thick, but more elegant, more appealing, and more natural. But after another...
In two years, this scent will surely mature and acquire a power that no one, man or woman, can escape.
A kind of power. People will be subdued, disarmed, and helpless in the face of this girl's magic. And he
They will not know why, because they are foolish; their noses are only for breathing, and they think they can use their eyes...
They could recognize everything with their eyes; they would say it was because the girl was beautiful, elegant, and charming. They would use their own...
The praise was limited to the girl's well-proportioned face, slender figure, and perfect breasts. Her eyes, they would say, were...
Like emeralds, teeth like pearls, limbs as smooth as ivory—and some other silly metaphors. They
She will be chosen as the Jasmine Queen. Her portrait will be painted by a dim-witted portrait artist, and people will gaze at it with curiosity.
She was said to be the most beautiful woman in France. Young men would sit beneath her window for nights on end, strumming their mandalas and belting out songs…
Even obese and wealthy old men were humbly begging her father to marry his daughter to him… Women of all ages saw…
She would sigh constantly, dreaming in her sleep of being as captivating as her, even for just one day. None of them...
They would know that what they were actually infatuated with wasn't her appearance, nor her supposedly flawless beauty, but rather her...
An incomparably exquisite fragrance! Only he, Grenouille, would know. In fact, he already knew.
Alright.
Ah! He wants to possess this fragrance! Not in vain, as he did with the fragrance of the young girl on Via Marais.
A clumsy approach. He had only inhaled the fragrance, thus ruining it. No, the girl behind the wall...
He must truly master the fragrance; he must obtain it as if peeling a layer of skin from her body, and transform it into his own scent.
Taste. He was still unsure how to achieve this. However, he had two years to learn. Generally...
In fact, it is probably no more difficult than obtaining the fragrance of a rare and precious flower.
He stood up, curled up almost reverently, and left, as if leaving behind something sacred or a place to sleep.
The woman walked away silently. No one saw him, heard him, or noticed him.
The discovery. He fled along the city wall to the other side of the city, where the girl's fragrance finally disappeared.
He found the entrance again. He stopped in the shadows of the house. The foul steam rising from the streets gave him a sense of peace.
The full senses helped him suppress the passion that had previously surged within him. A quarter of an hour later, he had completely regained his composure. Firstly,
He thought he couldn't go near the gardens by the city walls again. It wasn't necessary. It agitated him too much. That flower over there...
It thrived even without his help, though he had no idea how it did so. He shouldn't have...
He must revel in its fragrance at the opportune moment. He must throw himself into his work. He must expand his knowledge and perfect it.
He needs to hone his skills to prepare for the harvest season. He has two more years.
On the Louvre, not far from the Porte de la Fené, Grenouille discovered a small perfume workshop and inquired whether they needed staff.
Information indicates that Honoré Arnoughi, the perfumer and owner of the workshop, passed away last winter.
His will stipulated that a lively, dark-haired woman in her thirties should run the shop alone with the help of a shop assistant.
After a long explanation of the poor harvest and sluggish business, Mrs. Alnufi said that although she could no longer hire...
She has a job, but on the other hand, there are many urgent tasks that require her attention; she also knows that her house can't accommodate a second person.
Hey buddy, there's a little house in the olive grove behind Francis Abbey—less than a ten-minute walk from here.
—It wouldn't be a problem for a young person with modest needs to spend the night there; besides, she was an upright teacher's wife.
I know I have to be responsible for my partner's health, but on the other hand, I also realize that I can't guarantee two hot meals a day.
In short, Madame Arnolfie was—of course, Grenouille had already sensed—a woman living a life of wealth and
A woman with a shrewd business sense. Because he himself wasn't too concerned about money, he stated that he received two franc newspapers a week.
They were content with the pay and other meager necessities, and thus quickly reached an agreement. The first fellow...
He was summoned; he was a giant named Drew, and Grenouille immediately guessed that he must often be with...
Since the lady slept with him, she clearly couldn't make a decision without consulting him. He stood before Grenouille—
—Grenouille looked utterly ridiculous in the presence of this giant—legs spread apart, exuding a mist that smelled of semen.
They scrutinized him, examining him with sharp eyes, as if trying to discern some ulterior motive or...
Like a future rival, he finally gave a haughty yet tolerant cold smile and nodded in agreement.
And that was the end of it. They shook hands with Grenouille, who received a cold dinner.
A quilt, a key to a small hut. The hut was a windowless shack, smelling of old sheep dung and...
The smell of hay helped Grenouille settle in as comfortably as possible in the hut. The next day, he began his journey in Arnu.
He works for Mrs. Fei.
This is the season for daffodils to bloom. Mrs. Alnufi owns a small plot of land in the large basin below the city, where she...
You can either have someone plant this flower on their own small plot of land, or bargain with farmers to buy it from them.
The daffodils arrived early in the morning, basket after basket poured into the workshop, piling up in huge heaps, enormous in size but as light as a feather.
Light as a feather, and fragrant. Drew melted lard and butter into a creamy liquid in a large pot.
As Grenouille stirred incessantly with a broom-like stirring tool, he poured out large quantities of fresh flowers.
Put them in the pot. The flowers froze on the surface for a second, like startled eyes, as the stirring tool put them in...
Stirring them further, the hot oil enveloped them, and they turned pale. Almost instantly, they...
Exhausted and withered, death was clearly fast approaching, so they could only exhale their last breath of fragrance into the water.
Their medium; because—Grenouille was indescribably pleased to discover—he was stirring it in the pot.
The more flowers there are, the stronger the fragrance of the oil. And it's not the dead flowers that continue to release their fragrance into the oil, but rather...
The oil itself has already appropriated the fragrance of the flower.
Sometimes the broth in the pot is too thick and must be poured through a coarse sieve to remove the waste from the flowers, thus...
Fresh flowers can be added. Then they pour in the flowers, stir, filter, and work tirelessly all day long, because...
Things couldn't be delayed, and by evening, the entire pile of flowers was finished in the pot. Waste—to avoid any...
The loss—it's then scalded again with boiling water, placed in a screw press, and squeezed out the last drop of oil that still emitted its aroma. Large
Most fragrances, the vast and boundless soul of flowers, always remain in the pot, preserved and infused with the slow-simmering essence.