Король расхитителей гробниц - Глава 19
Baldini said this, or rather, Baldini swore and pleaded into Grenouille's ear.
They flattered him and kept whispering to him.
But all of this was in vain. Grenouille simply continued to ooze watery discharge and pus. He remained silent.
He lay silently in the silk quilt, and despite the nauseating liquid flowing from his body, he left no trace of his treasure, nor did he reveal his...
His knowledge was so limited that he couldn't even articulate a single perfume molecule formula. If things were to succeed... if it were related to his Christianity...
If the views on universal love are not so obviously contradictory. Baldani really wanted to strangle him, really wanted to beat him to death, or
Extract those precious secrets from his dying body!
He continued to speak softly to the patient in a sweet tone, stroking him and applying a cool handkerchief—even though this required…
He overcame his fear—gently wiping the sweat from his forehead and the pus from his wound, and using a spoon to scoop out the grapes.
Wine was fed to him in the hope that he would speak; they did this all night, but to no avail. At dawn he finally…
He gave up. Exhausted, he sat down on a single sofa at the other end of the room, his eyes glazed over, no longer angry.
He stared resignedly at Grenouille's frail, dying body on the opposite bed, powerless to save him.
We couldn't get anything out of him, so we could only watch him die, like a captain watching his ship die.
All the valuables on board sank into the deep sea.
Suddenly, the dying patient opened his lips, speaking with unusual clarity and determination, completely unaware of the impending doom.
The voice of death said, "Please tell me, Master, what is the only way to obtain the aroma of an object besides pressing and distillation?"
"Aside from that, are there any other options?"
Baldini assumed the voice came from his hallucination or from heaven, so he mechanically replied, "Yes, there is a way."
"Which way?" a voice asked from the bed. Baldini opened his tired eyes, while Grenouille lay on the bed.
The bed was completely still. Was the corpse speaking?
"Which way?" another voice asked, this time Baldini recognized that Grenouille's lips were moving.
"It's over now," he thought. "He's finished now. This is either delirium or a final burst of energy before death." He stood up.
He walked to the bedside and bent down to look at the patient. The patient opened his eyes and looked at Baldi with the same strange, expectant gaze.
He looked at Baldini with that same gaze when they first met.
"Which way?" he asked.
At this moment, Baldini finally made up his mind—he didn't want to refuse a dying man's last request—
He replied, "My child, there are three methods: hot extraction, cold extraction, and oil extraction. They have many advantages..."
Even distillation is superior to steam distillation; these methods allow people to obtain the most beautiful fragrances of all: jasmine, rose...
The fragrance of roses and hibiscus.
“Where?” Grenouille asked.
“In the south,” Baldini replied, “mainly in Grasse.”
“Okay,” Grenouille said.
He closed his eyes as he spoke. Baldini slowly stood up. He was dejected. He put down the notebook paper he used for taking notes.
Together, none of the papers had a single word written on them. He blew out the candle. It was already dawn outside. He was exhausted.
"Yes. I must send someone to find a priest," he thought. He hastily made the sign of the cross with his right hand and went out.
Grenouille did not die. He was merely sleeping very soundly, having a deep dream; his blood had returned to his veins.
The scabs on his skin had dried up, the pustules were beginning to drain, and his wounds were starting to heal. In less than a week, he...
His illness was completely cured.
Grenouille longed to leave immediately and go south, where he could learn the new lessons his father had taught him.
Technical skills. But this is easier said than done; he was merely an apprentice, and an apprentice is an insignificant person. Strictly speaking,
Baldini said this to him—he said it after his initial joy at Grenouille's recovery had subsided.
Strictly speaking, he was even more insignificant than an insignificant person, because a respectable apprentice's origins had to be...
Undeniably, they must be legitimate children, have a proper kinship, and have an apprenticeship contract.
He lacks everything. If it were him, Baldini, one day to grant him his wish and give him a full master's certificate, then...
It wasn't just because he still had some talent, or because he would behave properly in the future, but also because of him—
Baldini—because of his infinitely kind heart, even though such kindness often brought him losses, he never...
It will not be violated.
Of course, this well-intentioned promise was kept for a long time, nearly three years before it was fulfilled. During this period, Barr...
With Grenouille's help, Dini realized his ambitious dream. He built a...
The workshop opened up sales channels for high-end perfumes at court, gaining royal privileges. His exquisite fragrance products...
It is exported to St. Petersburg, Palermo, and Copenhagen. Cosmetics containing this fragrance are even popular in Constantinople.
Everyone knows that the area is rich in its own spices. In the tabernacles of London, in the court of Parma, in the Hua...
The palace of Sand and the Count's palace of Lilang-de-Temold both exuded the scent of Baldini's perfume.
Baldini, who had willingly prepared to spend his later years in poverty in Messina, is now seventy years old.
In his advanced age, he became one of Europe's greatest perfume experts and one of the wealthiest citizens of Paris.
In early 1756—during which time he had already built another house next to his original house on the Exchange Bridge.
It was intended for residential use, because the old house was piled high with spice products and spices all the way to the roof—he frankly told Grenouille.
He said he was now prepared to grant him his freedom, but with three conditions: first, the production he had done in Baldini...
He must cut perfumes, forbidding himself from making them, nor from passing on their molecular formulas to any third party; secondly, he must leave.
Paris, he could not return to during his lifetime; third, he had to keep the first two conditions a complete secret.
He must swear an oath to all the saints, to the spirit of his mother in heaven, and with his own honor.
Grenouille believed neither in honor nor saints, nor in his mother's poor soul; he swore an oath. He...
All of this was sworn in. He accepted every condition Baldini had because he wanted that ridiculous master's certificate, which...
The certificate would allow him to live inconspicuously, travel freely, and find work without hindrance. He felt other things...
It doesn't matter. What exactly are these conditions?! He can't come to Paris again? Why did he even come to Paris in the first place?! What is his love for Paris?
He knew it very well, even the smelly corner was familiar to him. He carried it with him wherever he went, for many years.
He owns Paris. He doesn't produce Baldini's famous perfumes, nor does he share the molecular formula with others? It's as if he invented...
It was like having a thousand other perfumes of equal or even better quality, if he wanted! But he simply didn't want to.
He didn't want to compete with Baldini or any random citizen perfume expert. He didn't want to rely on his own hands.
He made his living through art, and if there were other ways to make a living, he wouldn't even want to rely on it. He wanted to transfer his...
The inner self. This is not something vividly remembered. Rather, it is an inner self that he has discovered, something far more beautiful than anything mentioned in the world of Shabu.
Therefore, Grenouille felt that Baldini's conditions were not conditions at all.
One May morning in spring, he set off. He received a travel backpack from Baldini.
In addition, there was a shirt, two pairs of socks, a large sausage, a wool blanket, and twenty-five francs. Baldini said,
This was far more than he should have given, especially considering that Grenouille hadn't paid for the extensive education he had received.
He thought he only needed to pay two francs for travel expenses, and that the rest was not his responsibility. But he...
I felt I couldn't go against my conscience, I couldn't betray the kindness I had cultivated in my heart over the years.
Tister's deep sympathy. He wished him a safe journey and reminded him again not to forget his vow. And so he...
He was led inside the servants' quarters—where he had been received before—and sent away. Bardi
Nee did not shake his hand; his sympathy did not extend to that. He never shook his hand. He acted out of a sense of...
There was no malicious aversion; he always avoided touching him, as if he himself risked being infected or contaminated. He just stood there, dry and unresponsive.
He said "Goodbye." Grenouille nodded, curled up, and left. The street was deserted.
Baldini watched him go, seeing him dawdle across the bridge toward the island, his short stature...
Short, hunched over, with his backpack on his back, he looked like an old man from behind. (At Congress)
The alleyway turned a corner on the other side of the building, and Baldini watched until he could no longer see him, feeling a particular sense of relief as he took the...
He could finally admit it. He had never liked the little guy. He settled him in the same house as him.
He squeezed the perfume molecules out of his body, and during that time he didn't feel good. He was in a bad mood.
It's like a person of good character committing a forbidden act for the first time, using unauthorized means to pull off a trick. When
However, the danger of people discovering his trick is not great, while the prospect of success is enormous, but the mental unease and...
The guilt he felt was equally immense. In fact, not a single day in the past few years had he escaped unpleasantness.
He spent his time in his imagination, imagining that any interaction with this person would come at a price in some way. He was repeatedly worried...
I prayed anxiously, hoping things would go well! I hoped I would successfully reap the rewards of this adventure without having to pay anything in return.
The price! I hope I succeed! Admittedly, what I did was wrong, but God will turn a blind eye.
He definitely will! He's punished me countless times throughout my life for no reason, making my life miserable. If he does this...
It's reasonable that we treated each other amicably. If I have made a mistake, where exactly is it? At most...
The amount was nothing more than me engaging in some activities outside of guild rules, and me taking advantage of the peculiarities of someone who had not received specialized training.
A genius, and he passed off his talent as his own. At best, I've strayed slightly from the path of a craftsman.
This traditional path of virtue, at best, is nothing more than, "I did today what I cursed yesterday." This is a kind of...
Is it a sin? Others spend their whole lives deceiving. I've only been a little dishonest these past few years. Besides, in this respect...
The only opportunity was purely accidental. Perhaps it wasn't accidental at all, or perhaps it was a preordained opportunity to send this monk Lian to his destination.