“CHENIER!” BALDINI cried from behind the counter where for hours he had stood rigid1 as a pillar, staring at the door. “Put on your wig2!” And out from among the kegs of olive oil and dangling3 Bayonne hams appeared Chenier-Baldini’s assistant, somewhat younger than the latter, but already an old man himself-and moved toward the elegant front of the shop. He pulled his wig from his coat pocket and shoved it on his head. “Are you going out, Monsieur Baldini?”
“No,” said Baldini. “I shall retire to my study for a few hours, and I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances.”
“Ah, I see! You are creating a new perfume.”
BALDSNI: Correct. With which to impregnate a Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. He wants something like... like ... I think he said it’s called Amor and Psyche4, and comes he says from that... that bungler5 in the rue6 Saint-Andre-des-Arts, that... that...
CHENIER: Pelissier.
BALDINI: Yes. Indeed. That’s the bungler’s name. Amor and Psyche, by Pelissier.-Do you know it?”
CHENIER: Yes, yes. I do indeed. You can smell it everywhere these days. Smell it on every street corner. But if you ask me-nothing special! It most certainly can’t be compared in any way with what you will create, Monsieur Baldini.
BALDSNI: Naturally not.
CHENIER: It’s a terribly common scent7, this Amor and Psyche.
BALDINI: Vulgar?
CHENIER: Totally vulgar, like everything from Pelissier. I believe it contains lime oil.
BALDINI: Really? What else?
CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps. And maybe tincture of rosemary. But I can’t say for sure.
BALDINI: It’s of no consequence at all to me in any case.
CHENIER: Naturally not.
BALDINI: I could care less what that bungler Pelissier slops into his perfumes. I certainly would not take my inspiration from him, I assure you.
CHENIER: You’re absolutely right, monsieur.
BALDINI: As you know, I take my inspiration from no one. As you know,! create my own perfumes.
CHENIER: I do know, monsieur.
BALDINI: I alone give birth to them.
CHENIER: I know.
BALDINI: And I am thinking of creating something for Count Verhamont that will cause a veritable furor8.
CHENIER: I am sure it will, Monsieur Baldini.
BALDINI: Take charge of the shop. I need peace and quiet. Don’t let anyone near me, Chenier.
And with that, he shuffled9 away-not at all like a statue, but as befitted his age, bent10 over, but so far that he looked almost as if he had been beaten-and slowly climbed the stairs to his study on the second floor.
Chenier took his place behind the counter, positioning himself exactly as his master had stood before, and stared fixedly11 at the door. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop, and up in Baldini’s study, the usual catastrophe12. Baldini would take off his blue coat drenched13 in frangipani, sit down at his desk, and wait for inspiration. The inspiration would not come. He would then hurry over to the cupboard with its hundreds of vials and start mixing them haphazardly14. The mixture would be a failure. He would curse, fling open the window, and pour the stuff into the river. He would try something else, that too would be a failure, he would then rave15 and rant16 and throw a howling fit there in the stifling17, odor-filled room. At about seven o’clock he would come back down, miserable18, trembling and whining19, and say: “Chenier, I’ve lost my nose, I cannot give birth to this perfume, I cannot deliver the Spanish hide to the count, all is lost, I am dead inside, I want to die, Chenier, please, help me die!” And Chenier would suggest that someone be sent to Pelissier’s for a bottle of Amor and Psyche, and Baldini would acquiesce20, but only on condition that not a soul should learn of his shame. Chenier would swear himself to silence, and tonight they would perfume Count Verhamont’s leather with the other man’s product. That was how it would be, no doubt of it, and Chenier only wished that the whole circus were already over. Baldini was no longer a great perfumer. At one time, to be sure, in his youth, thirty, forty years ago, he had composed Rose of the South and Baldini’s Gallant21 Bouquet22, the two truly great perfumes to which he owed his fortune. But now he was old and exhausted23 and did not know current fashions and modern tastes, and whenever he did manage to concoct24 a new perfume of his own, it was some totally old-fashioned, unmarketable stuff that within a year they had to dilute25 ten to one and peddle26 as an additive27 for fountains. What a shame, Chenier thought as he checked the sit of his wig in the mirror-a shame about old Baldini; a shame about his beautiful shop, because he’s sure to ruin it; and a shame about me, because by the time he has ruined it, I’ll be too old to take it over....
1 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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2 wig | |
n.假发 | |
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3 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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4 psyche | |
n.精神;灵魂 | |
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5 Bungler | |
n.笨拙者,经验不够的人 | |
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6 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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7 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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8 furor | |
n.狂热;大骚动 | |
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9 shuffled | |
v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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10 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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11 fixedly | |
adv.固定地;不屈地,坚定不移地 | |
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12 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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13 drenched | |
adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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14 haphazardly | |
adv.偶然地,随意地,杂乱地 | |
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15 rave | |
vi.胡言乱语;热衷谈论;n.热情赞扬 | |
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16 rant | |
v.咆哮;怒吼;n.大话;粗野的话 | |
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17 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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18 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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19 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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20 acquiesce | |
vi.默许,顺从,同意 | |
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21 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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22 bouquet | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
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23 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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24 concoct | |
v.调合,制造 | |
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25 dilute | |
vt.稀释,冲淡;adj.稀释的,冲淡的 | |
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26 peddle | |
vt.(沿街)叫卖,兜售;宣传,散播 | |
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27 additive | |
adj.附加的;n.添加剂 | |
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