HE CAME DOWN with a high fever, which for the first few days was accompanied by heavy sweats, but which later, as if the pores of his skin were no longer enough, produced countless1 pustules. Grenouille’s body was strewn with reddish blisters2. Many of them popped open, releasing their watery3 contents, only to fill up again. Others grew into true boils, swelling4 up thick and red and then erupting like craters5, spewing viscous6 pus and blood streaked7 with yellow. In time, with his hundreds of ulcerous8 wounds, Grenouille looked like some martyr9 stoned from the inside out. Naturally, Baldini was worried. It would have been very unpleasant for him to lose his precious apprentice10 just at the moment when he was planning to expand his business beyond the borders of the capital and out across the whole country. For increasingly, orders for those innovative11 scents12 that Paris was so crazy about were indeed coming not only from the provinces but also from foreign courts. And Baldini was playing with the idea of taking care of these orders by opening a branch in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, virtually a small factory, where the fastest-moving scents could be mixed in quantity and bottled in quantity in smart little flacons, packed by smart little girls, and sent off to Holland, England, and Greater Germany. Such an enterprise was not exactly legal for a master perfumer residing in Paris, but Baldini had recently gained the protection of people in high places; his exquisite14 scents had done that for him-not just with the commissary, but also with such important personages as the gentleman holding the franchise15 for the Paris customs office or with a member of the Conseii Royal des Finances and promoter of flourishing commercial undertakings16 like Monsieur Feydeau de Brou. The latter had even held out the prospect17 of a royal patent, truly the best thing that one could hope for, a kind of carte blanche for circumventing18 all civil and professional restrictions19; it meant the end of all business worries and the guarantee of secure, permanent, unassailable prosperity.
And Baldini was carrying yet another plan under his heart, his favorite plan, a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, where his wares21, though not mass produced, would be made available to anyone. But for a selected number of well-placed, highly placed clients, he wanted to create -or rather, have created-personal perfumes that would fit only their wearer, like tailored clothes, would be used only by the wearer, and would bear his or her illustrious name. He could imagine a Parfum de la Marquise de Cernay, a Parfum de la Marechale de Villar, a Parfum du Due d’Aiguillon, and so on. He dreamed of a Parfum de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour, even of a Parfum de Sa Majeste le Roi, in a flacon of costliest22 cut agate23 with a holder24 of chased gold and, hidden on the inside of the base, the engraved25 words: “Giuseppe Baldini, Parfumeur.” The king’s name and his own, both on the same object. To such glorious heights had Baldini’s ideas risen! And now Grenouille had fallen ill. Even though Grimal, might he rest in peace, had sworn there had never been anything wrong with him, that he could stand up to anything, had even put the black plague behind him. And here he had gone and fallen ill, mortally ill. What if he were to die? Dreadful! For with him would die the splendid plans for the factory, for the smart little girls, for the patent, and for the king’s perfume.
And so Baldini decided26 to leave no stone unturned to save the precious life of his apprentice. He ordered him moved from his bunk27 in the laboratory to a clean bed on the top floor. He had the bed made up with damask. He helped bear the patient up the narrow stairway with his own hands, despite his unutterable disgust at the pustules and festering boils. He ordered his wife to heat chicken broth28 and wine. He sent for the most renowned29 physician in the neighborhood, a certain Procope, who demanded payment in advance -twenty francs!-before he would even bother to pay a call.
The doctor come, lifted up the sheet with dainty fingers, took one look at Grenouille’s body, which truly looked as if it had been riddled30 with hundreds of bullets, and left the room without ever having opened the bag that his attendant always carried about with him. The case, so began his report to Baldini, was quite clear. What they had was a case of syphilitic smallpox31 complicated by festering measles32 in stadio ultimo. No treatment was called for, since a lancet for bleeding could not be properly inserted into the deteriorating33 body, which was more like a corpse34 than a living organism. And although the characteristic pestilential stench associated with the illness was not yet noticeable-an amazing detail and a minor35 curiosity from a strictly36 scientific point of view-there could not be the least doubt of the patient’s demise37 within the next forty-eight hours, as surely as his name was Doctor Procope. Whereupon he exacted yet another twenty francs for his visit and prognosis- five francs of which was repayable in the event that the cadaver38 with its classic symptoms be turned over to him for demonstration39 purposes-and took his leave.
Baldini was beside himself. He wailed40 and lamented41 in despair. He bit his fingers, raging at his fate. Once again, just before reaching his goal, his grand, very grand plans had been thwarted42. At one point it had been Pelissier and his cohorts with their wealth of ingenuity43. Now it was this boy with his inexhaustible store of new scents, this scruffy44 brat45 who was worth more than his weight in gold, who had decided now of all times to come down with syphilitic smallpox and festering measles in stadio ultimo. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered46 like a silver mine, like a golden ass20. He could have gone ahead and died next year. But no! He was dying now, God damn it all, within forty-eight hours!
For a brief moment, Baldini considered the idea of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame, where he would light a candle and plead with the Mother of God for Gre-nouille’s recovery. But he let the idea go, for matters were too pressing. He ran to get paper and ink, then shooed his wife out of the sickroom. He was going to keep watch himself. Then he sat down in a chair next to the bed, his notepaper on his knees, the pen wet with ink in his hand, and attempted to take Gre-nouille’s perfumatory confession47. For God’s sake, he dare not slip away without a word, taking along the treasures he bore inside him. Would he not in these last hours leave a testament48 behind in faithful hands, so that posterity49 would not be deprived of the finest scents of all time? He, Baldini, would faithfully administer that testament, the canon of formulas for the most sublime50 scents ever smelled, would bring them all to full bloom. He would attach undying fame to Grenouille’s name, he would-yes, he swore it by everything holy-lay the best of these scents at the feet of the king, in an agate flacon with gold chasing and the engraved dedication51, “From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, Parfumeur, Paris.” So spoke52-or better, whispered-Baldini into Grenouille’s ear, unremittingly beseeching53, pleading, wheedling54.
But all in vain. Grenouille yielded nothing except watery secretions55 and bloody56 pus. He lay there mute in his damask and parted with those disgusting fluids, but not with his treasures, his knowledge, not a single formula for a scent13. Baldini would have loved to throttle57 him, to club him to death, to beat those precious secrets out of that moribund58 body, had there been any chance of success... and had it not so blatantly59 contradicted his understanding of a Christian’s love for his neighbor.
And so he went on purring and crooning in his sweetest tones, and coddled his patient, and-though only after a great and dreadful struggle with himself- dabbed60 with cooling presses the patient’s sweat-drenched brow and the seething61 volcanoes of his wounds, and spooned wine into his mouth hoping to bring words to his tongue-all night long and all in vain. In the gray of dawn he gave up. He fell exhausted62 into an armchair at the far end of the room and stared-no longer in rage, really, but merely yielding to silent resignation-at Grenouille’s small dying body there in the bed, whom he could neither save nor rob, nor from whom he could salvage63 anything else for himself, whose death he could only witness numbly64, like a captain watching his ship sink, taking all his wealth with it into the depths.
And then all at once the lips of the dying boy opened, and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate65 demise, he spoke. “Tell me, maftre, are there other ways to extract the scent from things besides pressing or distilling66?”
Baldini, believing the voice had come either from his own imagination or from the next world, answered mechanically, “Yes, there are.”
“What are they?” came the question from the bed. And Baldini opened his tired eyes wide. Grenouille lay there motionless among his pillows. Had the corpse spoken?
“What are they?” came the renewed question, and this time Baldini noticed Grenouille’s lips move. It’s over now, he thought. This is the end, this is the madness of fever or the throes of death. And he stood up, went over to the bed, and bent67 down to the sick man. His eyes were open and he gazed up at Baldini with the same strange, lurking68 look that he had fixed69 on him at their first meeting.
“What are they?” he asked.
Baldini felt a pang70 in his heart-he could not deny a dying man his last wish-and he answered, “There are three other ways, my son: enfleurage it chaud, enfleurage a froid, and enfleurage a I’huile. They are superior to distillation71 in several ways, and they are used for extraction of the finest of all scents: jasmine, rose, and orange blossom.”
“Where?” asked Grenouille.
“In the south,” answered Baldini. “Above all, in the town of Grasse.”
“Good,” said Grenouille.
And with that he closed his eyes. Baldini raised himself up slowly. He was very depressed72. He gathered up his notepaper, on which he had not written a single line, and blew out the candle. Day was dawning already. He was dead tired. One ought to have sent for a priest, he thought. Then he made a hasty sign of the cross with his right hand and left the room.
Grenouille was, however, anything but dead. He was only sleeping very soundly, deep in dreams, sucking fluids back into himself. The blisters were already beginning to dry out on his skin, the craters of pus had begun to drain, the wounds to close. Within a week he was well again.
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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craters
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| n.火山口( crater的名词复数 )；弹坑等 | |
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viscous
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| adj.粘滞的，粘性的 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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ulcerous
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| adj.溃疡性的，患溃疡的 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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innovative
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| adj.革新的，新颖的，富有革新精神的 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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franchise
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| n.特许，特权，专营权，特许权 | |
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undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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circumventing
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的现在分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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costliest
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| adj.昂贵的( costly的最高级 )；代价高的；引起困难的；造成损失的 | |
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agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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smallpox
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| n.天花 | |
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measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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deteriorating
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的现在分词 ) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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cadaver
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| n.尸体 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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43
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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scruffy
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| adj.肮脏的，不洁的 | |
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brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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51
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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52
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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53
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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54
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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55
secretions
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| n.分泌（物）( secretion的名词复数 ) | |
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56
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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57
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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moribund
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| adj.即将结束的，垂死的 | |
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blatantly
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| ad.公开地 | |
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60
dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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61
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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numbly
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| adv.失去知觉，麻木 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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distilling
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| n.蒸馏（作用）v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )( distilled的过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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71
distillation
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| n.蒸馏，蒸馏法 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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