RETURNING home was pleasant! The double role of avenger1 and creator of worlds was not a little taxing, and then to be celebrated2 afterwards for hours on end by one’s own offspring was not the perfect way to relax either. Weary of the duties of divine creator and official host, Grenouille the Great longed for some small domestic bliss3.
His heart was a purple castle. It lay in a rock-strewn desert, concealed4 by dunes5, surrounded by a marshy6 oasis7, and set behind stone walls. It could be reached only from the air. It had a thousand private rooms and a thousand underground chambers8 and a thousand elegant salons9, among them one with a purple sofa when Grenouille-no longer Grenouille the Great, but only the quite private Grenouille, or simply dear little Jean-Baptiste-would recover from the labors11 of the day.
The castle’s private rooms, however, were shelved from floor to ceiling, and on those shelves were all the odors that Grenouille had collected in the course of his life, several million of them. And in the castle’s cellars the best scents12 of his life were stored in casks.
When properly aged14, they were drawn15 off into bottles that lay in miles of damp, cool corridors and were arranged by vintage and estate. There were so many that they could not all be drunk in a single lifetime.
Once dear little Jean-Baptiste had finally returned chez soi, lying on his simple, cozy16 sofa in his purple salon10-his boots finally pulled off, so to speak-he clapped his hands and called his servants, who were invisible, intangible, inaudible, and above all inodorous, and thus totally imaginary servants, and ordered them to go to the private rooms and get this or that volume from the great library of odors and to the cellars to fetch something for him to drink. The imaginary servants hurried off, and Grenouille’s stomach cramped17 in tormented18 expectation. He suddenly felt like a drunkard who is afraid that the shot of brandy he has ordered at the bar will, for some reason or other, be denied him. What if the cellar or the library were suddenly empty, if the wine in the casks had gone sour? Why were they keeping him waiting? Why did they not come? He needed the stuff now, he needed it desperately19, he was addicted20, he would die on the spot if he did not get it.
Calm yourself, Jean-Baptiste! Calm yourself, my friend! They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re bringing what you crave21. The servants are winging their way here with it. They are carrying the book of odors on an invisible tray, and in their white-gloved, invisible hands they are carrying those precious bottles, they set them down, ever so carefully, they bow, and they disappear.
And then, left alone, at last-once again!-left alone, Jean-Baptiste reaches for the odors he craves22, opens the first bottle, pours a glass full to the rim23, puts it to his lips, and drinks. Drinks the glass of cool scent13 down in one draft, and it is luscious24. It is so refreshingly25 good that dear Jean-Baptiste’s eyes fill with tears of bliss, and he immediately pours himself a second glass: a scent from the year 1752, sniffed26 up in spring, before sunrise on the Pont-Roya!, his nose directed to the west, from where a light breeze bore the blended odors of sea and forest and a touch of the tarry smell of the barges27 tied up at the bank. It was the scent from the end of his first night spent roaming about Paris without GrimaPs permission. It was the fresh odor of the approaching day, of the first daybreak that he had ever known in freedom. That odor had been the pledge of freedom. It had been the pledge of a different life. The odor of that morning was for Grenouille the odor of hope. He guarded it carefully. And he drank of it daily.
Once he had emptied the second glass, all his nervousness, all his doubt and insecurity, fell away from him, and he was filled with glorious contentment. He pressed his back against the soft cushions of his sofa, opened a book, and began to read from his memoirs28. He read about the odors of his childhood, of his schooldays, about the odors of the broad streets and hidden nooks of the city, about human odors. And a pleasant shudder29 washed over him, for the odors he now called up were indeed those that he despised, that he had exterminated30. With sickened interest, Grenouille read from the book of revolting odors, and when his disgust outweighed31 his interest, he simply slammed the book shut, laid it aside, and picked up another.
All the while he drank without pause from his noble scents. After the bottle of hope, he uncorked one from the year 1744, filled with the warm scent of the wood outside Madame Gaillard’s house. And after that he drank a bottle of the scent of a summer evening, imbued32 with perfume and heavy with blossoms, gleaned33 from the edge of a park in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, dated 1753.
He was now scent-logged. His arms and legs grew heavier and heavier as they pressed into the cushions. His mind was wonderfully fogged. But it was not yet the end of his debauch34. His eyes could read no more, true, the book had long since fallen from his hand- but he did not want to call an end to the evening without having emptied one last bottle, the most splendid of all: the scent of the girl from the rue35 des Marais....
He drank it reverently36 and he sat upright on the sofa to do so-although that was difficult and the purple salon whirled and swayed with every move. Like a schoolboy, his knees pressed together, his feet side by side, his left hand resting on his left thigh37, that was how little Grenouille drank the most precious scent from the cellars of his heart, glass after glass, and grew sadder and sadder as he drank. He knew that he was drinking too much. He knew that he could not handle so much good scent. And yet he drank till the bottle was empty. He walked along the dark passage from the street into the rear courtyard. He made for the glow of light. The girl was sitting there pitting yellow plums. Far in the distance, the rockets and petards of the fireworks were booming....
He put the glass down and sat there for a while yet, several minutes, stiff with sentimentality and guzzling38, until the last aftertaste had vanished from his palate. He stared vacantly ahead. His head was suddenly as empty as the bottle. Then he toppled sideways onto the purple sofa, and from one moment to the next sank into a numbed39 sleep.
At the same time, the other Grenouille fell asleep on his horse blanket. And his sleep was just as fathomless40 as that of the innermost Grenouille, for the Herculean deeds and excesses of the one had more than exhausted41 the other-they were, after all, one and the same person.
When he awoke, however, he did not awaken42 in the purple salon of his purple castle behind the seven walls, nor upon the vernal fields of scent within his soul, but most decidedly in his stony43 dungeon44 at the end of a tunnel, on hard ground, in the dark. And he was nauseated45 with hunger and thirst, and as chilled and miserable46 as a drunkard after a night of carousing47. He crept on all fours out of his tunnel.
Outside it would be some time of day or another, usually toward the beginning or end of night; but even at midnight, the brightness of the starlight pricked48 his eyes like needles. The air seemed dusty to him, acrid49, searing his lungs; the landscape was brittle50; he bumped against the stones. And even the most delicate odors came sharp and caustic51 into a nose unaccustomed to the world. Grenouille the tick had grown as touchy52 as a hermit53 crab54 that has left its shell to wander naked through the sea.
He went to his watering spot, licked the moisture from the wall, for an hour, for two; it was pure torture. Time would not end, time in which the real world scorched55 his skin. He ripped a few scraps56 of moss57 from the stones, choked them down, squatted58, shitting as he ate-it must all be done quickly, quickly, quickly. And as if he were a hunted creature, a little soft-fleshed animal, and the hawks59 were already circling in the sky overhead, he ran back to his cave, to the end of the tunnel where his horse blanket was spread. There he was safe at last.
He leaned back against the stony debris60, stretched out his legs, and waited. He had to hold his body very still, very still, like some vessel61 about to slosh over from too much motion. Gradually he managed to gain control of his breathing. His excited heart beat more steadily62; the pounding of the waves inside him subsided63 slowly. And suddenly solitude64 fell across his heart like a dusky reflection. He closed his eyes. The dark doors within him opened, and he entered. The next performance in the theater of Grenouille’s soul was beginning.
1 avenger | |
n. 复仇者 | |
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2 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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3 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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4 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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5 dunes | |
沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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6 marshy | |
adj.沼泽的 | |
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7 oasis | |
n.(沙漠中的)绿洲,宜人的地方 | |
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8 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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9 salons | |
n.(营业性质的)店( salon的名词复数 );厅;沙龙(旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所);(大宅中的)客厅 | |
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10 salon | |
n.[法]沙龙;客厅;营业性的高级服务室 | |
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11 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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12 scents | |
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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13 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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14 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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15 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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16 cozy | |
adj.亲如手足的,密切的,暖和舒服的 | |
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17 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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18 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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19 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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20 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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21 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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22 craves | |
渴望,热望( crave的第三人称单数 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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23 rim | |
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界 | |
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24 luscious | |
adj.美味的;芬芳的;肉感的,引与性欲的 | |
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25 refreshingly | |
adv.清爽地,有精神地 | |
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26 sniffed | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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27 barges | |
驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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28 memoirs | |
n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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29 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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30 exterminated | |
v.消灭,根绝( exterminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31 outweighed | |
v.在重量上超过( outweigh的过去式和过去分词 );在重要性或价值方面超过 | |
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32 imbued | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的过去式和过去分词 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
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33 gleaned | |
v.一点点地收集(资料、事实)( glean的过去式和过去分词 );(收割后)拾穗 | |
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34 debauch | |
v.使堕落,放纵 | |
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35 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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36 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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37 thigh | |
n.大腿;股骨 | |
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38 guzzling | |
v.狂吃暴饮,大吃大喝( guzzle的现在分词 ) | |
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39 numbed | |
v.使麻木,使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 fathomless | |
a.深不可测的 | |
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41 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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42 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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43 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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44 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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45 nauseated | |
adj.作呕的,厌恶的v.使恶心,作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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47 carousing | |
v.痛饮,闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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48 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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49 acrid | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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50 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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51 caustic | |
adj.刻薄的,腐蚀性的 | |
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52 touchy | |
adj.易怒的;棘手的 | |
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53 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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54 crab | |
n.螃蟹,偏航,脾气乖戾的人,酸苹果;vi.捕蟹,偏航,发牢骚;vt.使偏航,发脾气 | |
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55 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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56 scraps | |
油渣 | |
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57 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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58 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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59 hawks | |
鹰( hawk的名词复数 ); 鹰派人物,主战派人物 | |
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60 debris | |
n.瓦砾堆,废墟,碎片 | |
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61 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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62 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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63 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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64 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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