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The
heat
kindled
by
rage-the
enemy
of
sublime
scents-had
fled
,
the
pack
of
demons
was
annihilated
.
The
fields
within
him
lay
soft
and
burnished
beneath
the
lascivious
peace
of
his
awakening
-
and
they
waited
for
the
will
of
their
lord
to
come
upon
them.And
Grenouille
rose
up-as
noted-and
shook
the
sleep
from
his
limbs
.
He
stood
up
,
the
great
innermost
Grenouille
.
Like
a
giant
he
planted
himself
,
in
all
his
glory
and
grandeur
,
splendid
to
look
upon-damn
shame
that
no
one
saw
him
!
-
and
looked
about
him
,
proud
and
majestic.Yes
!
This
was
his
empire
!
The
incomparable
Empire
of
Grenouille
!
Created
and
ruled
over
by
him
,
the
incomparable
Grenouille
,
laid
waste
by
him
if
he
so
chose
and
then
raised
up
again
,
made
boundless
by
him
and
defended
with
a
flaming
sword
against
every
intruder
.
Here
there
was
naught
but
his
will
,
the
will
of
the
great
,
splendid
,
incomparable
Grenouille
.
And
now
that
the
evil
stench
of
the
past
had
been
swept
away
,
he
desired
that
his
empire
be
fragrant
.
And
with
mighty
strides
he
passed
across
the
fallow
fields
and
sowed
fragrance
of
all
kinds
,
wastefully
here
,
sparingly
there
,
in
plantations
of
endless
dimension
and
in
small
,
intimate
parcels
,
strewing
seeds
by
the
fistful
or
tucking
them
in
one
by
one
in
selected
spots
.
To
the
farthermost
regions
of
his
empire
,
Grenouille
the
Great
,
the
frantic
gardener
,
hurried
,
and
soon
there
was
not
a
cranny
left
into
which
he
had
not
thrown
a
seed
of
fragrance
.
And
when
he
saw
that
it
was
good
and
that
the
whole
earth
was
saturated
with
his
divine
Grenouille
seeds
,
then
Grenouille
the
Great
let
descend
a
shower
of
rectified
spirit
,
soft
and
steady
,
and
everywhere
and
overall
the
seed
began
to
germinate
and
sprout
,
bringing
forth
shoots
to
gladden
his
heart
.
On
the
plantations
it
rolled
in
luxurious
waves
,
and
in
the
hidden
gardens
the
stems
stood
full
with
sap
.
The
blossoms
all
but
exploded
from
their
buds.Then
Grenouille
the
Great
commanded
the
rain
to
stop
.
And
it
was
so
.
And
he
sent
the
gentle
sun
of
his
smile
upon
the
land
;
whereupon
,
to
a
bud
,
the
hosts
of
blossoms
unfolded
their
glory
,
from
one
end
of
his
empire
unto
the
other
,
creating
a
single
rainbowed
carpet
woven
from
myriad
precious
capsules
of
fragrance
.
And
Grenouille
the
Great
saw
that
it
was
good
,
very
,
very
good
.
And
he
caused
the
wind
of
his
breath
to
blow
across
the
land
.
And
the
blossoms
,
thus
caressed
,
spilled
over
with
scent
and
intermingled
their
teeming
scents
into
one
constantly
changing
scent
that
in
all
its
variety
was
nevertheless
merged
into
the
odor
of
universal
homage
to
Him
,
Grenouille
the
Great
,
the
Incomparable
,
the
Magnificent
,
who
,
enthroned
upon
his
gold-scented
cloud
,
sniffed
his
breath
back
in
again
,
and
the
sweet
savor
of
the
sacrifice
was
pleasing
unto
him
.
And
he
deigned
to
bless
his
creation
several
times
over
,
from
whom
came
thanksgiving
with
songs
of
praise
and
rejoicing
and
yet
further
outpourings
of
glorious
fragrance
.
Meanwhile
evening
was
come
,
and
the
scents
spilled
over
still
and
united
with
the
blue
of
night
to
form
ever
more
fantastic
airs
A
veritable
gala
of
scent
awaited
,
with
one
gigantic
burst
of
fragrant
diamond-studded
fireworks.Grenouille
the
Great
,
however
,
had
tired
a
little
and
yawned
and
spoke
:
"
Behold
,
I
have
done
a
great
thing
,
and
I
am
well
pleased
.
But
as
with
all
the
works
once
finished
,
it
begins
to
bore
me
.
I
shall
withdraw
,
and
to
crown
this
strenuous
day
I
shall
allow
myself
yet
one
more
small
delectation
in
the
chambers
of
my
heart
.
"
So
spoke
Grenouille
the
Great
and
,
while
the
peasantry
of
scent
danced
and
celebrated
beneath
him
,
he
glided
with
wide-stretched
wings
down
from
his
golden
clouds
,
across
the
nocturnal
fields
of
his
soul
,
and
home
to
his
heart
.
RETURNING
home
was
pleasant
!
The
double
role
of
avenger
and
creator
of
worlds
was
not
a
little
taxing
,
and
then
to
be
celebrated
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
bliss.His
heart
was
a
purple
castle
.
It
lay
in
a
rock-strewn
desert
,
concealed
by
dunes
,
surrounded
by
a
marshy
oasis
,
and
set
behind
stone
walls
.
It
could
be
reached
only
from
the
air
.
It
had
a
thousand
private
rooms
and
a
thousand
underground
chambers
and
a
thousand
elegant
salons
,
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
labors
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
scents
of
his
life
were
stored
in
casks.When
properly
aged
,
they
were
drawn
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
,
cozy
sofa
in
his
purple
salon-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
cramped
in
tormented
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
desperately
,
he
was
addicted
,
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
crave
.
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
craves
,
opens
the
first
bottle
,
pours
a
glass
full
to
the
rim
,
puts
it
to
his
lips
,
and
drinks
.
Drinks
the
glass
of
cool
scent
down
in
one
draft
,
and
it
is
luscious
.
It
is
so
refreshingly
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
,
sniffed
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
barges
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
memoirs
.
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
shudder
washed
over
him
,
for
the
odors
he
now
called
up
were
indeed
those
that
he
despised
,
that
he
had
exterminated
.
With
sickened
interest
,
Grenouille
read
from
the
book
of
revolting
odors
,
and
when
his
disgust
outweighed
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
,
imbued
with
perfume
and
heavy
with
blossoms
,
gleaned
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
debauch
.
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
rue
des
Marais
...
He
drank
it
reverently
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
thigh
,
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
guzzling
,
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
numbed
sleep.At
the
same
time
,
the
other
Grenouille
fell
asleep
on
his
horse
blanket
.
And
his
sleep
was
just
as
fathomless
as
that
of
the
innermost
Grenouille
,
for
the
Herculean
deeds
and
excesses
of
the
one
had
more
than
exhausted
the
other-they
were
,
after
all
,
one
and
the
same
person.When
he
awoke
,
however
,
he
did
not
awaken
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
stony
dungeon
at
the
end
of
a
tunnel
,
on
hard
ground
,
in
the
dark
.
And
he
was
nauseated
with
hunger
and
thirst
,
and
as
chilled
and
miserable
as
a
drunkard
after
a
night
of
carousing
.
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
pricked
his
eyes
like
needles
.
The
air
seemed
dusty
to
him
,
acrid
,
searing
his
lungs
;
the
landscape
was
brittle
;
he
bumped
against
the
stones
.
And
even
the
most
delicate
odors
came
sharp
and
caustic
into
a
nose
unaccustomed
to
the
world
.
Grenouille
the
tick
had
grown
as
touchy
as
a
hermit
crab
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
scorched
his
skin
.
He
ripped
a
few
scraps
of
moss
from
the
stones
,
choked
them
down
,
squatted
,
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
hawks
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
debris
,
stretched
out
his
legs
,
and
waited
.
He
had
to
hold
his
body
very
still
,
very
still
,
like
some
vessel
about
to
slosh
over
from
too
much
motion
.
Gradually
he
managed
to
gain
control
of
his
breathing
.
His
excited
heart
beat
more
steadily
;
the
pounding
of
the
waves
inside
him
subsided
slowly
.
And
suddenly
solitude
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
.
AND
SO
IT
WENT
,
day
in
day
out
,
week
in
week
out
,
month
in
month
out
.
So
it
went
for
seven
long
years.Meanwhile
war
raged
in
the
world
outside
,
a
world
war
.
Men
fought
in
Silesia
and
Saxony
,
in
Hanover
and
the
Low
Countries
,
in
Bohemia
and
Pomerania
.
The
king
's
troops
died
in
Hesse
and
Westphalia
,
on
the
Balearic
Islands
,
in
India
,
on
the
Mississippi
and
in
Canada
,
if
they
had
not
already
succumbed
to
typhoid
on
the
journey
.
The
war
robbed
a
million
people
of
their
lives
,
France
of
its
colonial
empire
,
and
all
the
warring
nations
of
so
much
money
that
they
finally
decided
,
with
heavy
hearts
,
to
end
it.One
winter
during
this
period
,
Grenouille
almost
froze
to
death
,
without
ever
noticing
it
.
For
five
days
he
lay
in
his
purple
salon
,
and
when
he
awoke
in
his
tunnel
he
was
so
cold
he
could
not
move
.
He
closed
his
eyes
again
and
would
have
slept
himself
to
death
.
But
then
the
weather
turned
around
,
there
was
a
thaw
,
and
he
was
saved.Once
the
snow
was
so
deep
that
he
did
not
have
the
strength
to
burrow
down
to
the
lichen
.
He
fed
himself
on
the
stiff
carcasses
of
frozen
bats.Once
a
dead
raven
lay
at
the
mouth
of
the
cave
.
He
ate
it
.
These
were
the
only
events
in
the
outside
world
of
which
he
took
notice
for
seven
years
.
Otherwise
he
lived
only
within
his
mountain
,
only
within
the
self-made
empire
of
his
soul
.
And
he
would
have
remained
there
until
his
death
(
since
he
lacked
for
nothing
)
,
if
catastrophe
had
not
struck
,
driving
him
from
his
mountain
,
vomiting
him
back
out
into
the
world
.
