Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Fifty
yards
farther
,
he
turned
off
to
the
right
up
the
rue
des
Marais
,
a
narrow
alley
hardly
a
span
wide
and
darker
still-if
that
was
possible
.
Strangely
enough
,
the
scent
was
not
much
stronger
.
It
was
only
purer
,
and
in
its
augmented
purity
,
it
took
on
an
even
greater
power
of
attraction
.
Grenouille
walked
with
no
will
of
his
own
.
At
one
point
,
the
scent
pulled
him
strongly
to
the
right
,
straight
through
what
seemed
to
be
a
wall
.
A
low
entryway
opened
up
,
leading
into
a
back
courtyard
.
Grenouille
moved
along
the
passage
like
a
somnambulist
,
moved
across
the
courtyard
,
turned
a
corner
,
entered
a
second
,
smaller
courtyard
,
and
here
finally
there
was
light-a
space
of
only
a
few
square
feet
.
A
wooden
roof
hung
out
from
the
wall
.
Beneath
it
,
a
table
,
a
candle
stuck
atop
it
.
A
girl
was
sitting
at
the
table
cleaning
yellow
plums
.
With
her
left
hand
,
she
took
the
fruit
from
a
basket
,
stemmed
and
pitted
it
with
a
knife
,
and
dropped
it
into
a
bucket
.
She
might
have
been
thirteen
,
fourteen
years
old
.
Gre-nouille
stood
still
.
He
recognized
at
once
the
source
of
the
scent
that
he
had
followed
from
half
a
mile
away
on
the
other
bank
of
the
river
:
not
this
squalid
courtyard
,
not
the
plums
.
The
source
was
the
girl.For
a
moment
he
was
so
confused
that
he
actually
thought
he
had
never
in
all
his
life
seen
anything
so
beautiful
as
this
girl-although
he
only
caught
her
from
behind
in
silhouette
against
the
candlelight
.
He
meant
,
of
course
,
he
had
never
smelled
anything
so
beautiful
.
But
since
he
knew
the
smell
of
humans
,
knew
it
a
thousandfold
,
men
,
women
,
children
,
he
could
not
conceive
of
how
such
an
exquisite
scent
could
be
emitted
by
a
human
being
.
Normally
human
odor
was
nothing
special
,
or
it
was
ghastly
.
Children
smelled
insipid
,
men
urinous
,
all
sour
sweat
and
cheese
,
women
smelled
of
rancid
fat
and
rotting
fish
.
Totally
uninteresting
,
repulsive-that
was
how
humans
smelled
...
And
so
it
happened
that
for
the
first
time
in
his
life
,
Grenouille
did
not
trust
his
nose
and
had
to
call
on
his
eyes
for
assistance
if
he
was
to
believe
what
he
smelled
.
This
confusion
of
senses
did
not
last
long
at
all
.
Actually
he
required
only
a
moment
to
convince
himself
optically-then
to
abandon
himself
all
the
more
ruthlessly
to
olfactory
perception
.
And
now
he
smelled
that
this
was
a
human
being
,
smelled
the
sweat
of
her
armpits
,
the
oil
in
her
hair
,
the
fishy
odor
of
her
genitals
,
and
smelied
it
all
with
the
greatest
pleasure
.
Her
sweat
smelled
as
fresh
as
the
sea
breeze
,
the
tallow
of
her
hair
as
sweet
as
nut
oil
,
her
genitals
were
as
fragrant
as
the
bouquet
of
water
lilies
,
her
skin
as
apricot
blossoms
...
and
the
harmony
of
all
these
components
yielded
a
perfume
so
rich
,
so
balanced
,
so
magical
,
that
every
perfume
that
Grenouille
had
smelled
until
now
,
every
edifice
of
odors
that
he
had
so
playfully
created
within
himself
,
seemed
at
once
to
be
utterly
meaningless
.
A
hundred
thousand
odors
seemed
worthless
in
the
presence
of
this
scent
.
This
one
scent
was
the
higher
principle
,
the
pattern
by
which
the
others
must
be
ordered
.
It
was
pure
beauty
.
Grenouille
knew
for
certain
that
unless
he
possessed
this
scent
,
his
life
would
have
no
meaning
.
He
had
to
understand
its
smallest
detail
,
to
follow
it
to
its
last
delicate
tendril
;
the
mere
memory
,
however
complex
,
was
not
enough
.
He
wanted
to
press
,
to
emboss
this
apotheosis
of
scent
on
his
black
,
muddled
soul
,
meticulously
to
explore
it
and
from
this
point
on
,
to
think
,
to
live
,
to
smell
only
according
to
the
innermost
structures
of
its
magic
formula.He
slowly
approached
the
girl
,
closer
and
closer
,
stepped
under
the
overhanging
roof
,
and
halted
one
step
behind
her
.
She
did
not
hear
him.She
had
red
hair
and
wore
a
gray
,
sleeveless
dress
.
Her
arms
were
very
white
and
her
hands
yellow
with
the
juice
of
the
halved
plums
.
Grenouille
stood
bent
over
her
and
sucked
in
the
undiluted
fragrance
of
her
as
it
rose
from
her
nape
,
her
hair
,
from
the
neckline
of
her
dress
.
He
let
it
flow
into
him
like
a
gentle
breeze
.
He
had
never
felt
so
wonderful
.
But
the
girl
felt
the
air
turn
cool.She
did
not
see
Grenouille
.
But
she
was
uneasy
,
sensed
a
strange
chill
,
the
kind
one
feels
when
suddenly
overcome
with
some
long
discarded
fear
.
She
felt
as
if
a
cold
draft
had
risen
up
behind
her
,
as
if
someone
had
opened
a
door
leading
into
a
vast
,
cold
cellar
.
And
she
laid
the
paring
knife
aside
,
pulled
her
arms
to
her
chest
,
and
turned
around.She
was
so
frozen
with
terror
at
the
sight
of
him
that
he
had
plenty
of
time
to
put
his
hands
to
her
throat
.
She
did
not
attempt
to
cry
out
,
did
not
budge
,
did
not
make
the
least
motion
to
defend
herself
.
He
,
in
turn
,
did
not
look
at
her
,
did
not
see
her
delicate
,
freckled
face
,
her
red
lips
,
her
large
sparkling
green
eyes
,
keeping
his
eyes
closed
tight
as
he
strangled
her
,
for
he
had
only
one
concern-not
to
lose
the
least
trace
of
her
scent.When
she
was
dead
he
laid
her
on
the
ground
among
the
plum
pits
,
tore
off
her
dress
,
and
the
stream
of
scent
became
a
flood
that
inundated
him
with
its
fragrance
.
He
thrust
his
face
to
her
skin
and
swept
his
flared
nostrils
across
her
,
from
belly
to
breast
,
to
neck
,
over
her
face
and
hair
,
and
back
to
her
belly
,
down
to
her
genitals
,
to
her
thighs
and
white
legs
.
He
smelled
her
over
from
head
to
toe
,
he
gathered
up
the
last
fragments
of
her
scent
under
her
chin
,
in
her
navel
,
and
in
the
wrinkles
inside
her
elbow.And
after
he
had
smelled
the
last
faded
scent
of
her
,
he
crouched
beside
her
for
a
while
,
collecting
himself
,
for
he
was
brimful
with
her
.
He
did
not
want
to
spill
a
drop
of
her
scent
.
First
he
must
seal
up
his
innermost
compartments
.
Then
he
stood
up
and
blew
out
the
candle.Meanwhile
people
were
starting
home
,
singing
and
hurrahing
their
way
up
the
rue
de
Seine
.
Grenouille
smelled
his
way
down
the
dark
alley
and
out
onto
the
rue
des
Petits
Augustins
,
which
lay
parallel
to
the
rue
de
Seine
and
led
to
the
river
.
A
little
while
later
,
the
dead
girl
was
discovered
.
A
hue
and
cry
arose
.
Torches
were
lit
.
The
watch
arrived
.
Grenouille
had
long
since
gained
the
other
bank.That
night
,
his
closet
seemed
to
him
a
palace
,
and
his
plank
bed
a
four-poster
.
Never
before
in
his
life
had
he
known
what
happiness
was
.
He
knew
at
most
some
very
rare
states
of
numbed
contentment
.
But
now
he
was
quivering
with
happiness
and
could
not
sleep
for
pure
bliss
.
It
was
as
if
he
had
been
born
a
second
time
;
no
,
not
a
second
time
,
the
first
time
,
for
until
now
he
had
merely
existed
like
an
animal
with
a
most
nebulous
self-awareness
.
But
after
today
,
he
felt
as
if
he
finally
knew
who
he
really
was
:
nothing
less
than
a
genius
.
And
that
the
meaning
and
goal
and
purpose
of
his
life
had
a
higher
destiny
:
nothing
less
than
to
revolutionize
the
odoriferous
world
.
And
that
he
alone
in
ail
the
world
possessed
the
means
to
carry
it
off
:
namely
,
his
exquisite
nose
,
his
phenomenal
memory
,
and
,
most
important
,
the
master
scent
taken
from
that
girl
in
the
rue
des
Marais
.
Contained
within
it
was
the
magic
formula
for
everything
that
could
make
a
scent
,
a
perfume
,
great
:
delicacy
,
power
,
stability
,
variety
,
and
terrifying
,
irresistible
beauty
.
He
had
found
the
compass
for
his
future
life
.
And
like
all
gifted
abominations
,
for
whom
some
external
event
makes
straight
the
way
down
into
the
chaotic
vortex
of
their
souls
,
Grenouille
never
again
departed
from
what
he
believed
was
the
direction
fate
had
pointed
him
.
It
was
clear
to
him
now
why
he
had
clung
to
life
so
tenaciously
,
so
-
savagely
.
He
must
become
a
creator
of
scents
.
And
not
just
an
average
one
.
But
,
rather
,
the
greatest
perfumer
of
all
time.And
during
that
same
night
,
at
first
awake
and
then
in
his
dreams
,
he
inspected
the
vast
rubble
of
his
memory
.
He
examined
the
millions
and
millions
of
building
blocks
of
odor
and
arranged
them
systematically
:
good
with
good
,
bad
with
bad
,
fine
with
fine
,
coarse
with
coarse
,
fetid
with
fetid
,
ambrosial
with
ambrosial
In
the
course
of
the
next
week
,
this
system
grew
ever
more
refined
,
the
catalog
of
odors
ever
more
comprehensive
and
differentiated
,
the
hierarchy
ever
clearer
.
And
soon
he
could
begin
to
erect
the
first
carefully
planned
structures
of
odor
:
houses
,
walls
,
stairways
,
towers
,
cellars
,
rooms
,
secret
chambers
...
an
inner
fortress
built
of
the
most
magnificent
odors
,
that
each
day
grew
larger
,
that
each
day
grew
more
beautiful
and
more
perfectly
framed
.
A
murder
had
been
the
start
of
this
splendor-if
he
was
at
all
aware
of
the
fact
,
it
was
a
matter
of
tota
!
indifference
to
him
.
Already
he
could
no
longer
recall
how
the
girl
from
the
rue
des
Marais
had
looked
,
not
her
face
,
not
her
body
.
He
had
preserved
the
best
part
of
her
and
made
it
his
own
:
the
principle
of
her
scent
.
THERE
WERE
a
baker
's
dozen
of
perfumers
in
Paris
in
those
days
.
Six
of
them
resided
on
the
right
bank
,
six
on
the
left
,
and
one
exactly
in
the
middle
,
that
is
,
on
the
Pont-au-Change
,
which
connected
the
right
bank
with
the
He
de
la
Cite
.
This
bridge
was
so
crammed
with
four-story
buildings
that
you
could
not
glimpse
the
river
when
crossing
it
and
instead
imagined
yourself
on
solid
ground
on
a
perfectly
normal
street-and
a
very
elegant
one
at
that
.
Indeed
,
the
Pont-au-Change
was
considered
one
of
the
finest
business
addresses
in
the
city
.
The
most
renowned
shops
were
to
be
found
here
;
here
were
the
goldsmiths
,
the
cabinetmakers
,
the
best
wigmakers
and
pursemakers
,
the
manufacturers
of
the
finest
lingerie
and
stockings
,
the
picture
framers
,
the
merchants
for
riding
boots
,
the
embroiderers
of
epaulets
,
the
mold-ers
of
gold
buttons
,
and
the
bankers
.
And
here
as
well
stood
the
business
and
residence
of
the
perfumer
and
glover
Giuseppe
Baldini
.
Above
his
display
window
was
stretched
a
sumptuous
green-lacquered
baldachin
,
next
to
which
hung
Baldini
's
coat
of
arms
,
all
in
gold
:
a
golden
flacon
,
from
which
grew
a
bouquet
of
golden
flowers
.
And
before
the
door
lay
a
red
carpet
,
also
bearing
the
Baldini
coat
of
arms
embroidered
in
gold
.
When
you
opened
the
door
,
Persian
chimes
rang
out
,
and
two
silver
herons
began
spewing
violet-scented
toilet
water
from
their
beaks
into
a
gold-plated
vessel
,
which
in
turn
was
shaped
like
the
flacon
in
the
Baldini
coat
of
arms.Behind
the
counter
of
light
boxwood
,
however
,
stood
Baldini
himself
,
old
and
stiff
as
a
pillar
,
in
a
silver-powdered
wig
and
a
blue
coat
adorned
with
gold
frogs
.
A
cloud
of
the
frangipani
with
which
he
sprayed
himself
every
morning
enveloped
him
almost
visibly
,
removing
him
to
a
hazy
distance
.
So
immobile
was
he
,
he
looked
like
part
of
his
own
inventory
.
Only
if
the
chimes
rang
and
the
herons
spewed-both
of
which
occurred
rather
seldom-did
he
suddenly
come
to
life
,
his
body
folding
up
into
a
small
,
scrambling
figure
that
scurried
out
from
behind
the
counter
with
numerous
bows
and
scrapes
,
so
quickly
that
the
cloud
of
frangipani
could
hardly
keep
up
with
him
,
and
bade
his
customer
take
a
seat
while
he
exhibited
the
most
exquisite
perfumes
and
cosmetics.Baldini
had
thousands
of
them
.
His
stock
ranged
from
essences
absolues-floral
oils
,
tinctures
,
extracts
,
secretions
,
balms
,
resins
,
and
other
drugs
in
dry
,
liquid
,
or
waxy
form-through
diverse
pomades
,
pastes
,
powders
,
soaps
,
creams
,
sachets
,
bandolines
,
brilliantines
,
mustache
waxes
,
wart
removers
,
and
beauty
spots
,
all
the
way
to
bath
oils
,
lotions
,
smelling
salts
,
toilet
vinegars
,
and
countless
genuine
perfumes
.
But
Baldini
was
not
content
with
these
products
of
classic
beauty
care
.
It
was
his
ambition
to
assemble
in
his
shop
everything
that
had
a
scent
or
in
some
fashion
contributed
to
the
production
of
scent
.
And
so
in
addition
to
incense
pastilles
,
incense
candles
,
and
cords
,
there
were
also
sundry
spices
,
from
anise
seeds
to
zapota
seeds
,
syrups
,
cordials
,
and
fruit
brandies
,
wines
from
Cyprus
,
Malaga
,
and
Corinth
,
honeys
,
coffees
,
teas
,
candied
and
dried
fruits
,
figs
,
bonbons
,
chocolates
,
chestnuts
,
and
even
pickled
capers
,
cucumbers
,
and
onions
,
and
marinated
tuna
.
Plus
perfumed
sealing
waxes
,
stationery
,
lover
's
ink
scented
with
attar
of
roses
,
writing
kits
of
Spanish
leather
,
penholders
of
whjte
sandalwood
,
caskets
and
chests
of
cedarwood
,
potpourris
and
bowls
for
flower
petals
,
brass
incense
holders
,
crystal
flacons
and
cruses
with
stoppers
of
cut
amber
,
scented
gloves
,
handkerchiefs
,
sewing
cushions
filled
with
mace
,
and
musk-sprinkled
wallpaper
that
could
fill
a
room
with
scent
for
more
than
a
century.Naturally
there
was
not
room
for
all
these
wares
in
the
splendid
but
small
shop
that
opened
onto
the
street
(
or
onto
the
bridge
)
,
and
so
for
lack
of
a
cellar
,
storage
rooms
occupied
not
just
the
attic
,
but
the
whole
second
and
third
floors
,
as
well
as
almost
every
room
facing
the
river
on
the
ground
floor
.
The
result
was
that
an
indescribable
chaos
of
odors
reigned
in
the
House
of
Baldini
.
However
exquisite
the
quality
of
individual
items-for
Baldini
bought
wares
of
only
highest
quality-the
blend
of
odors
was
almost
unbearable
,
as
if
each
musician
in
a
thousand-member
orchestra
were
playing
a
different
melody
at
fortissimo
.
Baldini
and
his
assistants
were
themselves
inured
to
this
chaos
,
like
aging
orchestra
conductors
(
all
of
whom
are
hard
of
hearing
,
of
course
)
;
and
even
his
wife
,
who
lived
on
the
fourth
floor
,
bitterly
defending
it
against
further
encroachments
by
the
storage
area
,
hardly
noticed
the
many
odors
herself
anymore
.
Not
so
the
customer
entering
Baldini
's
shop
for
the
first
time
.
The
prevailing
mishmash
of
odors
hit
him
like
a
punch
in
the
face
Depending
on
his
constitution
,
it
might
exalt
or
daze
him
,
but
in
any
case
caused
such
a
confusion
of
senses
that
he
often
no
longer
knew
what
he
had
come
for
.
Errand
boys
forgot
their
orders.Belligerent
gentlemen
grew
queasy
.
And
many
ladies
took
a
spell
,
half-hysteric
,
half-claustrophobic
,
fainted
away
,
and
could
be
revived
only
with
the
most
pungent
smelling
salts
of
clove
oil
,
ammonia
,
and
camphor.Under
such
conditions
,
it
was
really
not
at
all
astonishing
that
the
Persian
chimes
at
the
door
of
Giuseppe
Baldini
's
shop
rang
and
the
silver
herons
spewed
less
and
less
frequently
.
