Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 35

           Amildhazelaylikeaglassbelloverthefields.Apricotandalmondtreeswereinbloom,andthewarmairwasinfusedwiththescentofjonquils.Attheotherendofthewidebasin,perhapstwomilesoff,atownlayamong-orbetter,clungto-therisingmountains.Fromadistanceitdidnotmakeaparticularlygrandimpression.Therewasnomightycathedraltoweringabovethehouses,justalittlestumpofachurchsteeple,nocommandingfortress,nomagnificentedificeofnote.Thewallsappearedanythingbutdefiant-hereandtherethehousesspilledoutfromtheirlimits,especiallyinthedirectionoftheplain,lendingtheoutskirtsasomewhatdisheveledlook.Itwasasiftheplacehadbeenoverrunandthenretakensooftenthatitwaswearyofofferingseriousresistancetoanyfutureintruders—notoutofweakness,butoutofindolence,ormaybeevenoutofasenseofitsownstrength.Itlookedasifithadnoneedtoflauntitself.Itreignedabovethefragrantbasinatitsfeet,andthatseemedtosuffice.Thisequallyhomelyandself-confidentplacewasthetownofGrasse,fordecadesnowtheuncontestedcenterforproductionofandcommerceinscents,perfumes,soaps,andoils.GiuseppeBaldinihadalwaysutteredthenamewithenraptureddelight.ThetownwastheRomeofscents,thepromisedlandofperfumes,andthemanwhohadnotearnedhisspursheredidnotrightfullybearthetitleofperfumer.GrenouillegazedverycoollyatthetownofGrasse.Hewasnotseekingthepromisedlandofperfumers,andhisheartdidnotleapatthesightofthissmalltownclingingtothefarslopes.

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