Richis's adoption of Grenouille

Antoine Richis, the second consul of Grasse and the wealthiest merchant in the region, had lost his only daughter, Laure, to the murderer Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. In the aftermath of the execution, where Grenouille's perfume had triggered a massive orgy, Richis underwent a radical transformation. Instead of seeking revenge, he became the murderer's most devoted admirer.

The Adoption in Laure's Bedroom

When Grenouille regained consciousness, he found himself lying in Laure Richis's bed. The reliquary of her clothes and hair had been removed. A candle burned on the night table, and through the ajar window he could hear the distant exultation of the town's revels. Antoine Richis was sitting on a footstool beside the bed, watching him. He had placed Grenouille's hand in his own and was stroking it. Even before opening his eyes, Grenouille checked the atmosphere. Everything was quiet within him. His soul was again dominated by cold night. He smelled his perfume, which had changed: its peaks had levelled off so that the core of Laure's scent emerged more splendidly than ever—a mild, dark, glowing fire. He felt secure, knowing he was unassailable for a few hours yet, and opened his eyes. Richis's gaze rested on him with infinite benevolence: tenderness, compassion, the empty, fatuous profundity of a lover.

Richis's Offer and Grenouille's Feigned Acceptance

Richis smiled, pressed Grenouille's hand more tightly, and declared that the magistrate had overturned the verdict, all witnesses had recanted, and Grenouille was free. He could do whatever he wanted, but Richis wanted him to stay. "I have lost a daughter, but I want to gain you as my son," Richis said. He claimed Grenouille was beautiful like Laure—his hair, his mouth, his hand—and that when he looked into Grenouille's eyes, it was as if she were looking at him. He asked if Grenouille's parents were still alive. Grenouille shook his head, and Richis's face turned beet red for joy. "Then will you be my son?" Richis stammered, jumping up from his stool to sit on the edge of the bed and clasp Grenouille's other hand. He begged Grenouille to nod without speaking. Grenouille nodded. Joy erupted from Richis's every pore like scarlet sweat. He bent down and kissed Grenouille on the mouth. "Sleep now, my dear son!" he said. "I will keep watch over you until you have fallen asleep." After observing him in mute bliss for a long time, he added, "You have made me very, very happy."

Grenouille's Escape and the Aftermath

Grenouille pulled the corners of his mouth apart in a smile, then closed his eyes. He waited before letting his respiration grow easy and deep like a sleeper's. He could feel Richis's loving gaze on his face. At one point he felt Richis bending forward to kiss him again, but then refraining for fear of waking him. Finally the candle was blown out, and Richis slipped on tiptoe from the room. Grenouille lay there until he could no longer hear a sound in the house or the town. When he got up, it was already dawn. He was dressed and stole away, softly down the hall, down the stairs, and through the salon out onto the terrace. From there he could see over the city wall, across the valley surrounding Grasse. A light haze hung over the fields, and the odours that came from them—grass, broom, and rose—seemed washed clean. Grenouille crossed the garden and climbed over the wall. On the parade grounds, he had to fight his way through human effluvia. Thousands of drunken forms lay about, exhausted by the dissipations of the nocturnal festivities. No one saw Grenouille, who carefully but quickly climbed over the scattered bodies. Those who saw him did not recognize him. He no longer had any scent. The miracle was over. Once he had crossed the grounds, he walked straight across the fields towards the west, never once turning to look back. When the sun rose, fat and yellow and scorching hot, he had long since vanished.

The Town's Collective Amnesia

The people of Grasse awoke with a terrible hangover. Even those who had not drunk had heads heavy as lead and were wretchedly sick at heart. Out on the parade grounds, simple peasants searched for the clothes they had flung off; respectable women searched for their husbands and children; total strangers unwound themselves in horror from intimate embraces. For many, the experience was so ghastly and inexplicable that they literally erased it from their memories. Others tried to shut their eyes and minds to it. By noon the grounds were as good as swept clean. The townspeople did not emerge from their houses until evening. Their greetings were cursory; they made nothing but small talk. Not a word was said about the events. The town council met and resolved to dismantle the scaffold and grandstand. The judges agreed to close the case of Grenouille and open new proceedings against an unidentified murderer. The police lieutenant arrested Dominique Druot, in whose cabin the clothes and hair of all the victims had been found. After torture, Druot confessed and was executed by hanging at dawn without any fuss. The town forgot the affair so totally that travellers who inquired about the infamous murderer found not a single sane person who could give them information. Life returned completely to normal. People worked hard and slept well. Water gushed from the fountains. The sun shone warmly. Soon it was May, and they harvested roses.