The Madman Of Bergerac by Simenon, Georges

The Madman Of Bergerac

bySimenon, GeorgesTranslated byRos Schwartz

Paperback | July 28, 2015

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A new translation of Simenon's tense novel, book fifteen in the new Penguin Maigret series.

He recalled his travelling companion's agitated sleep - was it really sleep? - his sighs, and his sobbing. Then the two dangling legs, the patent-leather shoes and hand-knitted socks . . . An insipid face. Glazed eyes. And Maigret was not surprised to see a grey beard eating into his cheeks. A distressed passenger leaps off a night train and vanishes into the woods.

Maigret, on his way to a well-earned break in the Dordogne, is soon plunged into the pursuit of a madman, hiding amongst the seemingly respectable citizens of Bergerac.

Penguin is publishing the entire series of Maigret novels in new translations.

'Compelling, remorseless, brilliant.' - John Gray

'One of the greatest writers of the twentieth century . . . Simenon was unequalled at making us look inside, though the ability was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his stories.' - The Guardian

'A supreme writer . . . unforgettable vividness.' - The Independent

About The Author

GEORGES SIMENON (1903–1989) was born in Liège, Belgium. Best known in the English-speaking world as the author of the Inspector Maigret books, his prolific output of more than four hundred novels and short stories have made him a household name in continental Europe.
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Title:The Madman Of BergeracFormat:PaperbackDimensions:160 pages, 7.77 × 5.07 × 0.41 inPublished:July 28, 2015Publisher:Penguin Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0141394560

ISBN - 13:9780141394565

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Georges Simenon ------------------------------ THE MADMAN OF BERGERAC Translated by Ros Schwartz PENGUIN BOOKS An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC 375 Hudson Street New York, New York 10014 penguin.com First published in French as Les trois morts de Bergerac by Fayard 1932 This translation first published in Penguin Books 2015 Copyright © 1932 by Georges Simenon Limited Translation copyright © 2015 by Ros Schwartz GEORGES SIMENON ® Simenon.tm MAIGRET ® Georges Simenon Limited Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader. The moral rights of the author and translator have been asserted. ISBN 978-0-698-19411-3 Cover photograph (detail) © Harry Gruyaert/Magnum Photos Cover design by Alceu Chiesorin Nunes Title Page Copyright About the Author 1. The Restless Passenger 2. Five Disappointed Men 3. The Second-class Ticket 4. A Gathering of Madmen 5. The Patent-leather Shoes 6. The Seal 7. Samuel 8. A Book Collector 9. The Kidnapping of the Cabaret Singer 10. The Note 11. The Father EXTRA: Chapter 1 from The Misty Harbour ABOUT THE AUTHOR Georges Simenon was born on 12 February 1903 in Liège, Belgium, and died in 1989 in Lausanne, Switzerland, where he had lived for the latter part of his life. Between 1931 and 1972 he published seventy-five novels and twenty-eight short stories featuring Inspector Maigret. Simenon always resisted identifying himself with his famous literary character, but acknowledged that they shared an important characteristic: My motto, to the extent that I have one, has been noted often enough, and I’ve always conformed to it. It’s the one I’ve given to old Maigret, who resembles me in certain points … ‘understand and judge not’. Penguin is publishing the entire series of Maigret novels. PENGUIN CLASSICS THE MADMAN OF BERGERAC ‘I love reading Simenon. He makes me think of Chekhov’ — William Faulkner ‘A truly wonderful writer … marvellously readable – lucid, simple, absolutely in tune with the world he creates’ — Muriel Spark ‘Few writers have ever conveyed with such a sure touch, the bleakness of human life’ — A. N. Wilson ‘One of the greatest writers of the twentieth century … Simenon was unequalled at making us look inside, though the ability was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his stories’ — Guardian ‘A novelist who entered his fictional world as if he were part of it’ — Peter Ackroyd ‘The greatest of all, the most genuine novelist we have had in literature’ — André Gide ‘Superb … The most addictive of writers … A unique teller of tales’ — Observer ‘The mysteries of the human personality are revealed in all their disconcerting complexity’ — Anita Brookner ‘A writer who, more than any other crime novelist, combined a high literary reputation with popular appeal’ — P. D. James ‘A supreme writer … Unforgettable vividness’ — Independent ‘Compelling, remorseless, brilliant’ — John Gray ‘Extraordinary masterpieces of the twentieth century’ — John Banville 1. The Restless Passenger It all came about by pure chance! The previous day, Maigret had not known that he was about to go on a journey, even though it was the time of year when he usually began to find Paris oppressive. It was a March spiced up with a foretaste of spring and a clear, sharp sun that was already warm. Madame Maigret was away in Alsace for a couple of weeks, staying with her sister, who was having a baby. On the Wednesday morning, the inspector received a letter from a former colleague who had retired from the Police Judiciaire two years earlier and moved to the Dordogne. … And of course, if you happen to be in the area, do come and stay with me for a few days. I have an elderly housekeeper who is only too happy when there are guests to fuss over. And it’s the start of the salmon season— Maigret’s imagination was particularly fired by the letterhead with its drawing of a manor house flanked by two circular towers above the address: La Ribaudière near Villefranche-en-Dordogne At midday, Madame Maigret telephoned from Alsace to say that her sister would probably give birth that night, adding, ‘You’d think it was summer … The fruit trees are in blossom!’ Chance … Pure chance … A little later, Maigret was in the chief’s office, chatting, when his superior said, ‘By the way … Did you ever go to Bordeaux to follow up that matter we talked about?’ It was a minor case of no urgency. At some point, Maigret had to go to Bordeaux to trawl through the municipal records. One idea led to another: Bordeaux … the Dordogne. At that exact moment, a ray of sunlight struck the crystal globe paperweight on the chief’s desk. ‘That’s a thought! I’m not working on anything at the moment.’ Later that afternoon, having purchased a first-class ticket to Villefranche, Maigret boarded the train at the Gare d’Orsay. The guard reminded him to change trains at Libourne. ‘Unless you’re in the sleeper compartment which gets hitched to the connecting train.’ Maigret thought no more about it, read a few newspapers and made his way to the dining car where he sat until ten o’clock. When he returned to his compartment, he found the curtains drawn and the light dimmed. An elderly couple had commandeered both seats. An attendant walked past. ‘Is there a free bunk by any chance?’ ‘Not in first-class … but I think there’s one in second … If you don’t mind—’ ‘Of course not!’ And Maigret lugged his carpet-bag along the corridors. The attendant opened several doors and finally found the compartment in which only the upper bunk was taken. Here too, the light was dimmed and the curtains drawn. ‘Would you like me to switch on the light?’ ‘No thank you.’ The air was warm and stuffy. There was a faint hissing sound, as if there was a leak in the radiator pipes. Maigret could hear the person in the top bunk tossing and turning and breathing heavily. The inspector silently removed his shoes, jacket and waistcoat. He stretched out on the lower bunk and felt a slight draught coming from somewhere. He picked up his bowler hat and put it over his face for protection. Did he fall asleep? He dozed off, in any case. Perhaps for an hour, perhaps two. Perhaps longer. But he remained half conscious. And, in that semi-conscious state, he was aware of a feeling of discomfort. Was it because of the heat battling with the draught? Or was it because of the man in the top bunk, who couldn’t keep still for a second? He tossed and turned continually, just above Maigret’s head. Every movement made a rustling sound. His breathing was irregular, as if he had a fever. After a time, Maigret got up, exasperated, went into the corridor and paced up and down. But there it was too cold. So it was back into the compartment, and another attempt to sleep, his thoughts and sensations befuddled by drowsiness. Cut off from the rest of the world, the atmosphere was that of a nightmare. Had the man above him just raised himself up on his elbows and leaned over to try and get a look at his companion? Maigret, meanwhile, didn’t dare move. The half-bottle of Bordeaux and the two brandies he had drunk in the dining car lay heavy in his stomach. The night was long. Whenever the train stopped at a station, there was a babble of voices, footsteps in the corridors, doors slamming. It felt as if the train would never get going again. It sounded as if the man was crying. There were moments when he held his breath. Then suddenly, there’d be a snivel and he would turn over and blow his nose. Maigret regretted leaving his first-class compartment occupied by the elderly couple. He dozed off, woke up and drifted off again. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he coughed to steady his voice and said, ‘Monsieur, would you kindly try to keep still!’ He felt embarrassed, because his voice sounded much sterner than he had intended. Supposing the man was ill? There was no answer. The tossing and turning stopped. The man must have been making a huge effort to avoid making the slightest sound. And it suddenly occurred to Maigret that it might not be a man after all, but a woman! He hadn’t seen the person who was wedged between the bunk and the ceiling. And the heat must be suffocating up there. Now Maigret tried to turn down the radiator, but the control knob was jammed. It was three o’clock in the morning. ‘I really must get some sleep!’ Now he was wide awake. He had become almost as jumpy as his fellow passenger. He listened out.

Editorial Reviews

‘One of the greatest writers of the twentieth century…Simenon was unequalled at making us look inside, though the ability was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his stories.’— The Guardian 'I love reading Simenon. He makes me think of Chekhov.'— William Faulkner'The greatest of all, the most genuine novelist we have had in literature'— André Gide ‘A supreme writer…unforgettable vividness’— The Independent 'Superb... The most addictive of writers... A unique teller of tales'— The Observer ‘Compelling, remorseless, brilliant.’— John Gray 'A truly wonderful writer... marvellously readable - lucid, simple, absolutely in tune with the workd he creates'— Muriel Spark 'A novelist who entered his fictional world as it he were a part of it'— Peter Ackroyd 'Extraordinary masterpieces of the twentieth century'— John Banville