Three Tales (Penguin Classics)
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Three stories by a French master
First published in 1877, these three stories are dominated by questions of doubt, love, loneliness, and religious experience—together they confirm Flaubert as a master of the short story. “A Simple Heart” relates the story of Félicité, an uneducated serving-woman who retains her Catholic faith despite a life of desolation and loss. “The Legend of Saint Julian Hospitator,” inspired by a stained-glass window in Rouen cathedral, describes the fate of a sadistic hunter destined to murder his own parents. The blend of faith and cruelty that dominates this story may also be found in “Herodias,” a reworking of the tale of Salome and John the Baptist.
This new edition is a completely new translation with a new introduction by Geoffrey Wall, Flaubert's acclaimed biographer. It features a chronology, further reading, and explanantory notes.
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
her illness, she died, aged just seventy-two. People took her to be younger than this because of her dark hair, which she had always worn in bandeaux24 round her pale, pockmarked face. She had very few friends to lament her death; there was a certain haughtiness about her that had always kept people at a distance. Félicité wept for her in a way that servants rarely weep for their masters. That Madame should die before her disturbed her whole way of thinking; it seemed to go against the natural
reign is to come, mine must end!”’4 Antipas and Mannaeï looked at each other. But the Tetrarch was in no mood to think about these things. The mountains all around him, heaped on top of each other like great waves of stone, the dark clefts in the cliff walls, the vast expanse of blue sky, the blinding light of the sun and the yawning chasms beneath him disturbed his mind. His spirits sank as he looked out over the desert; in its folds and convolutions he seemed to see the shapes of ruined
brandishing his sword. ‘Kill him!’ Herodias shouted. ‘Stop!’ cried the Tetrarch. Mannaeï came to a halt and stood motionless. The Essene did likewise. Then they both withdrew, walking backwards without taking their eyes off each other and disappearing down two separate staircases. ‘I know that man!’ said Herodias. ‘His name is Phanuel and he is trying to see Jokanaan. Keeping him alive is just madness!’ Antipas insisted that some day he might be of use. His attacks on Jerusalem were winning
taken his side. There was one thing that Antipas could take comfort from. Jokanaan was no longer his responsibility; the Romans would deal with him. And that was a great relief! Phanuel happened to be walking along the battlements. Antipas called him over and pointed at the soldiers. ‘They are stronger than I am,’ he said. ‘I cannot set him free. There is nothing I can do about it!’ The courtyard was now empty. The slaves were taking their rest. A fiery red glow lit up the sky on the horizon.
Jerusalem and the leaders of the Greek cities. On the Proconsul's side were Marcellus and the publicans, some of the Tetrarch's friends and dignitaries from Cana, Ptolemais and Jericho. Then, seated at random, there were mountaineers from the Lebanon, Herod's old soldiers – twelve Thracians, one Gaul and two Germans – some gazelle hunters, some shepherds from Idumaea, the Sultan of Palmyra and some sailors from Ezion-gaber. Everyone was provided with a cake of soft pastry to wipe their fingers