Theodule Sabot's Confession

"Theodole Sabot's Confession" is a novella by Guy de Maupassant that delves into the complexities of guilt, morality, and the human condition. The story is presented as a confession by Theodule Sabot, a man who grapples with his past decisions and the consequences of his actions. Through his introspective narrative, Maupassant explores themes of social status, integrity, and the struggle between personal desires and ethical considerations. The novella reflects the author's keen psychological insight and critique of societal norms, offering a compelling exploration of the inner turmoil faced by individuals in a rapidly changing world.

								
When Sabot entered the inn at Martinville it was a signal for laughter.
What a rogue he was, this Sabot! There was a man who did not like
priests, for instance! Oh, no, oh, no! He did not spare them, the scamp.

Sabot (Theodule), a master carpenter, represented liberal thought in
Martinville. He was a tall, thin, than, with gray, cunning eyes, and
thin lips, and wore his hair plastered down on his temples. When he
said: “Our holy father, the pope” in a certain manner, everyone laughed.
He made a point of working on Sunday during the hour of mass. He killed
his pig each year on Monday in Holy Week in order to have enough black
pudding to last till Easter, and when the priest passed by, he always
said by way of a joke: “There goes one who has just swallowed his God
off a salver.”

The priest, a stout man and also very tall, dreaded him on account of
his boastful talk which attracted followers. The Abbe Maritime was a
politic man, and believed in being diplomatic. There had been a rivalry
between them for ten years, a secret, intense, incessant rivalry. Sabot
was municipal councillor, and they thought he would become mayor, which
would inevitably mean the final overthrow of the church.

The elections were about to take place. The church party was shaking in
its shoes in Martinville.

One morning the cure set out for Rouen, telling his servant that he
was going to see the archbishop. He returned in two days with a joyous,
triumphant air. And everyone knew the following day that the chancel of
the church was going to be renovated. A sum of six hundred francs had
been contributed by the archbishop out of his private fund. All the old
pine pews were to be removed, and replaced by new pews made of oak.
It would be a big carpentering job, and they talked about it that very
evening in all the houses in the village.

Theodule Sabot was not laughing.

When he went through the village the following morning, the neighbors,
friends and enemies, all asked him, jokingly:

“Are you going to do the work on the chancel of the church?”

He could find nothing to say, but he was furious, he was good and angry.

Ill-natured people added:

“It is a good piece of work; and will bring in not less than two or
three per cent. profit.”

Two days later, they heard that the work of renovation had been
entrusted to Celestin Chambrelan, the carpenter from Percheville. Then
this was denied, and it was said that all the pews in the church were
going to be changed. That would be well worth the two thousand francs
that had been demanded of the church administration.

Theodule Sabot could not sleep for thinking about it. Never, in all the
memory of man, had a country carpenter undertaken a similar piece of
work. Then a rumor spread abroad that the cure felt very grieved that
he had to give this work to a carpenter who was a stranger in the
community, but that Sabot's opinions were a barrier to his being
entrusted with the job.

Sabot knew it well. He called at the parsonage just as it was growing
dark. The servant told him that the cure was at church. He went to the
church.

Two attendants on the altar of the Virgin, two soar old maids, were
decorating the altar for the month of Mary, under the direction of the
priest, who stood in the middle of the chancel with his portly paunch,
directing the two women who, mounted on chairs, were placing flowers
around the tabernacle.

Sabot felt ill at ease in there, as though he were in the house of his
greatest enemy, but the greed of gain was gnawing at his heart. He drew
nearer, holding his cap in his hand, and not paying any attention to the
“demoiselles de la Vierge,” who remained standing startled, astonished,
motionless on their chairs.

He faltered:

“Good morning, monsieur le cure.”

The priest replied without looking at him, all occupied as he was with
the altar:

“Good morning, Mr. Carpenter.”

Sabot, nonplussed, knew not what to say next. But after a pause he
remarked:

“You are making preparations?”

Abbe Maritime replied:

“Yes, we are near the month of Mary.”

“Why, why,” remarked Sabot and then was silent. He would have liked to
retire now without saying anything, but a glance at the chancel held him
back. He saw sixteen seats that had to be remade, six to the right and
eight to the left, the door of the sacristy occupying the place of two.
Sixteen oak seats, that would be worth at most three hundred francs, and
by figuring carefully one might certainly make two hundred francs on the
work if one were not clumsy.

Then he stammered out:

“I have come about the work.”

The cure appeared surprised. He asked:

“What work?”

“The work to be done,” murmured Sabot, in dismay.

Then the priest turned round and looking him straight in the eyes, said:

“Do you mean the repairs in the chancel of my church?”

At the tone of the abbe, Theodule Sabot felt a chill run down his back
and he once more had a longing to take to his heels. However, he replied
humbly:

“Why, yes, monsieur le cure.”

Then the abbe folded his arms across his large stomach and, as if filled
with amazement, said:

“Is it you--you--you, Sabot--who have come to ask me for this...
You--the only irreligious man in my parish! Why, it would be a scandal,
a public scandal! The archbishop would give me a reprimand, perhaps
transfer me.”

He stopped a few seconds, for breath, and then resumed in a calmer tone:
“I can understand that it pains you to see a work of such importance
entrusted to a carpenter from a neighboring parish. But I cannot do
otherwise, unless--but no--it is impossible--you would not consent, and
unless you did, never.”

Sabot now looked at the row of benches in line as far as the entrance
door. Christopher, if they were going to change all those!

And he asked:

“What would you require of me? Tell me.”

The priest, in a firm tone replied:

“I must have an extraordinary token of your good intentions.”

“I do not say--I do not say; perhaps we might come to an understanding,”
 faltered Sabot.

“You will have to take communion publicly at high mass next Sunday,”
 declared the cure.

The carpenter felt he was growing pale, and without replying, he asked:

“And the benches, are they going to be renovated?”

The abbe replied with confidence:

“Yes, but later on.”

Sabot resumed:

“I do not say, I do not say. I am not calling it off, I am consenting
to religion, for sure. But what rubs me the wrong way is, putting it in
practice; but in this case I will not be refractory.”

The attendants of the Virgin, having got off their chairs had concealed
themselves behind the altar; and they listened pale with emotion.

The cure, seeing he had gained the victory, became all at once very
friendly, quite familiar.

“That is good, that is good. That was wisely said, and not stupid, you
understand. You will see, you will see.”

Sabot smiled and asked with an awkward air:

“Would it not be possible to put off this communion just a trifle?”

But the priest replied, resuming his severe expression:

“From the moment that the work is put into your hands, I want to be

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