The Guy de Maupassant MEGAPACK ®. Guy de Maupassant

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СКАЧАТЬ rose slowly, and suddenly I made out a light on the sea quite close to us. I shouted; they answered. It was a boat sent out in search of us by the hotelkeeper, who had guessed at our imprudence.

      “We were saved. I was in despair. They picked us up off our raft and they brought us back to Saint-Martin.

      “The Englishman began to rub his hand and murmur:

      “‘A good supper! A good supper!’

      “We did sup. I was not gay. I regretted the Marie Joseph.

      “We had to separate the next day after much handshaking and many promises to write. They departed for Biarritz. I wanted to follow them.

      “I was hard hit. I wanted to ask this little girl to marry me. If we had passed eight days together, I should have done so! How weak and incomprehensible a man sometimes is!

      “Two years passed without my hearing a word from them. Then I received a letter from New York. She was married and wrote to tell me. And since then we write to each other every year, on New Year’s Day. She tells me about her life, talks of her children, her sisters, never of her husband! Why? Ah! why? And as for me, I only talk of the Marie Joseph. That was perhaps the only woman I have ever loved—no—that I ever should have loved. Ah, well! who can tell? Circumstances rule one. And then—and then—all passes. She must be old now; I should not know her. Ah! she of the bygone time, she of the wreck! What a creature! Divine! She writes me her hair is white. That caused me terrible pain. Ah! her yellow hair. No, my English girl exists no longer. How sad it all is!”

      THEODULE SABOT‘S CONFESSION

      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 СКАЧАТЬ