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Updated: April 30, 2025
"Twice?" repeated Sabot. "Yes." The priest smiled. "You understand perfectly that you must have a general cleaning up, a thorough cleansing. So I will expect you to-morrow." The carpenter, much agitated, asked: "Where do you do that?" "Why in the confessional." "In that box, over there in the corner? The fact is is that it does not suit me, your box." "How is that?"
She had a hand as small and plump as a baby's, and a pretty foot which, to the disgust of some mothers and maidens of greater degree, was encased in a red French slipper, instead of the wooden sabot stuffed with straw, while her ankles were nicely dressed in soft black stockings, in place of the woolen native hose, as became her station.
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 Sabot knelt down. "Repeat the confiteor," said the priest. "What is that?" asked Sabot. "The confiteor. If you do not remember it, repeat after me, one by one, the words I am going to say." And the cure repeated the sacred prayer, in a slow tone, emphasizing the words which the carpenter repeated after him. Then he said: "Now make your confession."
"What do you do on Sunday?" This time Sabot scratched his ear. "Why, I serve God as best I can, m'sieu le cure. I serve him at home. I work on Sunday." The cure interrupted him, saying magnanimously: "I know, you will do better in future. I will pass over the following commandments, certain that you have not transgressed the two first. We will take from the sixth to the ninth.
"That is understood, that is all right, that is agreed on. To-morrow, monsieur le cure. Whoever draws back is a skunk!" And he held out his great rough hand which the priest grasped heartily with a clap that resounded through the church. Theodule Sabot was not easy in his mind all the following day. He had a feeling analogous to the apprehension one experiences when a tooth has to be drawn.
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."
Her room was a record of their sequence from week to week. And Jimbo knew exactly where to find them first; his mind was a time-table of flowers as well as of trains, dates of arrival, and stations where they grew. He knew it all exaccurately. This kind of fact with him was never wumbled. 'Soon the sabot de Venus will be in flower at the Creux du Van, but it takes time to find it.
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.
It contains five scenes: The Peasants Going to Chapel; The Flower Girls; The Vagabonds; The Tryst; The Sabot Dance; and the Entrance of the Mayor, which is a pompous march. On the occasion of a performance of this, Louis Arthur Russell wrote: "His orchestra is surely French, and as modern as you please. The idiom is Berlioz's rather than Wagner's." John Knowles Paine.
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