seven years of
prosperity, his little son is drowned one summer's day in the river.
Death and nameless misfortunes again invade the home of Vassily. One
does not live there any more, one prowls around gropingly in a
mournful stupor. From morning till evening, his wife comes and goes,
silent and indifferent to everything, as if she were looking for
some one or something.

In losing his son, poor Vassily has also lost his wife, his helpmate
and friend, for the unfortunate woman takes to drink. The faith of
the priest holds in this terrible trial. But his misery increases
immeasurably. The vice of his wife, his own sick weakness, excite
the meanness of the people. Insults have to be borne in silence,
tears hidden. At home, the priest's wife has no rest. She has the
idea that she can have another son who will take the place of the
dead one and be a balm to her broken heart. In her alcoholic desire,
a prey to savage fury, she demands that her husband gratify her
desire.

"Give him to me, Vassily! Give him back to me, I tell you...."

At last her desire is realized: a son is born to her; but the child,
conceived in madness, is born half-witted. The mother takes to drink
again, and the despair of Vassily increases. One day the unfortunate
woman hangs herself. The pope comes in, however, in time to save
her; but now another noose has tightened itself about the priest's
heart. One question oppresses him:

"Why these sufferings? If God exists, and if God is love, how is
such misery possible?"

Vassily's faith trembles. He decides to leave his cassock, to fly,
to put his idiot son out to board and to start life over again. This
resolution relieves him. His wife breathes easier. It seems to him
that she also can begin a new life. But fate does not loosen its
reins.

One day, on coming back from the harvest, he finds his house burned.
His wife, in a drunken stupor, had probably set fire to it. She is
dying of her burns. Vassily can only sigh. This new misfortune does
not put an end to the priest, but rather inspires him. His old faith
comes back, he sees in this supreme test a predestination. He kneels
down and cries:

"I believe! I believe! I believe!"

From that time on he devotes himself entirely to prayer and
macerations. He lives in perpetual ecstasy. The people around him
understand nothing of this change and are astounded. Every one of
them is waiting for something unusual. And their waiting is not in
vain. One