was a fat fleshy man, in a silk cassock; he rustled like a lady, and he smelt of tobacco too.  I went to fast and confess in the monastery, and my heart was not at ease even there; I kept fancying the monks were not living according to their rules.  And after that I could not find a service to my mind:  in one place they read the service too fast, in another they sang the wrong prayer, in a third the sacristan stammered.  Sometimes, the Lord forgive me a sinner, I would stand in church and my heart would throb with anger.  How could one pray, feeling like that?  And I fancied that the people in the church did not cross themselves properly, did not listen properly; wherever I looked it seemed to me that they were all drunkards, that they broke the fast, smoked, lived loose lives and played cards.  I was the only one who lived according to the commandments.  The wily spirit did not slumber; it got worse as it went on.  I gave up singing in the choir and I did not go to church at all; since my notion was that I was a righteous man and that the church did not suit me owing to its imperfections—­that is, indeed, like a fallen angel, I was puffed up in my pride beyond all belief.  After this I began attempting to make a church for myself.  I hired from a deaf woman a tiny little room, a long way out of town near the cemetery, and made a prayer-room like my cousin’s, only I had big church candlesticks, too, and a real censer.  In this prayer-room of mine I kept the rules of holy Mount Athos—­that is, every day my matins began at midnight without fail, and on the eve of the chief of the twelve great holy days my midnight service lasted ten hours and sometimes even twelve.  Monks are allowed by rule to sit during the singing of the Psalter and the reading of the Bible, but I wanted to be better than the monks, and so I used to stand all through.  I used to read and sing slowly, with tears and sighing, lifting up my hands, and I used to go straight from prayer to work without sleeping; and, indeed, I was always praying at my work, too.  Well, it got all over the town ‘Matvey is a saint; Matvey heals the sick and senseless.’  I never had healed anyone, of course, but we all know wherever any heresy or false doctrine springs up there’s no keeping the female sex away.  They are just like flies on the honey.  Old maids and females of all sorts came trailing to me, bowing down to my feet, kissing my hands and crying out I was a saint and all the rest of it, and one even saw a halo round my head.  It was too crowded in the prayer-room.  I took a bigger room, and then we had a regular tower of Babel.  The devil got hold of me completely and screened the light from my eyes with his unclean hoofs.  We all behaved as though we were frantic.  I read, while the old maids and other females sang, and then after standing on their legs for twenty-four hours or longer without eating or drinking, suddenly a trembling would come over them as though they were in a fever; after that, one would begin screaming and then another—­it