“You aren’t to blame,” Reynevan replied gravely. “It was Scharley and I, and our foolish exorcisms, our trifling with things that shouldn’t be trifled with. You tried to put right our error, tried many times; no one could accuse you of inactivity. It didn’t succeed, oh well, that’s God’s will. And now… Now the situation has changed. You have responsibilities. You can’t abandon Marketa. You’d break the girl’s heart if you left her alone now. I understand it might be unpleasant for you, I know you and how much you care about other people’s happiness. But now you’d have to choose: either Marketa, or the convent simpleton. It is clear to me whom you ought to choose. It is obvious. And don’t tell me it’s not very moral.”

“It isn’t very moral,” said Samson, sighing. “Not very moral at all. Because now it’s too late for any kind of choice. More than four years have passed since that event. Back there… In the vale of darkness… No man could have endured that, no human psyche could have withstood it. The real Samson is dead or is quite out of his mind. We shan’t be able to return him to the world now. That fact, regrettably, burdens my conscience.”

“Listen—”

“Don’t say anything.”

The roof timbers of the cottages outside the castle cracked as they burned down, the wind bearing foul odours and blasts of heat.

“The fate of the monastery simpleton,” said Samson, interrupting the silence, “was by no means sealed the moment I saw Marketa. Back then, near Kolín, in the card tricksters’ roadhouse—”

“You did then what you had to do. I remember your words. What we witnessed in the gambling den precluded indifference and inaction. Thus, what had to happen, happened.”

“That’s true. But only later, in Prague, did I yield to my feelings. The day she smiled at me for the first time. Quando mi volsi alsuo viso ridente…

Art and nature, which tempt one

Whether in a living shape or a drawn work,

In order through the senses to dominate the soul

Gathered together they did not have so much Power

like that wonder which I was dazzled with,

When I saw joy in her eyes.

“And such a glow emanated from her,” Samson was neither reciting, nor speaking, “as though happy God had entered her face. And captured my soul… Ah well… Excuse me. I know it is a banality, a trifle, but I can’t help it. But I ought at least to restrain myself and not trumpet it. But perhaps it was fortunate? Perhaps it is a good introduction to what I want to tell you?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

“That I’m leaving.”

“Now?”