Don Jaime Astarloa has two convictions. The first one is to be a man of honor. The second is the belief that fencing is the ultimate art.
”The pistol is not a weapon, it is an impertinence. If two men are to kill each other, they should do so face-to-face, not from a distance, like vile highwaymen.”
Many people would describe Don Jaime as pompous with his old-fashioned believes. I think it only contributes to the feeling of a living character. Not everyone can be modern and interested in politic and gossip, even though it is Madrid, 1868, a time of turmoil. Some people are no doubt like Don Jaime, only interested in perserving certain values.
”I have spent my whole life trying to preserve a certain idea of myself, and that is all. You have to cling to a set of values that do not depreciate with time. Everything else is the fashion of the moment, fleeting, mutable. In a word, nonsense.”
When Don Jaime, unwillingly, becomes involved in a complicated mystery and realizes someone is after him, he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. It is when a woman comes into his life that everything changes. The fact that he doesn’t teach women is according to custom of the time, a view he eventually realizes can be changed, as other men have. Soon, he looses himself. The picture of anguished produced by his feelings for Donna Adela de Otero is beautifully painted by Pérez-Reverte:
”He smiled, thinking about himself, about his own image, about his now declining powers, about his spirit, which, though old and tired, in some way was rebelling against the indolence imposed on it by the slow degeneration of his physical organism. And in that feeling overwhelming him, tempting him with its sweet danger, he recognized the feeble swan song proffered, as a pathetic, last-ditch rebellion, by his still-proud spirit.”
Things start to happen around him and he, usually detached from the world and living only for fencing, is suddenly struggling with a feeling of foreboding, of something he should know but doesn’t and therefore could be dangerous. He refuses to give in to fear and challenges the danger. He whistles proudly while making coffee to be able to stay awake and wait for the comming strike of the unknown enemy. He even look up a few lines of a book he has underlined some years earlier. With some irony he leaves it open as ”the perfect epitaph”:
”Any moral character is closely bound up with scenes of autumn: those leaves that fall like our years, those flowers that fade like our hours, those clouds that flee like our illusions, that light that grows ever feebler like our intelligence, that sun that grows colder like our loves, those rivers that freeze over like our life, all weave secret bounds with our fate...”
En garde!
This isn’t just a mystery. It’s about a man that finally gets to put his long time art into real practice. His life is on the line and with a determined gaze and mocking sneer he undertakes the challenge. The whole mystery is like a duel with an enemy, and in the end, what could be better than the story getting summarized by a concrete one?
Spoilers!
Don Jaime thinks that a duel is an honorable way to die, but not in his own house, with a button on the tip of his foil, and with a woman as an opponent. That, he refuses! And what’s more, he’s not ready to die, because he’s not yet discovered the perfect thrust. Perhaps he finds it in the end.