The Adventures of Tintin

Originally posted by DjangoI don't think it has anything to do with consumerism. I think it has to do with the fact that the vast majority of the readership is hungering for more Tintin adventures--more material featuring beloved characters in hilarious satirical exploits. I think it's somewhat selfish for an artist to take his creation with him to his grave. True, he created it, but that doesn't give him the right to kill it! The readership wants more, surely they have the right to have their demands gratified! Sure, everyone wants to respect Herge's wishes, but, at the same time, I think the extreme popularity of the characters, at least in this case, is enough to override the author's wishes. At the same time, though, considering the fact that the later Tintin was a collaborative effort and not exclusively Herge's creation and, therefore, markedly differentiated from the original (esp. pre-war) Tintin, and also originally titled "The New Adventures of Tintin", that should give the collaborators a stake in the project. Point is, pretty much everyone wants more Tintin. I just think it's selfish for the author to take his creation with him to his grave. New, fresh adventures of Tintin could be created by various authors as an hommage to Herge, under a new series title, or as parodies, and so markedly differentiated from the original series by Herge. I think the trustees should give their permission for a new series of works by diverse authorship using Herge's characters, but titled differently, so as to preserve the integrity of the original series. Furthermore, Georges Remi, Jr. (Herge's nephew) has this to say: ARTICLE.

Originally posted by Jozie
Listen, dear Persons,

Not to be too critical here, but if you read back over this thread, you'll have to admit that a lot of it sounds intensely juve and paranoid. Maybe this person does make unpleasing remarks, but . . . who is listening? Who's reading? Who is resenting stuff here. Hey --- you guys never listen to ME forpetesake, & I generally say pleasant and harmless things. How come you're getting all hot and bothered about this comic-book enthusiast? His views are not your own views, perhaps, but his liberty does not end until the tip of your nose begin, buds. Live and let live. Even jerks are entitlef to get their say.

Love and kisses to you all,
Your adoring fan,
Jozie

Originally posted by Jozie
Listen, dear Persons,

Not to be too critical here, but if you read back over this thread, you'll have to admit that a lot of it sounds intensely juve and paranoid. Maybe this person does make unpleasing remarks, but . . . who is listening? Who's reading? Who is resenting stuff here. Hey --- you guys never listen to ME forpetesake, & I generally say pleasant and harmless things. How come you're getting all hot and bothered about this comic-book enthusiast? His views are not your own views, perhaps, but his liberty does not end until the tip of your nose begin, buds. Live and let live. Even jerks are entitlef to get their say.

Love and kisses to you all,
Your adoring fan,
Jozie

Originally posted by Hondo333
I love tin tin. Very Funny.

Originally posted by Piddzilla

I haven't followed this thread but I had a look on it and this post caught my eye.

I don't know exactly what the deal is with Herge and the ownership of the rights of Tintin and all that. But if it was Herge's wish that no new adventures were to be created after his death and if he got that down on paper, then it's really disgraceful if there are people trying to profit on someone else's work by using the name of Tintin to sell their own stories. If he didn't put it down on paper, well, then there's not much to do. Then the company or his relatives probably own Tintin and can do pretty much what they want with it. That's how capitalism works.

But I really don't agree with your reasoning here, Django. When Pablo Picasso died, did his grandson pick up the brush and started to paint and sell paintings with the name Picasso on them? When Bob Dylan dies, is it ok for Jacob Dylan to take the name Bob and put his father's face on the cd to sell more cd:s? Coca Cola is a very very popular beverage. In fact, it's so popular that I think the company can't satisfy the enormous demand of the people. I think I'll help them out and make some of my own, put their logotype on the bottle, and sell some.

This is not only a question of ethics but also about ownership and rights. But what I think is the most wrong about your post is that you say that it's selfish of the artist to take his art with him to his grave. Most great artists have a lot of integrity. Sure, they want to make money from their art but they don't want anybody else to **** around with it. If Herge wanted to take Tintin with him "to the other side" then it's probably not because he wants to prevent others from making money on the concept, but that he doesn't want his name on something he did not in fact create. It's not like he's leaving his relatives in poverty if they are the owners of the old stories. That must be worth a fortune. Do you really think that the people making the new Tintin-adventures do it to be nice to those missing Herge? Of course not, they do it to make money. Now, parodies or satire is a completely different thing. That is creating something new from something old.

Artists come and go. When they die their art lives on, but by exploiting their art you turn the art (even commercial art) to products. And that is consumerism in its purest form. How interesting is Donald Duck nowadays anyway??

Spielberg lands TINTIN
"As many books as we want"

Dateline: Monday, December 16, 2002

By: MIKE WHYBARK
By: News Editor
Source: CINESCAPE reporting

Intrepid CINESCAPE reporting reveals: Steven Spielberg has landed the TINTIN deal.

Speaking to CINESCAPE Managing Editor Scott Collura, the director said: "TINTIN? Yeah, it's happening. With the estate of Hergé, Fanny, his widow, and her husband Nick, we've acquired the rights to make as many books as we want to make into movies. And I've always loved TINTIN. I think some of Indiana Jones was inspired by the books."

Will Spielberg direct the adaptations? "[It's] not for me to direct. I'm going to produce it at DreamWorks with Universal as my partner."

Tintin Kidnapped?

Foreword

Brussels under the greyness of autumn. For a good half-hour, I turn in circles in the streets of this segment of the avenue Louise without finding the slightest space to park my car there. For sure, I was going to be late for the meeting that had been fixed for me by a navy amateur. I fulminated (cursed) of more beautiful (things) when occurs the miracle; finally I find a parking spot, in the opposite direction, but too bad! I get out of the car on the pavement-side, shut the door, button my mac (raincoat) and turn around ready to sprint. Suddenly a glance pierces me, petrifies me immediately. A metre away from me, covering all the window of the first floor of this insignificant house, was an enormous photo. Hergé looks me straight in eyes! I remember it as if it was yesterday. A strange chance that this parking space [turned out to be] in the balance (proximity?) of the house of a photographer whose name I do not even know! I had nevertheless sworn never to open the smallest door of evocation of my uncle’s memory. Being an anonymous homonym without any particular mood; it doesn't much matter what they make of Tintin. What an excellent resolution that is! But my circle of acquaintances were not duped, seeing me going up, coming down, chuckling, fulminating, sighing, exploding, hoping, regretting according to the information distilled officially or with the aid of favorable winds. Besides, on every Sunday I went to Céroux-Mousty, the country house of Hergé, to have dinner there alone together with Germaine, first wife of Hergé and a lady without whose personality Tintin would doubtless never have been born. "Released", as she said, by her famous husband, she struggled in contradictory moods, often furiously fatalistic. "It is he who wanted it, it’s like that; when I think of all that could have been done for the good for children". "Money, Georges, money, it is the only thing which interests them." What there is of haughtiness in this small family, it is a code of magnificent honor, molded by pride, but sometimes so old-fashioned and ineffective. No place for scandal, whatever the reason it may be based on. I might try to convince Germaine that it was necessary to react, but her bitterness, her sickness, her sadness were so intense, so painful, as she had built a totally self-destructive isolation. At her death, in 1995, I collected her notepads written every day since 1958. I read them, much with the feeling as if having committed a sacrilege and, having burned a majority with them, retained only some, witnesses of love story which finishes badly, very badly. I already hear the scandalized condemnations of certain critics treating me as an iconoclast (hello Captain Haddock!) and the sigh of reassurance—justified—of Fanny Rodwell. I leave her the benefit of a doubt that it's high time to dispel [rumors or clear the smoke away], but remember Madam that the soul of Tintin is not to be sold to the Devil, not at the price of your pride! You would commit a crime for which posterity would not pardon you.

While we do not stop glossing, criticizing, regretting and uttering so many opinions—more and more negative—on the management of my uncle’s works (estate?), it seemed indispensable to me to bring a testimony, certainly fragmentary, but oh how much sincere. Always in the name of this dratted code of honor with which my father and his brother baptized me fifty-four years ago. It is definitely impossible for me not to be concerned by this story to follow! After all, it is the spirit Tintin, and, that the big jack crunches me if this one does not survive all the trials and tribulations. And whatever happens, there will be always an album in a library to make a [profane gesture] (!) at the invaluable objects of luxury generated at great expense by mister Nick …

Finally, admittedly, it is not with cheerfulness of heart that I begin this writing; indeed, it was repeatedly given to me to have a dialogue with Fanny Remi, now Rodwell, in different circumstances and it always seemed that I faced a conversationalist who was comprehensive, elegant and very sensitive to the philosophic considerations inferred by the famous small reporter. And I had only one wish: to believe in her sincerity. Today, I still do not manage to understand certain behavioral dualities. Warmth, then coldness. Others than me, even loyal among the loyal, underwent banishment and blacklisting for having given frank, honest evidence. No more letter being sent to her receives a reply. The slightest criticism immediately provokes a stinging attack from Nick Rodwell, a Stalinist censorship or an assuaging press release of the style "everything goes very well Madam Marchioness." Oh yeah, but the stable is on fire, Marchioness, and please stop accusing the fire brigade because they try to save what they still can. Is it really necessary whether it is a "Supertrust" which sends Canadairs (fire-fighting aircraft)?

The Hergé and Moulinsart foundation have an enormous chance to include within their ranks some high-level collaborators whose competence and intelligent passion, even stubbornness, is just like the work of my uncle. The first volume of the "Chronology of a work" is the symbolic example. Let us applaud. But what surprise does Mister Rodwell still reserve for us? The answer frightens me … Has he forgotten the white scarf that the Dalai Lama offered to him?

Here, then, is the first part of my testimony and too bad if it displeases some. I will wait for them firmly …

Georges Remi, junior

To allow you to identify the persons appearing in this text, allow me, dear reader to quickly introduce you to the persons whom you will meet there:
- Georges Remi, named Hergé. Born in 1907, died on March 3rd, 1983.
- Paul Remi, the younger brother of Hergé, born in 1911, died in 1986.
- Germaine Remi - Kieckens, named Madam Hergée, the first wife, separated from Hergé in 1960. Divorced in 1975, died in 1995.
- Fanny Vlamynck - the second wife of Hergé since 1977, sole legatee of Hergé’s estate. Married Nick Rodwell in 1994.
- Alain Baran, born in 1951, son of Domenique de Wespin (?), friend of Hergé. Entered the Hergé Studios in 1978 in the capacity of particular secretary.
- Nick Rodwell, 48 years, British subject, enters the Tintin universe around 1985. He is the origin of the departure of Alain Baran.
- Denise and Georges Remi, niece and nephew of Hergé, children of Paul Remi.
- 162 avenue Louise - Brussels - Seat of the Hergé Studios, dissolved in 1985, subsequently of the Hergé Foundation, of the Moulinsart Company, …
- Céroux-Mousty, village of Walloon Brabant where was situated the country house of Germaine and Georges Remi

Part 1 - THE CHESSBOARD OF the FATE

Since the death of the creator of Tintin, the evolution of the Hergé patrimony (inheritance) underwent an improbable accumulation of too often contradictory events. First Alain Baran, then Nick Rodwell, two managements, two fiascos, at least a common denominator: megalomania. But the origins the chaotic course of events after Hergé doubtless take their source in the three years preceding my uncle’s death. Without taking a "diplomatically correct" detour, my opinion, consolidated by so many reliable testimonies, is largely, built. It is in some years, even in some months, that the controversial elements of the post-mortem fate of Hergé’s works were set up.

Beyond his unmistakable talent, beyond his culture and beyond his great intelligence, my uncle was an easily influenced and fragile man, ceaselessly divided between the "yin" and the "yang" of his consciousness (or conscience). In his passionate (or desperate) search of a philosophical absolute, the solitary person that he already was took refuge slowly but surely from a relational environment that was too contradictory and too manicheistic (dualistic) or pragmatic to his taste. He who said to me so often: "there is no black or of white, there is only an infinity of grey of varying intensity", or still "any principle is a prison," had he unconsciously secreted unanswerable logic (arguments)? How many faithful friends have not regretted what some have called a blind escape (flight)? But it is Hergé himself who set up the elements of a bad and sad adventure of Tintin, entrusting to those who seemed to shine so well (fallaciously?) his own future and that of his patrimony. And if he had not been himself the architect of the situation that everybody regrets today, I would dare without any reservation to employ the word "treason".

The glass door

During the ‘70s, my uncle and I maintained excellent relations. At his home or in the studio, we conversed with passion on a multitude of subjects. His knowledge, his experiences (or experiments) in philosophy and in contemporary painting made him an ideal mentor. Too immature in the time, I did not completely realize the luck that had been given to me to receive such an enriching education from the "boss". He was wise, I was excessive. He knew the vanity of things whereas I tried to conquer the wind. He practiced Tao artistically, I left for cruise "over the top" (or “anything goes”?). We liked each other, however; he was a little like the father that his brother did not know how to be, bringing me the affection and the understanding that I had not had in sufficiency. He unloaded at my home, extremely anxious to get to know me like crazy. He also tried to level the disputes which I had with his brother and concerned himself with effective discretion of my moods as a young person of thirty-years, just as he worried insistently and with sadness over my mother’s illness.

I went from time to time to the Hergé Studios. I shall never forget the felted atmosphere of the premises right from the exit of the elevator, the the window with the treasures to the left, the coat-rack with the headgears of Dupond/t (the Thompsons), and once having crossed the glass door, magic smells of pencil, ink and paper. In his very sober office, on the drawing table, there was almost always a sketch, a tracing paper covered on both sides with scribblings, sketches of a person or of a work to come. The ceremony of the tea shared in the afternoon with his co-workers, the jokes of Bob De Moor, the pervading cheerfulness, nothing suggested that a storm approached. Only the slightly bombastic presence of the young and new secretary, Alain Baran, seemed improper. It is necessary for me to admit in all honesty here that this person belonged to the antipodes of the men, the speleologists and boat-racers (?), that I frequented then. Even as my friends expressed themselves with frankness, so Alain seemed to me to be skillfully ambiguous. I had announced my feeling to my uncle who had then taken offence at it.

It was on this day that I showed him my marines (i.e. paintings with marine subjects) and that did not really take place well. His extremely severe criticism almost made for me give up. Nevertheless, we parted without hostility and with warm encouragement (i.e. on his part). With a sentence which I cannot forget: "sketch, my dear Georges, sketch, forever and always". He was naturally right to groom my young artistic certainties, but was I not also engaged in committing a crime of lese-majesty?

The letter ending a relationship

I undoubtedly was never due to invite him to my first exhibition in November, 1979, because with a concise and furious letter, he refused to honor me with his presence. Nothing justified some murderous sentences that I felt then as a terrible treason, a stab in the absolute confidence which I showed him. Whose confidence I greatly needed to regild the coat or arms (regain prestige), but that it is another story.

Even today, the strange typed letter, and not handwritten as usual, remains for me an enigma and I sometimes doubt its origin …

The hard and awkward reply which I had then sent to my uncle sealed our break. Summoning him to come down from his ivory tower and to explain himself "man-to-man" made a culprit of me. Culpable, doubtless, to have missed (lost) [his] discernment and wisdom. Culpable to have dared to stand up to Hergé, to the great displeasure, moreover, of all my family which, incidentally, has never tempted the slightest intercession! Hergé was thus convinced that certainly he could expect nothing from a godchild so uncontrollable. And, in the process, to convince a fox, in an unexpected way, that the access to the chicken run was wide open …

Much later, during the broadcast of Tchang’s arrival, in March, 1981, I discovered with horror the extent of my uncle’s disease. He was unrecognizable. Devastated, filled with guilt, I sent him a letter of apology, trying to explain to him the reasons for my firebrand. And once more I received another typed letter, an objection in the terms so strangely irrelevant and absolutely without foundations …

Weakened by the disease, tired by the more and more evident dissension of his right-hand men, my uncle had no other alternative (?) than to let the mooring rope of the beautiful vessel slip into the waves. And, disenchanted, he retorted to one of his collaborators as she announced her astonishment to him concerning certain unfortunate initiatives: "what's the use, it is too late …". He had no other heir than the "spiritual son", Alain Baran, his young and new secretary since 1978 ... And his second and loving wife, Fanny. It would, nevertheless, be less than objective not to assert in which point Hergé underestimated the future destiny of his works and their derived applications. He had asserted repeatedly that once he had disappeared, the life of Tintin would stop de facto and he had not thus considered it important to set up a team of solid and informed administrators. What was inequitable (unjust) for his collaborators doubtless proved to be a good arrangement for the "furniture removal men". A sad fable of The Fountain, really!

But in the name of the pride and the blindness that this last one (letter?) induced, Georges Remi "junior" never returned to his uncle’s house, and even less at the hospital … and in any case, the die was cast, the cards were dealt, and all I had was one “four of hearts.”

The sides of the chessboard

On the day immediately following Hergé’s death, amidst the numerous legitimate and sincere [expressions of] sadness were to be found a few crocodile tears and even some streams of champagne! Very quickly, the interests of one or the other showed themselves in broad daylight. Hergé Studios, such as I had known them, stopped existing definitively. The king is dead, long live the king!

The result (consequence) expresses itself in some revealing sentences of a genuine bid under trusteeship of the Hergé inheritance. Although the work of Hugues Dayez "Tintin and the Heirs" clearly evokes the unhealthy atmosphere of these weeks of mourning, I shall summarize, without being accommodating, some of the sadly sordid aspects of the reign (administration) of number one: that of Alain Baran.

- The public burial in which blood relatives or old, close friends were not invited, even less the spouses of devoted collaborators. So in the church, we could see in the first row, the young widow, my father, two half brothers, Alain and Pierre-Paul as well as their dear mom, Madam de Wespin (?). On the other hand, my sister had a place towards the tenth row whereas her husband and her children had to find a place at the far end of the holy sanctuary. As for me, I was not there, guess why? I shall quote a letter addressed to my father, among others, from Paul Jamin, named "Alidor": "... I have to say to you that I regret that, for reasons which are unknown me, very old and very faithful friends of Georges were held apart and were not able to say goodbye to somebody to whom they were very attached." It would be irrelevant and too easy to blame Paul Jamin that no one came to speak to me about the past! It would be equally useless to put forward (as a reason) the disorganization of the moment, which would be too easy also.

- A first "provisional" funeral organized in relative intimacy with some journalists who are very comfortable in the company of Alain Baran and that in spite of his express demand for discretion. I was dumbfounded.

- The total absence of the slightest consideration or refined condolences with regard to Germaine, Hergé’s first and legendary wife (nevertheless still [remaining] a shareholder of the studios!) (…The same absence of consideration on behalf of [on the part of?] Fanny and Nick Rodwell at the time of the death of Germaine in 1995!).

- And, most especially, the anguished confession Fanny’s father to my father, on the day of the funeral: "Paul, they (who?) have emptied the safe, I am afraid for my daughter, she is as a fly in a cobweb". This last terrible sentence deserves a "flashback". Indeed, a little bit before our break, my uncle had admitted to me immediately and to my great uneasiness, the existence of a private safe and arrangements that he had made: "in case I die, you have to know that ...". And among other arrangements, there was one concerning my mother, who was seriously ill. I shall not put forward (state) those concerning me, because in my famous letter of 1979, frank as Bertrand, I had drafted a very explicit paragraph on this subject. Surrealist? Artless? Without a doubt, but it is my truth (sincere testimony?), paid at the full price. The price of outspokenness (frankness) does not hold before thirty coins (silver pieces?). He is certain that as of the publication of this paragraph nobody will question the truthfulness of what my father confided in me. But I would invite them immediately in some circles where his frankness and his integrity remain exemplary.

- Finally, last but not least, who can ever explain why my father, the brother of Hergé, was NEVER summoned to the testamentary opening which made Fanny the sole legatee [of Hergé’s estate]. My father, this officer of cavalry in the code of honor, sharp as his sabre, has never wanted to formulate the slightest legal objection on this subject, but, nevertheless, had the right to it… It is dumbfounding! And contrary to what has been said about the agreement between the two brothers, if it is true that they did not share the same convictions, they remained very amicably respectful towards one another, telephoning each other at least once a week. Does one disinherit one’s only brother under the pretext of divergent philosophic opinions? QED!

- My mother was slowly extinguished in modest establishments, while at the same time Madam Vve Remi offered to her parents a luxurious property in the South of France, nevertheless purchasing for herself a neighborhood (district) of good conscience by leaving a tip on her brother-in-law’s table. This is probably what demoralizes me the most … Especially after the famous confidences that my uncle had made to me.

Pitchforks

Well then, here were set up the elements of a [theatrical] setting which, at the time, seemed to satisfy all the spectators, those of the box as well as those of the pit. Neither tintinologue nor hergéophile [expressed their] surprise [or pursued any] inquiry. The aftermath of Hergé opened with such beautiful prospects that a number of critics/analysts, biographers, collectors and other professionals of the pen and the microphone believed that a license had been legitimately delivered to them, for life! And even the gross blunders uttered during a certain radio broadcast—the RTBF—conducted (led) at the time by Gérard Valet, with Madam de Wespin, her son and Madam Vve Remi as guests, shocked nobody. Except Germaine and I who could not get over the hardly sibylline (prophetic, oracular) comments that led one to believe that Hergé was the secret father of Alain Baran! Then, what's the use to prick up one’s ears at the despondent spirit of the nephew and doubt the legitimacy of the new prince, the one who waters (i.e. is anointed?) …

As regards grief, mine was immense to powerlessly witness the (metamorphosing?) and dangerous initiatives of Alain Baran. Nobody, not even one of Hergé’s most faithful friends, a small but remarkable man, wanted to share the moods of a nephew who had shut himself down so well! Bitterness and regret; I had no other choice than to assume (take upon myself) my solitude, to accept that I would never be invited to any demonstration or exhibition. A trivial example: a caving (speleologist) companion of mine with whom I had lost touch and who tried to track me down, telephoned the Hergé Foundation to ask for my whereabouts. The answer was laconic: "we did not know that Hergé had a homonymous nephew, sorry we cannot answer you, good day".

It is a happy thing that at the time I was able to count on solid friendships.

The angles of the madman

The false and scandalous publication of "Tintin and Alph' Art", the edition of "Tintin Reporter" of an unforgivable mediocrity, the sumptuary and flashy expenses, the formation of societies, are only rupee of starling from the point of view of Alain Baran's negotiations with the Ampere group. A reliable witness, who has, regrettably, disappeared today, confided with me, shortly after Germaine’s death, the scandalous terms of a business meeting during which, Fanny Remi's self-interests being dangerously exposed, Alain had given no evidence of any scruple for the safeguard of said interests … Fortunately for her, this witness had been vigilant to the squall.

Dear Fanny, how many times had I telephoned or written to her, without concrete success, asking her to open her eyes to the behavior of the unworthy "spiritual son" of Hergé and his Ligne Claire (i.e. “clear line” artistic technique). I remember a letter in which she forcefully attributed to him the very qualities that I blamed him for not having. Why, then, has Fanny defended Alain Baran with such stubbornness? How has she been able to accept the aberrant drifts of the one that I always considered as a cheat? The leader of this cacophonous orchestra finally got out of it with a very, very comfortable retirement. Without a doubt, we have him to thank for sacking the “Castafiore Emeralds?” But, I ask you, in the name of what? For his administrative talent alone?

Let us heat and blow on the forge, on the iron that you will, before long, beat into a Toledo blade … But wait even awhile, maybe they will finally go (or surrender) to Canossa?

Part 2 – THE NEW PARTY

The press, which, on the whole, remained relatively discreet until then, questions more and more frequently about the way the work of Hergé, is managed. And it is necessary to notice that after a beginning that, in the eyes of the general public, nevertheless seemed promising, the stronger and stronger disagreement between the Baran clan and the De Moor clan definitely finishes consuming itself (comes to a head?). The dissension and its perverse effects appear in broad daylight. Indisputably they worsen the magnificent Hergéen environment. Which, incidentally, is good fortune for certain pressmen, always ready to make Hergé out to be a man with a shady past. But we shall return to that later.

Without taking part, too fine, in simple caricature, Fanny's methodology, consisting of looking for the mechanisms of a healthy management in a parallel universe, gives evidence of a misunderstanding of the temporal realities. Without training anybody, without experience of the terrain, without ever having rubbed shoulders with the multiple problems of this type of environment, who would not have felt disarmed? Who would not commit blunders? One choice is, thus, imperative: rely, once again, on all that underlies this word in terms of risks. The Baran experience having ended as known; who will be the providential being this time?

Horse in attack

His name is Nick Rodwell. British of origin he is in 1984 a London shop-owner in which, recently, Tintin occupies a dominant place. If it was necessary to be critical right away and even a little mean, we would be entitled to settle some preliminary questions consisting in knowing what is Nick Rodwell's link with the genesis of the world of Tintin. Was his childhood, his adolescence enveloped (bathed) by the adventures of this little reporter at first so typically Belgian, from Brussels, before having become a universal hero? Does Nick Rodwell know the world of the bande dessinée (European comic strip) and its very Belgo-French culture? Did he know Hergé, his past, his life, his artistic route/journey, his motivations? Not à priori. But let us not be McCarthyistic by condemning him without having observed the way he is going to fulfil his new office..

To make you understand and appreciate the circumstances and motives with which Nick Rodwell entered the firm is not my topic (purpose). Besides, always held apart from what takes place at the Foundation, I only hear what is indeed brought to me by "favorable winds". It seems however that Nick manages to restore order in the nebulous enterprises initiated by his predecessor, which is not an easy business. The change thus looks à priori very promising. In 1991, for the first time in twelve years, I am invited to the Hergé Foundation. It is not without apprehension that I step out of the same elevator to discover, with a certain dismay, that nothing recalls to me my uncle’s presence any more. Everything has changed. Felted, impersonal luxury has replaced the mythic sanctuary and where, then, has the legendary drawing board gone? Philippe Goddin, then the General Secretary of the Hergé Foundation, fortunately preserved it from the grand upheaval at the far end of an office. Well, it has to be a "Baran effect". I admit, I feel a little ill at ease. First, there is the meeting with Nick Rodwell. This man is apparently a charmer, born in the early ‘40s, relaxed and lined with a discreet elegance. Fanny is clearly in love with him, what seems to flow from the source. Come along then, we make peace—a truce rather—which we seal at the table of an excellent Brussels restaurant. I discover in passing that I had made (?) for myself a reputation of "square head", which is not completely unwarranted in the light of what has gone before, but all right!

Apparently, there are many projects in gestation, nice in that case! It is the same matter to envisage the restoration on the way, with the Lombard Editions, of a publishing project widely inspired by the "Ligne Claire" (clear line artistic style). Graphic designer by training, I had always wanted to imagine (picture) a response to the fiasco of "Tintin Reporter" and had in my boxes a detailed enough approach. Nick will even obtain for me a meeting with the Lombard Publishing House. Everything's fine in the best of worlds. Mister Rodwell is doubtless "the right man in the right place"!

But, the soufflé rapidly deflates! Again, I remain without any news. I doubtless benefited from what boat racers appreciate the most: the intoxication of surfing on the crest of a wave. The wave spent, the sailboat resumes its normal speed! It is little just like what the couple will propose to me once or twice, with the appearance of great sincerity, I admit. But to resolve such a heavy dispute with so much pleasant lightness is almost offensive in my opinion; at least that is how I felt it. For example: very happy with this reunion, I send them an invitation to the private viewing of an important exhibition of my works, which I organize in Brussels. No visit, no word. It was nevertheless an occasion to bury an old history. The one that had begun in 1979! Another example: my son has just completed a mastership (Masters Degree?) in Administration and Management of enterprise (MBA?) to complement in his university studies. Quite naturally—naïvely?—I suggest to him to propose his candidature. Fanny’s charming answer is not delayed in coming, it is an objection embellished however with an ulterior (subsequent) invitation …which never came. I owe a small corrective to the truth: Nick telephones my son one day to offer him a job of …warehouseman! No comment! For me, one conclusion is essential in an evident manner: Fanny on no account wants a Remi in the lap (bosom) of Tintin, however competent he may be. Why? That the reader properly understands, I do not wish a settling of scores, but simply a little more equity. By raising these two examples, ultimately very insignificant, I am only putting in the light a state of mind that is, at the very least, awkward. It would have been otherwise if the explanations had been more frank, more credible.

Rules of the game

At the same time, in 1991, I am contacted by Stéphane Steeman, celebrated collector of everything touching the works of Tintin. I have a liking for (harmonize/sympathize with) this outstanding passionate person. Bewildered, I discover the extent and the wealth of his collection, veritable museum (!) before the term existed. Furthermore, by the logic of things—he is a president of the association of the Friends de Hergé—Stéphane is relatively well informed about what takes place in the Hergéen [landscape?]. And manifestly everything does not seem so idyllic as the new administrator would like to make him believe. He explains me among others that the organization of the demonstration "Tout Hergé" to Welkenraedt clashes with what he defined as a voluntary apathy of the Foundation. Voluntary apathy because it is not the Hergé Foundation which is at the origin of the project. Obviously, "Tout Hergé" is a big event, a mark (token) of route (course) which the Foundation should have initiated a long time ago. Faulted, she reacted with a certain susceptibility, which engendered some rather acid correspondences. Once again Fanny Remi hesitates to place Tintin on a realistic and coherent terrain. A better dialogue would have engendered a synergy doubtless more effective. This incident leaves one with the impression that she is a thousand leagues from understanding that the sphere of Tintin should be the place for hatching more dynamic initiatives. Leading to the label of a school for innovative and strong ideas, faithfully but bravely based on "Ligne Claire" (i.e. the clear line artistic style). Maybe she delegates the choice of decisions (i.e. authority) to Nick Rodwell with too much lack of concern. And Nick Rodwell did not hide that "Tout Hergé" opposed him. Inevitably misunderstandings develop dangerously. All the symptoms of a muscular takeover lead one to believe that Tintin has entered an era of aggravated protectionism. Doubtless it was justified insofar as the management of the rights and derivatives appeared, until then, to be rather fluctuating in terms of qualitative logic. But, insidiously, Nick had begun to transfer a certain number of prerogatives (privileges) of the Hergé Foundation to the Moulinsart trading company, which replaced the one created by his predecessor. It was clear that a strong foundation, a cultural partner, an association with wise men which would have "controlled" his activities could only have inconvenienced the entrepreneur that he wanted to be. Was Nick Rodwell already becoming a caliph in place of the caliph? Having appeared to be an affable and open person, did he not metamorphose into a future despot with strictly mercantile objectives?

It becomes more and more obvious that new discords are silhouetted against the horizon, that new disappointments amidst the collaborators and external councilors come to light. Once again, Tintin would have done well without that! At the head of the "Foundation," it is inevitably as if there was nobody to arbitrate with firmness and wisdom, nobody to make one respect the rules of the game. And Nick proves by absurdity that he is incapable of understanding the very essence of what my uncle created from a graphical, philosophical, ethical or social point of view. Although often and unfairly slandered, Philippe Goddin tries at all costs to guard the ball at the centre and to do his job; but in vain, it is Nick Rodwell who makes all the decisions. Benoit Peeters, a privileged external collaborator from before his arrival, distances himself. In brief, they pull in opposite directions, each bringing such divided and too often contradictory certainties for a real symbiosis to be possible. The business becomes an almost absolute leitmotif. Nick manages (administers) without paying any attention, without consciousness of his limits. He does not delegate and is absent from Brussels too often for somebody who boasts of being a conscientious manager! More and more isolated in his ivory tower, his coefficient of sympathy quickly diminishes. All the more as he tolerates contradiction less and less. It is bad sign. Who really commands the vessel?

The Tower takes guard!

But let us return to "Tout Hergé”. To my great disappointment, it is not the Foundation that invites me to Welkenraedt in June ’91, but the organizers, at the instigation of Stéphane Steeman. Received with extreme politeness, I am amazed and so very touched, naturally. All the magic of my childhood recovered! A childhood in the trail, in broken lines, of an officer father assigned, in turn, to Germany and to Africa. With the albums and other objects that my uncle regularly sent me, like so many reassuring and magnificent beacons. The success of Welkenraedt is fabulous, displeasing certain despondent spirits (faultfinders) there who must have lost their earliest youth in a lecture hall. Even though it is indispensable firmly (steadfastly) to define a qualitative perimeter, it is also necessary to remember that Tintin belongs to all the social classes. It was thus inevitable that this demonstration was able, according to some, to give itself airs (the appearance) of a big fair.

But as always, when we speak about Hergé with so much publicity, the polemicists (controversialists) unleash themselves with incredible harshness. Harshness pushed to its extreme when Stéphane Steeman goes to Spain to meet there the one from whom my uncle had unambiguously distanced himself before he became the Belgian eulogist of Nazism. The journey was unquestionably very awkward, the semantics of the excuses even more. But I have to say, as a matter of fact, that he had informed me, well before "the affair" broke out, the reasons for his journey. It was precisely to try to convince "the exile" not to commit a manuscript to an evocative title, to which the image of Hergé would be associated very improperly. By which channel Steeman received this information is his problem.

Without wanting to revive (relaunch) a debate, I am anxious to specify forcefully that if my uncle had really been a [Nazi] collaborator, my officer of a father would never have forgiven him for it. He would have banished his brother from his environment (surroundings) as he permanently (for good, definitely) did with certain pre-war acquaintances (or relations) who had chosen Nazism. My father was imprisoned for five years in Germany and risked his life three times to escape towards England. Besides, it is Raymond Leblanc, a well-known Resistance fighter, who made Hergé the standard bearer of the Tintin Journal. I have letters written by my uncle in 1947 in which appears his enormous sadness to have been able to be suspected of being a [Nazi] “collaborator”. Tintin is and always has been above the fray and is profoundly antimilitarist. Quite simply, he was, in his time, influenced by the prejudices of the age and was the witness of a democratic society to two very opposite sensibilities. And my father and my uncle explained it to me a thousand times. Full stop.

But in the highest point (climax?) of this debate, the most shocking was the total absence of reaction from Louise Avenue. Except for an isolated right of reply drafted by Philippe Goddin, not a communiqué, nor a denial, nor the shadow of a strong reaction to protect the man who is at the center of their reason for existing. I could not take any more; after all it is my honor and that of my family that have been attacked! Other times, another age: I have the memory of a similar situation arisen in the sixties and where I had properly smashed the face of a pallid fellow for having treated my uncle like a Nazi. I am still sorry about it because it was certainly not the right solution! Doubtless boiling, I nevertheless detest violence just as I detest the intellectual dishonesty of those who take refuge behind assuaging and comfortable considerations by evacuating the constraints of some of the "blacks" and "whites" of the existence. For the rest of the range (or scale), I agree, there are many nuances of grey, as Hergé said!

But let us return, for a brief moment, to Welkenraedt. I have to say it, it is too enormous. Indeed, I was approached there by an individual whose visiting card I have fortunately misplaced and who cut my breath (cut me to the quick?) by quietly declaring to me in a joking and discreet tone that, after all, the best solution for the future of Tintin would be that "the Nick-Fanny couple bursts a tire in a bend (turning) … After all, isn’t Mister Rodwell Jewish?" The capuchin monkey! The australopithecus! No, the moron (cretin)! I still shudder at it. That day I discovered with horror that it would doubtless still take some millennia before I can breathe with confidence (catch my breath?)!

Thus, faced by a lack of reaction from Fanny and Nick and with the indigestible blunder of what has preceded on the heart, I ask to be recognized by the Foundation. The open their doors to me with a beautiful kindness (amiability). "We are very aware (conscious) of the problem, don’t worry; moreover we are preparing the ultimate weapon: a complete biography of Hergé without artifice. The truth will disarm his detractors. We have thus asked to Mister Assouline to take care of the work". Well, I caricature little, but here was the perfect plan. Yeah, sure, we shall see. But I was not really reassured!

Time passes by, measured by annual greeting cards from the Foundation (meanwhile become that of the nebulous (nebula?) Tintin). On this matter, it is amusing to notice (state) that if you still receive them, it means that you are always in the odor of sanctity. I had already verified this theory under the Baran period, and be patient, I shall bring you the confirmation further on.

June, 1994, the inauguration of the exhibition "In Tibet with Tintin" in Brussels. It is a success of quite another level but I have no heart to meet Nick there. Only my wife and my son will go to it and will return enchanted with the quality of the event and the whiteness of the scarves given to the newlyweds by the Dalai Lama. Hey yes, meanwhile Nick Rodwell has married Fanny Vve Remi. Long live Love!

And bravo to Benoît Peeters and Pierre Sterckx who were the artisans of this beautiful success just as they previously were for the "imaginary Museum" (1979) and "Hergé draftsman" (1989). But, in place of "In Tibet with Tintin" we would have preferred a theme closer to the great questions of society rather than a political commitment to the Tibetan cause. However, between these two demonstrations, in terms of image, we have crossed from one extreme to the other without explanation, without a coherent strategy that allows the public to find itself there. No red thread, no logic. Nick seems incapable of imagining dynamic commercial initiatives dedicated to the world of the childhood, in the broad sense the term. Tintin becomes a luxury object out of reach of a family of average income. I am convinced, for example, that cooperation with large toy manufacturers is yet possible. I have had the proof of it for not so long a time or for professional reasons I frequented international fairs as at Frankfurt or Paris.

Setback to the Lady

I had written to Fanny to say to her in a slightly peremptory way: "You have already let the fox slip into the chicken run, please Fanny, this time do not admit the wolf to the sheepfold!" I remember that when I was young, my father had given me the works of Jean Breton to read on the love stories of the History of France. Love and the realities of the State! Dangerous combination really! And if the heart prevails over the reason, well, we can fear the worst. I am not an ardent supporter of biographies, but if there is one that I found admirable and fascinating, it is that of queen Elizabeth I of England written by Michel Duchein (Fayard). A woman beyond the norm, beautiful and intelligent, but who never imperiled her difficult realm (regime?) for the eyes of a prince, however irresistible. The sense (understanding) of the state pushed (stretched?) to this paroxysm (height, climax, limit) was naturally as high as the proclaimed ideal. All proportions kept, Tintin would certainly be worth a well said mass. Indeed, when one professes the magnificent and positive philosophic universality of the hero "urbi and orbi", when one receives the famous white sling from the Dalai Lama for having illustrated the presence of our hero in Tibet so well, one must calm down the too conspicuous venal (mercantile) ardors of the prince, especially when it seems to be proven (acknowledged) that Tintin watches are manufactured … in China! Two weights (loads), two measures then (i.e. double standards). For the same reason that it matters to any citizen lambda I would like to understand the reason for so many awkward contradictions. Distressing contradictions because it seemed that this prestigious exhibition entitled "In Tibet with Tintin" had engendered an exorbitant cost. The balance is in the centre, Hergé said to me. But when the axis is neither in the middle nor reliable, it is guarantee to collide against (bump into) her!

Pandora’s Box

Mister Pierre Assouline, I particularly appreciated your biography of Georges Simenon. A complete, fascinating work, remarkably well documented. I had the pleasure to meet you, a little bit quickly it is true, but you impressed me by your subtle intelligence. At the conclusion of a very long night reading your "Hergé", I had the feeling, however, that your approach with Georges Remi's life did not have the same intensity as that you granted to Georges Simenon. It is nevertheless with a lot of interest and emotion that appeared to me, believably sometimes, many family secrets (unspokens). Hang on, relatives (parents?) of celebrities because the public makes fun of starts of your heart … And he is right. A small correction if you allow me, Pierre: you should not have written that my uncle “did not love" children but rather than children put him ill-at-ease because they made him awkward. It is simply atavistic. I always adored my son but ask him how I was awkward, at which point my father and grandfather, that is Hergé’s father, were also [the same]. Actor and witness in the material (matter), I thus reassure all the relatives (parents) of the young admirers of Tintin. And hope that this awkward heredity will disappear with the son of my son. And it is additionally true that Hergé asked to adopt me. But at the time, towards the end of the forties, I was already devilish and my adorable mom did not wish to impose upon him this torture for an entire lifetime.

This joke to say to Mrs. Rodwell that she would have given me great pleasure by taking some precautions with respect to my family before opening the Pandora’s box. But in the fact, had you thought of it, Fanny? You who forcefully profess (teach) the virtues of compassion and of the elevation of the soul …

On February 27th, 1996, Pierre Assouline’s book "Hergé" is presented to the Belgian Centre of the Bande Dessinée (comic strip). A whole hergéen intelligentsia of different generations has met together there. I admit to having felt inexplicably ill-at-ease there. Unless this was generated by the presence of persons with sensibilities strongly opposing (contrary) for different reasons. Some "seniors" sip their cup of champagne with dignity and, more discreet behind a colonnade, one of my clients, whom I imagined in one thousand leagues (i.e. scarcely supposed) to frequent this type of event, observes the assembly. Doctor and journalist, he is a man of high and beautiful intelligence. Surprised by the meeting, after the customary inquiries, I understand that he is not there because he is a fan of Hergé or Tintin, because he admits to me immediately to not liking this "[Nazi] collaborator, enemy of the Jews" (sic). I choke and not very smartly, announce him to in petto (i.e. in secrecy, in reserve) that I am the nephew of "…". And without further explanation, the man disappears from the assembly (meeting). Afterwards and for reasons said to be "practical", this client was definitely avoiding me. Isn’t it funny? When you come to know that this gentleman is also a dignitary of an association diametrically different from that of the fellow who had approached me at Welkenraedt, you can perhaps venture into the most irrational hypotheses. Would there be another attempt to kidnap Tintin and if so, with what intention? Is it not a good beginning of adventure for our famous reporter?

Ah but, I forgot that Hergé had clearly expressed himself on this subject and that this liability, every passing day, terribly thwarts the desires (wishes) of our great captain of industry!

The Lady of Céroux-Mousty

A small return in chronology. On October 26th, 1995 Germaine Remi, Hergé’s first wife, goes out of her Brussels apartment. A strong-minded intellectual woman, as demanding with herself as with her circle of acquaintances. It annoyed (angered) me on two occasions that good many of her comments could be acerbic (sharp), even cynical. As she wrote to Pierre Assouline, for her, time had stopped (arrested) at the end of the fifties when she clearly sensed that her love story with Hergé was definitely at an impasse. As time wore on, only Tintin survived, but with Hergé! A double-break thus! I doubtless repeat myself by speaking to you about her so dramatically revealing, intimate diaries. Very embittered, she did not remain less [interested in] listening to what took place on Louise Avenue. On every Sunday evening, I thus went to her charming and old country house in order to keep her company between two glasses of good wine and some cheese. It did her good to speak about the past. To evoke the Christmas seasons prepared with excitement, the presents that all the relatives’ children were going to receive under the big fir tree. She was a generous lady. Restored by the couple some years after the war, decorated and furnished with the taste which becomes this kind of house, Céroux-Mousty is a part of my childhood but even more that of my sister who, among other things, spent time there during her engagement while my parents and I lived in Africa. Many memories thus! But at the time of the separation, the beautiful house and its gardens had become totally austere. Carefully maintained it is true, it resembled more and more a small museum, visited by its owner the time of (i.e. over) a short weekend. As if she still waited there for Hergé! He went there moreover every Monday until a few days before his death. It is there that he spoke about my letter to his ex-wife. According to her notes, she had replied to him "it is aggressive and awkward, but he was not completely wrong!"

According to the testamentary acts of the succession, the property of Céroux-Mousty was awarded in the event of Germaine’s death to two recipients: on one hand, the King Baudouin Foundation, on the other hand Fanny Remi (who had never put her feet in it!) … My sister and I were assured of an interim of some months, often aided by Hergé’s faithful and old book keeper, in order to settle the numerous current businesses: maintenance, mail, expert appraisal of furniture and works of art, etc. … Never we would have had the boldness to steal (subtilize) the slightest [table?] covering. We said to ourselves naïvely that this beautiful house would inevitably become a museum or the seat of a Tintin Foundation for example. One fine day, we have to return the keys, with a heavy heart. The property, emptied of its contents, remained abandoned for a very long time, at least the duration of a long winter. Only two large bronze dogs watched over the lawns. And then one day it was publicly sold. Almost hastily (illicitly?). And for a price that seemed absurd to us compared to its actual value. I sometimes dare a discreet passage by car through Hergé street (rue Hergé). It was a time for regret. As liked to say to Germaine: "it is not easy!". A sentence that we like to repeat among ourselves with a wink …

One day, I learned that furniture, statues, paintings would have been sold by Fanny in the various retail outlets of antique dealers without specifying the famous origin and in defiance of the sincere admirers of Hergé who would have carried out the duty to preserve the one or the other of the owner’s souvenirs by purchasing them. And by forgetting the promise which she had made to my sister to reserve for her the objects of her heart! Wonderful morality lesson. And what a lack of imagination!

Part 3 – SETBACK TO KING

When I made the difficult decision to begin drafting these pages, I made to myself the oath not slip up, to avoid fruitless and provocative head-on attacks. Not because of possible lawyers! It wasn’t an easy matter, because there are facts that affected me and offended me profoundly insofar as I am Hergé’s nephew and relative but also insofar as I am a simple admirer of Tintin. In the past, I had repeatedly hoped that in this entire sorry saga common sense and intelligence would eventually prevail. It would have been entirely for the benefit of all the followers of Tintin as for the masters of his destiny. I sincerely hoped that Nick Rodwell could exceed the clumsiness inherent to his inexperience and that Fanny acknowledges the errors of past with more humility.

And the question that I pose to both of them will seem completely absurd in the eyes of many readers: are you surrounded by cats? Hergé adored cats for their patience, their dexterity, their affectionate independence. It was my uncle’s cats, Thaïke, Siam, Chonchon, … who taught me to like my own. I have had thirty two of them since his death. I would have liked being a cat to approach that which is going to follow and only to extract the claws with good reason (advisedly). To speak in simple terms, "I like you, but there you go too far!"

The line (not very) clear (re. Hergé’s ligne claire or clear line artistic style)

"And now, my friends, please open your eyes! … Hold your breath! … The moment is historic!" It is with these words of Tournesol (Prof. Calculus) that the periodical "Les Inrockuptibles" of October, 1995 introduced its dossier entitled: "the line (not very) clear". I rather like this "hold your breath!", because a little like breath-holding divers, this moment of intense control conditions (determines) the success of the dive. And it is indeed the moment to master one’s breath, because as regards at least three of the speakers (contributors, participants) of this dossier, the dive into Rodwellien surrealism will mark an epoch in the terminology of applied psychology. "Benoit Peeters, Stéphane Steeman and Georges Remi, please appear forthwith at the Hergé Foundation. It is a strict and military order! For having dared to say inelegant and fallacious things, for having broken the rules of propriety of the Navy, you will be tied to the main mast and suffer the whip there at the rate of two dozens lashes each". I joke! But by writing these lines, I frivolously interpreted the way I imagined Nick Rodwell’s summons after our interventions. I feel, a posteriori, an irresistible urge to roar with laughter. The inrockuptibles journalists have done their job according to the rulebook and also with a lot of kindness. It was a fine dossier, well tied together, with different sensibilities and especially a very fine interview granted to Benoit Peeters by Hergé shortly before his death. Nothing in it is offensive. But it was proven that Nick Rodwell does not tolerate criticism, even legitimate.

For that which concerns me, answering the aforementioned summons—there is no other word—I thus return to Louise Avenue having well decided not to let myself impose. My interlocutor (interrogator) begins by keeping me waiting for half an hour. I am not a dupe, I know that it is his technique (a trick that one finds in all the books ad hoc). He welcomes me finally, relaxed and angelic. He knows that I fulminate, but I too know him! I look at him with a calcareous eye waiting for the first remonstrance in the manner: "but finally, Georges, why … bla-bla-bla-bla?". As planned, I explode and strike him with a series of remarks and reproaches in the style of a cavalry charge, not leaving him the time to get in a word, which, in any case, I would not have believed. "Nick," I say to him, "you are doubtless very intelligent, probably more than you let it seem, but to cease paying any heed to your interlocutors for prat and to believe that you are the Phoenix!" To which he replies to me: "Aouw, Georges, why do you say to me for fifth time that I am intelligent?” - "so that you know that I know it and that, perhaps, it prevents you from making a fool of yourself!" No but, say thus! And having hurled at him the fact that he sat in the former office of my uncle and that if he was seated there so comfortably it was thanks to the genius of Hergé, born well before him, the tone became more civil. Doubtless to reassure me of his intentions, he explains to me that he is in control of the situation and that his strategy concerning the management of the rights and derivatives will evolve with common sense because he definitely wants to cut the neck of what he calls the anarchy of contracts. "We are soon going to be able to finally centralize everything, to produce and distribute everything ourselves and like that we can finally effectively control the image of Tintin". Madness! It is impossible, ridiculous and surrealist! He is going to take himself to the [dog] bowl! One would almost say that he seeks … I am flabbergasted by such a pretentious (conceited) assurance. I have a little experience in this field and you do not have to be notary clerk to understand that it is better to let the professionals of the trade be to manufacture quality objects. It is especially necessary to know how to discover them and compel them to follow well established conditions of contract.

Beyond the definitive domination of the commercial over the cultural, it is thus a confession of megalomania and proof that Tintin enthusiasts have every reason to fear the skids which will not delay. We shall soon see. But let us first go out of this office that certainly has nothing more of that which it [once?] had.

Ah the fine collections!

I shall introduce what follows by the first notes of Mister Perret's song: "ah, the beautiful collections of images …". In the legacy that Germaine made us, there was a beautiful series of works realized by Hergé towards the end of the ‘30s and ‘40s. And two albums, dedicated to Germaine, greatly coveted by many collectors. Neither my sister, nor I wanted to make simple present of this set to a family that had sufficiently proven its inconstancy concerning us. But, on principle we had sent them a complete file with an allusion that was clear for us: your price will be ours as far as it is not indecent. Fanny and Nick appeared at the meeting that we had fixed at my sister's house and without entering into details, left without a decision being made. I shall retain, all the same, Nick's stunning reflection: "but after all, you do not believe that all this rightfully returns to us?" We thought we were dreaming, but we were four of us to have heard this shocking thing. Some weeks later, a pretty handwritten letter reaches us drafted in English and explaining to us that finally, it was better, for the sake of "exorcism" and interest, that we sold the set in Paris. "By the way," Nick suggested us to destroy all of Germaine’s private correspondence… in case it fell into the wrong hands. Well, we shall see! It is possible that I lack objectivity, but after an accretion of misunderstandings the arithmetic of which began thirteen years earlier, I can only boldly speculate about the innocence of this request. Of force, we became skeptical about it!

It was without counting on Stéphane Steeman! Who made us an excellent telephonic offer. All the arguments went out of madam Gertrude's hat, but nothing was made of it. And so much the better, because one can imagine with a certain smile that these works would have found themselves back in the safes of the Hergé Foundation with the Steeman collection, sold in such a controversial manner to appear in "THE" museum that it made one sparkle. The sprinkler sprinkled! I cannot refrain, at the risk of displeasing him, from shooting a Parthian arrow at him by saying to him that it has been more profitable that he abstained, even if going over into his quid (chew), rather than coming to terms too quickly with those whom he knew to censure so well… Perhaps Mister Rodwell would be a little less boastful than he is today. Perhaps the Tintin museum would be more advanced than the Arlésienne to new developments about which we do not stop speaking in the “landerneaux.” It is crazy the number of locations that have already been evoked. Of Syldavia, in Tibet, by way of San Theodoros. Unless it is in Patagonia! And well no, Ladies and Gentlemen, in the last news it will belong to Louvain-la-Neuve, in the South of Brussels, in two hundred meters from my home. There where I unhook the clouds with my kite… Is it not an amusing irony of fate? … Finally, it is not far from Céroux-Mousty!

About the museum? He returns to me, that among other beautiful and lavish thoughts, Fanny had formulated the will to build an edifice (vessel) of "class" designed by a prestigious architect, like Mister Botha, because in Belgium we lack gifted masters. Thanks to our high schools! Undoubtedly it was to attribute too much imagination to her to envisage a competition? And to press thus on her declarations of intention of November 26th, 1986: "… to encourage the blooming (dawning) of young representative talents of the Belgian and international cultural patrimony." Caramba!

Let us conspire, let us conspire!

We are closed! You are requested to hand over to the cash-box (body, fund) or to return the logoes that you have not purchased! Attention defrauders, you will be pursued …

The paroxysm (height, climax) of the surveillance of royalties (rights, priveleges) is reached! The miradors (watchtowers) do not fail (miss) any more. The ultimate phase of the frenzy approaches as surely as the finale of a Wagnerian symphony. Nick Rodwell enters into dictatorship, in the Chaplin manner, certainly. And for nth time Tintin is kidnapped [from?] us. As a friend pointed it out to me recently: "Tintin is rather like the hen with the golden eggs; the more we cut off its head, the more it lays". Yes, undoubtedly, but the moment will indeed arrive when, having become bloodless, there will no longer be neither hen nor eggs. Unless we made for ourselves one of these familiar electronic animals in the Japanese mode which urinates and barks better than the real thing! Would this be what you wish, thus, Madam and Mister Rodwell? A bland (sterilized, clinical) work, a precious icon venerated once every year, watched by your custodial sycophants dressed in splendid uniforms. Have you lost your head? Do you not ask yourself the question to know why so many people do not follow you any more? Do not you have enough of it not to be understood by Tintin enthusiasts? But what is your ideal after all? You banished the best and the most faithful defenders of Tintin. Benoit Peeters, Pierre Sterckx, Albert Algoud, excommunicated shockingly. In Angoulème, in the hotel SAS of Brussels, in the Belgian Centre of the Bande Dessinée (comic strip), the same general outcry. And is it you who are the misunderstood persons? It is stunning, I would say even more, it is howling! That your task is not simple does not excuse everything! Even the discreet and efficient Philippe Goddin had to disembark the vessel of force, ostensibly "better" to dedicate himself to his work, what beats all.

Several pages would be required to describe the petty and ridiculous affronts undergone by a number of us in the name of the exacerbated protection of the integrity of the work. To say nothing about the long-term damage caused to the image of Tintin.

The Telegram, ask for the Telegram!

www.tintin.qc.ca/depeche.htm - that it is a journal, mille sabords! (i.e. “thundering typhoons” – one of Captain Haddock’s exclamations) The latest news of the world of Tintin. It is there that you can find information of generally well informed source. The actors, the stage, the wings, the set, in brief, everything or almost! And if I make a bit of an advertisement for this media, it is of good heart, even if it has considerably contributed to increasing my consumption of "Rennies". Regrettably, the news there is too often sadly stunning to be reassuring about the immediate future of Tintin! Of the opera to the shops while passing by the museum, it is a dizziness of which Hergé would not be proud! Ah, if he could come down again onto the earth and utter a good yell (shout)! I have been "ejected" in the manner that you know less than that for good!

In every interview granted by the extremely serene Mister Rodwell, one remains flabbergasted with admiration upon confronting the coolness (imperturbability) with which he expresses himself. Notably in the Paris-Match (Belgian edition) when reacting to the criticisms addressed to him, he answers with a rare modesty taking in example Tapie or Zidane while minimizing the general outcry which he has generated. A little like the General de Gaulle with his "havoc". And when he alludes to the work of Pierre Assouline, he declares that his wife spent only two afternoons with the writer! If I interpret correctly, it means that Pierre Assouline did not do the job that had been entrusted to him, namely to produce a complete biography, especially intended to cut the wings of certain nasty ducks. Or then, as usual, we dashed into an adventure without taking all the safeguards (guarantees) of success. Another blunder: that of saying in a truly idiotic manner (which escapes me!) that Stéphane Steeman's collection was not absolutely necessary because the treasures of the Foundation are already TOO numerous … Then, why spend so much money pointlessly to offer him a muzzle rather than a museum?

It is unjust to make the Association of Friends of Hergé wear the villain’s hat (bear the responsibility?) because Steeman is its president and because he placed himself in rage. It also gives evidence of a lot of contempt for numerous Friends of Hergé who attest to very sad settlings of scores (payments of accounts) by wondering where it is going to end.

Other media, same Blabla

A remark obtained by Jean Quatremer in the Liberation. About the criticisms uttered (voiced?) on the book of Hughes Dayez: "this book is not very well-balanced…". Boils! This book has the great merit of being extremely factual, an inquiry (investigation) without complacency made by a professional who admitted to me how difficult it was to have an impartial exchange of views with Nick and Fanny. Doubtless they had preferred to display Tintin in the company of (together with) Alice in the Wonderland!

Indubitably Nick excels at giving lessons. Poor Nick, who exceeds boundaries even in comparison with a Moroccan immigrant. I do not think that he has crossed La Mancha as certain immigrants have crossed the Straits of Gibraltar! Another summit of absurdity when he compares himself with Michael Eisner—Disney. Now then, it is revealing! Nick would like to make the world of Tintin into a Disney World. A braggart, believe me! Allow me to modestly give you a small lesson Dear Nick: you had for the first time restored order in the shop, then you launched wholesale into a series of initiatives as one launches amateur fireworks. Oh the beautiful blue, oh the beautiful green! And then it blows up (detonates, explodes) everywhere sometimes with beautiful effects, but without coherence. Now, it is necessary to call the fire brigade because there is a fire risk. You remind me of the British railroads… To which you would do well to carry (take) your magnificent management experience, self-made man! I like your country of origin, I often go to it, I have very good friends there. So please do not retort: "you see, I am disliked because I am English". But you have become Swiss! It’s breathtaking!

The shop of Shylock

About (Regarding?) Shakespeare to whom Mister Rodwell alluded in Libé, I remember a magnificent place situated in Great Britain, in a region named the "Cotswolds", and where is situated a magnificent manor house dating back to the 17th century. My wife and I have often lodged (resided) in it. It is said that Shakespeare wrote "The Merchant of Venice" there. Dear reader, do not be especially mistaken regarding my opinions if I say to you that I have the desire to express (make, utter) an audacious (daring, bold) comparison. Which has nothing to do with an anti-Semitic conspiracy but indeed with a method (system)!

Your "stake in shop" of Tintin is excessive Mister Rodwell. And as I said above, you do not have to be a notary clerk to foresee the failure of your strategy. Even if you claim the opposite! Had we not also spoken about it during your famous summons (convocation)? In this domain, you also made a considerable number of enemies it seems? I would have been very afraid of signing a contract with you. But I only commit myself with this assertion that, this at least, is free. Aficionados of images of Tintin in Sornette, in Valois or in Houtte-si-Plou, if you wish to acquire a scarf, a braid or a piece of luggage in the effigy of Tintin, it will no longer be possible for you to go to a nice regional shop. It will be necessary for you to go to a shop where behind every Tintin will be found a prestigious and expensive label with the mention of: Paris-Brussells-London-Geneva-New York-Tokyo. Tintin shops: they are very beautiful but too expensive for the checkbook of Mister Everyman and his children!

Hold it, I forgot an important point: I no longer receive a card with the wishes of the "Foundation"!

CONCLUSION

Triple report

Far from me the pretension to persuade you that I possess all the good solutions of the problems of management of this magnificent patrimony which Hergé left us. There has been enough boastfulness like that! However, numerous are the trails which have not been explored and which deserve to be. Undoubtedly due to the lack of perceptiveness and due to the lack of imagination, but certainly due to the lack of humility of two sorcerers’ apprentices. Two sirs who have never understood what the fear of the blank page can signify for an artist who seeks to attain perfection. They ought to have been rather more conscientiously inspired by the legendary and exacting methodology of the father of Ligne Claire (i.e. the clear line artistic style). But had they the capacities and will of it? Neither of them has proven their attachment to the great masses of the friends of Tintin. They have simply tried to extract venal (mercantile) substance from it. Just like many of their contemporaries…

Neither Fanny Remi nor Fanny Rodwell has ever brought me of clear, precise and frank answer on what took place a little bit before and, especially, the day after my uncle’s death. It is with a great deal of lightness (thoughtlessness) that she has considered the grief which was and which is always mine to see myself "erased" in so inexplicable a manner from the environment of my uncle and godfather. All the more as I practice a profession (trade) so close to his! It does not at all resemble the spirit Tintin, mille sabords! (i.e. “thundering typhoons!”—one of Captain Haddock’s colorful exclamations)

Then, to make the two things one, does she intentionally hide the shamefully unavowable truth or else is she the fragile prey of a destiny over which she has no control? But in either case, a little more truth would not hurt anybody!

Madam, I had esteem and respect for you, tell me that I was not wrong…

In spite of the reassuring denials of Mr. and Mrs. Rodwell, more and more alarming rumors are heard concerning the financial health of the Tintin enterprise (firm). It is also said that there is talk of selling this patrimony abroad. With, undoubtedly, as the inevitable corollary, the disregard of the last will of Hergé, namely the creation of new adventures. In that case, he must be clear that, in the name of the right morals, we shall not accept this ultimate treason.

" Well! I shall go alone, if need be…
My friend is in danger, it is less than ever the moment to abandon him to his fate. "
(Tintin in Tibet - page 52)

It is a very beautiful statement (declaration), which numerous defenders of the work want to pronounce!

Georges Remi Jr., nephew of Hergé.


TINTIN REDISCOVERED

Dream or fancy?

To cut short the accusations which would be brought to me of assailing, in spite of common sense, the initiatives of the "legal successor", I will venture to provide hereafter (below) some modest suggestions for another approach of the management of this patrimony.

The Hergé foundation was established (appointed) for—in a general way—preserving the integrity of Hergé’s work. The declaration of Madam Vve Remi on November 26th, 1986 was clear and without ambiguity.

This Foundation should have been the absolute guarantor for the respect of the work in all the spheres of activity concerning Tintin. Any cultural, artistic, philosophical and commercial initiative would have been, from the beginning, subjected to an authority whose competence was indisputable and without suspicion. A sort "of assembly of the Wise Men" under the impartial but objective custody of the sole legatee appointed by Hergé. Such an assembly consisting of people who have given evidence in terms of competence and allegiance to the work would have been able quickly to discover the drift that we witnessed since 1983 and to terminate it. It might, perhaps, have been able to compel (restrain) Alain Baran and Nick Rodwell to more moderation and reason … It would have undoubtedly helped Fanny to make more harmonious and wiser decisions!

Ideally, this Hergé Foundation had to be at the source of different initiatives and strategies developed around the Hergéen universe. Moulinsart or any other company in the commercial vocation could only be the dynamic executant (performer) acting in the scrupulous respect for limits fixed by the aforementioned Foundation.

In my opinion and in a very schematic (diagrammatic) way, four stories (floors) were needed corresponding to four different but very complementary vocations:

1. The Hergé Foundation: the place of global reflection, keystone in terms of protection, control and promotion of the work (and of its author). A point of departure for any study of strategy of action downstream (afterwards).

2. A Tintin Foundation: a dynamic engine of "the spirit Tintin" in terms of promotion and participation in the societal concerns (preoccupations). Totally independent from any political or religious connotation, the Tintin foundation would bring its assistance to the groups or the initiatives whose altruistic character could not be questioned (MSF, WWF, etc.). The Tintin Foundation could, besides, be an instrument of encouragement for young talents by which artistic and/or scenic methods are faithfully inspired out of the "Ligne Claire" (i.e. the “clear line” style) (scholarships of study, etc.).

3. A "Moulinsart" company: an entity strictly controlled by the Hergé Foundation and whose strictly economic structure would dynamically investigate all the ways permitting a fitting and sensible (judicious) exploitation of the rights and derivatives of the work. With a chief watchword: quality, but the quality accessible (approachable) to all and more particularly to the children.

4. A new Hergé Studios: of course the essential (inescapable) graphic director (realizer) of the initiatives resulting from synergies developed upstream (in advance), but also and especially a laboratory, a melting pot of new ideas faithfully inspired by the working philosophy and the style of Hergé. This entity, by its dynamism and its capacity to open new paths would allow, without any doubt, to give its economically viable perspectives to this partnership in perfect harmony with the logic of a modern company (association, society).

Here, in some rapidly sketched lines, is the plan for the future that I would have liked to have proposed to my uncle if we had parted under different circumstances and if Fanny had paid me a little more heed (attention).

I know that Fanny Rodwell has read the pages which precede and that she considered my comments as so much evidence of a too fertile imagination, of excessive and even offensive (injurious) affirmations. All right, to each their own truth; but one thing remains inescapable: my uncle’s works deserved a much better understanding and more clear-sightedness as for its destiny. But as it is said a little bit simply: it may not be too late and the one who was yesterday is not the one who will be tomorrow! Fancy or hope? Only the wind knows the answer…