The Castafiore Emerald – Hergé, 1961-63 ★★

Held Captive by a Nightingale

The joy of a Tintin story often centers less around the story than the surrounding hubbub: goofy introductions, mistaken identities, Captain Haddock’s tantrums, the gags and pratfalls, an ever-shifting plot.

So why not forgo the story and just focus on hubbub? That’s what we get with The Castafiore Emerald: A story without a story.

Does it work? Not really. Certainly it isn’t one for newbies, and it hardly compares to the first-rate adventures of yore. More a mulligan, really.

The book opens on the grounds of Marlinspike Hall, residence of Tintin and friends Captain Haddock and Professor Calculus. Tintin and Haddock happen upon a girl who has gotten lost from her camp of traveling Romani, also known as gypsies. After some misunderstandings, they take her back to her camp, where an old woman offers Haddock a dark prophesy:

“You must be careful…otherwise I see an accident…But not serious…I see you in a carriage…AAAH! A beautiful stranger approaches…She has wonderful jewels, and…OOH…A terrible disaster…”

“Go on, go on!”

“The jewels are gone…vanished…stolen!”

A typical example of what happens in The Castafiore Emerald, in this case a chain reaction that began in Marlinspike Hall with Captain Haddock and his wheelchair. Image from https://us-boutique.tintin.com/14-l-ami-6-du-docteur.html. 

The key three words in the above exchange: “But not serious.” That references an accident about to befall Haddock (as this is Tintin, that’s not a spoiler), but also captures the essence of The Castafiore Emerald.

It’s an odd book in so many ways. For one, Tintin isn’t so much a main character as an involved bystander in the central conflict between Haddock and title character Bianca Castafiore, the “Milanese Nightingale” who indeed approaches Marlinspike whether Haddock likes it or not and is bringing along her prize jewels she can’t be without, even if she never knows where they are.

Ever-helpful Bianca lends Captain Haddock a hand...while feeding rumors of a romance to the press. Haddock will no doubt get a kick from the headline: "Milanese Nightingale Bianca Castafiore Will Marry Old Sea Lion." Image from https://them0vieblog.com/2011/10/21/tintin-the-castafiore-emerald-review/

Castafiore had been up to this point a minor recurring character, pleasantly disposed to our heroes but never figuring much in a particular story. This time, she is the story, and in the process reveals herself to be a major irritant, conceited and stupid, consistently mangling her host’s name as “Captain Fatstock,” “Captain Drydock,” and “Captain Hopscotch.” An early exchange with Nestor the butler sets the stage:

“What delightful old furniture…and a four-poster bed. It’s…er…Henry the Tenth, is it not?”

“Charles the First, signora.”

“Precisely what I meant, of course.”

Bianca takes in her new digs at Marlinspike. She also mangles Nestor the butler's name. Image from https://www.pinterest.pt/pin/173107179401342387/

The thing is that never before in the series did Bianca Castafiore come across so obnoxiously. Her singing was grating to Haddock, yes, which was humorous since she was a renowned opera singer beloved by everyone else. But in the main she proved genuinely kind and helpful.

Here she is imperious, presumptuous, and hard to take in large doses, which is what you get. It has been suggested that Hergé was basing her on his wife Germaine, with whom he had separated by the time of this book but with whom he remained legally and unhappily attached. Whether that annoyance factored here, Hergé seems to have soured on the character, making it odd he built the book around her.

The more gags harp on Bianca’s airs and idiocy, the more one realizes this is a book without much of a narrative. Aggravation comedy rules, along with one-panel close-ups of Haddock facial reactions, though he seems unusually cowed about doing anything. There is a “Fawlty Towers” feeling to the way people just drop in for the sole purpose of getting on the Captain’s nerves.

Iago the parrot doesn't figure much in the narrative of The Castafiore Emerald (what there is of it), but he does figure in one of my favorite panels from the entire series, haunting Haddock in his dreams as he conflates the bird with the woman who brought him. Image from http://www.comicsandcola.com/2014/10/take-3-panels-tintin-castafiore-emerald.html.

Even Bianca complains: “You let people use this house like a hotel!” Which is ironic, of course, because she’s the main offender.

Of course, with that title and the gypsy’s prophesy, you know something bad is going to happen regarding Bianca’s jewels, but for most of the book Hergé keeps you guessing exactly what. In the beginning, you expect it will have something to do with the gypsies, whom Haddock invites to camp out on the grounds of Marlinspike. They seem like nice people misunderstood by the community, yet one of the men has a perpetual scowl and sneers at Haddock’s hospitality. He even gives friendly Tintin some attitude.

So naturally when items go missing, you suspect him. Yet despite a couple of frames showing him skulking around the house, he never factors into the story. Nor do the other Romani. Hergé seems to want to present them sympathetically, as a focus of unwarranted suspicion (“These sort of people are always thieving”), but the resolution of this part of the story is handled offstage.

The Castafiore Emerald offers some lovely illustrations, including this view of the Romani camp at night. Image from https://wellnotwisely.tumblr.com/post/97799552461/panels-from-tintin-the-castafiore-emerald-by.

Not that there is much of a show on stage. Red herrings fly in all directions. Recurring devices include an unwanted pet parrot whom Bianca bestows upon Haddock, Bianca’s dust-ups with servants and media, and a broken stairstep that never gets fixed. Much of this material is more suggestive of Hergé’s early strip work with Quick & Flupke, a pair of boy pranksters, than of Tintin.

As The Castafiore Emerald originally appeared in serial form in the pages of Tintin magazine over the course of 15 months, I wonder how this plot-less tale developed. Hergé was famously burnt-out on Tintin, but employed capable illustrators and creative assistants to help carry his load. Hergé solicited their story ideas, but would end up dismissing those he liked. Ultimately, he wanted Tintin to be his sole creation.

My suspicion: Hergé worked with a notion that an idea would come to him in media res, and did some characteristic plate-spinning waiting for that inspiration to come. Only it never did, and The Castafiore Emerald became the Tintin story without a story.

An example of a rough sketch for an early set of panels for The Castafiore Emerald which went on display in New York City in early 2020 shows the distinct hand of the master, including some intriguing marginalia. Image from https://gothamist.com/arts-entertainment/rare-tintin-page-display-nyc-raises-complicated-questions.

Stuff does happen in the book. A long section involves a television interview Bianca consents to at Marlinspike Hall. And yes, that emerald finally goes missing. But it is just a piece of mineral, and its owner is a bit of a load, so it’s not exactly A-level suspense.

There are enjoyable visuals throughout. Most notable is Professor Calculus’s color television demonstration, something which occurs late in the book apropos of nothing but introduces a nifty “Yellow Submarine” fantasia from back when the Beatles were still in moptops.

Professor Calculus prepares to demonstrate an invention he dubs "Super-Calcacolor," which reproduces television signals in color. Color television actually had existed for decades by this time, something Haddock tries but fails to point out. Image from http://en.tintin.com/albums/show/id/45/page/0/0/the-castafiore-emerald.

Since everything short of a moon flight designed by Calculus inevitably goes wrong, we get a wonderful extended bit of comedy where everything is suddenly squiggly lines and shifting horizontals:

“Naturally, it isn’t entirely perfect yet, but…”

“My eyeballs are doing the shimmy!”

“I’m seeing six of everything!”

Tintin experts seem to split sharply on the merits of The Castafiore Emerald. Some see it like I do, as slim pickings offered by a worn-out creator. Others see it as clever satire on the Tintin formula that plays with expectations, including the expectation of a pending story.

I could have done with a few less broken-stair gags in The Castafiore Emerald, and I think the good Captain would agree with me. Image from https://sauvikbiswas.com/2018/02/26/herges-great-deception-in-the-castafiore-emerald/.

At least you get a good look around Marlinspike Hall, the setting for the entire story, and a chance to see favorite characters in more relaxed situations. That goes for Hergé, too, enjoying if not challenging himself.