Following on from my last
blog post on Lambiorix, I will
now discuss a much later instalment in the series. De Nerveuze Nerviërs (The
Nervous Nervii), as I said then, was published in De Standaard from the
very end of 1963 into mid-1964 and published in album form later that year.
The story is this: during a picnic, our
usual set of friends Sidonia (renamed from the earlier Sidonie, which was
Flemish dialect), Lambik, Suske en Wiske hear a mysterious blast during a
picnic in the countryside. Lambik, Suske en Wiske go to check it out and find
workmen blowing up rocks in a disused quarry. They return home, but not before Wiske spots
movement in the rock opening which has been cleared by the blast. She and Suske
sneak back at night to explore the cave, where they spy three poltergeists
complaining about having been locked in the cave for 1,500 years and
fantasizing about what they would do if they were ever freed. The poltergeists
each have their own specialties: Twistorix plays music on a pipe, Pintorix
prefers drink, and Zanziorix loves dicing. The three discover our friends and
escape from the cave along with them, in the course of which they briefly take
Suske prisoner until he is rescued by Jerom. In doing so, Jerom proves
completely resistant to the temptations held out by the poltergeists, which
mystifies and angers them. When our friends go to Professor Barabas’ house to
find out more about the poltergeists, the latter hitchhike along unseen on top
of the car. Professor Barabas’ computer (punch cards and all!) connects the
poltergeists to the Nervii, and when Lambik doesn’t believe it, the Professor
conjures up moving images from the past on the screen of the tele-time machine.
Then the lamp in the machine pops, and
while he effects repairs Lambik is entrusted with guarding the lab from the
poltergeists. Pintorix gets him drunk, after which Lambik loses the key to the
lab to Zanziorix in a game of dice. While Lambik lies tied up in a different
room, they force the Professor in the lab to explain the secret of Jerom’s
ability to resist temptation, which turns out to be that he is descended from a
long line of stable marriages and decent families, the first of whom were a
Nervian couple. The poltergeists proclaim their intention to undermine the
marriage of Santorix and Kokadildis in order to prevent the long line of
morally upright ancestors for Jerom from ever coming into being. In a scuffle with
the Professor, who wants to thwart this plan, they manage to transport
themselves back to the Nervii.
When Jerom returns from taking the kids
home to Sidonia, the Professor explains what’s happened and Jerom decides to
return to the past in order to baulk the poltergeists’ plans. There, he
deputizes for the Nervii’s sick druid and in doing so gets to know most of the
village as well as being in a good position to see the harm the poltergeists
are doing to society: men succumb to drink instead of returning to the family
hearth after work, women fall into the trap of mindless consumerism wanting
furs and jewellery instead of a simple family life, fathers do not know their
children anymore, who then run wild by dressing funny, listening to Twistorix’
music and even joy-riding with a hay cart at one point. Though he is in a good
position to witness this downward spiral for the village, including his
ancestorys, Jerom is not much good at restoring the village to order.
With the help of a forest nymph who falls
in love with him, however, the poltergeists get banished and Jerom is flashed
back to the present in 1964, which saves him from having to marry her. When
they get images of the village back up, though, they see a Roman column
advancing on the village and taking Santorix prisoner. Jerom, Lambik, Suske and
Wiske are sent back to the Nervii to help free him, which they do, but the
Romans follow them back to the Nervian village. Sidonia is then flashed back
too with a set of powerful magnets which, mounted throughout the forest, trap
the rather metallic Romans. The Nervii and the Romans then make their peace,
with Santorix saying they won’t mention this shameful Roman defeat in their
national histories if they promise to leave the village alone forever. The
Roman commander, Corpus Rondix, agrees and promises to get Caesar to write
about the Nervii as the bravest of all the Gauls. Our friends get to home
properly this time.
As with Lambiorix,
the story is clearly allegorical for describing (deploring) the state of 1960s
family life, and indeed when the story was first announced in the paper at the
end of 1963, it was dedicated to the ‘Bond der Kroostrijke Gezinnen’ (Alliance
of Child-rich [Nuclear] Families -
‘gezin’ is Dutch for the nuclear family of mum, dad, kids, whereas
‘familie’ is bigger – I don’t think English has separate words for this).
Contemporary references which heighten the obviousness of the allegorical
dimension are Jerom’s redesign of his Druidic robes into a ‘New Look’
version; Twistorix’s nod to Chubby Checker taking
the world by storm in 1960 with the twist, four years before
the publication date of the album; repeated reference to the youth of the
village as ‘teenagers’ (so in English!) and again re-using the English word
‘joy-riding’. A quick
online search suggests the phenomenon was common at the time, as car use
for the middle classes had pushed up the total number of cars in circulation,
and thus easily available for stealing, and locks were unsophisticated and
easily picked.
What interests me the most is that, 15
years apart (between 1949 and 1964), the Gallo-Roman past is being put to exactly
the same kind of use in both Lambiorix and
De Nerveuze Nerviërs. The ties to historical details are loose in both, though they are
looser in NN than they are in Lambiorix, where the general model
provided by Ambiorix’ resistance against a foreign oppressor was at least
thematically suitable. Less than on specific historical events, both stories
rely on a representation of the impeccable morality of the Belgae, the supposed
ancestors of the modern Belgians if they
are left to their own devices. In Lambiorix,
it is only during Lambik’s temporary reign as caretaker for Lambiorix that the
Eburones come to harm. In NN it is
only after the poltergeists are re-released that the Nervian youth goes down
the drain and their parents forget their proper roles within the family and
within society; moreover, the poltergeists were re-released in the first place
from the exile the Nervian druid had imposed upon them by Nieuwe Belgen: first
the workmen who blast away the rock and then by Suske & Wiske, without
whose interference, it is implied, the poltergeists would have had no reason to
believe they could now be free. And restoration only occurs when everyone has
left the Nervii alone again: when the poltergeists are magicked away by the
forest nymph, when our friends are transported back to their own time, and when
the Romans have been taught a lesson, and taught it so well that they promise
never to return.
In both stories, it is made clear how far
modern Belgians have deteriorated from this supposedly primeval goodness: our
friends do much in these stories, as we have seen, but they don’t often make an
impact for the better. No particular reason is given for the workmen’s activity
in the quarry, but in any case it is they who blow away the rock which has
sealed in the poltergeists. (I’m wondering whether we might perhaps read it as
a swipe at the building for building’s sake development craze of the 1960s.
Though there is lots of regret about Belgian/Flemish past zoning policy
nowadays, I’m not sure how keen or otherwise popular opinion was when it was
going on.) Even if I’m seeing ghosts where none exist, it is certainly the case
that Wiske’s uncontrolled curiosity, arguably another moral failing, is
responsible for their ultimate release from the cave. After that, it is Lambik’s
inability to resist free drinks and know his limits, followed by his gambling
away the key to the lab, which further the poltergeists’ dastardly schemes by
allowing them access to the tele-time machine. In Lambiorix, the real hero is the Vrijschutter aka Lambiorix instead
of any of our friends from 1949. In NN it’s
Jerommeke, and this is precisely because his
ancestry is uncorrupted, making him essentially a Nervian, still, instead
of an outsider.
This raises the interesting question of
‘true Belgitude’. There is a fluidity to what constitutes it within the albums,
as well as ambivalence about some of the traditional markers of it. In Lambiorix, two of the four ‘markers’ of
an Oude Belg were love of a good pint and love of playing dice (alongside arguing
lots and being fearless). But in the story Lambiorix himself only ever
conformed to the latter two; it is his descendant Lambik who displays the
former. So, if we can discern anything in this apparent inconsistency between
these being aspects of ‘true Belgitude’ yet being frowned upon, it is, I think,
that the King can rise above these human weaknesses of his people himself and
is able to moderate them in others, whereas Lambik allows himself to be
incapacitated by them, to a point where he can no longer lead his people. In NN, the stereotype of the Belgae which
introduced Lambiorix is present as
well as undermined. It is re-deployed when Lambik does not believe the
poltergeists are really connected to the Nervii (as opposed to coming from
elsewhere) but accepts it when he is shown an image of a Nervian village on the
tele-time machine, and then a close-up of a hand draining a stein of beer in
one go.
And just as he did in Lambiorix, Lambik in NN drunkenly
gambles away the valuable charge with which he has been entrusted by a figure
of authority. But at the same time the identification of two of the three
poltergeists with beer and dice makes them vices alien to the innate goodness
of the Nervii. So the needs of the different stories and their very different
allegorical dimensions to an extent, dictate, that even the basic
representation of essentially the same people (Eburones and Nervii are both
called Belgae in the stories) from which the stories depart must differ to an
extent. Though the characters do not age, the series as a whole does
acknowledge the passing of time, and the stories show how Lambik in particular,
in 15 years, has not changed. Does his sticking, despite the passing of time, to
his embodiment of one kind of Belgitude, that of beer and dice and essentially
a good heart, make him just as ‘proper’ Belgian, according to the framework of Lambiorix, as the alternative version propounded by Jerom in NN?
Despite their very different allegorical
loads (the WWII allegory is stronger than the ‘youth of today’ one both in the
weight of its theme and the force with which it is hammered home and shapes the
story), there is, therefore, a strong conservatism at the heart of both
stories, which labels change as bad. Apart from the light-hearted reference to
the New Look, Pintorix’ pub is represented as an intrusion into village life
which will inevitably – given the men’s powerlessness against such temptation –
disrupt it, as detrimental as the consumerist lifestyle is to parental responsibility,
which in turn gives free rein to innocent teenagers’ fascination with the
radical departures in dress and music and leisure activity which the 1960s
brought with them and so further disrupts society.
And in this moral conservatism, we find
ourselves unexpectedly returned to classical antiquity. Tacitus’ Germania, an ethnographical work by this
Roman author of the late 1st century AD, is an account of the German
tribes [known to Rome] across the Rhine with their customs, habits, history
(though not all are accorded one), location, material culture, etc. In this, he
is no stranger to feelings of cultural superiority. But at the same time, he
attributes to the Germans a morality, especially in man-wife relationships,
which the work implies far exceeds that of late first century Rome in both
ideal and practice:
Quamquam severa illic matrimonia, nec
ullam morum partem magis laudaveris […] Sic vivendum, sic pereundum: accipere se,
quae liberis inviolata ac digna reddat, quae nurus accipiant, rursusque ad
nepotes referantur. Ergo saepta pudicitia agunt, nullis spectaculorum inlecebris, nullis conviviorum inritationibus corruptae.
(Ger. 18)
‘Their marriage code,
however, is strict, and indeed no part of their manners is more praiseworthy […] She
must live and die with the feeling that she is receiving what she must hand
down to her children neither tarnished nor depreciated, what future
daughters-in-law may receive, and may be so passed on to her grand-children. Thus with their virtue protected they [the women] live uncorrupted by the allurements of public shows or the stimulant of feastings.’ (again
fairly archaic translation translation: Perseus)
Setting aside for a minute the implication
that most of the responsibility for upholding this ideal is placed with the
woman, the Germans of Tacitus are the ancestors of Suske & Wiske’s
Jerommeke.
A second link is provided by Caesar’s
Gallic Wars, whose claim that the Belgae were the most courageous of all the
Gauls is referred to at the very beginning of Lambiorix and at the very end of NN, where it is applied most specifically to the Nervii. It is here
that I see the clearest engagement with classical literature, to such an extent
that I wonder whether these works would have been consulted prior to writing.
About the Belgae as a whole, Caesar wrote this at the very beginning of his
account:
Horum omnium fortissimi sunt Belgae,
propterea quod a cultu atque humanitate provinciae longissime absunt, minimeque
ad eos mercatores saepe commeant atque ea quae ad effeminandos animos pertinent
important (DBG
1.1.3)
‘Of all these, the
Belgae are the grittiest, because they are furthest
away from the way of life and civilization of Provence [before Caesar’s conquests, the only Gallic province, and so really
quite close to Italy], and because merchants, who bring with them the sorts of goods most conducive to effeminizing fighting
spirits, travel to them least of all’
He repeats these arguments, in an elaborated
form, for the Nervii in particular, in book 2:
Eorum fines Nervii attingebant. Quorum
de natura moribusque Caesar cum quaereret, sic reperiebat: nullum esse aditum
ad eos mercatoribus; nihil pati vini reliquarumque rerum ad luxuriam
pertinentium inferri, quod his rebus relanguescere animos eorum et remitti
virtutem existimarent; esse homines feros magnaeque virtutis; increpitare atque
incusare reliquos Belgas, qui se populo Romano dedidissent patriamque virtutem
proiecissent
(DBG 2.15.3-5)
‘Beyond the borders
of their [the Ambiani’s] territory live the Nervii. Of their nature and customs
Caesar, after enquiry, found out the following: that there was no access to
them for merchants; that they do not allow wine and other items which promote luxury to be imported, because they judge that by means of such commodities their spirits weaken and their strength decreases; that they are fierce
men of great strength; and that they despise and knock the other Belgae, who
have surrendered themselves to the Roman people and by doing so have thrown off their loyalty
to the fatherland as well as their strength’
Schadee (2008) noted that the theme of
corruption through contact runs through the entire account, as Caesar’s
campaigns proceed and he goes further and further north. The function of this
repeatedly emphasized ‘information’ about these tribes is to build up Caesar’s
enemies into formidable candidates, which sets him up for increased glory if he
defeats them, and will mitigate his shame if he does not defeat them. Within NN, the theme of corruption through
contact is at the heart of the story in two senses. First, in the intrusion of
supposed ‘civilisation’ disrupting a simple yet upright lifestyle: beer takes
the place of Caesar’s wine; poltergeists take the place of Caesar’s merchants;
and rock ‘n’ roll music (even if from a flute! I’ll leave you to imagine that)
and dice arguably stand in for the other refinements of Roman living left
unspecified by Tacitus (certainly Trimalchio’s dinner, the most hyperbolized
example of this lifestyle, features a piper and board games). But alongside
this, the Nervian village in which Jerom’s ancestors live is literally hidden
away: the Romans, despite having conquered all around, do not know where it is,
and it takes Zanziorix the dicer to point it out to Corpus Rondix. It is much
easier to preserve yourself from what contact brings with it if you make
yourself unavailable to contact at all. Tacitus’ Agricola, in a way, makes the same point, when he describes how
through Agricola’s strategy of introducing Roman refined living into Britain:
Sequens hiems saluberrimis consiliis
absumpta. Namque ut homines dispersi ac rudes eoque in bella faciles quieti et
otio per voluptates adsuescerent, hortari privatim, adiuvare publice, ut templa
fora domos extruerent, laudando promptos, castigando segnis: ita honoris
aemulatio pro necessitate erat. Iam vero principum filios liberalibus artibus
erudire, et ingenia Britannorum studiis Gallorum anteferre, ut qui modo linguam
Romanam abnuebant, eloquentiam concupiscerent. Inde etiam habitus nostri honor
et frequens toga; paulatimque discessum ad delenimenta vitiorum, porticus et
balinea et conviviorum elegantiam. Idque apud imperitos humanitas vocabatur,
cum pars servitutis esset.
(Agr. 21)
‘The following winter
passed without disturbance, and was employed in salutary measures. For, to
accustom to rest and repose through the charms of luxury a population scattered
and barbarous and therefore inclined to war, Agricola
gave private encouragement and public aid to the building of temples, courts of
justice and dwelling-houses, praising the energetic, and reproving the
indolent. Thus an honourable rivalry took the place of compulsion. He likewise
provided a liberal education for the sons of the chiefs, and showed such a
preference for the natural powers of the Britons over the industry of the Gauls
that they who lately disdained the tongue of Rome now
coveted its eloquence. Hence, too, a liking sprang up for our style of dress,
and the "toga" became fashionable. Step by step they were led to
things which dispose to vice, the lounge, the bath, the elegant banquet. All
this in their ignorance, they called civilization, when it was but a part of
their servitude.’ (translation: Perseus)
This is exactly the sort of stuff of which the absence was held responsible for the good morality of German women in the earlier quotation from the Germania. Thus NN in particular, perhaps because its lighter allegorical load
gives the story more leeway, plays out the story of Roman imperialism as narrated
by Tacitus and Caesar. Both the old Belgae and the new succumb to this tactic.
Alongside the conservatism goes a profound pessimism. Plus ça change.
References
Schadee, H. (2008),
‘Caesar's Construction of Northern Europe: Inquiry, Contact and Corruption in
De Bello Gallico’, Classical Quarterly,
58.1 : 158-80
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