Faust, Part One: A Bargain Leads to the Fall.

 

    How do you do, 

    After writing about Jane Eyre, how it is the epitome of the redeeming love for the Byronic hero by an unpopular, yet moralistic girl, I thought of going in the same path of redemption stories. One idea that came to me over the past month is one that seems the opposite direction: where a good man comes to ruin after a Devil's bargain and the world suffers over his actions. Yet, like Jane Eyre, it features the love of a woman that influences the man. 
   Before Jane Eyre was written, there was the legend of Faust. 

   Background. 

   This is unusual to split the thing up in parts over one work, but I feel the need to give background on the legend prior to the penning of the story by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and especially the man himself. 
   Born in the Free Imperial City of Frankfurt in 1749, located in Germany, then a part of the Holy Roman Empire, Goethe grew up like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, being encouraged to explore his talents at a young age by his father. Where Mozart was limited to music, Goethe took up many talents: he drew pictures, studied anatomy, became a scientist, a theater director, a critic, a playwright, and novelist, and even statesman. 

  His literary career really took off in the 1770s, when he published Götz von Berlichigen, a controversial work famous for the line, "er kann mich in Arsch lecken!" (which most Americans would think of to mean, "he can kiss my ass/foot"). Then just before the United States declared independence, he published his novella, The Sorrows of Young Werther. Young Werther is best known as the story of a young man brought to grieve by unrequited love, how he goes through a turbulent emotional spiral, which ends with suicide and his passing marked by an uncaring world. This little book is hailed today as the starting point of the Romantic Period, especially the genre known as the Sturm und Drang ("storm and stress"), where many works of literature would challenge the largely stuffy, sensitive pieces commonly read by nobles, by having characters challenge social norms and add more expressions of emotions in the text. Ironically, the Duke of Saxe-Weimar made Goethe a noble, to which he would add the von to his pen name in later works. Goethe took on other works following Young Werther, such as Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" (yeah, the one that inspired the iconic part of Fantasia), and Das Märchen. He also wrote science books, though some have passed out of knowledge. Yet, his work on the legend of Faust hasn't. 

    As a German, Goethe may have been familiar with Faust, likely set up as a legend based around the actual Johan Georg Faust, just as tall tales were made of America's own Davy Crockett. For centuries, the stories of Faust were simply the tale of a man not satisfied with what he has. He has climbed up the ranks of the world and advanced up to the top of the mountain, but it isn't enough for him. So, he strikes up a bargain with the Devil and from there Faust encounters many events while the Devil bides his time before collecting the latter's soul. The story became popular outside of Germany through Christopher Marlowe, in his The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus. 

    No doubt, Goethe may have read Marlowe, as he lived two centuries after the latter. So at some point he took to writing out what became Faust. Following in the footsteps of Marlowe, he chose to write out Faust as a play, though most theater productions don't seem to venture on doing this. In fact, it's practically never done on stage and there doesn't seem to be many movies based on it (unless you count the film Bedazzled, in which the Devil takes form of a woman) yet the legend was retranslated by the opera Mephistofeles, and served the inspiration to Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray and Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Mermaid", along with a great deal of musical works (including TSO's Beethoven's Last Night album) in addition to the opera. So, when reading Goethe's Faust, one has to learn to read well and not too fast, lest he or she will miss something. It gets kind of choppy at some point. 

   Part I. 

   Before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows made it a rage to divide movies into many parts, Goethe wrote Faust in two parts. Part One was published in 1808, when Napoleon had conquered Germany, and Part Two wouldn't be published until twenty-four years later, just before Goethe died (and he lived long enough to see August Klingemann adopt the first part in Braunschweig). 

    Part One is a one act play, consisting only a sequence of scenes, so any staged performance might find some place to set up an intermission. It is this part this entry will cover and Part Two will be covered next. 

    After a short dedication, we are given a non-related scene of a director putting together a scene with the poet and the clown, which is followed by a scene in Heaven. Goethe writes it out in a remake of a similar scene from the Book of Job, herein Mephistopheles, or Mephisto, for short, presents himself before the Lord. Of course, we don't get the whole: "Where have you come from?" "From going to and fro in the Earth, and walking up and down it." 

     Marlowe's play has Satan and Mephisto as two separate characters, as expected in legends, with the former operating like Darth Sideous from Star Wars and has Mephisto serving in his stead the way Darth Vader handles the dirty work of the Empire. In Star Wars terms, the set up makes Mephisto just like Vader while Faust leans closer to Grand Moff Tarkin. Goethe's version of Faust merges the two into one character, just making him more active in the bargaining and awaiting the moment he gets Faust's soul. Not a surprising connection Mephisto is the break out character here, too. 

      So, Mephisto makes a bargain with God that he could ensnare an upright man, just like in Job. Then he departs from Heaven to carry out his wickedness. In another homage to the Bible, upon meeting Faust, Mephisto tricks a student in the university into thinking of him as a some kind of scholar. He then writes down for the student to read, Eritis secut Deus, scientes bonum et malum. What he wrote is Latin, and he's quoting what the Serpent says to Eve in the Book of Genesis: "Ye shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil." He even says to the student, "Follow the text of old and my relation, the serpent, your very likeness to God will yet make you quiver." As you may notice, he offers not an apple nor any substitute. He just writes it down in a book. 

     What happens after is what separates the story of Faust from that of Job. Job is stripped of his family and wealth, yet doesn't go into despair ("Naked I came into the world and naked I will depart...Blessed be the Name of the Lord," he says). He is then afflicted with boils, causing him to walk out and he goes into a philosophical discussion after several people claimed he deserved it. After some time of wondering how a just god permit this, he goes into a fit, calling upon God, who comes and contrasts the weaknesses with omnipotence. 

     Faust's journey is different. He begins the story still wanting to do more and more after spending half his life in study. He comes to the thinking like many who have obtained a higher education, or that long sought after job, or gotten rich after being poor for so long. 
    He doesn't say so in the play. Instead, we get a lengthily monologue establishing his character. "I've worked half my life away and I am not satisfied. There must something more here," is how it can be summarized. He almost commits suicide, only to stop at the toiling of a church bell for Easter. Out of curiosity, he finds a book with a symbol on it and tries to figure out what it means. As he contemplates the symbol, Faust summons a spirit (likely a demon from the way Faust recoils from it) and he quickly sends him away after claiming himself equal. The act of séance causes Faust's servant, Wagner, to check up on him and they eventually head out into the streets while people are celebrating Easter. After taking part in the festivities, Faust and Wagner begin talking of spiritualism before they notice a black poodle in their midst. 

    This part allows for some creepiness vibe to be felt. Faust has summoned a demon and now it seems a strange dog has come over to Faust while they talk. It adds meaning to the phrase, "Speak of the Devil and he shall appear." That literally is what happens. The scene also happens at a gate and likely at a crossroad, which in older folklore meant heading to the crossroads at midnight was where people made bargains with the Devil. Faust takes in the poodle, not caring that it might be a stray with rabies or if he had owner. In Faust's study, after Faust undergoes more reading and more demon summoning (and even tries to re-translate the Bible), the poodle reveals himself to be Mephisto and the bargain is made in his study.
     Mephisto tells Faust a few things, causing in his mind the idea of a contract, which Mephisto draws up in the study. "Ich will mich hier zu deinem Dienst verbiden, auf deinen Wink nicht rasten und nicht ruhn; wenn wir uns druben wiederfinden, so sollust du mir das gleiche tun," is what he says ("I will to bind me to your services, not resting without your sign, and when we meet again in the land beyond, you will do likewise to me." In other words, "I do as you wish and you will pay in return with your soul."). So Faust agrees that he shall belong to the Devil should he become slothful, to which Mephisto says, "Done!" and has Faust sign in blood. 

     Since Disney has done a live-action remake of The Little Mermaid, I should point out the undertones of Ariel signing away her voice to Ursula is a remake of this scene from Faust. The 1952 film Hans Christian Andersen even has Liszt's "Mephisto Waltz" playing during the ballet sequence where the Sea Witch helps the Little Mermaid, which show the kinship in the two stories. Both stories deal with an everyday person making a bargain with the Devil as the expense of their souls. 

     After this dark scene, the first thing to happen is a trip to an inn, Auerbach's Cellar in Leipzig, where Faust and Mephisto pretend to be travelers back from Spain. The scene is really a comedy. Some drunkards invite all to sing and even the Devil sings one about a king and his flea (which Modest Mussorsky later used in "Song of the Flea"). No doubt, the scene invokes the stereotypical image of German biergartens (which are more common in the southern regions) where people would drink beer and sing songs. A few nationalistic moments pop in, such as when Brander remarks, "A Frenchman is nothing a German can stand, but we favor their wine to drink." 
    The comedy does come near blasphemous however. A drunk named Siebel spills his drink in some fire, causing one to ignite. Mephisto then steps up and calms the fire, a parody of when Jesus tells an unclean spirit to leave a man alone. "Sei ruhig, freundlich Element!" he says, and the flame dies out. This scares the superstitious drunks, but Mephisto confuses their minds and erases their memories of the visit before whisking Faust away. 

     After the comedy, we are taken to the Witch's Kitchen, which is occupied by monkeys before a witch arrives. The witch plays up the image one might expect, being a lone woman with animals for servants, who does one a favor, while leaning over a boiling cauldron. In this case, she turns Faust into a handsome man and lets him see an image of a naked woman in a mirror. One thing of note is Goethe contrasts the witch from the scene earlier in which men behave as animals, yet this witch behaves more civilized. Considering how witches were negatively portrayed, it is somewhat forward if you ignore who is present in the scene. In both this and back in Auerbach, we see Faust taking delight, but not enough to slide into ruin, thereby keeping Mephisto from getting his due. 

     After that moment, Faust encounters Margaret (or Gretchen) in the streets in another comic moment. "My fair lady, may I be so bold to offer my arm and company?" he asks, to which Margaret answers, "I am neither a lady nor am I fair, and can go home without thee." Basically, it's an early case of accosting in the streets, but Faust is in love now and wishes she was his. That's where the tragedy really takes root. 

    Margaret is set up as an ideal woman, with beauty beyond compare as Faust sees it, while Mephisto points out she has almost no flaws, allowing us to know Margaret at first through the modern concept of male gaze. This saintly woman doesn't appear until this play is half way over and when she does, Faust is instantly in love and demands she be his, not even knowing anything of her. So, Mephisto gives him jewels to give to her while she is in her bed chambers (an invasion of her privacy, though she is behind a curtain the whole time) and disappears to let her wonder where they came from. Margaret's saintly nature is added with the fact she decides to donate them to the church, making the Devil mad. 

     So another chest of jewels is left, then pretends to be a traveler who heard of the death of Margaret's friend Martha's husband being killed, while bringing Faust forward to give testimony. Instantly, Margaret is in love with Faust as they flirt in the garden while Mephisto and Martha watch. I can get that they act as chaperons, which makes it symbolic of Margaret wanting to be rid of Mephisto not long after meeting Faust, for she is suddenly wanting to taste the forbidden fruit. Another way of it is woman's intuition of seeing the evil in the Devil, set in after Eve was seduced. However way it is, she finds Mephisto too evil for her liking and Faust promises to keep him away.

     We find out over time about the girl we sometimes call Gretchen. She is set up as a naïve woman, very young, pure and simple, and innocent, while secretly dealing with a strict mother, having only Martha for a friend. It was her mother who told her to send the jewels to the church, largely suspicious of their origin. That leads to Mephisto to comment, "The Church has an excellent appetite. She who swallowed whole countries and no one questions if there arose indigestion. The Church alone can eat ill-gotten wealth up without ill-health." Faust answers, "Why, everybody does: a Jew and any king can also." It's not surprising that Mephisto should make the anti-clerical statement, but Faust's specifics are borderline anti-Semitic as well as anti-royalty (the former unnoticed in 1808 while the latter would have been, unlike today). This will become a plot point later. 

      The thing with the jewels is notable with the fact Margaret means "pearl" and this moment brings in the parable of a man who sold everything he had to buy one. Faust is doing the same, only for selfish reasons, and they will lead to tragic results. 

     A space of time passes and they are in a relationship. Margaret brings up religion at one point ("Nun sag, wie hast du's mit der Religion?" she asks), calling Faust "Heinrich" and telling him he is a good man, but doesn't think much of it. She tells him faith is needed, to which Faust claims to respect the holy sacraments, leading him to say this speech:

"Mein Liebchen, who may say I believe in God? Ask priests and wise ones, then they reply of sneers that mock and prod the questioning man. Do not mistake me, oh fair one, Him who may name? and who proclaim, I believe in him? Who may feel, who dare reveal in words: I believe him not? The All-Embracing, All-Sustaining, Does he not embrace and sustain you, me, himself? Does not the heaven vault above? Is not the Earth firmly based? And do not eternal stars rise? Do we not look into each other's eyes and all in you is surging to your head and heart, and weaves in timeless mystery, unseeable, yet seen, around you? Therefore be your heart filled with it all and your rapture is complete, and call it then as you will, call it happiness! heart! love! God! For this I have no name. Names are bout sound and smoke befogging heaven's blazes, feeling is everything." 

    This woos Margaret enough that she lapses in her holiness to let Faust into her bedchamber, made easier when he mentions giving her mother a sleeping portion that will keep her out. Before Faust goes in, he and Mephisto have a brief sparring match with words, though. Later, it turns out the potion is a poison and Margaret's mother, who is never seen in the story, dies off stage. We don't learn anything else of her or even her name, unlike Howard's mom in The Big Bang Theory. 

     Again, Faust isn't a novel but a play in verse, so we don't see anything next, but have it mentioned in dialogue. We next see Margaret (suddenly called Gretchen in the text) speaking with a friend named Lieschen. A space of time has gone by since Faust and Margaret met again and the former professed his love and faith. It's implied that Faust and Margaret had sex when he entered her bedchamber, and it's confirmed with Margaret having premonitions of being pregnant. At the well, she hears Lieschen gossip about some girl whose honor is compromised and now is ruined. Margaret admits she used to be willing to spill of such and now only pities them. 
    Goethe really brings up the sexism of the times with how the man goes in to do wickedness and yet a woman who has one lapse is slandered and considered damaged goods, made worse when Faust disappears for a time, leaving her alone. Margaret even goes to the city wall, to an image of the Virgin Mary, where she prays. The once virtuous Margaret is now seeing herself brought down and she wails out like a wet rag, "Hilf! Rette mich von Schmach und Tod! Ach neige, du Schmerzenreiche dein Antlitz gnadig meiner Not!" (Help! From shame and death, save me, incline O Mother of pain, your face in grace to my despair!). No doubt something many a rape victim says each day, or any who are pregnant out of wedlock and no man is around to help. 

   One man comes to avenge her, her brother Valentine, back from his soldiering days, and he challenges Faust to a duel, and dies at Mephisto's hand. Now Faust and Mephisto run for their lives as the law will come upon them, yet once again Margaret is shamed as her dying brother denounces her as a whore before the crowds. When she appeals to God, Valentine basically adds, "Leave God out of this! What's done is done!" He refuses to hear his sister weep for him, tells Martha he wishes her gone, and says he dies, "a soldier and an honest man." 

    Alone now, Margaret is tormented by a demon, even when she enters a cathedral, the one place of sanctuary. Goethe likely does this to shatter the notion of spiritual security, going right to where people think are save, thus making this a good Halloween story (it even includes the choir singing "Dies Irae", a Gregorian chant whose tune has become associated with death and darkness). Even as Margaret clings to the safety of organized religion, the demon torments her, something that atheists might find interesting. Eventually, Margaret faints, symbolically showing her fall. Given Goethe's view of organized religion, it does seem heartbreaking to watch this and not see any sign of hope, not even the image of God's light coming. 

     Much of it can be considered criticism for focusing on Hell and Damnation rather than God's love. It is meant to be a warning, but to most people the constant talk of Hell is enough to make religion sound scary, which even in Goethe's day was common. One thing of note, when Goethe was a boy, the 1755 Lisbon Earthquake happened, an event that had a profound impression upon Europe. Here, one of the most devout cities in the world destroyed as though it weren't. The Enlightenment thinkers, such as Voltaire, came out questioning Christianity at that point, and even Goethe found his faith shaking, as he wondered how God who watches all and only punishes those that are evil would do this to Lisbon. 

    While Goethe provides no answer here, he provides other moments of note as Margaret falls (like Fantine in Les Miserables).

     After Margaret faints in church, we are given the Wulpurgis Night scenes, where we see many other specters of the Devil show themselves and present themselves to him. Wulpurgis Night is the eve of an old festival for St. Wulpurgis, held every April 30 at Harz Mountains, where it's believed witches, ghosts, goblins, and the like run loose and are sent back to Hell by the saint. Deems Taylor in Fantasia compared it to the American version of Halloween, which is half the story. Some of the elements of Wulpurgis night found their way into Halloween during the 19th Century in the United States, mostly the obsession with witches and ghosts, while the rest has it origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian All Hallowstide.  

     The scene is very Bacchanalian in design, featuring witches singing songs, someone literally telling another to "Go to Hell", and moments that couldn't be printed originally. In the original German text, you'll see some words having dashes in between letters, largely as the censor objected to the wording: 

M: Der hat ein --- --- ---; so - es war, gefiel mir's doch. 

A: Ich biete meinen besten Gruss dem Ritter mit dem Pferdefuss! Halt Er einen --- --- bereit, wenn Er --- --- --- nicht scheut." 

(Walter Kaufman translated M with "It had the most tremendous hole;" and A with "Provide the proper grafting-twig, if you don't mind the hole so big.") I'll let the reader decide why that was censored. 

     In a moment worthy of a parody, Faust even encounters Medusa, redone now as a beautiful woman. That part connects to her myth very well. Medusa was once a beautiful and virtuous girl, set as a temple virgin in the Temple of Athena. Yet, she was seduced (or raped, depending on how it was told) by Poseidon, right in the very Temple, and that made Athena angry. Yet, Poseidon escaped punished while Medusa was made into a gorgon, so horrible that one look from her would turn any living creature into stone. She doesn't get any mercy, either, as her appearance frightens away everyone and looking at her turns one into a statue, unless one counts her beheading by Perseus as merciful. The fact she reminds Faust of Margaret allows the audience to see a kinship, the way one can compare Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre to the Beast. 

     Faust also spots Lilith, the woman claimed to be Adam's first wife, who broke off from him rather than be the submissive one. Her appearance is enough to make even the Devil lead Faust away and have him dance a waltz with a witch. 

   The story then takes a break from the action to show Wulpurgis Night's Dream, which features Oberon and Titania, who became known in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. It serves no purpose to the plot, so there is nothing more to say. As to Faust, he learns Margaret is locked away in a dungeon after giving birth to their child, and did away with by drowning. For the first time, Faust feels shame, especially as Mephisto tells him he brought her down to perdition. Like in Revenge of the Sith when Darth Sidious tells the now suited up Darth Vader that Padme was dead and he killed her before fighting Obi-Wan, causing him great grief. At least, Faust decides to rescue her. 

      The climax thus becomes like in a prince rescuing Repunzel from the tower, only it doesn't work out that way. Margaret is now far gone, reduced to a weeping woman waiting her execution, while sick. She notes Faust, barely recognizes him, and sees the love gone. Rather than flee with Faust, she looks up to Heaven and exclaims, "Gericht Gottes! Dir hab ich mich ubergeben!" (Judgment of God! I give myself to you!"). When Mephisto comes in, she prays to God once more while tearing herself from Faust. Then she dies. 

    The final lines of Part One are revised, as I learned when finding a copy of Faust published by Wordsworth Classics. In the translation of John R. Williams, there is an early draft called Urfaust, included in the volume with both parts, said to be so dark, so blasphemous that Goethe chose not to publish it in his life time. But the one change is in the final lines. 

    After Margaret speaks one last time, Mephisto pulls Faust aside and says, "Sie ist gerichtet!" ("She is judged / condemned") and  then a voice is heard calling out, "Heinrich! Heinrich!"

     I don't know why or how, but Goethe seemed to decided to make one last minute change to her fate. In the final version we have, Mephisto doesn't take Faust right away, but still says, "Sie ist gerichtet!", but now a voice from Heaven contradicts him, "Ist gerettet!" ("Is saved!") Once again, Margaret is so saintly that even as her sins weigh upon her she is granted a place in Heaven, leaving Mephisto to take Faust away as his consolation, Margaret's voice is still heard saying, "Heinrich! Heinrich!" as the curtain comes down on Faust Part One. 

    Margaret dies and goes to Heaven, something that most readers will debate on. Cliffnotes even claims that Margaret's last words are less a personal prayer and more "...an effort to make him abandon the Devil and throw himself in the merciful arms of the Lord." In this revised scene, Margaret is saved because her crimes weren't too great, largely due to her naivety and inexperience, only led into sin by Faust, and a sign that to err is to human. A feminist might have a problem with it as it only makes the woman blameless by rendering her as a child, whereas men can be good on the inside to have some redemption.  

     Who mourns Margaret? We don't know how she is buried, if the gossip will die down, and Faust doesn't bring her up in Part Two, as we will see (though her spirit takes form in a few places). It's really tragic to see Margaret fall from grace and even more sadder to see her cast aside while the focus remains on Faust. Yet, it can only be justified in that she plays a small part in a larger story, which is on the man and his bargain with the Devil. The fact she doesn't wind up in Hell is either a cop out, deus ex machina, or a happy ending, depending on how one interprets it. One thing is for certain she does have a lasting influence in another way, which will be picked up in Part 2.

     It does jar with Christian beliefs, considering that Goethe thought redemption was made possible through individual relations to God and his own efforts. What makes that jarring to Christians is that it leads to a dark thought: if people could achieve salvation on their own, they would have no need for a savior, and therefore wouldn't even have needed Christ's sacrifice on the Cross. Of course, it doesn't seem that Goethe is preaching that. On the other hand, Goethe mostly had his beef with the church, going at it for the materialism within and the corruption of the clergy, a common charge done by many men of letters. No doubt, Goethe's stance would still be preached today as so many scandals have come up. 

      I'll speak more in Part Two, along with concluding thoughts. 

    

Jane Eyre: An Unloved Woman Redeeming An Unredeemable Man?

 How do you do, 

     I'm back after a hiatus. For the past few years, I was out due to an epiphany at how little time we have on this planet, especially with the recent COVID pandemic, that it seemed a waste to be making critical reviews of small matters. So, I never got into other blog entries I had plan to give while we were all staying home. That and my new job got in the way at times. But, now I decided to give another try at the blog again after a trip up to Washington DC and Middletown, Delaware, where in the latter I witnessed the musical Jane Eyre in the historic Everette Theatre. The production was brought to life by a local drama group under the name of God's Power & Light Company, itself doing many works involving Christianity and redemption. 

   At the time I beheld this play, it had been years since I read any novel by the Brontë  sisters (especially as I was abstaining from works of fiction for Lent this year) and it seemed this one was a good way to get reacquainted with it. The way they had the music performed was great, with the right sort of talent to each character. The show's leading lady, Genevieve Aucoin, made a great Jane, showcasing all the highs and lows of the character. Matching her was Douglas Biggs performing an ancient looking Mr. Rochester with the same dynamic drive of George C. Scott. The rest nailed it in many ways: those playing the abusers of Jane looking mean, the gentle ladies being all vain as peacocks, and St. John Rivers' actor coming off as a nice guy, not to mention the comedy provided by some of the extras. If there was a detraction, it would be the costumes as they seemed all over the place in historical period with little suggesting Regency Britain, though Ms Aucoin did resemble Charlotte Brontë herself in one of her costumes. But then again, most of us don't go to plays for accuracy, except for accuracy to the story. 

     Having gone off track, I must point out I am writing of course about the book, not the play, so we'll end it by saying the performance was great and enjoyable. It wasn't until I got home before I cracked it open and read it. 

     Jane Eyre is Charlotte Brontë's famous novel, published in 1847, while her sisters, Anne and Emily, were also writing (in case you didn't know, Emily Brontë wrote Wuthering Heights). The Brontë sisters, and their brother Branwell, were the offspring of Maria and Patrick Brontë, a rector Haworth, located in West Riding of Yorkshire, in the UK, with Charlotte the oldest of the bunch (she had two older siblings who died in 1825). 

   You might think it unremarkable of a woman who turned thirty would write up a book, but in that time it was something novel. Most women didn't write novels in England at the time and many had to use male pseudonyms in order to get their works published. A few were rebelling against the sexist notion that only men were writers back when the Brontës were growing up. They were girls when Mary Wolstonecroft Shelley became famous with Frankenstein and Jane Austen wrote her romances. However, Shelley and Austen were the exceptions, while Elizabeth Gaskell and George Elliot, contemporaries of the Brontë sisters, was yet to be known. Even the romantic novel genre, known as the for women by women genre, was largely a male dominated world. 

    Charlotte, Anne, and Emily were basically rebelling against this world as they used their talents as writers to write up poems and stories. They each had their own style to their works, especially when you look at the novels. In a harsh light, Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights is a culminating and palpitating melodrama told by eyewitnesses, while Anne's Agnes Grey seems relatively thin and likely made at white heat. Charlotte's book seems sort of in between, while containing feminine sophistry and sophistication common in many mid-19th century romance novels. It was imitated here in the US by Augusta Jane Evans with her St. Elmo, with its own page after page of high strung dialogue and excessive verbiage that most modern readers have to navigate through. In Dawson's Creek, we hear a teacher's assistant in a college scene compare Louisa Alcott's Little Women to Jane Eyre, largely in the second half where Jo meets Professor Bhaer. Even The Sound of Music feels like a remake of Jane Eyre when you think about it, though it lacks the Gothic atmosphere. 

    Some of the verbiage mentioned was because novels were originally read by the elite of the day, whereas most people who could read simply read the Bible, the Almanac, or newspapers, as they had too much to do each day to read a novel. So, given the background, it's no wonder many books of the time would have such vocabulary terms and sentence structures that have fallen by the wayside in our every day dialogue. This also explains why the story is set among the upper middle class to the nobles in society with hardly anything added for the commoners, yet Jane Eyre also challenges world by having its protagonist start as a poor girl. 

   Like in Oliver Twist, Jane Eyre begins as an orphan, only she is taken in by a family earlier in the story, and she doesn't get the happy ending Oliver got. Essentially, she got mistreated before Anne Shirley was even born. First she is sent to live with the Reed family, which include an aunt, but is treated as something like garbage. Her cousin, John, makes fun of her, her Aunt Sarah is mean to her, and even the housekeeper is harsh, while her Uncle dies before the story begins. So, she is abused by her relatives, often accused of lying by her own aunt. 

    In three chapters, she is sent away to a boarding school, where the tyrannical Mr. Brocklehurst is told of Jane's nature by her aunt, which makes him bear down upon her. Brocklehurst comes across as a dogmatic, religious leader who believes more in discipline than in unconditional love, often coming down on the girls with no hesitation, and he uses religion as a tool for the same reason. So here, we get a sense that the idea of people using religion as a way to keep the masses in line is not as new as one might think. People actually subscribed to this in the past, especially in the Regency England. 

    In this way, Brocklehurst makes a nice contrast to Mr. Bumble: both mean guys, both fat, both run a place full of children, both a product of the Regency Generation. Yet, where Dickens' Bumble is fleshed out and gradually goes from chlorotic bully to henpecked husband and underling (essentially going from supposed villain to second fiddle compared to Fagin and Sikes), Brocklehurst has no development. He already has a wife and he has a family, who are better off than Jane and the girls. And he is gone after an expose is done on the outbreak of tuberculosis leads to many of his charges to die. At least, he gets an ending just like with Bumble, where the mighty have fallen. 

    Jane is then under the hand of Miss Maria Temple who clears her name of the charges Brocklehurst made against her, while also being abused by Miss Scatcherd, a mean sort of school teacher. Jane also befriends Helen Burns, the girl who changes her life. Helen is depicted a saintly girl who teaches others to turn the other cheek, something that Jane has problems with. Yet, she gradually becomes close as the latter is willing to go against the decrees and help her. Of course, such saintly characters in novels at the time are doomed to die, which is what happens to her before we reach chapter eleven. 

    So we fast forward in a few chapters. We see Jane again as a young woman (or teenager in modern terms), leaving Lowood to become governess in the Thornfield Hall, making this suddenly feel like The Sound of Music without the music. Of course, it's not The Sound of Music. We meet only one child, Adele, a French girl who is ward to Mr. Edward Rochester. 

   At this point, the novel takes on a Gothic atmosphere. You might get the image of Regency English countryside with green meadows blanketed by fog and rain. The house of Thornfield takes it up to eleven in the appearances of a castle (said to have been modeled after Haddon Hall). Even the name is a combination of "thorn" and "field", suggesting it a field of thorns, making one think those vines coiling around the castle in "The Sleeping Beauty," to keep the Prince from Princess Aurora. It comes with this, while having people speaking in hushed voices over matters, especially concerning Rochester, who gives off vibes of the Beast. In fact, the scenes in Thornfield give the impression of the fairy tale "Beauty and the Beast," though Rochester is still a man. He is beastly in his stern features and his lack of being open on his secrets. He has Adele for a ward, but shows no intention of marrying her (they used to do that back then), he lives alone in a large hall that has some darkness about it, he mistakes Jane as an elf upon meeting her, and he often is away for long periods of time, leaving the servants to look after Adele. We also see a chestnut tree get struck by lightning halfway through the novel, which becomes important to symbolism near the end. Also, there is that demonic laughter heard once in a while, along with screams. Once, a houseguest, Richard Mason, gets bitten, but nothing is done other than tending to his wounds. 

      In addition to what first time readers would assume is a vampire living in the mansion, but Jane is awoken in the middle of the night to a fire, finding Rochester almost about to be burned to death. Quick thinking on her part saves him and he sustained only a minor burn. From this point, he begins to soften somewhat to Jane. 

     Center point to Jane Eyre is the love story of Jane and Mr. Rochester. It is a kind of May-December romance, with the man being older than the woman, something that was also common in the time period. Of course, Rochester isn't an old man (especially not in modern sense). In the events of the book, he is described as being in his mid- to late thirties, which makes him about the same age as I (may I be excused for saying at the time of this blog entry I am thirty-seven years old). He doesn't show up until chapter twelve, falling off his horse, and thinking of Jane as an elf when it happens. So, they start out with jabs that make one think "will they or won't they." 

      Jane keeps up her ability to counter everything Rochester has in wits, even as she works for him. All the while, she goes back and forth on how she feels on him, knowing their stations. It's not that Jane is lowly to Rochester, but the fact she is simply a governess while Rochester is among the landed gentry, in addition to their age difference. Not to mention, Rochester goes about with an air of someone burning with passion, yet is held in check by both social aspects and a secret. One has to remember men like him would live in a world that saw respect to names important, as they had no titles to that name, but they owned a great deal of land and they had wealth, all of which was believed to be tied in with morals and behavior. This explains why he often sneaks away for activities, but the secret part comes in as the book progresses. 

     Edward Rochester is a type of male character we call the Byronic hero, named after Lord Byron, the Romantic English poet, whose works no doubt were read by the Brontes. A typical Byronic hero isn't the squeaky clean sort of guy, especially not those cardboard cut out heroes that so featured a lot in the earlier novels, like with Tom Jones, Candide, or Robinson Crusoe, or any of traditional heroes of the eighteenth century. These are men (sometimes women) who often exist outside of more social circles, often intellectuals, or simply people of refined taste, who also exhibit some character flaw or some trait that sometimes makes them less pleasant. Some fall under the category of anti-hero, which most are familiar with. They are the kind who often don't follow the rules of chivalry or do things people think are politically incorrect, and yet are still the good guys. Some are also evil, but not pure evil, which is enough to remind us we are all sinners. These later kinds of characters will undergo a redemption arc in the story and become the good guys in the end, often at the price of their social standing, their fortunes, their loved ones, or even their lives. 

       We've had plenty in pop culture. In Star Wars, the chief villain, Darth Vader, became re-written as a Byronic hero over time, especially once the prequels came. Same franchise had Kylo Ren / Ben Solo in the Disney trilogy. In both cases, each man is evil and becomes redeemed by an act of love. In Disney, the most popular of the fairy tale movies was Beauty and the Beast where Beast is our Byronic hero who becomes redeemed by love. Even Severus Snape in Harry Potter (who gets referenced in the introduction of the copy I read) is now seen that way as he redeems himself through his love of Lilly and dies a martyr against Lord Voldemort, after being such a jerk to Harry and his friends through most of the series. Before him, Sirius Black was a Byronic hero, but largely as he was an outcast through a crime he didn't commit and was also redeemed in death while friend and fellow Marauder Remus Lupin is beastly as a werewolf, but is made human by Tonks. The list goes on and everyone one of them has questionable qualities but ultimately a redeemable soul about them, that one can't help but want their redemption.  

     With Rochester, we see a Byronic hero with a noble man living secluded in his hall with his  servants and his ward, which brings to mind The Beast. In the original fairy tale, we see Beast who is what he is, yet becomes human again in the end through the love of Beauty. The Disney version expands on it as we see Beast learn to be more human and a gentleman, which pleases Belle and makes her see him as a man instead of a beast. Unlike Beast, of course, Rochester has no spell over him. He is only beastly in a symbolic sense. 

      He spends most of the time seeking passion in his life, which soon came to include Jane. And in Jane, he finds someone who is more than just a person on his payroll. Jane is basically an equal in smarts (though not in class), able to outwit him on numerous occasions. At the same time, Jane sees in Rochester the source of a home after being mistreated her whole life as an orphan. After going through such an environment, Jane had toughened up and could handle anything Rochester throws at her. 

     In her article for JSTOR, "Sorry, but Jane Eyre Isn't the Romance You Want It To Be," Erin Blackmore writes that Rochester would "fit right in with the modern “seduction community,” conducting a master class in negging as he reminds Jane of her inferiority, then compliments her wit."[1] This perfectly sums up the interactions in the meat of the novel, where from a critical point of view we see an older man playing mind games with a young woman, all because he can't or won't express himself. He does this most when he hosts a party that allows allegeable ladies of the region to come and present themselves. Among them is Blanche Ingram, who spends her scenes flirting with Rochester in an attempt to get him to marry her, while looking down her nose at people like Jane. Again, classism shows, thus preventing Jane Eyre from passing the Bechdel Test. As a product of the time, Blanche can't propose to Rochester. Instead, she must get him to propose to her, something feminists of today would find both a sign of how far we've come as well as showing one way women could have power in a male dominated society. 

    Brontë takes a moment to critique the "mercenary" marriages of the 1810s through the Ingrams. Blanche and her mother are seeking Rochester with no feelings of love or concern for his well being. They are thinking of marrying a rich bachelor to continue their privileged lifestyle. Thus, it sort of gets at what Jane Austen got into with her novels, which often had scenes of women being courted by men of wealth and means. One thing interesting is how Bronte has our heroine, a girl of limited means, be the saintly woman that is a better person, whereas the wealthy and sophisticated Blanche is snobbish, allowing for the Madonna-Whore complex to be brought up and subverted when applied to classes (ie, virtuous girl of limited means vs whorish rich lady). 

     Jane, of course, has a will of iron. She doesn't break to Blanche's snobbishness and she doesn't yield to Rochester's manipulation, but one time she does fall for his trick, when he is pretending to be a Roma woman seeking to tell fortunes. The last I don't think needs any more explanation. Will say that Jane does get jealous at the sight of Rochester with Blanche, but almost never says something about it until later. Eventually, Jane does break and lets Rochester know a few things as she struggles with the possibility of going somewhere else when Rochester announces his engagement to Blanche. "Do you think I am an automaton?" she asks, "a machine without feelings? ... Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless[sic] and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal — as we are!"

    Unlike in Twilight (and by the way, Rochester's first name is also Edward), where Bella Swan already claims to be "unconditionally and irrevocably in love with [Edward Cullen]" [2] very quickly, Jane takes her time in expressing her sentiments of Rochester, who also takes time in telling her his feelings. It is striking that through all this, Jane actually falls for him when Rochester reveals the engagement a sham. Finally, it all breaks down and the words of love are spoken. We are halfway through when he finally tells her in the garden and asks her to marry him. 

     Very quickly, they set it up and it seems all is well, until Mason [the guy who got bitten] walks in. He reveals that, surprise surprise, Rochester is already married (dun! dun! dun!). Talk about something you'd see out of a rom com, or a sitcom. Well, unlike in those examples, Rochester admits he does have  a wife and he kept her hidden like Peter Pumpkineater, but not in a pumpkin. He takes everyone inside and shows them the upper floor and reveals his locked away wife, Bertha, as the source of the fire and the laughter. 

    Studies on the brain were still novel at the time, but Brontë hits on to the cognitive disorder that Bertha Rochester suffers. Instead of locking her in a mental institution, Rochester choses to keep her in his house, having a servant woman, who gets drunk often, watch over her. The reveal does get problematic in modern eyes for three points: one, a bit of contempt for the lower class is done in Grace Poole being the one who watches Bertha, yet is also a drunk and permits her loose, which should have gotten her fired; second, we find out Bertha is mixed raced, from a Creole family in Jamaica, implying the madness is connected to race; third, one might wonder why doesn't Rochester just get a divorce, especially as he never really treated her well before then. The third is explainable, in those days one couldn't get a divorce or an annulment just because someone is getting demented. It was still "till death do us part." Another thing to bring up is for those thinking professional help is needed, because mental institutions in the 1800s were basically prisons, unsanitary and run by people who didn't know what was going on, yet were just as cruel as the people Jane had met as a girl. Bertha was better off locked up in the attic by her husband as she could have gentle care. The fact her caretaker gets drunk on duty is barely stereotyping, as watching out for her would likely drive anyone to the bottle. It only gets questionable when one or another character makes it seem something of Mrs. Poole's nature. Finally, we come to race, some of which is hard to justify. In the early 1800s, race studies and cultural sensitivity were yet to come by and people actually thought behaviors were dictated by their ethnic background (hence why many books of the time are populated by stereotypes and assumptions). So, it was common at the time that people believed the madness she had was from impure breeding, which could have been prevented by the parents simply sticking to their kind, a line of thought now discredited (despite what some people might claim that white people are born racists). 

     The information we have on Bertha is she was wedded to Rochester by the Masons because they saw him as part of the "Good Race", implying it would be great for them. Rochester claims he thought he loved her, only to realize he didn't as she slowly descended into madness. One thing of note is we have no journals or writings of hers quoted, since she apparently lost the ability to speak, thus we are robbed of hearing of her tragic plight from her point of view, and instead we are told it all from the perspective of her husband, something most modern readers might critique Brontë on (especially so since she is a woman). In fact, Jean Rhys went so far as to fix that with a prequel, Wide Sargasso Sea, published in 1966, where we learn more about Bertha and her tragic fall. 

      So, Rochester is already married while playing mind games to get Jane, but has he any redeeming qualities? His willingness to care for his wife in a time when the insane asylums would have been worse on her does make him redeemable. A lesser man would not only have kept her hidden, but denied her existence (in the modern century, a lesser man would have also gotten that divorce as soon as she was committed). For another, he comes clean about it rather than continue to live a lie. His taking in a ward is also commendable, showing that not all orphans are doomed to the boarding schools, the orphanage, the streets, or their graves, if one had the heart to take one in. In return for the reveal, Rochester's standing in the public seems down, with people like Blanche running for the hills, while Rochester cools things with Mason. Thankfully, Adele is not in the picture, but Jane is and she is left wondering if Rochester is redeemable as they return to square one.

      Rochester still wants to marry Jane, or make her his mistress, and they can live in France where no one knows them. While Jane forgives him for the lies, she draws the line at being married to a bigamist or becoming a mistress. Having nothing else but her good name, Jane choses instead to leave Rochester, something feminists would take delight in. I wouldn't be surprised if a modern rewrite of the book would rather end here than continue.

     But we are not done yet. After leaving Thornfield, Jane goes out on the streets, begging for her bread, and starving to death, thus showing the danger to independence. Stripped from the life of luxury and a place at the table with good food, she is now reduced to the beggar, just shy of taking up the oldest profession in the world. Thankfully, it doesn't come to that for she wouldn't even think of it. If she said no to being a rich man's mistress, she would say no to being a fallen woman. Yet, she gets sick and comes in the care of the Rivers siblings. Diana and Mary Rivers, along with their housemaid, and their brother, St. John, take Jane in, nurse her to health, and give her a place to stay. 

      As it turns out, they are cousins. This allows Jane to meet relatives who are kind enough to her. She also spends time with St. John, who basically spends most of his scenes talking to her as though she were a child. In the play I saw, he seemed like a genuine nice guy, but he comes across as condescending in the book. Just look at his statement when he proposes: "You shall be mine: I claim you—not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign’s service." I don't think I know any missionary who would have said such a thing to woo a woman, but as a Catholic I don't know many missionaries with wives. I just think the whole thing has as much emotion as the grinding of gears in an automobile plant. 

     Then Jane learns her rich uncle died and left her with twenty thousand pounds Sterling, which in modern US dollars would be $2.24 million (even then, that was a lot of money). Now Jane has money added to her name and it gets St. John's attention. Wanting a share in this, and make her his own, he proposes to her and invites her to come with him to India as a missionary. Thankfully, Jane doesn't jump at it.

      No sooner does she get proposed to again, Jane hears someone calling her name. When she guesses it to be Rochester, she goes to Thornfield to see him. She gets there and finds the place burned down. She learned Bertha had gone mad and set the place afire, then jumped to her death. Rochester was able to get the servants to safety, but was left blind and maimed from the event. Thus, we see him again now as a broken, impotent, and melancholic man, now reduced in the eyes of many. He has lost his main home, his mad wife, his good standing, his vision, and a hand, as well as the beastly nature about him. Yet, he is also repentant and longing to be a better man after this episode. So, we get the sense that he is broken down and made humble, thus ready for the final piece of the redemption arc.

    So Jane goes to him in the garden and tells him she has returned. After missing her for so long, Rochester is delighted to see her again, but assumes she is married. Jane tells him she is an independent woman and she chose to come back to him willingly, and she intended to help him with love. Thus she is no longer answering to him, but is only coming out of her own will, which was revolutionary for the time. They do have another bout of wit, with him asking, "Am I hideous, Jane?" to which she answers, "Very sir; you always were, you know." The moment does seem like a cliché, but considering how Rochester changes at this point and doesn't hold it against Jane, who doesn't care that he is no longer the strong man he was, it does make for a happy ending in the two. When he proposes again, she says yes. 

      Of course, we follow with chapter thirty-eight, essentially the weakest in the narrative. It opens with Jane simply saying, "Reader, I married him." Such a statement can be read in a matter of fact tone and makes one wonder what was Brontë thinking when she wrote it. She could have had Jane say, "We were married shortly thereafter" or "We became man and wife at a later date, during which time Rochester was more or less like himself." But no, we get, "Reader, I married him." It's redeeming quality is the wording being structured to where the woman had dictated things, becoming more active than say, "Reader, he married me." In short, the woman has taken command in this one sentence.

    From there, it goes downhill with Jane uncharacteristically boasting of how closer she was to her husband than any other while speaking of what happened to the others. Earlier, she met with Mrs. Reed, who confessed to why she mistreated Jane and explained her son hung himself after getting into a bad life. She reveals St John later went to India and never married, yet his sisters did marry. Meanwhile, Jane and Rochester adopted Adele as their stepdaughter, then had a son, who arrived as one of Rochester's eyes recovers. At least the last was the one good part, but one can't help but think Brontë could have ended at chapter thirty-seven, but at the time most people wanted the characters to either get married or to die at the end. 

      That is the story that is in this almost six hundred paged novel (I got a friend who called reading it a feat). When it first was published, with Brontë using a man's name, critics were negative about it. Elizabeth Rigby called it "anti-Christian" and even American critics called it "immoral." The view softened after Brontë's death, with it appearing to be less of an irreligious work and more like an allegory of perseverance and forgiveness, plus the story of a saintly girl redeeming a beastly man. 

    Many things to take note is how it is in the Regency era, yet nowhere is Napoleon or the Prince Regent mentioned. Regardless, it was written in the 1840s, with the dawn of the Victorian era, thereby making the book a world in passing. The Industrial Revolution had transformed English society by the time Brontë set her pen to paper. Men like Rochester, whose wealth was accumulated by land, worked upon by servants, and passed down from father to son, were still around, but were soon replaced by men of business, those whose wealth came from profits, dug up in the mines, factories, or the office. First wave feminism was seen in England when Brontë wrote Jane Eyre, and soon the Brontës would have no reason to use male names when writing books. In a few generations, women could hold jobs in offices, become breadwinners, and even vote in politicians. The concept of the master race would become more noticeable and men like St. John Rivers would justify imperialism by calling it "white man's burden" (which is tempting to make Jane seem woke for her time by turning his proposal down). Above all, the Christian based morality that ran England for centuries was becoming increasingly superseded by a secular one. Even the Bible went from occupying the center piece of British society to being replaced now by novels like Jane Eyre and the scientific method. 

    Even the concept of a saintly girl redeeming a beastly man appears to be a retiring trope in the modern pop culture due to increased awareness in domestic abuse and such, with increasingly romance stories avoiding the trope all together. I do think abuse is an issue that needs to be dealt with. At the same time, what of those who want to reform? Are we to cast them aside like those who don't want to reform while we live in this new black and white world? And if a woman is strong enough to handle such actions and her strength and wit causes a man to change, what does that say of the scene? To me, it shows there is always a chance for change to everyone. What's needed is neither a push nor pull, but a will. 

     There are people out there in need of help like Mr. Rochester and the real life mad wives in the attic comes in other forms. It might be some addiction to substances, anger issues, a job that he can't leave and it won't let him go no matter how wicked it is, as well as larger issues like poverty and circumstances. Perhaps one reason I like how it ends is the thought of someone who will see the real you and let the world know that the good inside you can be drawn out. Think of it, meeting someone who loves unconditionally, won't let what is said of you dictate decisions, while encouraging you to give it your own, to see the beauty in this world, to see a light side to humanity, and tells you you are not alone. Jane Eyre does show the dark side of the world, with its cruelty, and even those in need of redemption can have a bad side to them. But if they didn't, what have they to be redeemed from? 

    Perhaps we all are like Rochester with the wrong ideas in the mind and in need to be brought down and humbled before we can see the beauty in this world. Some of us even need a real Jane Eyre, who is also seeking love after living a life without it. We can also give that love to real Jane Eyres, allowing them to know forgiveness sooner. If we could do all that, perhaps, the world would be a better place. 

    

[1] Blakemore, Erin. "Sorry, but Jane Eyre Isn't the Romance You Want It To Be" (2019) accessed 2023. https://daily.jstor.org/sorry-but-jane-eyre-isnt-the-perfect-romance-you-want-it-to-be/

[2] Meyer, Stephanie. Twilight. pg. 208 (2005).  

Why We Fight: Review and Commentary part 1.

   How do you do, 

   Why We Fight was a series of wartime propaganda made by the United States Signal Corps during World War II. It was produced by Frank Capra, largely in response to the Nazi propaganda film, Triumph of the Will, and distributed by the War Activities Committee of the Motion Pictures Industry, plus 20th Century Fox. It was originally meant for the servicemen, but eventually was shown in the general public in theaters. It largely became a morale boost for the former, considering how the first one came out in 1942, when the Axis were still winning. 

   Today, some of the facts presented now seem hyped up or phony, considering how history has come a long way since the war, and the shifting in society has led to values dissonance  that likely wouldn't have led to these films to be produced in the current era (I mean, good luck trying something like this to convince people why Islamic terror is a threat to the world). But, instead of summing it all up in a single post, I'll go by each episode one at a time. 

---Prelude to War (1942) ---

  The first part begins with footage of American soldiers marching in a review while the march, "The Caissons Go Rolling Along" plays. A few seconds in, actor Walter Huston, father of actor and director John Huston, begins to narrate the film. 

    "Why are fighting now?" he asks. "Is it because of Pearl Harbor? ... Or is it because of Britain, France, China, Czechoslovakia, Norway, Poland, Holland, Greece, Belgium, Albania, Yugoslavia, or Russia?" As he is asking this, we see footage of the Pearl Harbor Attack, London Blitz, Fall of Paris, and so on. Then comes the big question, what has happened that has made American men go to war and fight in a world war?

     To answer is a quote from then Vice-President Henry Wallace: "This is a fight between a free world and a slave world." Wallace was quoted from a speech he gave at the Commodore Hotel in New York, on May 8, 1942, "Century of the Common Man."[1] In it, he references that usage from Abraham Lincoln's "House Divided" Speech.

     And which is the free and which is the slave? Obviously, the free world is the Western Hemisphere, as the film shows, or to be specific, North America, and to be even more specific, the United States. 

   Huston cites four ancient passages as the foundation for our liberties. First and last quotes seen are Exodus 20:17  and John 8:32 from the Bible (the first is also in the Torah). In between a quote from The Cow 2:213 from The Koran and Analects XV.24. The narrator, in a reverent tone, simply names them in order of appearance Moses, Muhammad, Confucius, and Christ, while the Christmas hymn "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" is faintly heard. Incidentally, the names cited in initials spell out  MMCC, which is Roman numerals for 2200. The purpose of that, I have no idea. 

    One thing pointed out to me in viewing this film is how the quotes are somewhat out of context. Confucius' line, often known as the Golden Rule, is easy to see as a warning to many: If you don't want to be enslaved, do not enslave others. However, he seems to mean more than just one action. Since I am not a scholar in Islam nor a Muslim, I am going to venture a guess the passage from The Koran is less about freedom and more about how prophets were brought forth to proclaim the gospel, as we say, only for it to be accepted by a small number of people, who then turned on each other with arguments and counterarguments.The shown "Thou shalt not covet that which is thy neighbors[sic]" is a shorter version to what is in the text: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's[sic] house: neither shalt thou desire his wife, nor his servant, nor his handmaid, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is his."[2] The commandment to not covet can apply to anything, including freedom, but can also apply to the neighbor's land. The passage from the Gospel of St. John is the most famous in the Western world, and is also the most likely to be taken in a different context. The actual verse goes, "And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."[3] It seems vague until you look at the previous line, "If you continue in my word, you shall be my disciples indeed." 

    Considering how large a percentage of American audiences are Christian, and even today still living on Judeo-Christian values, it's amazing how this often flies over peoples' heads, whereas few people heard of Confucius then and fewer actually read the Koran, apart from students of Orientalism. At the same time, looking into the context of the verses makes them all less likely the source of individual freedoms they were presented as. 

    From a doubtful interpretation from a simplistic history lesson, Huston tells us these four passages led to this one from the Declaration of Independence:

    "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..."[4] 

    While pointing to America as the place of freedom with men of liberty, he includes Bolivar, the national hero of Venezuela, Colombia, and Ecuador, along with Garibaldi of Italy. But all the while, we hear more quotes to further show how America is the free world, along with imagery that delights the senses and excite the emotion: paintings, statues, and the Liberty Bell. 

    In contrast is the slave world, consisting of Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany, and Imperial Japan. Going in order of rise in power, they start with Italy, where Benito Mussolini is described as a "rebel rouser" who leads the Black Shirts on Rome. The Italians are said to cast their lot with him to face the problems of post-World War I chaos, as opposed to facing them in "a democratic way." The statement does ignore the fact the Kingdom of Italy had a government like that of Great Britain, at the time, but in a way Mussolini had taken power from the King. Huston then references Mussolini's past as a socialist when he says, "he planed to betray them...just as he had betrayed those earlier who first supported him." 

    Next is Adolf Hitler, described as a "more forceful demigod" setting his followers coming out of the Munich beer hall and into Berlin. Once more, facts are glossed over, with the tone of voice from Huston to mean that Germany was rightly defeated in World War I and her sufferings after were justified, while the Nazis are rightly showcased as elements of the Anti-Christ in offering help to the German people. 

    Japan is done third, which matches well with her joining the Axis last (in fact, the Axis Powers' official name was Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis -- the other countries that sided with them were basically satellite nations and not big enough to have their capitals mentioned -- by 1941). Japan's case is complex, but Huston focuses on the Japanese people's worship of their God Emperor, and in a cynical look claims certain power hungry individuals took over Japan by claiming they were carrying out his will. This becomes something fixed in the film, "Know Your Enemy: Japan," where it correctly points out the Japanese considered their emperor (tenno, in Japanese) is the son of the sun goddess. Here too, the Japanese are accused of letting their leaders control them in Anti-Christ undertones.

   In all three, the film shows how they took over: promising help in the chaos of the Great Depression, restoring the glory of the past, and making them masters of the world. The people are shown willingly letting it happen, forming together in crowds to cheer them on. Through trick editing, a soundbite is shown, but Huston would translate it as "Stop thinking and follow / believe in me," with a promise of a better tomorrow, to which people then cheer (Italians shout, "Duce, Duce!", Germans "Sieg Heil!", and Japanese "Banzai!"). The best way to describe it is like watching a MAGA rally and an Islamic terror group gathering, combined with the BLM demonstrations on the streets and Klan rallies near institutions, plus Mexicans doing their grito each Cinco de Mayo. All paganistic, all feeding into the primitive psyche of the human brain to go from a thinking, rational creature to a cheering, shouting, applauding mass of fanatics. 

   Not just the people, but the legislative bodies in charge of each are shown surrendering to the new order (one must remember that Nazi Germany was a republic, whereas Italy was a kingdom and Japan an empire). The orders then set themselves up as rulers of countries that were to rule over all. Huston notes how they each formed with names: Mussolini's boys are called Fascists, for their party is Fascism, the Germans formed National Socialism, or Nazis, while Japan is given different names, but all with the same meaning behind it. "A plain old fashioned militaristic imperialism," he called it, and they "...would get the prosperity, the rest would get the 'co'." This is one example of how in this time period people were willing to call a spade a spade or a rake a rake, regardless of how one or the other felt itself to be. Most people today might think of this as another case of pot calling the kettle black, considering how race relations were in the US at the time and the fact the US also owned territories in the Pacific (most of which were fought over during the war). 

   To further show the trio, we see the symbols and the uniforms (those Black Shirt uniforms do look like the inspiration to those of the Black Panthers in the sixties), in addition to their own gritos. As soon as they come to power, they take control of everything, from the radio to the cinema, to the press and the courtrooms. Opposition was crushed in brutal fashions. Huston gleefully notes how the sight of Fascists with knives could silence "the greatest intellect in the world." Later, we hear a mistranslation of a Nazi officer as "Whenever I hear anyone mention the word 'culture', the first thing I do is reach for my gun!" itself a quote from an anti-Weimar play. We see Nazis shooting people out like gangsters, Italians assassinating someone they kidnapped, and Japanese disposed of by manslaughter. "Finally, there is one obstacle left," he adds, the Church. 

   Of course, Japan wasn't a Christian country, while it seems Mussolini got along with the Catholic Church well enough (especially concerning the Lateran Treaty being made while he was in power, permitting the separation of the Vatican City as a sovereign nation), so the footage happens in Germany, where footage of those Gothic cathedrals are shown. We see the calm and tranquil atmosphere of a church, the hymns being sung, and people praying the rosary, only to be shocked awake by the narrator yelling, "Then God must go!" followed by bricks hurled through stain glass windows, revealing a picture of Hitler. The Nazis remove all traces of God from Germany by replacing crosses with swastikas, disbanding youth groups, sending clergy to concentration camps, and declaring Hitler to be "too big a man to be compared" to Christ. Since we all know of the sufferings of the Jews, it is in the back of our minds even if it's shown to a minimum. Worst affect of this is on the children, the film points out, where German boys and girls are shown doing a pledge to Hitler, basically a Nazi parody to American children reciting the Pledge each morning (though, today it would seem ironic for it also puts children briefly from the faith of their fathers to the faith of the state).

   We then see a series of scenes of children marching to the beat of the New Order's drums. It is heartbreaking to see all those boys and girls, all of whom were such good little children, being poisoned by the ideologies they marched to in the newsreels. Especially as the footage then transitions to grown men marching, showing us what they grow into. All marching in a series of what could be described as May Day for the Axis Powers (and remind one of those similar parades done in North Korea in the last decade, aired whenever they demanded nuclear enrichment). The footage ends with the people looking sober as the marchers go by, especially with an old man looking gloomy on as the narrator says, "That was the way of life - or rather, the way of death - in that other world."

    Will add the march beat used is enough to make one want to march. 

    Compare it to America, the film shows, where people faced their problems "in a democratic way." Here, the narrator shows us what America did in the post World War I world, such as signing treaties with other nations, including the naval reduction, which led to the scrapping of ships that were constructed during that war at the cost of millions. Meanwhile, the US Army was reduced to a standing force of 136,000 (which sounds minute compared to the current standing force). Americans are shown to be so wrapped up in peace and isolation, a poll by Pathe News is cited with interviews of average Americans to show it. Most of the interviewees were, of course, white men, mostly found around the Northeast, but two women are shown (a Southern lady who expresses ignorance of European affairs and a first generation maid who simply says "no" before slamming the window on the camera). Might be interesting to know what the African Americans and other minorities thought of a possible war in Europe, most likely opposition as well. 
    Other things are presented as counters to the Great Depression. CCC was invented to give a useful employment and social security for the benefit of those unable to work (before it became the bankrupt mess that it is now), as well as medicaid for old people and Federal Works program that improved the nation's infrastructure, such as the highways and the Hoover Dam (it doesn't mention the TVA as an example, which was one of those influences here in the South). At the same time, America did several goofs: refusing to join the League of Nations that President Wilson pushed for, setting up tariffs in the Depression that wound up hurting the economy and the working man, encouraging lawlessness with the Prohibition (which was repealed during the Depression). In a modern perspective, the added sins include reversing the efforts of the Civil War and Reconstruction by legalizing segregation, encouraging racial bigotry against blacks in wake of race riots and lynches as opposed to bringing justice for the victims, setting up immigration restrictions that kept many fleeing oppression from having sanctuary in America, and so on. That is, of course, what a modern viewer would think, whereas much of that wasn't universal in the forties. 
     Using the fictional John Q. Public to represent the American citizen, the narrator makes more contrast between the US and the Axis (specifically Nazi Germany). Among them was having more choices to vote, not worrying of having his books burned, going to church he favored on Sunday, and enjoying the sight of children playing (all sounding innocent to read, considering how some sarcastic cynics today would treat it). Of course, the narrator was listing out the naivety and isolationist mindset in a way that it doesn't come off as condescending, lecturing, demeaning, or self-righteous. Especially when comparing to the Axis, one finds such things as children becoming property of the state, especially bred for conquest in breeding camps. 

    Considering it a conspiracy, the narrator goes to the immediate outbreak of World War II. Using footage of Japan joining the Axis, we see Kurosou, smiling at Hitler whose hand he shakes. Then they are depicted carving up the world, which sound fantastic to look at (especially as the plans climax with the destruction of the United States), done by a second uncredited narrator. "All that remains is Shangra La," Huston concludes, "and they'd claim that too, if they knew where it was." That was in reference to FDR's made up base which the Doolittle planes came from before bombing Tokyo.  
    The film includes the idea that world conquest was arranged, as set down by Baron Tanaka, in the twenties, to something called the Tanaka Memorial. In post war days, this book has been revealed to be fraud, but it was treated as the Japanese Mein Kampf, just as the film treats "Bansai" as their "Sieg Heil." The film also demonizes the Japanese further by misquoting Admiral Yamamoto, claiming to be not content here or there, but marching into Washington and "dictating peace to the Americans in the White House." In reality, Yamamoto's statement went, "Should hostilities once break out between Japan and the United States, it would not be enough that we take Guam and the Philippines, nor even Hawaii and San Francisco. To make victory certain, we would have to march into Washington and dictate terms of peace in the White House. I wonder if our politicians have the confidence to the final outcome and are prepared to make the necessary sacrifices."[5] Considering the logistics working against Japan, the idea of "Conquering Jap[anese] Army marching down Pennsylvania Ave." does seemed to have been laughable in the eyes of Yamamoto. Still, the image of Axis soldiers invading the US after conquering the rest of the world is something that has stuck through with each subsequent generation. We can still recall many claiming we'd "all be speaking German" if it weren't for the American soldier uttered by a stand in to the WWII generation in pop culture. 

    Then the film accuses the Axis of spreading lies, anywhere from a lack of living space to no raw materials. All the while, we see Hitler calling for more babies and no birth control, Italian women who bore the most sons awarded, while Hitler's military budget being up to more than $80,000,000 (which would be billions in today's money). With such little resources, the Axis were able to build up large armies, navies, and air forces, as Huston tells us, while the democracies had paper thin militaries. 
    To show it, the film goes into the invasion of Manchuria, with September 18, 1931 cited as the starting date for the war (technically, starting date of the Second Sino-Japanese War, considered in the west to be separate from the European war, until 1941). The invasion is shown to be something started on false pretenses and used as an excuse for land theft similar to how people tend to view the Iraq War of 2003. The League condemns Japan, but nothing else comes. As the narrator adds, "the Japanese delegates...smiled, picked up their briefcases, and marched out of the League. Lower Manchuria was dead. Collective security was dead. The green light had been given to the aggressors." 
    After Manchuria, Japan invades China at Shanghai, with fierce fighting in the city, followed by the capture of Jehol. Here, the fight for China ends with it taken up in "The Battle of China." 

    After this, we see Italy invade Ethiopia simply to distract the Italians from the failures of their leader. Ethiopia is shown being backward compared to Italy, though their people are determined to resist as they did in 1895. Unlike the first try, Italy puts boots on the ground and defeats the Empire of Ethiopia. We see the Emperor appeal to the League, claiming that if nothing is done to save his country, "the west will perish." Thus, it's surreal sight to see a black monarch give criticism to a mostly white run League of Nations (lately, I can't help but compare it to The Phantom Menace when Queen Amidala appeals to the Senate). 
    Even with Japan and Italy taking over, the film shows how everyone still looked the other way, especially America's isolationist view. At the end of this film, and all the others to come, we have a quote from General George C. Marshall, Army Chief of Staff: "...victory of the democracies can only be complete with the utter defeat of the war machines of Germany and Japan."

   

    "Prelude to War" is the start to the seven part series. It has thrills and suspense, really gripping the viewer. Like any propaganda, it falls into the old habit of othering, which it justifies by the fact we were at war. One could sum it up by saying, "the world is at risk because those Germans, those Japanese, and those Italians, are ganging up to take it over, take away our freedom and liberties, and the only way to stop them is a united front." Even with the atrocities done by Japan in the war, along with the Holocaust inflicted by the Nazis, the Othering of people is never good form, in war or in peace. 

1. "Henry Wallace - The Century of the Common Man" retrieved on American Rhetoric. americanrhetoric.com (accessed in 2020).

2. Exodus 20:17 (Douay-Rheims).

3. John 8:32 (Douay Rheims).

4. Declaration of Independence. 

5. Isoroku, Yamamoto, letter to Sasakawa Ryoichi, accessed from Wikiquote, 2020.