Beyond the pale
“Titus Andronicus” unleashes transgressions that take us to the brink. Buckle up.
I’m reading through Shakespeare’s canon to see what his plays could say to our current world. I’m reading them (mostly) in order of the timeline established by the Royal Shakespeare Company. This week: “Titus Andronicus.” Next week, the history play “Richard III.” Links to previous posts on the plays are here.
I saw the play before I read it. Although I watched Julie Taymor’s movie “Titus” as an adult, its image of Lavinia, branches acting as prosthetic hands, rivals the horror-movie after-images of demonic dolls and skeleton mothers from my youthful nightmares. The movie was filled with horrors, but for me those branch appendages were the worst of it.
The play is no less horrifying on paper, leaving so much to your imagination to frighten and appall. If there’s anything pure about the play, it’s the intention to shock and horrify. And, like any good horror show, its effectiveness arises from how easily it fits a narrative in which you live. In an Elizabethan time, the Roman setting was a mythologized version of the contemporary world. It’s no different for us.
Triggers and taboos
This post will refer to the events and characterizations in the play, many of which are violent and cross any era’s standards of appropriateness. Two characters even assume the names ‘Rape’ and ‘Murder.’ This is a play about transgressions, and Shakespeare lards it on: rape, murder, mutilation, cannibalism, filicide, torture. Two characters act their scenes with hand-less arms, following stage directions that they use their stumps to point or turn pages, drawing the audience’s attention to their dismemberment.
The text is also deeply racist, which is to say that a major plot development rests on shared racism. The Moor (Black) character, named Aaron, is one of the most intelligent characters in the play, but this intelligence is as sly and seductive as the Satan of Christian traditions. The character is an avatar for the evil that permeates the (white) Roman empire and threatens to bring it down.
When you think of racism in Shakespeare’s works, you might think of “Othello,” although racism is embedded in many if not most of his plays. “Othello” stands out because the title character, a Moor, is a tragic character who performs terrible deeds. However, he’s also a character made more complex by his all-too human failings. Whatever you think about how Shakespeare handled the Othello character, just know that his use of a Moor in “Titus Andronicus” is much worse. The Aaron character has no shading, and no redemptive qualities.
With those words of warning, let’s get on with a summary of the play.
Summary
The play is set in Rome. The previous emperor (‘Caesar’) has just died, and his first-born son, Saturninus, is ready to be crowned. His younger brother, Bassianus, supports Saturninus’ quest to be emperor. Since Rome is a republic, the crown isn’t inherited. To acquire the crown, Saturninus must ensure that no one else gains the support of the Senate and the people.
Marcus Andronicus, brother to the general Titus Andronicus, announces his brother’s victorious return from a ten-year war with the ‘barbarous’ Goths. Arriving with Titus are his sons and daughter (Lavinia), the captured Queen of the Goths (Tamora), her three sons, and her secret lover, Aaron, a Moor. Titus gives a burial of honor to Tamora’s son, slain in battle.
The matter of who is to be emperor is sorted out quickly: Saturninus will be crowned. His brother Bassianus, a gentle and loving character, cedes easily—he only wants to marry his betrothed, who is Titus’ daughter Lavinia.
In a denial of his brother’s intentions, Saturninus stakes a claim as Emperor to marry Lavinia, to which Titus agrees despite the fact that Lavinia is already betrothed to Bassianus. Saturninus also allows Tamora to live in Rome as a part of the royal entourage, rather than as a captured slave.
Bassianus is appalled that Titus would allow Saturninus to take Lavinia, and challenges Titus’ acquiescence to Saturninus. Titus’ sons support Bassianus, leaving Titus alone in his family in absolute loyalty to the state. He goes so far as to claim that his sons are traitorous in their support of Bassianus, and he kills one of them. When his son Lucius calls him unjust, Titus disavows him, taking a principled stance of loyalty to the state before his own family.
Immediately after having sacrificed his own son in support of the Emperor, Titus learns from Saturninus that he’s changed his mind and will marry Tamora instead, leaving Lavinia free to marry Bassianus. Titus, amazingly, clings to patriotic duty in defense of his killing his own son.
Tamora soon proves herself to be a skillful manipulator. When with Saturninus, she acts as the voice of unity and peace. In other conversations and in asides to the audience, she makes known her intention to avenge the loss of her son. Her lover Aaron aids her in devising elaborate schemes to execute her revenge.
Titus proposes in good faith that they go hunting together, in order to demonstrate accord between their families. Tamora and Aaron plot a different kind of hunt, with the Andronicus family as the prey. Tamora’s sons rape and mutilate Lavinia (they cut off her hands and cut out her tongue so that she can’t write or speak the names of the criminals who violated her). Aaron kills Bassianus and uses his body as a trap to ensnare two of Titus’ sons. The two sons are sentenced for execution and another son, Lucius, is banished.
While Titus’ sons are awaiting execution for Bassianus’ death, Aaron approaches Titus with a proposal to save his sons’ lives: if Titus sacrifices a hand, Aaron will save his sons from execution. Marcus and Lucius each offer to sacrifice a hand instead. Titus allows them to think that he’ll allow one of them to be his surrogate. As they walk away to discuss which of them is to suffer the loss of a hand, Titus urges Aaron to chop his off immediately. Titus’ principles don’t allow for someone else to take a blow meant for him. Aaron willingly chops off Titus’ hand and leaves, supposedly to make the trade to spare the sons’ lives. Instead, he returns with both the severed hand and the heads of the executed sons, and he uses these as props to mock Titus’s sacrifice.
As Lucius leaves under orders of banishment, he tells his family that he intends to make an alliance with the Goths, in order to mount a military attack against Saturninus.
A child is born to the Empress. Unfortunately for her, it’s unmistakably Aaron’s child and not the Emperor’s. A nurse, realizing the effect this news would have upon the Emperor, absconds with the newborn, She brings the infant to Aaron and Tamora’s sons, demanding that they murder the child so that the Emperor knows nothing of the Empress’ infidelity. Although Tamora’s sons are keen to murder the child, Aaron takes possession of his son, stating his intention to switch the baby with a light-skinned infant recently born to a Moor kinsman.
Although Titus laments the violence against his daughter and sons, he remains loyal to the Emperor until the full truth of the crimes against Lavinia is revealed. Using only her stumps, Lavinia points to tales in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses” that are similar to her rape and mutilation. Once Titus understands that she was raped as well as dismembered, he plots his own revenge. He sends a message to Saturninus, which is received as the threat it is. Tamora tells Saturninus that she’ll deal with Titus.
Lucius, now leading a group of Goths, finds Aaron and his infant son. Aaron pleads for his son’s life, saying that if Lucius spares the infant, he’ll give him information that Lucius would find valuable. Lucius agrees. Standing on the ladder from which he is to be hung, Aaron explains the wide-ranging crimes that he’s wrought upon the Andronicus family. Lucius decides that hanging is too good for Aaron and decides to spare his life for now only so that Aaron can be tortured later.
Tamora and her sons present themselves at Titus’ home disguised as Revenge, Rape, and Murder. Thinking that she’s tricked Titus into believing they’re the adversaries of the names they bear, Tamora leaves her sons behind when she departs. Titus had only pretended to be fooled. Once Tamora leaves, he arrests the sons and gags them. Bringing his daughter Lavinia in to witness and capture their blood in a basin, Titus kills the sons. He announces his intention to make the sons’ corpses into a pie to be served to the Emperor and Empress: their bones ground to make flour, their blood to make the sauce, their flesh to make the meat.
The pie is delivered to the court, and Titus (dressed as a cook) attends the dinner with his daughter. Also present are the Goths, Lucius, and Aaron. Titus asks Saturninus for his opinion of a man (‘Virginus’) who kills his own daughter because she has been raped: was this an ethical decision?
SATURNINUS It was, Andronicus. TITUS Your reason, mighty Lord? SATURNINUS Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows. TITUS A reason mighty, strong, effectual; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant For me, most wretched, to perform the like. Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee, And with thy shame thy father’s sorrow die. He kills her SATURNINUS What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? TITUS Killed her for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woeful as Virginius was, And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage, and it now is done. - Act 5 Scene 3
Since Lavinia’s rape wasn’t visibly apparent, only the Andronicus family and Tamora, her sons, and Aaron knew of it. Killing Lavinia is therefore both proof of the crime and Titus’ final attempt to extricate his family from disgrace. Titus urges them to eat their dinner. As Saturninus and Tamora eat, Titus charges Tamora’s sons of the rape. Saturninus demands the sons be brought to him, and Titus responds with this:
TITUS [revealing the heads] Why, there they are, both baked in this pie, Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. ‘Tis true, ‘tis true, witness my knife’s sharp point. He stabs the Empress SATURNINUS Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. He kills Titus LUCIUS Can the son’s eye behold his father bleed? There’s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. He kills Saturninus. Confusion follows. - Act 5 Scene 3
All that remains is to bring order to the chaos onstage. Lucius, beloved by the Roman people, will head the state. The Goths and Romans reconcile. The play ends with Aaron, spewing villainy, sentenced to death by torture: buried in the ground up to his neck and left to die from exposure and thirst. Where he had ordered Lavinia’s hands and tongue cut off, Aaron would effectively have his body removed, without the comfort of a quick death.
Thoughts
This play, like many others, tests the limits of boundaries—familial, civil, ethical—that we unconsciously assume guide our lives. What allegiance is owed to a ruler who betrays his family, when that ruler’s rights derive from laws and not from God? (The history of the English monarchy, with its divine right of kings, is filled with family betrayals and killings. If the king does it, it’s allowed by the authority of God.)
What sacrifices does patriotism require, and what falls beyond its reach? Are acts performed out of loyalty to the state any different in kind than those performed for baser reasons?
Titus changes allegiances during the play, but his character remains true to his essential rigidity. He’s spent his life on the field of battle, unbothered by questions of divided loyalties. He killed, and suffered losses of sons and other men he led in battle, out of duty to the state. The man wearing the crown of Caesar was of no consequence to his loyalty: he upheld the right of the empire to expand into lands held by other states. He returns from war but doesn’t leave behind his militaristic identity.
Despite that, he loves his family deeply. Once he sees Lavinia, awash in gore, hands dismembered, mouth gushing blood, he begins a lament that lasts through the rest of the play. For him, the tipping point is learning that Lavinia has been raped. This act is against not just his daughter, but upon the honor of his family.
The remaining characters are drawn more simply. Saturninus, Tamora, her sons, and Aaron are cruel and without conscience. Marcus and Lucius are honorable to family and to the state: the fact that Saturninus is himself without honor frees them to support the republic without allegiance to a man they think isn’t fit to rule.
In the worldview of this play, evil exists as an immutable force that’s separate from the violent and treacherous acts that we attribute to it. Murder isn’t essentially evil, since there are some contexts in which murder can be deemed acceptable. War is the prime example, but the play also exempts honor killings. Rape is evil, killing a rape victim (who’s your daughter) is arguably not evil.
Within the borders of the play, Rome opened its gates to evil when it brought back the spoils of war, led by Titus. The Goths and a Moor gain entry to the Emperor’s house, bringing Revenge, Rape, and Murder that lay waste to the two highest ranking families in the empire. By contrast, Lucius (Titus’ only remaining son) brings Goths into Rome by first establishing an alliance with them, allowing the play to end with a hope for peaceful rule.
Characters in the play repeatedly allude to Roman mythology to define what is good and acceptable. Since Shakespeare wrote for a Christian audience, myths wouldn’t have the strength of laws. Rather, these allusions acknowledge shared cultural definitions of right and wrong, just and unjust. Barbarians like the ‘Goths’ in this play exist outside this shared tradition of values. Rome was infected by an external virus that had to be excised to restore order.
Relevance
How do you test boundaries when a nation lacks consensus on basic cultural assumptions? What is a boundary in this context?
Breaking the law is transgressive only if you accept that the rule of law is immutable. Voting rights in a democracy are only as sacrosanct as the power to protect them. Some actors today (like Titus, Marcus, and Lucius) defend the ideals (rule of law, voting rights) on which the nation is founded. They consider the implications when one set of loyalties conflicts with another, and they use reason and compassion to decide what to do.
Others act strategically to further their own interests, using as pawns people who are amoral enough to follow their lead. They’re only loyal to themselves. They manipulate the sympathies of others, which is easy to do when you care only for yourself.
The full title of the play places compassion front and center: “The Most Lamentable Roman Tragedy of Titus Andronicus.” In the first Act, when Titus slays his own son in misguided loyalty to Rome, we’re appalled by the absence of compassion that Titus allows himself to feel. His brother and children are astonished by Titus’ lack of feeling: these characters speak for us, the audience. How can a father do that?
This emotional test repeats through the play. Every scene in which Tamora’s sons appear, we’re revolted by their antipathy. The one transgression the play ultimately doesn’t allow is to kill the infant son of Tamora and Aaron. No matter that he’s the fruit of an evil pair, infanticide would be an unsupportable transgression.
This idea that we can reasonably understand what is right by means of using compassion, that sense of connection to others, is immensely appealing. It leads people to think that compassion can be used as a force for good in the world. If we humanize victims, the logic goes, then what is right will come into sharp focus.
I’m reminded of the cascading images that illustrate this hopeful mythology: Water cannons and vicious police dogs set upon peaceful civil rights protestors. A young girl, screaming and naked, running away from the napalm that has burned through her clothes. The body of a three-year old Syrian boy, face down in the sand, at the edge of the water. These are indelible images in our collective memories. Millions were moved to tears by these images. Not one of these photographs, regardless the compassion they sparked, made a change in policy.
What changes policy is power. Lucius, by wedding the power of the vox populi and the allegiance of Rome’s previous opponents, establishes security and order at the end of the play. Ultimately, it’s not about the tears and lamentations. It’s about who has the power.
“Arma virumque cano” begins Virgil’s “Aeneid,” which contains the definitive tale of Dido that’s mentioned several times in “Titus Andronicus.” Virgil starts with “I sing of arms and a man.” He gives us much to lament in his epic (“Cartago delenda est”), but it all derives from power.
Those fortunate to live in a democratic nation have agency as a constitutional right. Agency can mean voting, but it means more than that. Agency is also advocacy. It’s in demanding facts over insinuations and propaganda. It’s in exacting accountability for transgressions. It’s in using language accurately to call out bad actors.
In the play, the loss of a hand is a loss of power. Lavinia’s loss is taken by force; Titus’ by a hostage negotiation. The best way to protect yourself and others is to use the power you have. Don’t let it be taken from you. And don’t trade it away in a fool’s gambit.
Ellie’s Corner
We took a few days to visit Prince Edward Isle. Ellie doesn’t like to travel, so someone stays with Ellie while we’re gone. She sent this picture to us, and it’s the exact pose that’s behind me as I type.
Thanks for reading,
