Titus Andronicus-A Woman's Tale

One of William Shakespeare’s most overlooked and yet most powerful work is Titus Andronicus. It has not been The Bard’s most popular play; however, in his time it was immensely popular.

Many people see this play as a violent, bloody story where there really are no winners; these things may be true. Many also see it as a play that is extremely male-driven and ruthless toward women—again true.

Nevertheless, I see it somewhat different. I see it as a play that is female-driven and while the women suffer, they are the driving force in every aspect that matters.

This may be a boring read to some, but to lovers of Shakespeare’s literature, it may make you think differently about the most controversial text of one of the world’s greatest writers.

                                                   Titus Andronicus: A Woman’s Tale

“Crede ratem ventis, animum ne crede puellis; namqué est feminea tutior unda fide¾Trust your ship to the winds, not your heart to the girls; waves are safer than women” (Pentadius 550).

 Murder, sacrifice, rape, disfigurement, and revenge all these words aptly describe Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. It is often overlooked as too graphically violent and less complicated than the Bard’s earlier works to be of real consideration and often is cast as simply an overtly bloody play of a developing genius. Many critics oversimplify the plot as a testosterone-fueled revenge and murder story. Titus Andronicus is filled with disturbing images and horrific violence. It is brimming with betrayal, deceit, and acts that are not easily stomached. Titus Andronicus has been viewed, labeled, and categorized as a violent tragedy dominated and driven by the theme of revenge.  Titus Andronicus is much more¾in fact, it is a play fiercely driven by the influences and power of two women: Lavinia and Tamora. Titus Andronicus is a play about women, their vulnerability, their adaptability, and their eventual victory over the obstacles within the context of a male dominated society. It is in reality a play driven by women and their (perceived) physical weakness, and their (real) intrinsic power and influence.

Titus Andronicus begins with Titus’ triumphal entry into Rome with his Goth prisoners. He has been at war for a decade and returns with the bodies of his 21 dead sons, and his 4 living ones. He is greeted by the heir to the throne, Saturninus and his brother Bassianus.  Between these two brothers, there is a developing power vacuum with the recent death of the emperor. Titus is a tired old warrior held together by duty and his societal position. He and his remaining sons plan to sacrifice the eldest son of Tamora, the captured Goth Queen. The surface theme and plot of the play is revenge. It seems as if Titus initiates this with his sacrifice of Tamora’s son. However, Tamora sets the underlying and deeper theme of feminine power, weakness, and influence.

Tamora pleads with Titus for the life of her son, “Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror / Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed / A mother’s tears in passion for her son / And if thy sons were ever dear to thee / O, think my son to be as dear to me!” (Act 1, Scene 1). Tamora uses the first of her weapons¾matriarchal influence. She appeals first to Titus with her tears for pity; when that fails she uses logic based upon her position as a parent. She appeals to Titus as one parent to another, but this is ineffective. Titus casts away her request and thus begins a series of shocking events that are unmatched in literature.

It is true that Titus holds the power whether to kill or not to kill Tamora’s son; however, it is Tamora that opens the door for a festering revenge to take hold. Titus sacrifices her son as an act of duty and appeasement to the Roman gods. His action, while lacking mercy, is at least condoned and even expected within the context of his culture. Tamora acts in a very natural way as she tries to gain some sort of empathy from Titus; when this fails, she steps away from the role of pleading female and into the role of active avenger.

Titus’ sacrifice of Tamora’s son in defiance to her pleading initiates the terrible revenge machine within Tamora. She rages at Titus, “O cruel, irreligious piety! /” and her two surviving sons, knowing their mother, foretell events soon to come, “Was ever Sythia half so barbarous? / …To tremble under Titus’ threatening looks / Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal /…With opportunity of sharp revenge /… To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes” (Act 1, Scene 1). Titus seemingly begins the revenge plot by action, and it is Tamora who appears to be in a position of weakness as a woman, captive queen, and mother. Tamora, however begins the revenge plot, and thus becomes the catalyst of the story. If she accepts that she is a helpless woman and tries only to make the best of her captivity, the story remains in the hands of Titus or more likely focuses on the political struggles within the empire. However, because of her choice she is the catalyst, but one that changes and develops as events unfold.

The true character of Titus is only revealed through Tamora. His character is developed and established in the minds of the reader by his unyielding nature and adherence to protocol. We discover this because of his disregard for Tamora’s pleadings. That he follows the letter of the law and can be without mercy is evident. This revelation is not possible without Tamora. She not only begins the revenge plot, but she is also a window into the true nature of Titus.

The people desire Titus to take the throne, but he chooses to acquiesce to Saturninus’ claim. He knows if he accepted the throne it would mean civil war. In yielding to Saturninus, the first born of the deceased emperor, he aligns himself and his family with the logical choice for succession. Saturninus announces that he will honor Titus by marrying his daughter Lavinia, “I will give thee thanks in part of thy deserts / …And, for an onset, Titus, to advance / Thy name and honorable family, / Lavinia will I make my empress, / Rome’s royal mistress, mistress of my heart, / And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: / Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?” (Act 1, Scene 1). Titus responds quickly, “It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match / I hold me highly honor’d of your grace” (Act 1, Scene 1). Lavinia was already betrothed to Bassianus, the brother of Saturninus; this easy acceptance of the new emperor’s terms is demonstrative of the use of women by their fathers or guardians as a commodity.

Titus’ willingness to allow the new emperor to wed his daughter is a typical example of the use of young women as a type of vestal product. Lavinia was betrothed to Bassianus almost certainly through negotiations between Titus and the former emperor. When Saturninus becomes emperor fortune favors the Andronicus family. If Lavinia becomes empress rather than simply wife to a prince, the family rises in influence and power. This would seem to make Lavinia nothing more than a swappable thing at the mercy of the men that hold worldly power over her.

This is not entirely true. The greatest power that women wield is in their virginal value. Even though women were used as pawns, they are the ones that held the greatest power. That power was contingent upon two things: bloodline and virginity. Throughout history this has been true and in different degrees is at times true even today. Coppelia Kahn, Professor of English at Brown University writes in her book Roman Shakespeare: Warriors, Wounds, and Women, “For Titus, Lavinia’s worth resides in her exchange value as a virginal daughter. In a larger sense, she is symbolically important to Roman patriarchy as an emblem…of ‘sacred chastity’” (Kahn 49). It is the Roman patriarchy that in essence controls the woman, but it is the women who ultimately own the power. The men often control how the metaphorical gun is used¾it is the women that are that gun, thus they are the literal power.

Bassianus with the aid of Titus’ sons flee with Lavinia. This is an act of disobedience to both the emperor and to Titus. This bold act that is aided by Lavinia’s brothers implies there is real affection between Bassianus and Lavinia. Their betrothal was most likely a previously agreed upon arrangement between Titus and the former emperor. The assistance of the brothers may be seen as sibling loyalty, but could also be an indication of a political/personal connection between Bassianus and themselves.

During the escape Titus kills one of his own sons. In fact, Titus’ ambition is obvious when he yells at his son Mutius just before he kills him, “What, villain boy! Barr’st me my way in Rome?” (Act 1, Scene 1). He then calls for his eldest surviving son Lucius to bring Lavinia back to the emperor. Lucius proclaims, “Dead, if you will: but not to be his wife, / That is another’s lawful promised love” (Act 1, Scene 1). To Titus, Lavinia’s value rests with her virginity and the act of disobedience to him (and the emperor) is an act of treason. The failure to deliver Lavinia as the vestal commodity that she is intended to be, is in direct rebellion with what Titus sees as his and her duty. His sons act as accomplices and Saturninus uses this as an opportunity to forge a political alliance with the Goths by marrying Tamora. Shakespeare scholar Sara Eaton wrote in her essay “A Woman of Letters: Lavinia in Titus Andronicus”

…Bassianus and Saturninus with Titus competing to be emperor, to its close, when Lucius does the same. Creating among themselves the condition for ‘headless’ social chaos, the men are in ceaseless competition for honors, from marriage to proper burials, and their exchanged women are in this sense a sign of their agnostic struggle. Their rivalry is gendered and imagined as a war or regeneration between matriarchal and patriarchal would-be rulers, between Tamora’s and Titus’ families. (Eaton 64-65) 

When Bassianus takes Lavinia away he has taken more than Titus’ daughter, he has taken her value to him as a bargaining article, and if Bassianus and Lavinia consummate, her value (to Titus) is lost as a vestal commodity. In becoming the commodity, she also becomes the article of power.

Tamora rises to political power almost immediately with her marriage to Saturninus. She begins to cultivate her plans for vengeance With this new found freedom to move around the royal court without concern, her lover Aaron manipulates Tamora’s already barbaric and lustful sons. Tamora exhibits another aspect of her power: the use of sex and relationship as a weapon of manipulation. After Aaron proudly tells Tamora of his success in the manipulation of her sons in their plan to kill Bassianus and defile Lavinia, she reinforces her power with words of affection and gratitude, “Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!” (Act 2, Scene 3). The effects of Tamora’s dark influence and  terrible will are just beginning to manifest.

In the forest, a place symbolic for darkness and hidden things, Tamora and her sons come upon Lavinia and Bassianus. She directs her sons through her matriarchal power to kill Bassianus. Tamora’s son Demetrius complies with his mother’s wishes. He also understands the significance of rendering Lavinia defiled is in effect an act upon Titus. It not only hurts him as a father, but also renders Lavinia worthless as a vestal product. Demetrius says, “Stay madam; there is more here belongs to her; / First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: / This minion stood upon her chastity, / Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty” (Act 2, Scene 3). The reference of “thrashing corn” and “burning straw” are powerful metaphors for Lavinia’s multiple value and her soon to be torment. Chiron joins in, “Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, / And make his dead trunk a pillow to our lust” (Act 2, Scene 3). The vitriol of the sons of Tamora’s womb is terrible indeed. Tamora, always the cunning designer tells her sons, “But when ye have the honey ye desire / Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting” (Act 2, Scene 3). Tamora is flexing her matriarchal muscle to make certain the foul deed is accomplished..

In a stirring scene Lavinia and Tamora are for a moment in a role reversal. Lavinia pleads with Tamora for mercy much as Tamora did with Titus at the beginning of the play. But this is not a story about mercy. Tamora replies coldly, “Hadst thou in person ne’er offended me, / Even for his sake am I pitiless. / Remember, boys, I pour’d forth tears in vain, / To save your brother from the sacrifice; / But fierce Andronicus would not relent; / Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, / The worse to her, the better loved of me” (Act 2, Scene 3). At this moment Tamora holds all the power in the story¾power over Lavinia, her sons, Aaron, and even Titus. Tamora is at the peak of her power; she uses all of her weapons: matriarchal, political, sexual, and manipulatory; immediately (to Bassianus and Tamora) and by ramification (to Titus) to achieve her end.

Lavinia is defiled in the worst possible ways. She is a victim of sexual and procreative warfare. In a chilling juxtaposition to the way Titus and the Romans invaded and conquered the barbarian Goths; now the barbarian Goths have conquered invaded the virginal womb of Rome. They have pillaged an iconic symbol of Rome and inserted a portion of their barbaric selves inside the vessel of the empire¾her womb. They (under Tamora’s direction) have repaid Titus in kind. She has been sacrificed, subjected, and invaded/colonized. Tamora has allegorically leveled from her perspective, the balance of power with the Roman empire, of whom Lavinia is representative. She has, with her armies (her sons and Aaron) defeated Rome (Lavinia), fettered her, and colonized her with the blood (semen) of her race.

 Lavinia’s dismemberment and the cutting out of her tongue are literally effective in the minds of Tamora’s sons, as they believe she will now be without the ability to identify her assailants; however, on a symbolic level it is even more profound. The loss of her tongue and hands eliminate not only her ability to communicate, but also steals her personality and changes her identity. She has not only been devalued by the rape, she has been rendered impotent by the mutilation. This is retaliation for Titus’ ignoring of Tamora’s pleadings to spare her son. From Tamora’s greatest weakness she became strong. It is now Lavinia’s turn.

Lavinia is a pitiful creature. She has lost everything. Gone is her beautiful form, her identity, her virtue, and her value; she sobs and is at the peak of human weakness. Titus speaks to her, “Thou map of woe, that thou dost talk in signs! / When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, / Thou canst not strike it to make it still. / Wound it with sighing girl, kill it with groans;” (Act 3, Scene 2). But just as she is at the darkest moment; in the abyss of despair and weakness, she too becomes strong. Her misery and pain fuels Titus to action. Her attempts at communication, her signs, show her adaptability and strength. When her father is on the brink of madness, Lavinia is starting to cope and finds a way to communicate. Lavinia, in defiance of all the things that have happened to her, refuses to give in. With a vast reservoir of intestinal fortitude she uses the very stumps and mouth that have been so mutilated and rendered useless, to write with a staff on the ground, “ O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? / ‘Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.’” (Act 4, Scene 2). Invaded, devalued, and stripped of self, Lavinia once again becomes powerful. She has risen above her trauma and identified her assailants. Only she could have done this. In her greatest weakness, she has become strong.

Tamora continues to wield her powers of manipulation with her sons against Titus; however, Titus has a plan of his own. He captures Demetrius and Chiron and brings them to face Lavinia. Titus says, “ Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound… / This goodly summer with your winter mix’d / You killed her husband, and for that vile fault / two of her brothers were condemn’d to death  / …Both her sweet hands, her tongue, her spotless chastity,” ( Act 5, Scene 3). As Titus cuts their throats, Lavinia holds the basin that catches their blood. Where once they took her value by invading her body with their blood (semen), she now holds with her handless stumps, their respective life-force and expels their profane invasion. What they once placed inside her, she has reclaimed and can destroy. Although Titus does the killing, it is Lavinia that is again the receptacle, but this time on her terms, not theirs. The basin becomes a mirror of her womb, and what was once forced inside it, now she controls. Lavinia holds the bowl with the very body parts that were taken and defiled: her mouth and her stumps. In doing this she rises above the physical destruction she endured and becomes once again the conqueror.

These actions again demonstrate the changing and juxtaposing power between Tamora and Lavinia in the play. Sara Eaton writes, “Tamora and Lavinia are similar ‘changing’ pieces,’ as are their actions; their images ‘oscillate.’ Tamora’s bloodthirsty words are countered by the image of Lavinia holding the bowl in her mouth under Chiron’s and Demetrius’ slit necks.” (Eaton 65). With this act Lavinia becomes victorious and regains her indomitable feminine power.

With the blood Lavinia received, Titus prepares for his final act of revenge. Lavinia plays a crucial part in this, “Receive the blood; and when that they are dead, / Let me go grind their bones to powder small / And with this hateful liquor temper it; / And in that paste let their vile heads be baked” (Act 5, Scene 3). Titus dresses as a cook, and Lavinia is veiled. The pies containing the remains of Demetrius and Chiron are served to Tamora. Titus asks Saturninus if a girl should live on after being defiled. When the answer comes as no, Titus exclaims, “A reason mighty, strong and effectual; / A pattern precedent, and lively warrant, / For me, most wretched to perform the like. / Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [Kills Lavinia] And with thy shame, thy father’s sorrow die!” (Act 5, Scene 3). Lavinia is released from this life, her stolen and transformed identity hidden from the eyes of a polluted world by the veil she wore as she traveled to the next.

Lavinia’s death can be viewed from a few viable perspectives: Titus may have killed her for the shame brought upon the family Andronici. The revenge and her death atoned for that defilement. By Roman custom the revenge washed away the family shame; however, she still needed to die because of the successful invasion of her body by barbarians. The act was erased, but the uncleanliness remained. Another perspective, is through defilement Lavinia had lost her value as a useful component within the family machine, and therefore within the parameters of Roman society. And finally, hers may have simply been a mercy killing. She had lost everything of value, she was virtually helpless on a physical level, and her place in society had been erased. Her death was her release, and Titus’ final sacrifice. In all cases she remained strong.

In the end, Tamora, Titus, and Saturninus are all killed. The banquet hall becomes a blood bath, but a bath of cleansing nonetheless. Marcus speaks to the remaining, “You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome, / By uproar, sever’d like a flight of fowl! / Scatter’d by winds and high tempestuous gusts, / O, let me teach you how to knit again / This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf / These broken limbs again into one body;” (Act 5, Scene 3). With the end a new beginning may arise.

The power of Shakespeare is often in his masterful use of metaphor, allegory, and symbolism. Lavinia and Tamora were both victims, avengers, and symbols. They both rose and fell in weakness and strength to become the forces behind Titus Andronicus. Lavinia became the symbol of Rome herself; she began as the symbol, and became the invaded and the conquered. Her body and her identity were stolen and colonized by the barbarian. Tamora was literal and symbolic for the barbarians; she began as conquered, and became invader and colonizer. She was the general behind the invasion of Lavinia, and in the end was tricked into ingesting her children.

In a mirror-like way, both Tamora and Lavinia drove the play. The seed of Tamora was sacrificed and rendered into nothing, so she used the manifestation of her body (her sons) to replant that seed within Lavinia (Rome). Lavinia forcibly received that seed, or the blood of Tamora the barbarian, via her sons. The grinding of Demetrius’ and Chiron’s bones stole their identity in much the way they stole Lavinia’s. Their blood and flesh mixed together, baked into the pie, and then eaten by Tamora sends her invasion back inside of her and thereby nullifies it.

Within the womb of woman life begins. Men may conquer and rule, but women create and inspire. Men may defile and kill, but women rise above and become the very symbols of life. Like a wound pouring with blood or a gore-covered battlefield, Titus Andronicus comes at us without mercy. It is this very lack of mercy that shapes the women in the play and forces them to adapt and continually grow stronger. They are the ghosts within the machine.  In a merciless circle of gaining and waning power, Titus Andronicus is many things, but mainly it is a woman’s tale.

Bleeding on the Page

 

Just what is “Bleeding on the Page?” Does it mean one must slice their flesh and fill an inkwell (or ink cartridge) with one’s own life-force?

Does it require a writer to bleed themselves of everything else to create something beyond the ordinary?

Does it mean that the scribe needs drop great droplets of blood as she impales the words on the page, thus impaling them into the mind of the reader?

Well…no, and yes.

To create something that will endure the creator must suffer. It may be The Girl with the Pearl Earring by Johannes Vermeer.

It may be The David by Gian Bernini.

It may be the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo.

This suffering can also bring great pleasure in the creation; however, at some point the artist must suffer, must bleed. 

In the process of true writing one must rip something from inside and leave it on the page. This makes the words become something more than words; it makes them a part of the writer, and then, and only then, they have the potential to become part of the reader. This gives an ownership to the reader. The reader becomes a part of this process as they connect to the story through their own experiences and trials.

To accomplish this as they say in sports, one must “leave everything on the field.”

This is the only way to develop a connection with someone a thousand miles away that does not know you. You become connected through the collective experiences of life. The writer who is willing to give all, walks on his own intrinsic fault line, allows the earthquake to overflow upon the page, and if the writer also has craft, he will take those storms and place them inside his characters. 

Remember how you felt when you read (or watched) the death of Sirius Black in J.K. Rowling’s modern classic The Order of the Phoenix? 

Whom who has read Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights cannot feel the complicated torment of Heathcliff as we struggle to comprehend his fiery passion and eternal love as it conflicts with his equally powerful lust for revenge?

Or is it possible to not truly feel when we read of Quasimodo’s death and dedication as he lies reverently down next to Esmeralda’s cast away corpse, and then dies of starvation, embracing her body? And does this not move one to the core when many years later, their bodies are dug up and the skeletons which have become forever intertwined. When the poor hunch-back is pulled away his bones crumble into dust.

 When he wrote The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo bled.

There are many writers. No one knows what separates a good, even great writer from an awful one. Certainly there are some people that just cannot make the words do their bidding; this is okay. Everyone has something to offer in this world.

Nevertheless, since this is a writing blog it must remain true to the context of the subject that gave it life.

As writers we must bleed on every page. It matters not if our book becomes a best seller, an award-winning example of literary genius, or if it even reaches publication. If the writer can draw forth that extra something, that thing only he or she has, then the text will be a testament to its creator. That is how books reach the status of immortality. That is how words on a page become actual memories we carry with us and draw from, often unknowingly, all of our life.

As Ernest Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Writing is many things to many people. For a considerable portion of the population it is of little day-to-day importance beyond the ability and necessity of ascertaining the meaning of road signs and price tags. However, for many writing is manifest in all its glory and purpose when that magical moment occurs within the pages of a book they are transported to another place.

This does not happen often, or at least not often enough. The sacred refuge of prose that rings true intrinsically with a reader is rare indeed. But when it happens, it can change lives. It can open eyes that were previously closed. It can give life to emotions that one never knew existed. It can create events, if the scribbler is good enough, if she has The Gift, that become memories—memories that are as if they actually happened. This is a magical thing.

This is why some write; to reach that rare moment when the words on the page transcend the work itself and transcend their creator.

Everyone that has written, truly written with passion seeks this fragile thing; it is like a whisper, as if it is spoken out loud it may disappear. There are many who will think this is overly romantic or even trivial. That is okay. Everyone walks a different road during our mortal exile. Nevertheless, it is the same with all those who attempt to create art in any of its wondrous forms. 

For those seekers and dreamers this blog has been created. I will share my humble thoughts on this craft, and welcome the comments of all. For I believe that everyone who writes is special. No one can do what you do. No one can tell your story better than you. Tell that story. All who earnestly put words on a page have something to offer.

As the great teacher of writers’ Brenda Ueland once wrote, “Everybody is original, if he tells the truth, if he speaks from himself. But it must be from his true self and not from the self he thinks he should be.” “So remember these two things: you are talented and you are original. Be sure of that.”

With those words of wisdom I will close this installment. My next post will be a branch of this tree, and in my mind the most important one. In fact, it is the root of the tree. It is to write truly. This is a hard concept for many to grasp.

At university I often had a difficult time explaining it, even to some professors. However, Ernest Hemingway knew it. Emily Bronte was born with it coursing through her veins, as it was with her sisters. Virginia Woolf brought The Truth to us in a way we had never before seen as did Sylvia Plath, and many more.

But alas, that is for next time; until then…write.

Please leave comments, begin a discussion, or release whatever is in your mind.