An eye for an eye—er, two flesh pot pies for three hands, two heads, and a tongue for a human sacrifice—makes the whole word … mostly maimed or dead …

Adam Brock Ciresi’s mural in Portland, Oregon

How’s this for a coincidence? The other weekend, I visited some friends out of town (after finishing reading Titus Andronicus, of course), and we had a lovely brunch at a café within walking distance of their house. As we approached the building, I couldn’t help but notice a large mural painted on the backside: a dismembered man, just barely held together by strings, held out his handless arm towards a bird, which happened to be carrying the missing hand in its beak. How apt for my recent reading! I thought, and how poorly this bodes for our brunch …

None of us wanted to read Titus Andronicus. Hannah, who selected it for us this time, garnered our support by reminding us that we wouldn’t want to end our whole project on this gruesome note. As it turned out, I didn’t hate it, though I suspect I would feel differently at a performance of it. Even the single bloody head at the production of Cymbeline that Hannah and I saw a few months ago made me a little queasy, and Titus is on a whole new level.

Our group discussed how this play might be done as a gruesome comedy, like Shaun of the Dead, if not for the scene of Lavinia’s rape. The same idea had been faintly rattling in the back of my mind, but when my fellow readers pointed out this exception, something didn’t seem right to me. I’m not a fan of rape, but why would we be willing to excuse instances of murder—horrible, gory murder, at that—more than an instance of sexual assault? Both are awful and should make us cringe. But we don’t always. We laughed a little bit at Titus asking his handless daughter to carry his own orphaned hand between her arms. We imagined what Titus might be wearing—a “Kiss the Cook” apron?—when he serves a woman her sons’ flesh. We can distance ourselves from these crimes. It’s not so strange in our society to make light of torture, pain, and death; we make movies that make a game of such things and paint murals with disembodied appendages. I don’t want to get into any modern social commentary here, but how can this give us some insight Titus‘s world?

A similar desensitization is going on in Roman/Gothic culture in this play. I noticed this because I realized that I didn’t particularly like anyone in it, when I usually find at least a couple of characters in Shakespeare’s tragedies for whom to feel sorry. Hamlet: Polonius and Ophelia. Romeo and Juliet: Friar Lawrence and maybe someone’s mother. Macbeth: Macduff and his little boy. Etc. Titus Andronicus, however, presented me with a cast of characters who could not convince me of their total innocence in the course of the play. Even if they commit no overt offenses, wield no weapons, and whisper no intrigues, all are willing and active participants in a culture that encourages and even expects violence and retribution.

The whole course of violence traces back to the sacrifice of Tamora’s son Alarbus by Titus’s sons. (We could go back even further since the sacrifice is a reaction to Roman and Andronici lives lost fighting against the Goths.) Lucius claims that this sacrifice is necessary to put the spirits of Titus’s dead sons to rest, so that “the shadows [spirits] be not unappeased,/Nor we disturbed with prodigies [evil happenings] on earth” (I.i.100-101). As I’ve often found in Shakespearean tragedies, the very thing that the characters are trying to avoid at the beginning becomes the main action of the rest.

Let’s look at some reactions to violence.

A poster for a 2003 production by Le Theâtre Chaillot, by Michal Batory

Titus: “Patient yourself, madam [Tamora] … / … /your son is marked, and die he must” (I.i.121, 125). Human beings are little more than parts in the larger system of society to Titus, and some exist only to be used up.

Lucius: “[I’ll return Lavinia] dead, if you will, but not to be [Saturninus’s] wife” (I.i.293). Lucius and Titus’s other sons think of factional loyalty and marriage customs as more important than preserving life.

Lavinia: “Jove shield your [Tamora’s] husband [Saturninus] from his hounds today—/’Tis pity they should take him for a stag” (II.iii.70-71). This is mostly a shot at Tamora’s infidelity, but I’m also a bit disturbed by so casual a mention, perhaps even a wish, of a man being hunted like an animal.

Demetrius: “She [Lavinia] hath no tongue to call nor hands to wash” (II.iv.7). It’s always heartening to see someone rape and mutilate another person and then mock her for it.

Young Lucius: In response to Titus’s request that he deliver a message to Chiron and Demetrius, “Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire” (IV.i.117). How old is this boy? I was first picturing around eight years, but I certainly hope indoctrination into dagger-play and where to sever arteries waits a few years.

Nurse: “The Empress … / … bids thee christen [the baby] with thy dagger’s point” (IV.ii.69-70). Even a woman in the business of caring for children has no problem delivering a newborn to a very unnatural welcoming rite.

This is a sampling, of course, made up of the speeches that impressed me the most.

What’s wrong with these people? Today, many of our stories about such actions at least involve a perpetrator clearly disturbed, unwell, or evil. In Titus, however, it is not only the bloodthirsty Aaron who considers violence a normal, desirable part of daily life. Everyone, from seasoned generals to kindly nursemaids to young children, wants to participate in blood-feuds and fight for honor unto death. When a Roman lord cries out near the end of the play,

Let Rome herself be bane unto herself,
And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
Do shameful execution unto herself
(V.iii.72-75)

it seems as though there may be a glimmer of hope. Rome is coming to its senses! No more blatant disregard for life! No more dehumanization! No more violence!

This, of course, is not so. Lucius insists on continuing the pattern of retribution as he gives his judgment for Aaron’s prolonged execution and commands Tamora’s body thrown out as carrion. These punishments are justly deserved, but all of the preceding acts of vengeance have a logical justification, too, tracing back through a line of dominoes to Alarbus’s death and a war of domination. I therefore see no hope as the curtain closes on Titus Andronicus. Shakespeare may have known the biblical observation, “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword” (paraphrased from Matthew 26:52), and no one here seems willing to put away his or her weapon anytime soon.

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