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To cite this article: Jessica Lugo (2007): Blood, barbarism, and belly laughs: Shakespeare's Titus
and Ovid's Philomela, English Studies, 88:4, 401-417
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00138380701443195
English Studies
Vol. 88, No. 4, August 2007, 401 417
Jessica Lugo
Elizabethan poets and playwrights had a remarkably open view of literary borrowing.
They reasoned that since ideas belonged to no one man, it was perfectly natural to
manipulate others narratives and incorporate them into new dramatic works. Sir
Philip Sidney noted in his Apologie for Poetrie that even historiographers . . . have
been glad to borrow both fashion and . . . weight of the poets; so Herodotus . . . and all
the rest that followed him, either stole or usurped, of poetry, their passionate
describing of passions, the many particularities of battles which no man could
affirm.1 In a similar view over two hundred years later, Samuel Taylor Coleridge
reflected that truth is a divine ventriloquist, and that an author should care not
from whose mouth the sounds are supposed to proceed.2 The usual subjects of these
Elizabethan revivals were classical Latin works. Shakespeare, despite the way Ben
Jonson praised his works as not of an age, but for all time,3 was also a man of his
era, subject to many of the same rules and trends as his contemporaries. When
adaptations of classical Greek and Roman drama such as Senecas Thyestes came into
vogue with works like Marlowes Hero and Leander (c. 1598) and Beaumonts
Salmacis and Hermaphroditus (c. 1602), Shakespeares immersion in the masters led
to an extreme play that reaches classical levels of grotesqueness. His Titus Andronicus
(c. 1594) takes parodic delight in its roots in Ovids version of the Philomela myth,
transforming it into stage drama that both delights and sickens its audiences.
Shakespeares Ovidian precursor delivers a tale of gore that develops the themes
of barbarism and silence. In Titus, Shakespeare roots out the essence of Ovids
characters, exposes their most primal motivations, and establishes a partnership with
the long-dead poet. As Frances Meres wrote in his 1598 piece, Palladis Tamia, Wits
Treasury: As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoreas, so the sweet,
witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey-tongued Shakespeare.4 As sweet
Jessica Lugo is a graduate of New Jersey City University, USA.
1
Sidney, 97.
2
Coleridge, 89.
3
Jonson, 166.
4
Frances Meres quoted in Bevington, A-1.
402
J. Lugo
and honey-tongued Shakespeare may have been, his choice of Philomela as a source
invites a dark lining to his craft. He packs an extra dimension to the original
characters, until his story of raping and murdering strangers resembles its inspiration
in sincerest homage. In answering the demand of Elizabethan audiences for plays
filled with buckets of blood and piles of corpses, Shakespeares tribute to Ovid
becomes a blackly humorous interpretation of an already dark work. The tour de force
is accomplished, and a story from Metamorphoses is itself metamorphosed into a
pointed stage narrative detailing the consequences of and hypocrisy in labelling
others as savage, the dangers of turning reason into silence, and the darkly funny
effect of using such grotesqueness in humour.
The Ovidian Barbarian
In a book of transformations, the story of Philomela can be seen as an oddly graphic
embrace of the grotesque. It lacks the incredibility of Icarus and the divine
intervention of Actaeon. Without a mystical, deus ex machina transformation to
contain its raw, seething emotion, it can be difficult to read the macabre story of the
triumphant Thracian barbarian Tereus who marries a maiden, rapes her sister, and
removes his victims tongue to keep her from exposing him. The alteration of shape
in this tale lies not in any magic spell, but in the spiritual. Though a transformation
caps the story, it is an extension of a mutation that overcomes the protagonists souls.
Ovids story is an invitation into voyeurism, welcoming an audience to watch the
transformation of a social order.
Tereus is not quite a traditional villain; rather, his barbaric behaviour seems to
stem primarily from a lack of basic comprehension of civilized boundary lines. He
lusts for Philomela upon first sight in what Leonard Barkan calls the forcible union
of things which ought to be kept separate: the girls filial piety, her sexuality, Tereus
role as a brother-in-law, his innata libido.5 By all accounts, Tereus should know that
his new brides sister is not a viable sexual option, yet this does nothing to arrest his
insatiable lust. When he meets Philomela, she embraces her father. Instead of basking
in this innocent affection between father and daughter, Tereus natural reaction is to
see the gesture as a tease, thinking of it as wood to feede his fire, and foode of
forcing nourishment to further his desire.6 He childishly imagines permission to
validate his perversion; early on, he describes his lust in the context of a marital gift,
as though his wife had willed that likewise.7 When the father Pandion naively
bestows Philomela to Tereus for a safe journey, Tereus misinterprets the gesture and
rushes to the conclusion that he literally owns the object of his carnal passion. For
him, the rape is acceptable because it occurs to a toy that he has been given and is
now one of his possessions. It is easy for the conquering savage to justify the act of
5
Barkan, 60.
Golding, trans., VI.612.
7
Ibid., VI.602.
6
403
Taylor, 68.
Barkan, 61.
10
Golding, VI.731 2.
11
Ibid., VI.733.
12
Barkan, 62.
13
Golding, VI.812.
14
Ibid., VI.829.
9
404
J. Lugo
Taylor, 71.
Barkan, 63.
17
Miola, 85.
18
Golding, VI.776.
16
405
true evil, which ultimately leads to bring about a tragic purging of Aristotelean
proportions. Yet, Shakespeare was a competitive author, excited by the challenge
presented by his desire to outdo graphic myth.
In the interest of creating a fair playing field, Shakespeare begins with barbarians,
presenting the same fertile ground as Ovid. Beside the obvious othering done to
explain a rash of reprehensible behaviour, use of the barbaric has a rich history that
reflects the Roman setting of both texts. Before the word barbarian was used to
describe a brutish villain, it was a mild pejorative designed specifically to aid the
degradation of other cultures members. At its root, it was initially coined to describe
one whose language was different from Latin, since foreign speech seemed to make
what Herodotus called a bar-bar-bar sound.19 By that definition, the Thracian king
Tereus would have been a barbarian by culture, only to prove himself a barbarian by
the present definition through his heinous actions. Shakespeares presentation is
hardly so delicate. His barbarians are the Goths, whose code of ethics is as infamous
as Titus filicidal tendencies are questionable, given that Titus is apt to murder his
children over minor disagreements. Marcus is the first to mention this stereotype as
he warns Titus that thou art a Roman, be not barbarous (I.i.378). Yet, who are the
true barbarians in this context? Titus has just ignored the pleas of a conquered queen
for the life of her son, and is soon to murder one of his own children in the name of
blind duty. From here, the horrors that befall his family could be avoided with the
tiniest morsel of compassion for a fallen enemy. Instead, his initial two remorseless
murders spark a revenge game that robs him of everything he has. After all, though
Roman Titus proves himself to be as callous and cruel as any barbarian, the Goths are
this plays designated villains, and their tyranny must be even more horrendous for
an audience to be able to take Titus for a hero. The heartless Tamora is almost
immediately inducted into Roman society as its new Empress, a Roman adopted
happily after Titus bloody welcome (I.i.464). It is down this avenue of violence that
Tamora is free to seek out her revenge in the vilest manners she can imagine, to
neer let my heart know merry cheer indeed / Till all the Andronici be made away
(II.iii.188 9). She holds this desire for cold revenge close to her heart, even as her
foreign birth leads her toward decidedly un-Roman habits, as in the case of her affair
with Aaron. Her marriage is a convenient sham, used as a tool for revenge, even as
she sates a darker lust in a darker form.
The addition of Aaron is a bold creative choice for Shakespeare, as he is the only
character without a hint of an Ovidian predecessor. Instead of acting in the upfront
manner of the typical barbarian, he does not directly take part in any other decidedly
Tereus-like actions. He is a catalyst set apart from primary action, who instigates
conflict without directly partaking in it. Despite the way he claims to curse the
day . . . wherein I did not . . . ravish a maid (V.i.125 9), he is never the rapist. Instead
of committing the act himself, he chooses to act as an advisor, telling Chiron and
Demetrius of a forest with many unfrequented plots . . . / Fitted by kind for rape and
19
Calderwood, 29.
406
J. Lugo
villainy (II.i.115 16). Aside from the nurse who witnessed his childs birth, he
directly spills no blood. He is accepted as the principal villain, the driving force
behind the violent evil that runs unchecked during the play. His main and seemingly
most unforgivable crime rests on the fatal combination of his paganism and Moorish
skin. Thou believest no god, falters Lucius (V.i.71), and his unquestioned
amazement implies a general acceptance that a black hide doubles as an expectation
for impending evil. David Bevington explains, Aaron and his son in their blackness
of complexion are equated with barbarism, pagan atheism . . . and diabolism . . . . [He
is] symbolic of the inner darkness and carnality shared by all sorts of people.20
Aarons instigatory brand of pure, unprovoked evil is never explained by a motive,
but neither is one requested of him. Instead, his rich speeches delighting in the art of
manipulation for its own sake run the risk of being a blatant and unapologetic plot
device. With the question of true barbarian identity established, the play needs a
Mephistopheles to urge it into true malevolence. Aaron acts outside the play, giving
an Ovidian shove toward carnage. He fills a gap, and adds an intelligent aspect to
personified evil that Tereus could never match.
In transforming a myth from textual representation to the stage, some content
needs to be edited to allow the audience to possess the full impact of a scenario. In
Ovid, Philomelas tongue is reduced to a pattering, quivering stump,21
suggesting the word for tongue (lingua) in two meanings, also encompassing the
word for language. Lynn Enterline succinctly explains the nuances of the wordplay,
maintaining that the vacillation between the literal and figural meanings of lingua
allows Philomelas mutilated tongue to tell another, related story about the uneasy
relationship between a body and what is usually taken to be its own language.22
The metaphor makes it impossible not to sympathize with Philomelas loss of
language as her tongue spasms on the ground, still straining to speak. This subtlety is
lost onstage, in that it cant be physically represented, so instead Titus repeatedly
references Lavinias absent tongue in gruesome detail. Marcus speaks of the crimson
river of warm blood, like to a bubbling fountain that continues to bleed out of his
nieces gaping, uncauterized wound (II.iv.22 3). Not to be outdone by the
description of Philomelas slithering, dismembered tongue,23 Titus later revives the
image of Lavinias oral loss, imploring her to let me kiss thy lips upon his first sight
of her (III.i.120). Her lips, which must at this point be covered with the dry, flaky
remains of her blood, are the essence of wronged youth; when Titus mentions kissing
them, he is embracing a perverse, yet fatherly instinct to mend her injury. It implies
a gruesome action, grimaces John Russell Brown, even as he continues to say: their
physical encounter here gives a shocking impact to a fathers familiar impulse.24
Since Lavinia is no longer able to express her plight in words, the audience is left to
20
Bevington, 970.
Golding, VI.711.
22
Enterline, 7.
23
Golding, VI.711 15.
24
Brown, 23.
21
407
write its own soliloquy for her. In narrative, Philomelas tears and frustrations are
beautiful poetry, but onstage Shakespeare heightens the ghastly imagery and forces
the audience to wallow in the gore, as in the conclusion to Act III, scene ii, featuring
the cringeworthy visual of the maimed Lavinia carrying her fathers severed hand in
her teeth. Miola adds that instead of beginning the Roman Empire, as later books
of Metamorphoses do, the rape of Lavinia signals the end of whatever civilization
Rome possesses and the triumph of lawless savagery.25
Ovids retributions, too, are enhanced as they carry over to the stage. Far worse
than Philomel you usd my daughter, fumes Titus, and worse than Procne I will
be revengd (V.ii.194 5). In this and other passages, Titus doubles many of
Philomelas more memorable scenes, as Barkan reflects: Craftier than Tereus, worse
than Philomel, better than Philomel, worse than Procne: this is mythology viewed in
the competitive mode . . . . Not one rapist but two, not one murdered child but five,
not one or two mutilated organs but six, not a one-course meal but a two.26 Each
stage of revenge is piled atop each other, until the play culminates in a body count
that staggers even Elizabethan numbers. Within a mere twenty lines, four of the
remaining seven principal cast members are murdered in quick succession. Nobody is
spared from death by a convenient deus ex machina that transforms them into birds
and lets them fly from their fates. In Shakespeares world, wrongdoers must be
punished for their sinfulness. In his refusal to allow escape, he trumps Ovids finale
and adds a concrete ending to the unreality of his predecessor. In reality, people
cannot easily flee from the disaster they have wrought upon themselves. It is only
fitting for Shakespeares characters to be forced to linger in their pit of human
cruelty. The birds do return in Titus, but only in the form of extra suffering, as
Tamora is condemned to be thrown from the city walls, for beasts and birds
to prey (V.iii.198). The effect is a spiral of references, each leading deeper into
darkness.
A Silencing of Reason
To successfully implement such monstrous brutality, Shakespeare first needs to
eliminate the whispers of morality that would otherwise prevent his characters from
completely submitting to their inner darkness. It becomes essential to mute the
good ones, and this silencing becomes a major factor. Ovid faced the same
challengea natural theme in any plot that involves the literal removal of a principal
characters tongueyet the effect is considered in vastly differing ways in the two
versions. Where Ovid produced a tragedy of characters reacting based on primal
instinct alone, Shakespeare forces those in his adaptation to take responsibility. In
Titus, characters fully understand the possible consequences to their crimes and
25
26
Miola, 88.
Barkan, 244.
408
J. Lugo
simply choose to ignore them through silence, which makes the play more ghastly in
the process.
Titus characters go as far as to learn from their predecessors mistakes. When Ovid
writes of the maiden Philomelas rape, he provides no explanation for Tereus
motivation aside from a mad, barbarian lust that overtakes him upon first sight of
her. The attraction merely exists for the sake of existing, and the lack of given logic
makes Tereus seem simple and animalistic. Arthur Golding translates this
instantaneous hunger as a burning in his desire / As if a man should chaunce to
set a gulfe of corne on fire / Or burne a stacke of hay,27 which Shakespeare parodies
with his own clueless rapists. First thresh the corn, echoes Demetrius as the boys
are about to violate Lavinia, then after burn the straw (II.iii.123). Demetrius
unintentional Ovidian imitation reflects not only the image of a ravished body being
mutilated after abuse, but a base, carnal desire. Catharine R. Stimpson adds that
Shakespeare warns his audience about breakdowns in the boundaries on male
sexuality, showing rapists as vicious and out of control,28 but misses the key element
of control Shakespeare adds to the speech. In his lust, Ovids Tereus experiences a
chaunce occurrence; few farmers would find much merit in burning their own
hay. However, Demetrius mentions a deliberate act: first tend to the crop, then
destroy the remains. Tereus rapes because he knows no better; the Goth princes
rape is both premeditated and enjoyed every step of the way. If anything,
Shakespeares choice to create self-awareness in the rape sequence reveals direct
control over irrationality. Tereus is a slave to his infantile, dim-witted emotion, and
in that way can escape some of the blame for his actions, since perhaps he
understands no better. Demetrius and Chiron are quite vocal about their sadistic joy
in understanding the pain they cause their victim, and this outspokenness makes
Shakespeares treatment still more chilling. Jonathan Bate presents the wellfounded theory that Shakespeare is in fact less subtle than this. He argues that
though the two Goths are often characterized as witless Tereuses with no common
sense, they are able to use Ovid as a guide. Not only are they more aware of their
actions, but they also use their Ovidian studies as a guidebook to perfect their own
art. Bate expands:
What Chiron and Demetrius have learnt from their reading of the classics at school
is not integer vitae [The secret to being upright in (ones) way of life, a
philosophy from Horace (Odes, I.xxii.1)], but some handy information about how
a rape victim was able to reveal the identity of her attacker. . . . What is the point of
a humanist education if, instead of instilling in you integer vitae, it makes you
into a craftier Tereus? The word that is etched upon the memory . . . is not
integer but Stuprum, not integrity but rape. It is one of Shakespeares darkest
thoughts.29
27
Golding, VI.582 4.
Stimpson, 62.
29
Bate, 107 8.
28
409
With this reading, Chiron and Demetrius use Ovids poem as a stepping stone.
Though they could not imagine a rape on their own, they are able to use their
schooling to help them perfect the act. They have learned no morals from their
schooling; instead, they have found the Philomela story as a blueprint on how to not
be caught. The knowledge of Tereus downfall is what leads them to cut off Lavinias
hands, further proving that the brothers were fully aware and responsible for their
actions.
After affixing more blame upon his rapists, Shakespeare can no longer expect his
audience to believe that such purposeful plotting could be reserved for a random act
of violence. Philomela does nothing to deserve her mutilation, and Shakespeare takes
care to remedy this quickly in his adaptation by giving her a character that tempts
fate and defies the boundaries of reasonable defiance. Lavinia, Titus Philomela, is
more than a silent object in beautie . . . rich.30 Before her voice is stilled, she is a
fiery, perhaps even nasty girl quick to point out the flaws of others. Tis thought you
have a goodly gift at horning, she smugly quips to Tamora as she and Bassianus
stumble upon the Goth Queens affair with Aaron (II.iii.67). Though her place as a
protagonist makes one wish to paint her as a heroine, the acidic way Lavinia speaks
tells another story. She has no concept of decorum in her speech, and remains unable
to keep from flaunting her sharp tongue until Chiron vows to stop [her] mouth
(II.iii.185). Where the removal of Philomelas tongue serves a purely utilitarian
purpose to keep her from naming her assailant, Lavinias potential cleverness is a
threat which simply must be silenced. The removal of her tongue accomplishes much
more for Shakespeare than merely raping old texts to match a new vogue. Hers is the
voice that points out Tamoras flaws and infidelities, and for that transgression
Tamora requests that her sons murder Lavinia. They stop short of that, however,
choosing to transform her into one who can only wound . . . with sighing (III.ii.15)
because, as Emily Detmer-Goebel stresses, although she does not say no, Lavinia
depends on her voice to plead against the rape: yet Shakespeare makes Lavinia a poor
pleader.31 She implores the dehumanized Goths to not learn [Tamoras] wrath
and to be to me . . . something pitiful (II.iii.143, 155 6), but they are far too lost in
the lust for cruelty to remember pity. Here, she is finally interested in defending
herself from rape, begging that her captors hear me but a word (II.iii.138), but she
goes voiceless in metaphor before she is physically muted, and her verse, while quite
lovely and ladylike, is rendered ineffectual. The consensus of criticism agrees that
Lavinia gives the wrong argument to the wrong audience.32 Even when she finds
her voice, her audience will not hear her speak (II.iii.137), and she is robbed of
agency before her tongue can be literally silenced. In practical terms, says Jane
Hiles, speaking without being heard is tantamount to being unable to speak.33
30
Golding, VI.579.
Detmer-Goebel, 80.
32
Clark Hulse quoted in Detmer-Goebel, 81.
33
Hiles, 73.
31
410
J. Lugo
Where Philomelas rape continues to be the driving force behind Ovids plot,
Shakespeare continues to carry the thematic silence by squashing further mention of
it until later in his play. Once Lavinia has been defiled, the word rape loses
meaning to those around her. After Marcus discovers her, he volunteers the
suggestion that some Tereus hath deflowered thee (II.iv.26), and Lavinia turnst
away [her] face for shame (II.iv.28). However, as Detmer-Goebel argues, in
demurely hiding her shame, Lavinia misses the chance to confirm her rape.34 It is
the first and last time rape is considered; even though, as Gail Kern Paster reflects,
the blood flowing from Lavinias mutilated mouth stands for the vaginal wound
that cannot be staged or represented.35 Instead, Marcus never again suggests rape as
a precursor to her ravishing, even to her father. Ovids Procne is told that Philomela
had died to keep anyone from uncovering her rape. Lavinia is not as fortunate; she
remains a visible presence to aid Shakespeares gruesome unpleasantness, and her
rape is instead simply forgotten until she herself draws an Ovidian parallel by flailing
at the pages of Ovid to express herself. She needs Ovid to speak for her, and Marcus
to point out that she is still capable of a form of writing. Through the loss of speech,
Lavinia becomes incapable of even basic human communication, and, for the short
while until others prod her back into motion, the Goth brothers plan to improve
Tereus tactic is a success.
Lavinias is not the only tongue removed. In the spirit of expanding on Ovids
primary themes, Shakespeare has added innocent victims in droves. He magnifies the
vision of Tereus and Procnes son begging for his life, holding up his handes, and
crying mother, mother.36 The young son Itys is kept from comprehending the
circumstances upon which he dies, and his sacrifice is a pitiable event. In
Shakespeares version, the senseless deaths begin before the first act, as Titus first
twenty-one sons are made casualties of a war with the Goths that seems senseless the
moment their former queen Tamora is crowned Roman Empress. Since they died in
honors lofty bed (III.i.11), nobody questions that their sacrifices were noble. Yet,
when Tamora begs for Alarbus life, questioning why her sons must be slaughtered
in the streets / For valiant doings in their countrys cause (I.i.112 13), her logic is
ignored. Alarbus is condemned by an archaic ritual that creates examples from
defeated warriors; he is martyred simply for having been born in the wrong
country. But it would be useless to speculate on which early death means more: none
had to die at all. Mutius death is equally senseless. He battles his father to the death
for his sisters happiness, yet his murder does not resolve the resolution of Saturninus
and Bassianus feud. The parties involved solve their problems independently of his
corpse, leaving the innocent Mutius to mutely decompose among a pile of his
brothers nameless bodies. Though his death is slightly more meaningful, Bassianus is
killed cheaply, seemingly for the express purpose of raising the body count. His death
34
Detmer-Goebel, 83.
Quoted in Little, 30.
36
Golding, VI.810.
35
411
Little, 28.
Hiles, 62.
412
J. Lugo
Taylor, 75.
Detmer-Goebel, 76.
41
Ibid., 78.
42
Stimpson, 58.
43
Taylor, 75.
40
413
Ibid., 76.
Hiles, 63.
46
Ibid., 64.
45
414
J. Lugo
Cutts, 64.
Truax, 11.
49
Golding, VI.717.
50
Pikli, 52.
48
415
severed hand in her teeth. This is a phenomenon so common that Harold Bloom
notes two separate Titus performances wherein audiences never quite knew when to
be horrified and when to laugh, rather uneasily.51 We can laugh because, as Dieter
Mehl stresses, Shakespeare distances us from the horrifying events by rhetorical
virtuosity and self-conscious artifice, to remove them from any idea of immediate
personal experience.52 By making his situations more grotesque than Ovids simple,
straightforward style, Shakespeare begins to alienate his audience from his characters
pathos. This is all intentionally designed with a different metamorphosis in mind.
The transformation of the audience begins with the lesser Tereus, combined in the
caricatures of paltry Chiron and Demetrius. They are bumbling at best, and imbecilic
at worst, wholly incapable of effective wrongdoing without outside provocation. They
revel in the act of goading the helpless Lavinia to go home, call for sweet water,
[and] wash thy hands, even though she hath no tongue to call, no hands to wash
(II.iv.6 7). Their mocking is cruel, but bears irony traditionally associated with
comedy. Pikli goes on to address this more fully:
These petty villains use (and release) a petty form of dark laughter. Joking at their
victims expense, they transgress a strongly held taboo. What is disturbing about
their jokes is that at times we are apt to laugh with them, and share in this brutal
taunting; the id, as Freud observed, has no inhibitions and tends to enjoy the
liberation of repressed desires in the villains black wit. . . . The disturbing aspect of
their jokes is that we do not dare to laugh since then we would sink to their level,
and become joking rapists and murderers.53
Bloom, 77.
Mehl, 16.
53
Pikli, 54.
54
Bloom, 79.
52
416
J. Lugo
Bate, 105.
Bloom, 83.
57
Taylor, 74.
56
417
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University Press, 2000.
Golding, Arthur, trans. Ovids Metamorphoses, by Ovid. Edited by John Frederick Nims. New York:
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Hiles, Jane. A Margin for Error: Rhetorical Context in Titus Andronicus. Style 21, no. 1 (Spring
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