Titus Andronicus – Footnotes
These Footnotes accompany our episode on William Shakespeare’s bloody tragedy, Titus Andronicus, and include notes on the original published texts of the play; the “wilderness of tigers” that is Rome; racism in the character of Aaron and his relationship with Tamora; and Lavinia’s awful fate.
Not listened to the episode yet? You’ll find it here.
The publication of the text
I’d like to start these Footnotes with a few points that I gleaned in my research about the authorship and original publication of the text of the play. Although there are some minor variations between scholars on the exact dates, the best guess is that Titus Andronicus was probably written in late 1593, and first performed in January 1594 at the Rose theatre. The theatres had been closed for much of the previous eighteen months because of the plague, and sadly they were shut down again in February 1594, Titus having had only a few performances. The first edition of the text of the play was published in a Quarto edition remarkably soon after the play was first performed. It may have been published so quickly because the theatre having been closed, the producers thought that they might earn some remuneration at least from selling the rights to publish it. The imperative for the theatre to find some income reminds me of the plight facing theatres in our own time, when they were closed because of our 21st century plague.
The modern Arden edition of the play suggests that the first Quarto was printed from Shakespeare’s manuscript, so that it was unusually close to the play as Shakespeare wrote it and as it was performed. First manuscripts are known by the wonderfully evocative term as “foul papers”, because they contain blottings and corrections, as well as inconsistencies in speech prefixes and short cuts in stage directions, for example.
It is a mark of the popularity of the play at the time that it was published singly in three Quarto editions within Shakespeare’s lifetime, before being included in the collection of the famous First Folio after his death in 1623. Inevitably all these versions differ in some ways – as the Arden edition says diplomatically, each edition “made some corrections and introduced some new errors”, so perhaps there is no definitive version.
Interestingly, the killing of the fly scene appears for the first time in the First Folio. It is not in any of the first three quartos. So, was it not part of the play as performed during Shakespeare’s lifetime? Perhaps he did not even write it.
As we touched on in the podcast, it is now generally accepted based on close textual analysis, that parts of the play we now have were written by George Peele, although Shakespearean critic Stanley Wells reminds us that “there is no documentary evidence that Peele ever collaborated with anyone.” The first published version of the text of the play gives us no clues about its authorship. As was common practice at the time, the title page of the first Quarto text advertises the playing companies who had performed the play, not who actually wrote it.
Wells also points out more generally in his book about Shakespeare’s contemporaries, Shakespeare & Co, that the Elizabethan London theatre world was a small one, where demand for new plays was constant, and producers and playwrights not only competed with each other, but also collaborated with, and even copied, each other. As we noted in the podcast, Shakespeare was specifically inspired in writing Titus Andronicus by the success of Thomas Kyd’s earlier play The Spanish Tragedy, even copying elements of its plot.
Whatever the inspirations or contingencies of its authorship, it is safe to define Titus Andronicus as Shakespeare’s first tragedy. It was followed in 1594 by Richard III, and Jonathan Bate says in his introduction to the Arden third-series text, that Titus Andronicus “emerges as the pivotal play in Shakespeare’s early career. With Titus he cut his teeth both structurally and rhetorically, in the writing of tragedy; he was then able to go back to English history, but with a new tragic intensity…It paves the way for his later achievements in tragedy.” This is a point that Max also made during our conversation: that in Titus we can see fore-shadowing of later plays, including particularly Hamlet and King Lear, where political succession, revenge and madness are all elaborated upon.
The title page of the 1st Quarto
Roman mosaic in the Capitoline museum
“Rome is but a wilderness of tigers.”
We talked in the podcast about how Titus misunderstands the nature of the Rome that he returns to after years of fighting abroad. He has an old-fashioned idea of the traditions of Rome that has been over-taken by a new type of leader in Saturninus, who cares little for the established rule of law or traditional loyalty to the ideals of Rome. Titus’s allegiance to the established institutions leads him to nominate Saturninus as the emperor based on his right of primogeniture. In fact, the same conservative loyalty to Rome leads him to kill his own son, because he has insulted the emperor and dishonoured the family in helping Lavinia escape.
Titus soon comes to recognise that Rome is no longer what it was, vividly describing it as “but a wilderness of tigers”, ruled by self-serving, violent leaders and their acolytes. Titus’s brother Marcus alludes to the traditional values of Rome, when he pleads with Titus to allow his son to be buried in the family tomb, saying, “Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous.” But everyone becomes barbarous, whether Roman or Goth.
The amorality of the time is perhaps most coldly represented in the figures of Chiron and Demetrius. The banality of their evil is deeply shocking, for example in the casual obscenity with which they treat Lavinia after they have raped and mutilated her. In exacting his revenge, Titus falls to the same level of brutality. Perhaps it could be argued that he played some part in initiating the violence that is unleashed when he rejected Tamora’s plea to spare her son. Again he was wedded to the traditions that demanded the sacrifice, but he failed to live up to an alternative model of enlightened leadership, which Tamora herself ironically enumerates when she begs for his mercy, arguing that her sons were only fighting for their country’s cause, as his sons did for Rome, and that like the Gods, he should be merciful – ““Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge”. Of course Tamora does not practice what she preaches, and there is precious little nobility left in Rome.
Miscegenation
Max and I talked in the podcast about the treatment of race in the play, centred on the characters of Tamora and Aaron the Moor. As we cited, not only is Aaron’s black skin associated with his evil, his relationship with Tamora and his mixed-race baby prompt racist attacks.
When Bassianus and Lavinia meet Aaron and Tamora together in the forest, they taunt her that her “foul desire” for “her raven-coloured love”, blackens her honour: it “doth make your honour of his body’s hue,/ Spotted, detested and abominable.” And when the Nurse presents the baby to Aaron, she describes it as “loathsome as a toad/Amongst the fair-faced breeders of our clime.”
For his part, Aaron defends his race, drawing a metaphor from the contrast between black and white, “Coal-black is better than any other hue” because it cannot be adulterated by another hue as white can. His fierce pride in his son is a defiant cry of strength and independence; a confidence in himself that he consistently displays throughout the play, being both bad and black. One might say that he owns it.
Lavinia’s Fate
Shakespeare pulls no punches in the fact of Lavinia being raped, except that it takes place off stage, but with the horrible detail that the rapists will use Bassianus’s body for her pillow! And then to be mutilated – her return to the stage after this is abjectly horrible.
The scene where she desperately points to the book of Ovid and the story of Philomel to try to communicate what happened to her is heartrending. It’s a small thing but the device is satisfying for its nod to Ovid and literature, as well as brilliantly dramatic and full of pathos.
There is a rare moment of tenderness for Lavinia when Titus, trying to decipher what she is saying, is joyous when he thinks he understands her, “I can interpret all her martyred signs”. And he vows that he will learn how to understand everything she wants to say:
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought./ In the dumb action will I be as perfect/ As begging hermits in their holy prayers./ Thou shall not sigh, not hold thy stumps to heaven,/ Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,/ But I of these will wrest an alphabet/ And by practice learn to know thy meaning.” 3.2.39
It is a rare moment of tenderness and love within the family, in the otherwise relentless assault of the violence in the wilderness of tigers.
The full title of the play is The Most Lamentable Roman Tragedy of Titus Andronicus. There is certainly a lot of lamenting that goes on, understandably. The play is full of the language of grief overflowing, the tears that Titus sheds for his daughter and when he begs the tribunes to spare his sons. Tears that he hopes will “staunch the earth’s dry appetite” for his “sons’ sweet blood”, but which fall on stones, the hard hearts of the tribunes. As Marcus laments, Titus’s “sorrows are past remedy”. In the end, revenge could never be enough to remedy the sorrows suffered.
113 – Arcadia by Tom Stoppard
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Tom Stoppard’s 1993 play, Arcadia, is viewed by many as his finest play, renowned for the breadth of its intellectual interrogations and its formal invention. The play is a structural masterpiece of ideas, as well as a teasing detective story, joyous comedy, and emotionally rich exploration of love and loss.
As we record this episode a wonderful new production of Arcadia is playing at the Duke of York’s theatre in London’s West End, following its acclaimed run at the Old Vic theatre earlier this year. I am delighted to share the challenge and the pleasure of exploring Stoppard’s dazzling drama with the director of the new production, Carrie Cracknell.
112 – Glengarry Glen Ross by David Mamet
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David Mamet’s modern American classic, Glengarry Glen Ross, is a blistering commentary on the cut-throat reality of the American dream, and its poisonous impact on those who have bought into the myth and machismo of that dream. The play had its world premiere in the small Cottesloe theatre at the National Theatre in London in September 1983, and was first performed in New York the following year, winning the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Mamet also wrote the extended screenplay for the star-studded 1992 film version.
As we recorded this episode a new production of the play was playing at the Old Vic theatre in London, with an all-female cast. This is a particularly provocative idea, because one of the primary themes of this play is masculine identity, and the salesmen in this Chicago office do not hold back in their display of machismo.
To explore Mamet’s unflinching slice of 1980s dog-eat-dog capitalism, I am joined by arts journalist Mark Lawson.
111 – The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui by Bertolt Brecht
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Bertolt Brecht’s ‘gangster spectacle’, The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, is both an exuberant and funny piece of theatre, and a chillingly topical political satire. Set in the 1930s Chicago of Al Capone, Brecht presents a parody of the rise of Hitler through the character of the gangster Arturo Ui. The play is a universal cry for vigilance against the rise of unscrupulous, populist leaders who threaten democratic societies and global peace.
As we recorded this episode a new production of the play by the Royal Shakespeare Company was playing in Stratford-upon-Avon, starring Mark Gatiss as the title character.
I am delighted to be joined by both the show’s translator, playwright Stephen Sharkey, and by Brecht scholar, Professor Tom Kuhn, to guide us through Brecht’s political parody.








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