The Classical Tradition

In the modern day, we tend to view acts of revenge in a negative light. The “revenger” is an anti-hero, an individual who does the “wrong things” for the right reasons and whose actions we deem deplorable yet intriguing. In his Protagoras, however, the classical author Plato articulates the role of revenge as one that “aims at preventing that particular person… from doing wrong again.” (Plato 324). For Plato, revenge is a discipline requiring an understanding of virtue and foremost attempts to prevent future wrongs rather than to simply avenge past injustices. In his Rhetoric, Aristotle similarly views revenge as a vehicle by which private wrongs can be righted: “[it is] a self-engaged and retrospective action taken…against an equal who has injured one’s honor.” (Burnett 1). Fundamentally concerned with identity and selfhood, justification for revenge hinges on a need to “restore the broken outline of self suffered in an unprovoked attack from a member of one’s own class or group.” (2).

The Senecan tragedies show the adoption of this philosophical outline, which underscores the definition of revenge through the violation of its requisites. Perhaps best observed in Thyestes, Atreus’ justification for revenge seemingly rejects established Aristotelian underpinnings in its sheer immorality. Though his dishonoring warrants vengeance, Atreus’ method of punishment is neither equal to the injustice sustained nor virtuous in its ultimate purpose. The greatest deviation is a violation of proportionality: Atreus’ chosen method of revenge—that is, tricking Thyestes into eating his own sons—exceeds Thyestes’ initial offense. Atreus, who suffered little realized physical harm or personal loss in Thyestes’ seduction of his wife or attempt to take the throne of Mycenae, nevertheless destroys Thyestes’ innocent sons in his revenge. His plot also directly contradicts a need for virtuous punishment outlined in Protagoras: “And being so minded he must have in mind that virtue comes by training: for you observe that he punishes to deter.” (Plato 324). As Thyestes himself remarks, “His power is as great as his hatred.” (Seneca 194). Through Thyestes, Seneca defines legitimate revenge by exhibiting its antithesis. Rather than redefining what counts as revenge, he employs Atreus as a negative example that reinforces the Aristotelian framework through its opposite. In essence, Seneca wholly oversteps what would be a reasonable revenge in his narrative to emphasize the Classical assertion that revenge should be virtuous.

The popularity of English revenge tragedies demonstrates a renewed interest in Greek and Roman literature in Early Modern England. Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, published in 1592, became one of the most influential and circulated of these revenge tragedies, riffing off and subverting established Classical guidelines, and setting a precedent for works to come. Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, published just two years later, similarly characterizes revenge through the consideration of contextual factors within its plot and characterizations. Throughout this paper, I will argue that The Spanish Tragedy and Titus Andronicus complicate Classical notions of revenge through the interconnection of personal grievances and Early Modern socio-political hierarchies.

Early Modern Adaptations

Before we begin an analysis of The Spanish Tragedy and Titus Andronicus, it is first necessary to survey the emergence of revenge tragedies in Early Modern England. 

In the mid-16th century, English translations of classical tragedies effectively served as a contemporary speculum principis by highlighting plots that spoke to Early Modern socio-historical contexts. (Woodbridge 115). The rise of House Tudor and the establishment of the Anglican Church under King Henry VIII ushered in a period of renewed interest in the arts and literature. Far from stable, the period was defined by intense religious rivalry in England; its rulers, the Catholic Mary I and the Anglican Elizabeth I “hailed from opposite sides in the Reformation’s great battle.” (121). Thus, the consolidation of state and opposing religious movements under the two queens alongside greater accessibility to written literature influenced the translation of Classical texts in response to the resulting contextual concerns. 

Through such translations, classically neutral names are made political and used to political ends; to appeal to the Crown and caution against political systems deemed problematic by the author. Jasper Heywood, a Catholic priest, spoke directly on concerns regarding the reinstatement of Protestantism in his translations of Senecan revenge tragedies. In Thyestes, for example, he used the Latin term tyrannus, which had taken on a meaning synonymous with “despot” by the Early Modern period, to draw clear parallels between Atreus and unfit, absolute rulers. Heywood’s version of Atreus is innately political, and invokes the rhetoric of Machiavelli’s The Prince, a text that outlines the features of a tyrant by speaking in the language of tyranny: “That still the people are constraynde theyr princes deedes as well / To praise, as them to suffer all.” (Heywood 1141-1143). This sentiment, that people must remain loyal to their rulers regardless of their desires, reflects the rhetoric of both Early Modern queens, who enforced religious conversion at the threat of execution, torture, or exile.

Furthermore, such translations reframe Seneca’s antithetical approach as an evolution of revenge rather than its inverse. This is evident in Heywood’s addition of a fourth scene to the final act of Thyestes, which identifies justice as a key variable in the changing meaning of revenge. In this addition, Thyestes “invok[es] on [Atreus] all the torments of Hell”: “[Y]e scape not fro me so ye Godds, still after you I goe / And vengeance aske on wicked wight, your thunder bolte to throe.” (Heywood 5. 2809-2812). In indicating the absence of justice as a key motivation for his pledge and calling upon the gods to enact revenge in his stead, Heywood’s Thyestes redefines revenge as an act taken by one who opposes tyranny; Thyestes has no power except to threaten Atreus, for the institution has proven it is incapable of administering justice. Through this interconnection, Thyestes’ grievance against Atreus is framed by lack of political power and thus characterized through the pledging of revenge, transforming its meaning to something akin to retaliation. Moreover, his inability to execute justice arises from Heywood’s concerns regarding English citizens’ inaccessibility to religious self-determination.

Heywood and others’ translations helped to promote revenge tragedies in Early Modern England, enabling later playwrights like Thomas Kyd and William Shakespeare to expand on the form and inject contextual features into their own, original revenge tragedies: “[I]t was English Seneca who was the midwife assisting at the birth of English drama.” (Broude 133).

Indeed, the soil of Elizabethan England was fertile ground in which this influence could take root:
In many respects the temper of Elizabethan England stood closer to Nero’s Rome than Pericles’ Athens, and Neronian Seneca provided a more appropriate stimulus for the dramatic aspirations of the Elizabethans than ‘the singer of sweet Colonus and its child’ (Broude 130).

The Spanish Tragedy and Socio-Politics

Social nuance is missing from the Senecan tragedies and Aristotelian guidelines in that they do not consider how class and culture might affect one’s descent as a revenger, or the specific revenge they take. The plot of Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, for instance, principally revolves around plays of power and class inequality—reflecting anxieties surrounding the end of Elizabeth I’s reign.

The play opens with the ghost of the Spanish knight Andrea, who complicates the Classical revenge model by conflating the impersonal realities of war with his personal desire to live on. Killed on the battlefield by the opposing Prince Balthazar of Portugal, Andrea views his death as an “injustice” that requires vengeance. From the outset, The Spanish Tragedy considers a factor that Classical frameworks do not: the effect of political systems on notions of revenge. Andrea’s political situation is simply different from that of Thyestes. He is a knight loyal to Spain, fighting against adversaries that hold similar goals and kill for similar ends. Thus, the fight between Andrea and Balthazar is neither private nor personal, as in Thyestes, but a public and impersonal act endorsed by the political state. In framing Andrea’s desire for revenge through a scenario that would not necessitate retribution in the Classical context, Kyd at once conflates station with grievance and so broadens the application of revenge. This expansion of the Classical model is no outright rejection of it, however, because Andrea’s revenge is still proportional to his perceived grievance. As Balthazar’s political positioning improves, and he becomes a potential partner to Andrea’s love, Bel-Imperia, so too does Andrea’s desire for revenge: 

Come we for this from depth of underground, 

To see him feast that gave me my death’s wound? 

These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul… (Kyd 1.5.1-3).

Prince Balthazar himself participates in revenge that fails to adhere to Aristotelian

Prince Balthazar himself participates in revenge that fails to adhere to Aristotelian qualifications. His animosity toward Horatio, Bel-Imperia’s second lover and the son of Hieronimo the Knight Marshal, has more to do with political appetite and perceived dishonor than actual injustice. 

 Initially, the play introduces Balthazar as a prisoner of war with few freedoms. However, when Portugal and Spain strike a deal, Balthazar is afforded an opportunity to court Bel-Imperia, the niece of the Spanish King. As such, Balthazar’s need for revenge hinges on a desire to monopolize Bel-Imperia and eliminate romantic competition. So, when he learns that Bel-Imperia secretly courts Horatio, Balthazar’s desire for revenge becomes plain:

Both well, and ill: it makes me glad and sad:

Glad, that I know the hinderer of my love,

Sad, that I fear she hates me whom I love.

Glad, that I know on whom to be revenged.

(2.1.11-14).

Even when considering Horatio’s capture of Balthazar, little evidence justifies Balthazar’s desire for revenge here. Instead, Horatio’s murder is an act of passion committed not to right a past wrong, but to satisfy a political appetite and ensure future stability. In fact, according to Plato’s Protagoras, it is not a revenge at all—rather an act that “looks backward to strike at a past deed.” (Burnett 7). In this way, Balthazar’s passionate “revenge” contrasts starkly with the Classical version, for it is neither personal nor equal to any “injustice” put upon him.

Hieronimo, Executor of Justice

The political identity of Hieronimo, in conjunction with his own grievances, perhaps best illustrates the evolution of revenge evident in The Spanish Tragedy. Hieronimo serves as a Knight Marshal, a senior political officer charged with administering justice on behalf of the Spanish King. When Hieronimo learns that Prince Balthazar and Lorenzo, the King’s nephew, murdered his only son, Horatio, it is this political position that at once enables and limits his revenge. First, Hieronimo seeks revenge to begin with because he experiences the royal justice system as corrupt or null. Second, and ironically, Hieronimo must reckon with his own powerlessness, for he lacks the ability to indict Prince Balthazar and Lorenzo even though his political appointment demands he administer justice. In accordance with the Aristotelian definition of revenge, Hieronimo experiences a shattering of the self via “[T]he tragic dilemma of the officially appointed minister of justice who is forced by circumstances to take justice into his own hands.” (Lamb 38). He not only must bear the loss of his son but also confront his own social inadequacies.

As a political servant, Hieronimo must keep his feelings private; though he holds power, it is nothing compared to the King’s. The public nature of his role and proximity to the King requires him to plot his revenge carefully and meticulously, and justify the amount of time he takes to act. He states:
“No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoin

Thy heart to patience, and thy hands to rest,

Thy cap to courtesy, and thy knee to bow,

Till to revenge thou know, when, where and how.” (2.13).

Hieronimo realizes that, if he is to enact a perfect revenge on the elites of his society, he must carefully and meticulously consider variables like location, time, and method before acting. To make a mistake at this point in the play would be to risk failing to avenge his son and rebuilding his political identity. 

Hieronimo’s position as Knight Marshal leads to his choice to enact revenge on the Crown via a court performance as well. Limited by his bureaucratic position, Hieronimo employs a “play-within-a-play” strategy to both mimic the proceedings of the royal court and access his enemies, ensuring the smooth execution of his plans: “The plot is laid of dire revenge. / On then Hieronimo, pursue revenge…” (4.3.25-26.) In the final scene of The Spanish Tragedy, Hieronimo’s plan comes to fruition, casting Balthazar and Lorenzo as actors who are actually killed in the play. This method of enacting revenge fundamentally differs from pre-established guidelines in two major ways. First, Hieronimo’s revenge is public rather than private— Horatio was killed and left publicly exposed, and Hieronimo avenges him in the same way. Second, because Hieronimo’s audience believes his act is purely a theatrical performance, the revelation that Balthazar and Lorenzo’s deaths on stage are real is even more impactful. Hieronimo’s socio-political position enables him to defy audience’s expectations and successfully fulfill his revenge: the audience would not have believed a man of his stature capable of killing these men in front of them, so he is allowed access to them as actors in his play despite his grievances. The deadly performance directly references English theater as well, framing revenge within the historical context of the Early Modern period. So, unlike Seneca’s revenge tragedies, which focused on upholding or rejecting philosophical principles, Hieronimo and indeed The Spanish Tragedy views revenge through a uniquely Early Modern lens.

The Politics of Titus Andronicus

Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, published shortly after The Spanish Tragedy, similarly expands on the Classical definition of revenge in its consideration of political climate as a main feature of its plot. Several iterations of the Titus Andronicus tragedy over time suggest certain political concerns “related to specific political circumstances at the moment Titus appeared in print or on the stage” informed the creation of the play. (Helmers 347). Specifically, it draws parallels between the identity and class of Titus and translatio imperii, or the transition of power from one empire or society to the next, following a cycle of growth and ruin. Written during the rule of Queen Elizabeth I, Titus reflects concerns surrounding her succession within its narrative.

One example of this political consideration is Tamora, Queen of the Goths, who complicates Classical requisites through her station and political ascension from war prisoner to Queen of Rome. Firstly, unlike Andrea of The Spanish Tragedy, Tamora is a powerful political leader who understands the stakes of conflict at play and faces Titus as an equal on the battlefield. Her need for revenge does not stem from her encounter with Titus and subsequent military defeat. Instead, the impetus of Tamora’s revenge is the ritual sacrifice of her son after the battle, which conflates culturally mandated ritual sacrifice with hostile dishonoring. Titus and his sons carry out the sacrifice because it is a feature of Roman culture, yet Tamora takes their actions to heart, stating, “And make them know what ‘tis to let a queen / Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.” This moment highlights a contrast between the intentions of the Andronicii, who act impersonally, and Tamora, who reacts personally and on behalf of another—again recharacterizing “revenge” as “retaliation.” Furthermore. Tamora opposes the Aristotelian definition in Act 1, Scene 1 by pledging vengeance against her and her son’s superiors, the Andronicii, while imprisoned. Aristotle clearly states that revenge must be carried out “against an equal who has injured one’s honor” (Burnett 1), and while Tamora is an equal to Titus on the battlefield, her revenge is not on her own behalf, and her son is not of equal status to the Andronicii. 

 Monopolizing on the ascension of a new Roman emperor, Saturninus, Tamora injects herself into Roman politics as his bride and uses her new status to enact vengeance, which far exceeds the original offense. Her revenge is both gratuitously violent and malicious in nature, seeking to punish Titus and the Andronicii through the rape and disfigurement of his daughter Lavinia. She is brutal in her vengeance because she is allowed to do so: “Give me the poniard! You shall know, my boys / Your mother’s hand shall right your mother’s wrong.” (2.3.120-121). In considering how Tamora’s transformation from prisoner to Queen empowers her in her quest for vengeance, Shakespeare again expresses a wider definition of revenge.

Titus, Bound to Hierarchy

Among all the characters within the play, Titus Andronicus most completely illustrates the interconnectedness of personal grievance and socio-political hierarchies popularized during the Early Modern period. Titus is foremost described as an esteemed Roman general, known for his immense military contributions and loyalty to the emperor: 

Ten years are spent since first he undertook 

This cause of Rome…

And now at last, laden with honor’s spoils, 

Returns the good Andronicus to Rome… (1.1.31-32, 36-37).

Titus’ role is synonymous with his identity, so much so that he kills one of his own sons for protecting Lavinia against the King and Tamora, stating “Here none but soldiers and Rome’s servitors / Repose in fame, none basely slain in brawls.” (1.1. 359-360). In another instance, Titus begs Saturninus to allow his sons to prove their loyalty to him, even though they are innocent:

High Emperor; upon my feeble knee

I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed, 

That this fell fault of my accursed sons—

Accursed if the faults be proven in them— (2.3.289-292).

These moments sprinkled throughout the text serve to establish Titus Andronicus as a figure chiefly concerned with loyalty. He is honor-bound to Rome and its ruling institutions, even when they fail to serve him or his family. Saturninus and Tamora’s treachery crumble this foundational characterization, however, shattering Titus’ sense of self and spurring him into action. In this way, Titus stresses political identity as a key component to revenge plots that are not present in Classical revenge tragedies.

The ultimate realization of Titus’ revenge at the end of the play stresses the significance of political identity in vengeance. Titus’ identity as a fallen general as well as the multiple injustices he and his family experience at the hands of their rulers inform the tactic he uses to avenge his sons and Lavinia. Saturninus and Tamora take advantage of Titus’ loyalty by feigning an amicus relationship with him. In turn, Titus takes advantage of their assumption of amicability by staging a performance in which he can exact and equally horrific revenge. His performance, under the guise of a conciliatory Roman feast, provides Titus with the means to retaliate against Saturninus and Tamora. The feast setting allows him to trick Tamora into eating her own sons in a pie before killing her: 

And when 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. (5.3.202-205).

Again, the inability to administer justice for wrongs committed deeply affects the characters’ identities, pointing to the interconnection of personal grievances and revenge narratives. Titus, the prize general of the Roman emperor, experiences an unhinging so damaging that the only way to mitigate the situation is to take revenge in a way that is distinctly different from the Classical model.

Conclusion

Unlike the Classical tradition, whose characters are already “world-weary revengers” (Lamb 37), Hieronimo and Titus are malleable and have their stations either revoked or disabled by the end of each play. The connection between sociality (referring to social position and psyche) and behavior in The Spanish Tragedy and Titus Andronicus has a profound impact on the development of Hieronimo and Titus over the course of the plays. Because their positions are impermanent, they have more to lose and are more powerfully altered when they suffer dishonor. Furthermore, they “construct [their] identity in relation to others, as a father of sons and daughters, a servant of the king, a martial leader of [their] people, etc.,” (64), and the deconstruction of that identity is what results in the plays’ tragic ends. Titus and Hieronomo undergo a comparable “unhinging” by the end of their respective storylines and underscore a transformation from virtuous to mad, in contrast to those of the Classical model. 

In sum, the plays The Spanish Tragedy and Titus Andronicus demonstrate that socio-political position, as presented through an Early Modern institutional framework, is a principal factor in the unhinging of Hieronimo’s, Titus’, and other characters’ identities, complicating Classical blueprints for revenge. This complication represents a stage in the evolution of the idea of revenge that continues today, drawing on cultures and mores that continue to evolve.

Works Cited

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McMahon, Chris. “Family and Judiciary in The Spanish Tragedy.” Family and the State in Early Modern Revenge Drama : Economies of Vengeance, Taylor & Francis Group, 2011. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/vt/detail.action?docID=1092815.

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