Parody. "The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower...tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone": these two paragraphs depict the Citizen as if he were one of the ancient heroes of Celtic legend, perhaps the great Cú Chulainn himself. Gigantism reigns unchecked in the mythic comparison, in the Polyphemus-like size of the man, in his exceptional physical endowments, in his admirably Irish nature, in the stringing together of compound adjectives to characterize him, in the vast array of people seen carved on stones at his waist, and in the way this list of heroes swells beyond all bounds, threatening to swallow the entire world. It is, of course, all pure hokum.

The first of the "Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity" depicted on the stones, "Cuchulin," is surely one inspiration for Joyce's "broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero." Cú Chulainn, the semidivine warrior of the Ulster Cycle, is the archetypal ancient Irish hero. He was born Sétanta, but after being attacked by the smith Culain's fierce guard dog and killing it, he offered to take its place as a guard and became the Cú (Hound) of Chulainn (or Chulain, Chulin, Culain, or Culann.) Like Achilles in Greek mythology, he is an irresistibly strong warrior who becomes possessed by frenzy in battle, cutting bloody swaths through armies in his chariot and defeating opponent after opponent in single combat.

Slote, Mamigonian, and Turner note that "Irish mythological heroes are typically accompanied by dogs." They quote from Standish O'Grady's History of Ireland (1881): "The heroic age of Ireland is, in fact, the age of the Hounds; and surely no nobler and more touching type of the heroic temper could be selected than this magnanimous brute. [...] The hounds of the third century of our era, the age of the Fenian heroes, are dogs—the comrades of the warriors" (187).

Thus the Citizen is accompanied by a large dog—"that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen." The narrator says, "I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence," and the end of Cyclops shows Garryowen rushing to rid the Citizen of another enemy. But the parody also recalls the act that gave Cú Chulainn his name, when the hero disciplines his dog "from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone."

Like Polyphemus he is enormous, measuring "several ells" across the shoulders (the ell is an English linear measure of 45 inches, well more than a meter), with "rocklike mountainous knees," nostrils large enough for birds to nest in, and eyes the size of cauliflowers. "A powerful current of warm breath" streams from his cavernlike mouth, and his heartbeat is as seismic: "the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble." Here again there is an echo of Cú Chulainn.  Standish O'Grady writes that "like the sound of a mighty drum his heart beats" (232).

Slote and his collaborators also cite inspirations in P. W. Joyce's Social History of Ancient Ireland (1913) for details of the hero's clothing. One item of ancient Irish garb was "A large cloak, generally without sleeves, varying in length, but commonly covering the whole person from the shoulders down.... sometimes it was a formless mantle down to the knees; but more often it was a loose though shaped cloak reaching to the ankles" (2.193-94). The hero of the parody has a "long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reaching to the knees."

These cloaks were made from cloth, not leather, but Joyce augments the air of primitive savagery by draping his hero in "recently flayed oxhide," and augments the impression by giving him "brogues of salted cowhide laced with the windpipe of the same beast." He wears also "a loose kilt," which P. W. Joyce notes "must have been very much worn both by ecclesiastics and laymen" (2.203), and "trews of deerskin," also mentioned in the history: "Leggings of cloth, or of thin soft leather, were worn, probably as an accompaniment to the kilt" (2.209). (According to the OED, trews are "Close-fitting trousers, or breeches combined with stockings, formerly worn by Irishmen and Scottish Highlanders.")

The Social History of Ancient Ireland observes that "A girdle or belt (Ir. criss) was commonly worn round the waist, inside the outer loose mantle," and "The girdles of chiefs and other high-class people were often elaborately ornamented" (2.212). Joyce's hero has "a girdle of plaited straw and rushes"—the familiar Irish súgán—and it is hung with carved stone images of other heroes. He wears socks "dyed in lichen purple," an adaptation of the information that "Purple cloaks, purple flowers, and purple colour in general, are very often mentioned in Irish writings.... Purple dyestuff was obtained from a species of lichen" (2.216-18).

The superhuman figure of the parody, then, is indebted both to scholarship on ancient Irish dress and popular mythological accounts of ancient Irish warriors like Cú Chulainn—both of which were required reading for enthusiasts of the Irish Literary Revival. Joyce adds to them one final marker of echt ancient Irishness, the "round tower" at whose base the hero sits. Round towers were medieval stone buildings of a distinctively Irish type. Usually built next to churches or monasteries, they served as bell towers but also as defensive fortifications in times of trouble. Nearly 20 of them remain in good condition, out of perhaps 120 built throughout the country.

Seeking a heroic symbol of national identity for the Revival, William Butler Yeats featured Cú Chulainn in five short plays and some poems. Lady Gregory retold some of his legends in Cuchulain of Muirthemne (1902), toning down their violence and making him the kind of hero children could admire. But Joyce was uninterested in reviving Celtic myths and unimpressed by muscular fighters, so he presents his larger-than-life hero in a distinctly mock-heroic spirit. The powerfully built Citizen can only be diminished by such greatly exaggerated praises. By contrast, the puny newspaper vendor Davy Stephens used comedy to his advantage when he archly modeled himself on an ancient hero:

His exterior is peculiar but prepossessing. Standing a little below the usual height for the proverbial Irishman, this point is quickly lost sight of in a deep well of wit, not yet completely sounded, beaming forth in his eyes. No one can say whether it is in the merry glance of his eye or in the quick repartee that issues from his lips, never for a moment sealed, that Davy’s fortune lies. The corners of his mouth are turned up in a perpetual smile which his clean shaven chin tends to emphasise. His hair hangs down over his shoulders in long strings, reminding one of that of Ulysses when tossed by the sea at the feet of the charming Nausicaa, and the fresh breezes of the Channel have reduced his complexion to a compromise between red and brown.... Add to these particulars a fine rich brogue and the man is complete.

Read More

John Hunt 2025