REPORT ON JAMES JOYCE'S ULYSSES

EPISODE 15--CIRCE (429-609)

 

SUMMMARY

 

"Circe" has the structure of a written play complete with extensive narrative stage directions "of lbsenian amplitude, not Shakespearean sparseness" (Kenner, Ulysses 123). The play moves between a naturalistic description of events and simultaneous hallucinatory fantasies from the minds of Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus. The imagery of the play, both the naturalistic and hallucinatory events, is bestial; the characters are carnival grotesques.

 

It is midnight and the drinking party which moved from the hospital to Burke's public-house at the end of the "Oxen of the Sun" episode has now adjourned to Nighttown, Dublin's red-light district. Stephen has been abandoned by all of his friends but Lynch. Bloom is tailing him somewhat incompetently from a distance, and they enter Nighttown by train on Mabbot Street. Stephen, drunk on alcohol and absinthe, proclaims "gesture, not music not odours, would be a universal language" (Joyce 432). Regardless of Stephen's drunken and drugged musings, it is theatrical gesture indeed that will be the language of "Circe." Moreover, foreshadowing the content of the coming hallucinations, Stephen comments on the "shrewridden Shakespeare," "henpecked Socrates," and Aristotle, "the allwisest stagyrite . . . bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love" (432).

 

Having momentarily lost his quarry and suffering from "brainfogfag" (43 6), Bloom compulsively enters a pork butcher's shop in Nighttown and purchases innards, which he will later feed to a stray dog. Bloom's first hallucination is of a "Gaelic league spy" (436), an agent of the Citizen from Barney Kiernan's. He then encounters the ghost of his father as an exaggerated Jew, "an elder in Zion" (437), who scolds him for being a spendthrift. He is then haunted by a succession of women: his mother, his wife, and the most recent object of his lust--Gerty MacDowell. Throughout these encounters, we hear the real voice of the Bawd, hawking maidenheads in a Dublin fleshpot.

 

Next he recalls his earlier encounter with Mrs. Breen, yet his memory of the event dissolves into a fantasy of flirtation and then accusation. As he wanders Nighttown he wonders if his search for Stephen is a "Wildgoose chase" (452). In this moment of apprehension and uncertainty he is accosted in an hallucination by two policeman. After failing to evade them with lies, cliched excuses, and intimations of Masonic power, Bloom is made to stand in a show trial for sexual indiscretions and social pretensions, most of which he is only guilty of in thought.

 

Again, the play returns to reality with the whore Zoe informing Bloom that Stephen is inside Bella Cohen's brothel. Zoe relieves him of his talismanic potato, and he becomes lost in fantasies of popular acclaim. His increasingly absurd daydreams have him as the "world's greatest reformer" (48 1), "emperor, president and king chairman" (482), and a "hero god" (492). He is the munificent ruler of "the new Bloomusalem" (484). However, Bloom just as absurdly plummets from these lofty heights by abasing himself as hypocrite and masturbator. But he reclaims the sympathy of the people by giving birth to eight male children, all "handsome . . . respectably dressed and wellconducted" (494) and presumably messianic. It is the voice of Zoe which once more returns Bloom to reality.

 

Meanwhile Stephen, prompted by the conversation of the whore Florry, imagines the coming of the Anti-Christ. He then sees his earlier companions as a goosestepping chorus intoning the Beatitudes or more precisely "the secular . . . B' attitudes" (Blamires 178) of earthy life: "beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop" (Joyce 509). After a brief intercession of reality, Bloom's late grandfather Virag arrives by the chimney to aid Bloom in scientifically analyzing the various attributes of the prostitutes. Bloom divides into two personas: the solemn Bloom and the romantic Henry. Nearby, Stephen, influenced by the conversation of Florry and Lynch, transforms himself into a Cardinal.

 

At this point Bella Cohen enters after servicing a customer, and almost immediately Bloom is entranced by the "massive whoremistress" (527). Bella is transformed into the masculine Bello and Bloom is humiliated, tortured, and feminized. A chorus of "The Sins of the Past" (537) recounts all of Bloom's past sexual aberrations of thought and of deed. He is condemned to "empty the pisspots" (539) of the whorehouse by day and by night to be a whore himself. Bella/Bello then taunts Bloom by reminding him that "a man of brawn" has taken his place in his Eccles Street bed.

 

As Bloom returns to reality, he immediately demands the return of his potato from Zoe. He also lucidly takes Stephen's money under his protection from the deceitful prostitutes. Stephen himself, however, is lost in remembrance of breaking his glasses at Clongowes and being pandybatted by Father Dolan who appears to speak the same lines he spoke sixteen years earlier. Bloom, in one final flight of hallucination, imagines himself present at the scene of his own cuckolding by Blazes Boylan. Bloom becomes an antlered hat stand who escorts Boylan to Molly. Boylan tells Bloom: "You can apply your eye to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few times" (566).

 

Stephen engages in a "Dance of Death" (579), and in his final hallucination in the whorehouse is visited by the ghost of his mother from whom he seeks absolution for the matricide for which he feels responsible. He leaves the hallucination, though, reiterating his Miltonic mantra "non serviam! " (582) once again. He climactically smashes Bella Cohen's chandelier with his ashplant. Again, it is Bloom who defends Stephen from the predatory Bella and pays for the damage--notably what he has assessed as its worth, not what she has demanded.

 

Stephen flees the brothel and immediately embroils himself in contretemps with two British soldiers, and Bloom, after settling Stephen's damages inside, must try to extricate him from his new threat. "Dublin's burning!" (598) in Stephen's mind as Edward VII, a pantheon of Irish heroes, clerical figures, and martial bands materialize to expand the localized street brawl into a national conflagration.

 

Stephen is ultimately struck down by one of the soldiers, Private Carr, and Bloom courageously keeps the soldiers from doing further damage to him. When the police arrive, he again bravely accuses the soldiers of assaulting Stephen. The episode comes to its final scene as Bloom, caring for the barely coherent young Dedalus, has a vision of his beloved, dead son Rudy.

 

HOMERIC, SHAKESPEAREAN, AND BIBLICAL PARALLELS

 

The Homeric analogue of "Circe" is taken from Book X of Tlle Odyssey, in which Odysseus and his crew arrive on the island of the enchantress Kirke, a witch who turns men into beasts. Odysseus remains with his ship and sends a party of men under Eurylokhos to explore the island. All of the party except skeptical Eurylokhos are lured into the hall of Kirke where they are seated on thrones, fed a feast, and given wine laced with a drug "to make them lose desire or thought of [their] dear father land" (Homer 172). After they are drugged, the witch turns them into swine, "though their minds were still unchanged" (I 72). Odysseus approaches the hall after Eurylokhos escapes and reports to him. On the way Hermes meets Odysseus and bestows a talismanic root that will protect him from Kirke's drug. Hermes further instructs Odysseus that he must not decline her bed and that he must force her to swear not to trick him or else he will "be unmanned by her as well" (I 74). Odysseus does exactly as the god had instructed him and evades the enchantress' traps. He further appeals to her compassion to return to human form those of his men she has already sent to the sty. Robert Fitzgerald translates the subsequent Homeric catharsis:

 

"and they were men again, younger, more handsome, taller than before. Their eyes upon me, each one took my hands, and wild regret and longing pierced them through, so the room rang with sobs, and even Kirke pitied that transformation. " (177)

 

Leopold Bloom too emerges from his dehumanizing scene with Bello, where he is ridden like a horse and threatened with being eaten "like a suckling pig" (Joyce 533), strangely stronger and bolder as he goes on to confront the whoremistress in her den and later Privates Compton and Carr in their street. Bello's earlier Circean claim that Bloom has been "unmanned" (535) is shown to be fallacious.

 

Other parallels with The Odyssey include Bloom's beloved potato, obviously analogous to the root plant amulet given by Hermes to Odysseus. The feral but gentle "wolfdog . . . with begging paws" (453), which Bloom feeds, recalls the wolves outside Kirke's hall which would not attack but only wag "their long tails . . . like hounds, who look up when their master comes with tidbits for them" (Homer 17 1). Finally, it is in "Circe" that Odysseus/Bloom reunites with Telemachus/Stephen for the return to Ithaca.

 

The "Circe" play, especially the ghost scene with Stephen and his mother, parallels or more accurately twists Shakespeare's Hamlet. Hamlet the mad prince is haunted by the ghost of his father and the knowledge of his mother's complicity in the dead king's murder. In Ulysses, Stephen Dedalus the mad poet is haunted by the ghost of his mother and his guilt over his own possible complicity in her death. In Hamlet, the prince tries to convince his mother that the ghost of his father is in the bedroom with them. Hamlet tells the Queen, "look you how pale he glares!" (Shakespeare 1168). In a playful echo, Florry the whore points to the ghost-enthralled Stephen and says, "Look! He's white" (Joyce 581). In Shakespeare's play, Hamlet exhorts his very much alive mother to "Repent what's past, avoid what is to come" (Shakespeare II 69); while in Joyce's play it is the ghost-mother who exhorts the melancholy Irishman to "Repent! 0, the fire of hell!" (Joyce 581). Shakespeare even appears as a character in "Circe" to garble his lines from Hamlet: "Weda seca whokilla farst" (568).

 

Joyce apparently found Homer and William Shakespeare insufficient as sources and was compelled to mine yet another touchstone of the Western Canon: the Bible. In "Circe" the biblical parallels are numerous and strong, especially the imagery of death and resurrection. Bloom rises from the hangman Rumbold's grip as a savior to establish "the new Bloomusalem" (484). Elijah appears to prophesy "Florry Christ, Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Lynch Christ" (507). And in the strongest death and resurrection imagery Stephen, betrayed by "Judas" (600) Lynch, carries his ashplant-cross through the crowd to be crucified by the legionnaires of English occupation. In opposition to the Christ imagery of Stephen a black mass replete with black candles

and an "epistle of horns" (599), is performed as a priest in "reversed chasuble . . . celebrates camp mass" (599) over the naked, pregnant body of Mina Purefoy, "goddess of unreason" (599).

 

ANALYSIS

 

Stephen Dedalus states in his conversation with Mr. Deasy in "Nestor" that "history . . . is a nightmare from which [he is] trying to awake" (34). With this in mind, Hugh Kenner observes that in "Circe" Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus "must exorcise the nightmare of history: Hebraic, Irish, human" (Ulysses 118). Throughout "Circe," Bloom and Dedalus confront the nightmares of their lives and emerge in the cab shelter in "Eumaeus" somehwhat triumphant.

 

Stephen, the failed exile, is still in mourning for his mother. He must confront her death and in it come to peace with the heresy he so brazenly declares, but about which he is also so obviously conflicted. He faces her "choking with fright, remorse, and horror" (Joyce 580), but stands firm and tells her, "Cancer did it, not I" (580). Purging her violently with the smashing of the lamp, he goes to the street and is in top intellectual form as he confronts the other specters haunting him: the Irish Church and the English state. He effortlessly outwits the obviously outmatched British privates. Lynch notes, "he likes dialectic, the universal language" (600)--dialectic presumably replacing gesture as Stephen regains his intellectual faculties if not his better judgment. Echoing Voltaire's assertion that the freedom of mankind hinges upon the last king being strangled with the entrails of the last priest, Stephen assaults the personified agents of imperial power by threatening to "kill the priest and king" (589) with the weapon of his mind. In this episode, even if not victorious and even if doomed to wage these battles repeatedly, Stephen at least does valorous and honorable battle on this night.

 

Bloom journeys to Nighttown ostensibly to watch over Stephen, and does in fact rescue him more than once. However, in the course of the night at the Bella Cohen's brothel, Bloom too must confront the nightmare of his history. Perennially outside, he must engage his own demons--absurd sexual guilt, insurmountable social frustrations, his wife's unfaithfulness, his son's death, and the standard Irish political problems compounded exponentially by his own Jewish ones. Kenner says, "if Bloom is not crushed by his guilt, his apprehensions, and his frustrations, it is because their energies leak off into fantasy, and as 'Circe' proceeds we may follow him working out a course of psychic purgation" ("Circe" 356). Indeed, Bloom awakens from each of his fantastic digressions and remarkably, as Anthony Burgess observes, "the practical man reasserts himself, shakes off the hallucinations" (161). It is, after all, immediately following Bloom's most intensely masochistic scene that he saves Stephen from being fleeced by the prostitutes. Further, it is after a night of living these horrible scenes in his mind that Bloom is able to take charge of the mayhem following Stephen's destruction of Bella's lamp and even successfully challenge the "massive whoremistress" (527) herself. Bloom is once more the cool-headed firm-footed man, who as Kenner says, "managed Stephen's assailants with aplomb" (Ulysses 127) in the incident with Private Carr.

 

Aside from the cathartic possibilities that it offers its two protagonists, "Circe" is necessary to James Joyce's project of creating a "complete man." Kenner states that "what 'Circe' shows us is what we could see and hear were everything pertinent to the going-on translated into terms of seeing and hearing" ("Circe" 345). In the fourteen previous episodes the reader believes he has been privy to the most private thoughts of Bloom. "Circe" truly offers the most private thoughts, possibly those even beyond the consciousness of the thinker himself, and with those we at last have Joyce's Complete Man.

WORKS CITED

Blamires, Harry. The New Bloomsday Book. 3rd ed. London: Routledge, 1996.

Burgess, Anthony. Re-Joyce New York: Norton, 1965.

Homer. The Odyssey. Trans. Robert Fitzgerald. New York: Vintage, 1989.

 

Kenner, Hugh. "Circe." James Joyce's Ulysses: Critical Essays. Ed. Clive Hart and David

Hayman. Berkeley: U of California P, 1974. 341-62.

Kenner, Hugh. Ulysses. London: Unwin, 1980.

Joyce, James. Ulysses. New York: Vintage, 1990.

 

Shakespeare, William. Riverside Shakespeare. Ed. G. Blakemore Evans. Boston:

Houghton, 1974.