JAMES JOYCE, ULYSSES (1922)
“The Wandering Rocks”
SPAZIO / TEMPO
YOUNG WOMAN
1)--A flushed young man came from a gap of a hedge and after him came a young woman with will
nodding daisies in her hand. The young man raised his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly
bent and with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig. (Section1, p.287)
--The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig. ( Section 8. p.296
MOLLY
2) –Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his mouth while a generous white arm
from a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin […] (Section 1, p.288)
--The blind of the window was drawn aside. A card Unfurnished Apartments slipped from the sash
and fell. A plump bare generous arm shone, was seen, held forth a white petticoat bodice and taut
shiftstraps. A woman’s hand flung forth a coin over the area railings. It fell on the path. (Section 2,
p. 289).
--A card Unfurnished Apartments reappeared on the window sash of number 7 Eccles street.
(Section 9, p. 300)
JAMES JOYCE, ULYSSES (1922)
THROWAWAY (CAVALLO)
1) At his armpit Bantam Lyons’ voice and hand said:
---Hello, Bloom, what’s the best news? Is that today’s? Show us a minute.
[…]
—I want to see about that French horse that’s running today, Bantam Lyons said. Where the
bugger is it?
He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high collar, Barber’s itch. Tight collar he’ll
lose his hair. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him.
--You can keep it, Mr Bloom said
--Ascot. Gold Cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum the second.
--I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said,
Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly.
--What’s that? his sharp voice said.
--I said you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was just going to throw it away that moment.
Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom’s
arms.
--I’ll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.
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“Lotus Eaters”, pp. 105-106.
JAMES JOYCE, ULYSSES (1922)
2) Davy Byrne came forward from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirt sleeves […]
--And here’s himself and pepper on him, Nosey Flynn said. Can you give us a good one for the
Gold cup?
--I’m off that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. I never put anything on a horse.
--You’re right there, Nosey Flynn said. […]
--I wouldn’t do anything at all in that line, Davy Byrne said. It ruined many a man the same horses.
[…]
--True of you, Nosey Flynn said. Unless you’re in the know. There’s no straight sport now. Lenehan
gets some good ones. He’s giving Sceptre today. Zinfandel’s the favourite, lord Howard de
Walden’s, won at Epsom. Morny Cannon is riding him, I could have got seven to one against Saint
Amaint a fortnight before.
[…]
Mr Bloom, champing standing, looked upon his sigh. Nosey numskull. Will I tell him that horse
Lenehan? He knows already, Better let him forget. Go and lose more. Fool and his money.
[…]
Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in. Tom Rochford followed, a plaining hand on his claret
waistcoat. […]
… He has some bloody horse up his sleeve for the Gold cup. A dead snip.
[…]
--Is it Zinfandel?
--Say nothing, Bantam Lyons winked. I’m going to plunge five bob of my own.
--Tell us if you’re worth your salt and be damned to you, Paddy Leonard said. Who gave it to you?
Mr Bloom on his way out raised three fingers in greeting,
--So long, Nosey Flynn said.
The others turned.
--That’s the man now that gave it to me, Bantam Lyons whispered.
“Lestrygonians”, pp. 220-228.
3) Even money, Lenehan said returning. I knocked against Bantam Lyons in there going to back a
bloody horse someone gave him that hasn’t an earthly. […]
“Wandering Rocks”, p.299.
4)--What’s up with you, says I to Lenehan. You look like a fellow that lost a bob and found a tanner
--Gold cup, he said.
--Who won, Mr Lenehan? says Terry.
--Throwaway, says he, at twenty to one. A rank outsider. And the rest nowhere,
--And Bass’s mare? says Terry.
--Still running, says he. We’re all in a cart. Boylan plunged two quid on my tip Sceptre for himself
and a lady friend.
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JAMES JOYCE, ULYSSES (1922)
--I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave. Lord Howard de
Walden’s.
--Twenty to one, says Lenehan. Such is life in an outhouse. Throwaway, says he. Takes the biscuit
and talking about bunions. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre
(p. 422)
5)--I know where he’s gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.
--Who says, I?
--Bloom, says he. The courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he’s gone to
gather the shekels.
--Is it that whiteyed kaffir? Says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life.
--That’s where he’s gone, says Lenehan. I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put
him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings
to five on. He’s the only man in Dublin has it. A dark horse.
“Cyclops”, p.435.
6) While the other was reading it on page two Boom (to give him for the nonce his new misnomer)
whiled away a few odd leisure moments in fits and starts with the account of the third event at
Ascot on page three, his sidevalue 1,000 sovs., with 3,000 sov.s in specie added for entire colt and
fillies. Mr F. Alexander’s Throwaway, b.h. by Rightaway. 5 yrs, 9 st 4 lbs, Thrale (W. Lane) […]
Throwaway and Zinfandel stood close order. It was anyone’s race then the rank outsider drew to the
fore got long lea, beating lord Howard de Walden’s chestnut colt and Mr W. Bass’s filly Scepter on
that 2 ½ mile course […] Winner trained by Baine so that Lenehan’s version of the business was all
pure buncombe. […] Also ran J. de Brendon’s (French horse Bantam Lyons was anquiously
inquiring after not in yet but expected any minute). […]
“Eumaeus”, p.752.
7) … but he was a perfect devil for a few minutes after he came back with the stop press tearing up
the tickets and swearing blazes because he had lost 20 quid he said he lost over that outsider that
won and half he put on for me on account of Lenehan’s tip cursing him to the lowest pits […]
“Penelope”, p.887.
THROWAWAY (VOLANTINO)
1)A somber Y.M.C.A. young man, watchful among the warm sweet fumes of Graham Lemon’s,
placed a throwaway in a hand of Mr Bloom.
[…]
His slow feet walked him riverward, reading? Are you saved? […] Eiljah is coming. Dr John
Alexander Dowie, restorer of the church in Zion, is coming.
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Is coming! Is coming ! ! Is coming ! ! !
All heartily welcome.
[…]
He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball. Elijah thirtytwo feet per sec is com. Not a
bit. The ball bobbed unheeded on the wake of swells, floated under the bridge piers.
“Lestrygonians”, p. 190-192.
2)North wall and sir John Rogerson’s quay, with hulls and anchor chains, sailing westward, sailed
by a skiff, a crumpled throwaway, rocked on the ferry wash, Elijah is coming. […]
Elijah, skiff, light crumpled throwaway, sailed eastward by flanks of ships and trawlers, amid an
archipelago of corks, beyond new Wapping street past Benson’s ferry, and by the three-masted
schooner Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks.
“Wandering Rocks”, p. 308, 321.
THROWAWAY (CAVALLO E VOLANTINO )
(Bloom)
What attracted his attention lying on the apron of the dresser?
Four polygonal fragments of two lacerated scarlet betting tickets, numbered 8 87, 8 86.
What reminiscences temporarily corrugated his brow?
Reminiscences of coincidences, truth stranger than fiction, preindicative of the result of the Gold
Cup flat handicap, the official and definitive result of which he had read in the Evening Telegraph,
late pink edition, in the cabman’s shelter, at Butt bridge.
Where had previous intimations of the result, effected or projected , been received by him?
In Bernard Kiernan’s licensed premises, 8, 9 and 10 Little Britain street: in Davy Byrne’s licensed
premises. 14 Duke street: in O’Connell street lower, outside Graham Lemon’s where a dark man
had placed in his hand a throwaway (subsequently thrown away), advertising Elijah, restorer of the
church in Zion: in Lincoln place outside the premises of F.W. Sweny and Co (Limited) dispensing
chemists, when, when Frederick M. (Bantam) Lyons had rapidly and subsequently requested,
perused and restituted the copy of the current issue of the Freeman’s Journal and National Press
which he had been about to throw away (subsequently thrown away), he had proceeded towards the
oriental edifice of the Turkish and Warm Baths, 11 Leinster street, with the light of inspiration
shining in his countenance and bearing in his arms the secret of the race, graven in the language of
prediction.
“Ithaca”, pp.789-90.
James Joyce, Ulysses ed. Declan Kiberd (London, Penguin Books, 1992)
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