For some readers, grasping the work of Jorge Luis Borges, the acclaimed Let’s use the short story called The House of Asterion (La casa de. The House of Asterion (translated from the Spanish) by Jorge Luis Borges. And the queen gave birth to a son named Asterion. Apollodorus. 1 quote from La casa de Asterión: ‘Since then my loneliness does not pain me, because I know my redeemer lives and he will finally rise above the dust.’.

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Asteripn the queen gave birth to a son named Asterion. I know they accuse me of arrogance, perhaps also of misanthropy, perhaps madness too.

Such accusations which I shall castigate in due course are laughable. Anyone who wishes may enter.

Borges explained: The House of Asterion | PocketCultures

Borgee will not find feminine extravagance here, nor gallant courtly ritual, just quiet and solitude. Here one will find a house like no other on the face of the Earth. Jprge who declare that in Egypt exists another similar are lying. Even my detractors admit that there is not a single piece of furniture in the house. Another ridiculous tale claims that I, Asterion, am a prisoner. Need I repeat that there are no closed doors? Should I add that there are no locks?

Besides, I did one evening step out onto the street; if I returned home before nightfall, I did so because of the fear that the faces of the hoi polloi, faces discoloured and plain like an open hand, had induced in me. The sun had already set, but the helpless cry of a babe and the coarse supplications of the common herd signalled that I had been recognised.

Waiting for Redemption in The House of Asterion: A Stylistic Analysis

The people prayed, fled and fell prostrate; some climbed up to the stylobate of the temple of Axes, others gathered stones. Someone, I believe, hid himself under the sea. Not in vain was my mother a queen; I cannot mix with the common people, though my modesty does so desire it. The fact luie that I am unique.

What a man can pass unto others does not interest astedion like the philosopher, I think nothing is communicated by the art of writing. Annoying and trivial minutiae have no place joreg my spirit, a spirit which is receptive only to whatsoever is grand. Never have I retained the difference between one letter and ouis. A certain generous impatience has not consented that I should learn to read. Sometimes I deplore this, for the nights and days are long.

Naturally, I am not without amusement. Like a ram on the charge, I run through caas galleries of stone until dizzily I tumble to jorgr ground.

I conceal myself in the shadows of a cistern or in the corner of a corridor and pretend that I am being searched for. Lusi are rooftops from which I let myself fall until I bloody myself.


At any time I can shut my eyes and pretend that I am asleep, breathing deeply. Sometimes I really do sleep, sometimes the colour of the day has changed by the time I open my eyes. But of the games I play, the one I prefer is pretending there is another Asterion. I pretend that he has come to visit me and I show him around the house. With great reverence I tell him: Now we return to the previous intersectionor Now we head towards another courtyardor I knew you would like this drainor Now you will see a cistern that has filled with sandor Now you will see how the cellar forks.

Sometimes I err and we both laugh heartily. Not only these games have I imagined; I have also meditated on the casaa. Each part of the house repeats many times, any particular place is cxsa place.

There is not one cistern, courtyard, drinking fountain, manger; there are fourteen infinite mangers, drinking fountains, courtyards, cisterns. The house is the csa of the world; better said, it is the world. Nevertheless, by dint of exhausting all the dusty galleries of grey stone and the courtyards with their cisterns, I have reached the street and I have seen the temple of Axes and the sea.

This I did not understand until a night vision revealed to me that there are also fourteen infinite seas and temples. Everything exists many times over, fourteen times, but there are two things in the world that seem to exist only once; above, the intricate Sun; below, Asterion.

Perhaps I have cas the stars and the Sun and the enormous cass, but I do not remember anymore. Nine men enter the house every nine years so that I may deliver them from all evil. I hear their footsteps or their voices in the depths of the galleries of stone and I run with joy in search of them. The ceremony lasts a few minutes.

One after another, they fall to the ground without my having to bloody my hands. Where they fall, they remain, and the cadavers help to distinguish one gallery from another. I know not who they are, but I do know that one of them prophesied, at the moment of his death, that someday my redeemer would come.

Since then, the solitude astterion not pain me because I know that my redeemer lives, and in the end he will rise above the dust. If I could hear all the rumblings of the world, I would detect the sound of his footsteps. Let it be that he take me to a place with fewer galleries and fewer doors. Will he be a bull or a jotge Will he be perhaps a bull with the face of a man? Or will he be like me? The morning Sun was reflected in the sword of bronze.

No trace of blood remained. Que entre el que quiera. Mienten los que declaran que en Egipto hay una parecida.


Hasta mis detractores admiten que no hay un solo mueble en la casa.

No en vano fue una reina mi madra; no puedo confundirme con el vulgo, aunque mi modestia lo quiera. Cierta impaciencia generosa no ha consentido que yo aprendiera a leer. Asteripn que no me faltan distracciones. Me agazapo a la sombra de un aljibe o a la vuelta de un corredor y juego a que me buscan. Hay azoteas desde las que me dejo caer, hasta ensangrentarme. Finjo que viene a visitarme borgew que yo le muestro la casa. Con grandes reverencias le digo: No hay un aljibe, un patio, un abrevadero, un pesebre; son catorce [son infinitos] los pesebres, abrevaderos, patios, aljibes.

La ceremonia dura astetion minutos. Uno tras otro caen sin que yo me ensangriente las manos. Ya asteriin quedaba ni un vestigio de sangre. Ritratto di Gentiluomo Portrait of a Gentleman: I cannot mix with the common people, though my modesty does so desire it. Come to think of it, at one stage di Chirico made eight “Ariadne” drawings. Karl Kerenyi has interesting chapters on the cult role of the Mistress of the Labyrinth.

Borges explained: The House of Asterion

Not writing anything lusi was the advice of a certain San Francisco socialite, experienced in the demimonde, who opined one could get away with being no better than one ought to be, in any place, at any time, as long as there never any incriminating memos, letters, notes, billets-doux, etc.

Lanny, it is this relentless damn-the-torpedos attack upon the barriers that puts your work in all known media so far out ahead of the sheepish pack. Muy interesante la nota. Please note that the poems and essays on this site are copyright and may not be reproduced without the author’s permission. Monday, 28 March Jorge Luis Borges: Newer Post Older Post Home.

Contents Pages contents more contents yet more contents contents 4. Plutonian Ode Jorge Luis Asterjon El mar Andrew Marvell: The Wars and Fortunes Son: Self-Criticism in February Philip Whalen: April Showers Bring Rain? A Basket of Oysters A Visit wit King of Kings Curzio Malaparte: A Portrait Theory Vigilance: In the Hands of God Theodor Adorno: When I see the ocean T. The Dry Salvages F. Chicago, Arthur Siegel: Better-Dressed Young Women, Detroit Before the Law Art, Advertising, History: Adrift A seemingly insatiable demand Its horn more precious than gold Marianne Moore: The Pangolin Lorenzo Thomas: Inauguration O-o-h Child “Time rotates NYPD chokeslam, broken leg, plain sight perpwalk show — American dream glass half full?

This is how it’s going down Jim Dine: