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the universe, which others call the library, is composed of an indefinite and pe
rhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries, with vast air shafts between, surr
ounded by very low railings. from any of the hexagons one can see, interminably,
 the upper and lower floors. the distribution of the galleries is invariable. tw
enty shelves, five long shelves per side, cover all the sides except two. their 
height, which is the distance from floor to ceiling, scarcely exceeds that of a 
normal bookcase. one of the free sides leads to a narrow hallway which opens ont
o another gallery, identical to the first and to all the rest. to the left and r
ight of the hallway there are two very small closets. in the first, one may slee
p standing up. in the other, satisfy ones fecal necessities. also through here p
asses a spiral stairway, which sinks abysmally and soars upwards to remote dista
nces. in the hallway there is a mirror which faithfully duplicates all appearanc
es. men usually infer from this mirror that the library is not infinite, if it w
ere, why this illusory duplication. i prefer to dream that its polished surfaces
 represent and promise the infinite... light is provided by some spherical fruit
 which bear the name of lamps. there are two, transversally placed, in each hexa
gon. the light they emit is insufficient, incessant. like all men of the library
, i have traveled in my youth. i have wandered in search of a book, perhaps the 
catalogue of catalogues. now that my eyes can hardly decipher what i write, i am
 preparing to die just a few leagues from the hexagon in which i was born. once 
i am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing. my
 grave will be the fathomless air. my body will sink endlessly and decay and dis
solve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite. i say that the libra
ry is unending. the idealists argue that the hexagonal rooms are a necessary for
m of absolute space or, at least, of our intuition of space. they reason that a 
triangular or pentagonal room is inconceivable. the mystics claim that their ecs
tasy reveals to them a circular chamber containing a great circular book, whose 
spine is continuous and which follows the complete circle of the walls. but thei
r testimony is suspect. their words, obscure. this cyclical book is god., let it
 suffice now for me to repeat the classic dictum, the library is a sphere whose 
exact center is any one of its hexagons and whose circumference is inaccessible.
 there are five shelves for each of the hexagons walls. each shelf contains thir
ty five books of uniform format. each book is of four hundred and ten pages. eac
h page, of forty lines, each line, of some eighty letters which are black in col
or. there are also letters on the spine of each book. these letters do not indic
ate or prefigure what the pages will say. i know that this incoherence at one ti
me seemed mysterious. before summarizing the solution, whose discovery, in spite
 of its tragic projections, is perhaps the capital fact in history, i wish to re
call a few axioms. first, the library exists ab aeterno. this truth, whose immed
iate corollary is the future eternity of the world, cannot be placed in doubt by

 

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