达芬奇密码 作者: 美 丹·布朗(英文版)-第1章

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BY：Dan　Brown
______________________________________________
FOR　BLYTHE。。。　AGAIN。　MORE　THAN　EVER。
Acknowledgments
First　and　foremost；　to　my　friend　and　editor；　Jason　Kaufman；　for　working　so　hard　on　this　project　and　for　truly　understanding　what　this　book　is　all　about。　And　to　the　inparable　Heide　Lange—tireless　champion　of　The　Da　Vinci　Code；　agent　extraordinaire；　and　trusted　friend。
I　cannot　fully　express　my　gratitude　to　the　exceptional　team　at　Doubleday；　for　their　generosity；　faith；　and　superb　guidance。　Thank　you　especially　to　Bill　Thomas　and　Steve　Rubin；　who　believed　in　this　book　from　the　start。　My　thanks　also　to　the　initial　core　of　early　in…house　supporters；　headed　by　Michael　Palgon；　Suzanne　Herz；　Janelle　Moburg；　Jackie　Everly；　and　Adrienne　Sparks；　as　well　as　to　the　talented　people　of　Doubleday's　sales　force。
For　their　generous　assistance　in　the　research　of　the　book；　I　would　like　to　acknowledge　the　Louvre　Museum；　the　French　Ministry　of　Culture；　Project　Gutenberg；　Bibliothèque　Nationale；　the　Gnostic　Society　Library；　the　Department　of　Paintings　Study　and　Documentation　Service　at　the　Louvre；　Catholic　World　News；　Royal　Observatory　Greenwich；　London　Record　Society；　the　Muniment　Collection　at　Westminster　Abbey；　John　Pike　and　the　Federation　of　American　Scientists；　and　the　five　members　of　Opus　Dei　（three　active；　two　former）　who　recounted　their　stories；　both　positive　and　negative；　regarding　their　experiences　inside　Opus　Dei。
My　gratitude　also　to　Water　Street　Bookstore　for　tracking　down　so　many　of　my　research　books；　my　father　Richard　Brown—mathematics　teacher　and　author—for　his　assistance　with　the　Divine　Proportion　and　the　Fibonacci　Sequence；　Stan　Planton；　Sylvie　Baudeloque；　Peter　McGuigan；　Francis　McInerney；　Margie　Wachtel；　André　Vernet；　Ken　Kelleher　at　Anchorball　Web　Media；　Cara　Sottak；　Karyn　Popham；　Esther　Sung；　Miriam　Abramowitz；　William　Tunstall…Pedoe；　and　Griffin　Wooden　Brown。
And　finally；　in　a　novel　drawing　so　heavily　on　the　sacred　feminine；　I　would　be　remiss　if　I　did　not　mention　the　two　extraordinary　women　who　have　touched　my　life。　First；　my　mother；　Connie　Brown—fellow　scribe；　nurturer；　musician；　and　role　model。　And　my　wife；　Blythe—art　historian；　painter；　front…line　editor；　and　without　a　doubt　the　most　astonishingly　talented　woman　I　have　ever　known。
　
FACT：
The　Priory　of　Sion—a　European　secret　society　founded　in　1099—is　a　real　organization。　In　1975　Paris's　Bibliothèque　Nationale　discovered　parchments　known　as　Les　Dossiers　Secrets；　identifying　numerous　members　of　the　Priory　of　Sion；　including　Sir　Isaac　Newton；　Botticelli；　Victor　Hugo；　and　Leonardo　da　Vinci。
The　Vatican　prelature　known　as　Opus　Dei　is　a　deeply　devout　Catholic　sect　that　has　been　the　topic　of　recent　controversy　due　to　reports　of　brainwashing；　coercion；　and　a　dangerous　practice　known　as　〃corporal　mortification。〃　Opus　Dei　has　just　pleted　construction　of　a　47　million　World　Headquarters　at　243　Lexington　Avenue　in　New　York　City。
All　descriptions　of　artwork；　architecture；　documents；　and　secret　rituals　in　this　novel　are　accurate。
_______________________________________________　
Prologue
Louvre　Museum；　Paris　10：46　P。M。

Renowned　curator　Jacques　Saunière　staggered　through　the　vaulted　archway　of　the　museum's　Grand　Gallery。　He　lunged　for　the　nearest　painting　he　could　see；　a　Caravaggio。　Grabbing　the　gilded　frame；　the　seventy…six…year…old　man　heaved　the　masterpiece　toward　himself　until　it　tore　from　the　wall　and　Saunière　collapsed　backward　in　a　heap　beneath　the　canvas。
As　he　had　anticipated；　a　thundering　iron　gate　fell　nearby；　barricading　the　entrance　to　the　suite。　The　parquet　floor　shook。　Far　off；　an　alarm　began　to　ring。
The　curator　lay　a　moment；　gasping　for　breath；　taking　stock。　I　am　still　alive。　He　crawled　out　from　under　the　canvas　and　scanned　the　cavernous　space　for　someplace　to　hide。
A　voice　spoke；　chillingly　close。　〃Do　not　move。〃
On　his　hands　and　knees；　the　curator　froze；　turning　his　head　slowly。
Only　fifteen　feet　away；　outside　the　sealed　gate；　the　mountainous　silhouette　of　his　attacker　stared　through　the　iron　bars。　He　was　broad　and　tall；　with　ghost…pale　skin　and　thinning　white　hair。　His　irises　were　pink　with　dark　red　pupils。　The　albino　drew　a　pistol　from　his　coat　and　aimed　the　barrel　through　the　bars；　directly　at　the　curator。　〃You　should　not　have　run。〃　His　accent　was　not　easy　to　place。　〃Now　tell　me　where　it　is。〃
〃I　told　you　already；〃　the　curator　stammered；　kneeling　defenseless　on　the　floor　of　the　gallery。　〃I　have　no　idea　what　you　are　talking　about！〃
〃You　are　lying。〃　The　man　stared　at　him；　perfectly　immobile　except　for　the　glint　in　his　ghostly　eyes。　〃You　and　your　brethren　possess　something　that　is　not　yours。〃
The　curator　felt　a　surge　of　adrenaline。　How　could　he　possibly　know　this？
〃Tonight　the　rightful　guardians　will　be　restored。　Tell　me　where　it　is　hidden；　and　you　will　live。〃　The　man　leveled　his　gun　at　the　curator's　head。　〃Is　it　a　secret　you　will　die　for？〃
Saunière　could　not　breathe。
The　man　tilted　his　head；　peering　down　the　barrel　of　his　gun。
Saunière　held　up　his　hands　in　defense。　〃Wait；〃　he　said　slowly。　〃I　will　tell　you　what　you　need　to　know。〃　The　curator　spoke　his　next　words　carefully。　The　lie　he　told　was　one　he　had　rehearsed　many　times。。。　each　time　praying　he　would　never　have　to　use　it。
When　the　curator　had　finished　speaking；　his　assailant　smiled　smugly。　〃Yes。　This　is　exactly　what　the　others　told　me。〃
Saunière　recoiled。　The　others？
〃I　found　them；　too；〃　the　huge　man　taunted。　〃All　three　of　them。　They　confirmed　what　you　have　just　said。〃
It　cannot　be！　The　curator's　true　identity；　along　with　the　identities　of　his　three　sénéchaux；　was　almost　as　sacred　as　the　ancient　secret　they　protected。　Saunière　now　realized　his　sénéchaux；　following　strict　procedure；　had　told　the　same　lie　before　their　own　deaths。　It　was　part　of　the　protocol。
The　attacker　aimed　his　gun　again。　〃When　you　are　gone；　I　will　be　the　only　one　who　knows　the　truth。〃
The　truth。　In　an　instant；　the　curator　grasped　the　true　horror　of　the　situation。　If　I　die；　the　truth　will　be　lost　forever。　Instinctively；　he　tried　to　scramble　for　cover。
The　gun　roared；　and　the　curator　felt　a　searing　heat　as　the　bullet　lodged　in　his　stomach。　He　fell　forward。。。　struggling　against　the　pain。　Slowly；　Saunière　rolled　over　and　stared　back　through　the　bars　at　his　attacker。
The　man　was　now　taking　dead　aim　at　Saunière's　head。
Saunière　closed　his　eyes；　his　thoughts　a　swirling　tempest　of　fear　and　regret。
The　click　of　an　empty　chamber　echoed　through　the　corridor。
The　curator's　eyes　flew　open。
The　man　glanced　down　at　his　weapon；　looking　almost　amused。　He　reached　for　a　second　clip；　but　then　seemed　to　reconsider；　smirking　calmly　at　Saunière's　gut。　〃My　work　here　is　done。〃
The　curator　looked　down　and　saw　the　bullet　hole　in　his　white　linen　shirt。　It　was　framed　by　a　small　circle　of　blood　a　few　inches　below　his　breastbone。　My　stomach。　Almost　cruelly；　the　bullet　had　missed　his　heart。　As　a　veteran　of　la　Guerre　d'Algérie；　the　curator　had　witnessed　this　horribly　drawn…out　death　before。　For　fifteen　minutes；　he　would　survive　as　his　stomach　acids　seeped　into　his　chest　cavity；　slowly　poisoning　him　from　within。
〃Pain　is　good；　monsieur；〃　the　man　said。
Then　he　was　gone。
Alone　now；　Jacques　Saunière　turned　his　gaze　again　to　the　iron　gate。　He　was　trapped；　and　the　doors　could　not　be　reopened　for　at　least　twenty　minutes。　By　the　time　anyone　got　to　him；　he　would　be　dead。　Even　so；　the　fear　that　now　gripped　him　was　a　fear　far　greater　than　that　of　his　own　death。
I　must　pass　on　the　secret。
Staggering　to　his　feet；　he　pictured　his　three　murdered　brethren。　He　thought　of　the　generations　who　had　e　before　them。。。　of　the　mission　with　which　they　had　all　been　entrusted。
An　unbroken　chain　of　knowledge。
Suddenly；　now；　despite　all　the　precautions。。。　despite　all　the　fail…safes。。。　Jacques　Saunière　was　the　only　remaining　link；　the　sole　guardian　of　one　of　the　most　powerful　secrets　ever　kept。
Shivering；　he　pulled　himself　to　his　feet。
I　must　find　some　way。。。。
He　was　trapped　inside　the　Grand　Gallery；　and　there　existed　only　one　person　on　earth　to　whom　he　could　pass　the　torch。　Saunière　gazed　up　at　the　walls　of　his　opulent　prison。　A　collection　of　the　world's　most　famous　paintings　seemed　to　smile　down　on　him　like　old　friends。
Wincing　in　pain；　he　summoned　all　of　his　faculties　and　strength。　The　desperate　task　before　him；　he　knew；　would　require　every　remaining　second　of　his　life。



…　
CHAPTER　1
…
Robert　Langdon　awoke　slowly。
A　telephone　was　ringing　in　the　darkness—a　tinny；　unfamiliar　ring。　He　fumbled　for　the　bedside　lamp　and　turned　it　on。　Squinting　at　his　surroundings　he　saw　a　plush　Renaissance　bedroom　with　Louis　XVI　furniture；　hand…frescoed　walls；　and　a　colossal　mahogany　four…poster　bed。
Where　the　hell　am　I？
The　jacquard　bathrobe　hanging　on　his　bedpost　bore　the　monogram：　HOTEL　RITZ　PARIS。
Slowly；　the　fog　began　to　lift。
Langdon　picked　up　the　receiver。　〃Hello？〃
〃Monsieur　Langdon？〃　a　man's　voice　said。　〃I　hope　I　have　not　awoken　you？〃
Dazed；　Langdon　looked　at　the　bedside　clock。　It　was　12：32　A。M。　He　had　been　asleep　only　an　hour；　but　he　felt　like　the　dead。
〃This　is　the　concierge；　monsieur。　I　apologize　for　this　intrusion；　but　you　have　a　visitor。　He　insists　it　is　urgent。〃
Langdon　still　felt　fuzzy。　A　visitor？　His　eyes　focused　now　on　a　crumpled　flyer　on　his　bedside　table。
THE　AMERICAN　UNIVERSITY　OF　PARIS
proudly　presents
AN　EVENING　WITH　ROBERT　LANGDON
PROFESSOR　OF　RELIGIOUS　SYMBOLOGY；
HARVARD　UNIVERSITY
　
Langdon　groaned。　Tonight's　lecture—a　slide　show　about　pagan　symbolism　hidden　in　the　stones　of　Chartres　Cathedral—had　probably　ruffled　some　conservative　feathers　in　the　audience。　Most　likely；　some　religious　scholar　had　trailed　him　home　to　pick　a　fight。
〃I'm　sorry；〃　Langdon　said；　〃but　I'm　very　tired　and—〃
〃Mais；　monsieur；〃　the　concierge　pressed；　lowering　his　voice　to　an　urgent　whisper。　〃Your　guest　is　an　important　man。〃
Langdon　had　little　doubt。　His　books　on　religious　paintings　and　cult　symbology　had　made　him　a　reluctant　celebrity　in　the　art　world；　and　last　year　Langdon's　visibility　had　increased　a　hundredfold　after　his　involvement　in　a　widely　publicized　incident　at　the　Vatican。　Since　then；　the　stream　of　self…important　historians　and　art　buffs　arriving　at　his　door　had　seemed　never…ending。
〃If　you　would　be　so　kind；〃　Langdon　said；　doing　his　best　to　remain　polite；　〃could　you　take　the　man's　name　and　number；　and　tell　him　I'll　try　to　call　him　before　I　leave　Paris　on　Tuesday？　Thank　you。〃　He　hung　up　before　the　concierge　could　protest。
Sitting　up　now；　Langdon　frowned　at　his　bedside　Guest　Relations　Handbook；　whose　cover　boasted：　SLEEP　LIKE　A　BABY　IN　THE　CITY　OF　LIGHTS。　SLUMBER　AT　THE　PARIS　RITZ。　He　turned　and　gazed　tiredly　into　the　full…length　mirror　across　the　room。　The　man　staring　back　at　him　was　a　stranger—tousled　and　weary。
You　need　a　vacation；　Robert。
The　past　year　had　taken　a　heavy　toll　on　him；　but　he　didn't　appreciate　seeing　proof　in　the　mirror。　His　usually　sharp　blue　eyes　looked　hazy　and　drawn　tonight。　A　dark　stubble　was　shrouding　his　strong　jaw　and　dimpled　chin。　Around　his　temples；　the　gray　highlights　were　advancing；　making　their　way　deeper　into　his　thicket　of　coarse　black　hair。　Although　his　female　colleagues　insisted　the　gray　only　accentuated　his　bookish　appeal；　Langdon　knew　better。
If　Boston　Magazine　could　see　me　now。
La