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属类: 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 丹-布朗] 阅读:[25802]
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塞拉斯跪在前排的座位上,一边假装祷告,一边扫视着圣殿的结构布局。与大多数教堂一样,圣叙尔皮斯教堂呈巨大的十字形。中间的较长的区域--中殿--直接通向圣坛,在圣坛处有较短的区域与中殿垂直交叉,这一区域叫做翼部。中殿与翼部在教堂圆顶中心的正下方相交,相交处被视为教堂的心脏--教堂中最为神圣和神秘的一点。

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今晚例外,塞拉斯想。圣叙尔皮斯把秘密藏在了其他地方。

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塞拉斯扭头向教堂的南翼望去,看着座位那头的地面--遇害者们所描述的目标。

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就在那里。

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一根光滑而又细长的铜条嵌在灰色的花岗岩地面中闪闪发光--这条金线斜穿教堂地面。这条线上标有刻度,就像一把尺。有人告诉过塞拉斯,这是指时针,是异教的一种天文仪器,与日晷相似。全世界的旅游者、科学家、历史学家和异教徒都来到圣叙尔皮斯教堂参观这条著名的金属线。

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玫瑰线。

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塞拉斯的目光慢慢地随着铜条的轨迹移动,铜条在地面的石砖中从他的右侧延伸至左侧,在他的面前折成一个难看的角,完全与教堂的对称设计格格不入。在塞拉斯看来,那穿越过圣坛地面的铜条,就像美丽的脸庞上的一道疤痕。铜条横贯教堂,将纵向的走道截为两段,最终延伸至教堂北翼的角落。在那个角落,树立着一座碑,这让人颇感意外。

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一座巨大的埃及方尖碑。

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闪闪发光的玫瑰线在方尖碑的基石处向上转了个九十度的弯,顺着碑面继续向上延伸了三十三米,终结于石碑的尖顶处。

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玫瑰线,塞拉斯想,兄弟会的人将楔石藏在了玫瑰线的下面。

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傍晚,当塞拉斯告诉教父,修道院的楔石藏在圣叙尔皮斯教堂里时,教父似乎有点儿不相信。但当塞拉斯补充说兄弟会的人已经交代了确切地点,那地点与横贯教堂地面的一条铜线有关时,教父立即明白过来。"你说的是玫瑰线。"

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教父告诉塞拉斯,圣叙尔皮斯教堂有一奇异处赫赫有名--在南北轴线上的一根铜条分割了中殿。那是一种古代的日晷,是异教古庙的遗迹。每天,太阳光通过南墙上的洞眼照射进来,光束会顺铜线上的刻度一点一点地移动,这样就可以计量时间了。

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这条南北向的铜线被称为玫瑰线。几个世纪以来,玫瑰的象征意义一直与地图或为灵魂指引方向有关。例如,每张地图上都会有"罗盘玫瑰",指明东、南、西、北。它由"风向玫瑰"演变而来,那是一种可以指明三十二种风向的仪器,通过它可以辨别四面八方的来风。罗盘图上有个圆圈,圈上有三十二个点,酷似玫瑰花的三十二片花瓣。直到今天,最基本的航海工具依然被叫做"罗盘玫瑰",它的正北方向一般会有一个法国百合的标志,当然,有时是一个箭头的标志。

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地球仪上的玫瑰线--也叫做子午线或经线--是想象中连接南北两极的线。当然,玫瑰线有无数条,因为经过地球仪上的任意一点都可以画出条连接南北两极的经线。于是,早期的航海者就遇到了这样一个问题--如何确定玫瑰线,即零度经线,并依此来确定其他的经线的度数。

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现在,玫瑰线在英国的格林威治。

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但过去并非如此。

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在将格林威治天文台确定为本初子午线所经过的一点之前,零度经线正好穿过巴黎,穿过圣叙尔皮斯教堂。为了纪念那根铜条的制作者,本初子午线最初被这样确定。虽然,格林威治于1888 年从巴黎手中夺走了这项殊荣,但当初的玫瑰线依然可见。

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教父告诉塞拉斯:"据说,修道院的楔石被藏在有玫瑰象征的东西下面。看来,这个传闻属实。"塞拉斯依旧跪在那里,他环视了一下教堂,又竖起耳朵听了听周围的动静,以确定周围是否真的没人。忽然,他好像听见唱诗班站台上有"沙沙"的响动。他转过头,盯着那里看了好几秒钟,但什么也没看见。

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只有我一个人。

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他这才起身,又向圣坛曲膝三次。接着,他向左转身,沿着铜线向北面的方尖碑走去。

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此刻,在列昂纳多。达。芬奇机场,阿林加洛沙主教被飞机轮胎撞击跑道的震动惊醒了。

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我飘了下来,他想着,还清楚地记得自己刚才放松得睡着了。

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"欢迎您来到罗马。"飞机的扬声器里传来这样的语句。

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阿林加洛沙坐直身体,拉了拉他的黑色长袍,露出了他那难得一见的微笑。他很乐意做这次旅行。我处于守势很久了。但今晚,规则改变了。五个月前,阿林加洛沙还在为这个宗教的前途而担忧,但现在,好像如有神助,出路自动呈现在他面前。

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来得正好。

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如果巴黎那头的事态发展顺利,阿林加洛沙很快就会拥有他想要的东西,那东西可以让他成为基督教界中最有权力的人。

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The Mona Lisa.

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For an instant, standing in the exit stairwell, Sophie forgot all about trying to leave the Louvre.

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Her shock over the anagram was matched only by her embarrassment at not having deciphered themessage herself. Sophie’s expertise in complex cryptanalysis had caused her to overlook simplisticword games, and yet she knew she should have seen it. After all, she was no stranger toanagrams—especially in English.

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When she was young, often her grandfather would use anagram games to hone her Englishspelling. Once he had written the English word "planets" and told Sophie that an astonishing sixty-two other English words of varying lengths could be formed using those same letters. Sophie hadspent three days with an English dictionary until she found them all.

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"I can’t imagine," Langdon said, staring at the printout, "how your grandfather created such anintricate anagram in the minutes before he died."Sophie knew the explanation, and the realization made her feel even worse. I should have seen this!

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She now recalled that her grandfather—a wordplay aficionado and art lover—had entertainedhimself as a young man by creating anagrams of famous works of art. In fact, one of his anagramshad gotten him in trouble once when Sophie was a little girl. While being interviewed by anAmerican art magazine, Saunière had expressed his distaste for the modernist Cubist movement bynoting that Picasso’s masterpiece Les Demoiselles d’Avignon was a perfect anagram of vilemeaningless doodles. Picasso fans were not amused.

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"My grandfather probably created this Mona Lisa anagram long ago," Sophie said, glancing up atLangdon. And tonight he was forced to use it as a makeshift code. Her grandfather’s voice hadcalled out from beyond with chilling precision.

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Leonardo da Vinci!

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The Mona Lisa!

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Why his final words to her referenced the famous painting, Sophie had no idea, but she could thinkof only one possibility. A disturbing one.

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Those were not his final words....

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Was she supposed to visit the Mona Lisa? Had her grandfather left her a message there? The ideaseemed perfectly plausible. After all, the famous painting hung in the Salle des Etats—a privateviewing chamber accessible only from the Grand Gallery. In fact, Sophie now realized, the doorsthat opened into the chamber were situated only twenty meters from where her grandfather hadbeen found dead.

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He easily could have visited the Mona Lisa before he died.

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Sophie gazed back up the emergency stairwell and felt torn. She knew she should usher Langdonfrom the museum immediately, and yet instinct urged her to the contrary. As Sophie recalled herfirst childhood visit to the Denon Wing, she realized that if her grandfather had a secret to tell her,few places on earth made a more apt rendezvous than Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

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"She’s just a little bit farther," her grandfather had whispered, clutching Sophie’s tiny hand as he ledher through the deserted museum after hours.

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Sophie was six years old. She felt small and insignificant as she gazed up at the enormous ceilingsand down at the dizzying floor. The empty museum frightened her, although she was not about tolet her grandfather know that. She set her jaw firmly and let go of his hand.

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"Up ahead is the Salle des Etats," her grandfather said as they approached the Louvre’s mostfamous room. Despite her grandfather’s obvious excitement, Sophie wanted to go home. She hadseen pictures of the Mona Lisa in books and didn’t like it at all. She couldn’t understand whyeveryone made such a fuss.

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"C’est ennuyeux," Sophie grumbled.

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"Boring," he corrected. "French at school. English at home.""Le Louvre, c’est pas chez moi!" she challenged.

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He gave her a tired laugh. "Right you are. Then let’s speak English just for fun."Sophie pouted and kept walking. As they entered the Salle des Etats, her eyes scanned the narrowroom and settled on the obvious spot of honor—the center of the right-hand wall, where a loneportrait hung behind a protective Plexiglas wall. Her grandfather paused in the doorway andmotioned toward the painting.

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"Go ahead, Sophie. Not many people get a chance to visit her alone."Swallowing her apprehension, Sophie moved slowly across the room. After everything she’d heardabout the Mona Lisa, she felt as if she were approaching royalty. Arriving in front of the protectivePlexiglas, Sophie held her breath and looked up, taking it in all at once.

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Sophie was not sure what she had expected to feel, but it most certainly was not this. No jolt ofamazement. No instant of wonder. The famous face looked as it did in books. She stood in silencefor what felt like forever, waiting for something to happen.

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"So what do you think?" her grandfather whispered, arriving behind her. "Beautiful, yes?""She’s too little."Saunière smiled. "You’re little and you’re beautiful."I am not beautiful, she thought. Sophie hated her red hair and freckles, and she was bigger than allthe boys in her class. She looked back at the Mona Lisa and shook her head. "She’s even worsethan in the books. Her face is... brumeux.""Foggy," her grandfather tutored.

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"Foggy," Sophie repeated, knowing the conversation would not continue until she repeated her newvocabulary word.

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"That’s called the sfumato style of painting," he told her, "and it’s very hard to do. Leonardo daVinci was better at it than anyone."Sophie still didn’t like the painting. "She looks like she knows something... like when kids at schoolhave a secret."Her grandfather laughed. "That’s part of why she is so famous. People like to guess why she issmiling.""Do you know why she’s smiling?""Maybe." Her grandfather winked. "Someday I’ll tell you all about it."Sophie stamped her foot. "I told you I don’t like secrets!""Princess," he smiled. "Life is filled with secrets. You can’t learn them all at once.""I’m going back up," Sophie declared, her voice hollow in the stairwell.

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"To the Mona Lisa?" Langdon recoiled. "Now?"Sophie considered the risk. "I’m not a murder suspect. I’ll take my chances. I need to understandwhat my grandfather was trying to tell me.""What about the embassy?"Sophie felt guilty turning Langdon into a fugitive only to abandon him, but she saw no otheroption. She pointed down the stairs to a metal door. "Go through that door, and follow theilluminated exit signs. My grandfather used to bring me down here. The signs will lead you to asecurity turnstile. It’s monodirectional and opens out." She handed Langdon her car keys. "Mine isthe red SmartCar in the employee lot. Directly outside this bulkhead. Do you know how to get tothe embassy?"Langdon nodded, eyeing the keys in his hand.

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"Listen," Sophie said, her voice softening. "I think my grandfather may have left me a message atthe Mona Lisa—some kind of clue as to who killed him. Or why I’m in danger." Or what happenedto my family. "I have to go see.""But if he wanted to tell you why you were in danger, why wouldn’t he simply write it on the floorwhere he died? Why this complicated word game?""Whatever my grandfather was trying to tell me, I don’t think he wanted anyone else to hear it. Noteven the police." Clearly, her grandfather had done everything in his power to send a confidentialtransmission directly to her. He had written it in code, included her secret initials, and told her tofind Robert Langdon—a wise command, considering the American symbologist had deciphered hiscode. "As strange as it may sound," Sophie said, "I think he wants me to get to the Mona Lisabefore anyone else does.""I’ll come.""No! We don’t know how long the Grand Gallery will stay empty. You have to go."Langdon seemed hesitant, as if his own academic curiosity were threatening to override soundjudgment and drag him back into Fache’s hands.

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"Go. Now." Sophie gave him a grateful smile. "I’ll see you at the embassy, Mr. Langdon."Langdon looked displeased. "I’ll meet you there on one condition," he replied, his voice stern.

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She paused, startled. "What’s that?""That you stop calling me Mr. Langdon."Sophie detected the faint hint of a lopsided grin growing across Langdon’s face, and she felt herselfsmile back. "Good luck, Robert."When Langdon reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, the unmistakable smell of linseedoil and plaster dust assaulted his nostrils. Ahead, an illuminated SORTIE/EXIT displayed an arrowpointing down a long corridor.

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Langdon stepped into the hallway.

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To the right gaped a murky restoration studio out of which peered an army of statues in variousstates of repair. To the left, Langdon saw a suite of studios that resembled Harvard artclassrooms—rows of easels, paintings, palettes, framing tools—an art assembly line.

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As he moved down the hallway, Langdon wondered if at any moment he might awake with a startin his bed in Cambridge. The entire evening had felt like a bizarre dream. I’m about to dash out ofthe Louvre... a fugitive.

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Saunière’s clever anagrammatic message was still on his mind, and Langdon wondered whatSophie would find at the Mona Lisa... if anything. She had seemed certain her grandfather meantfor her to visit the famous painting one more time. As plausible an interpretation as this seemed,Langdon felt haunted now by a troubling paradox.

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P.S. Find Robert Langdon.

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Saunière had written Langdon’s name on the floor, commanding Sophie to find him. But why?

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Merely so Langdon could help her break an anagram?

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It seemed quite unlikely.

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After all, Saunière had no reason to think Langdon was especially skilled at anagrams. We’ve nevereven met. More important, Sophie had stated flat out that she should have broken the anagram onher own. It had been Sophie who spotted the Fibonacci sequence, and, no doubt, Sophie who, ifgiven a little more time, would have deciphered the message with no help from Langdon.

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Sophie was supposed to break that anagram on her own. Langdon was suddenly feeling morecertain about this, and yet the conclusion left an obvious gaping lapse in the logic of Saunière’sactions.

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Why me? Langdon wondered, heading down the hall. Why was Saunière’s dying wish that hisestranged granddaughter find me? What is it that Saunière thinks I know?

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In that instant, Langdon felt Saunière’s puzzling mix of symbolism fall into stark focus. Like a pealof thunder, a career’s worth of symbology and history came crashing down around him. EverythingJacques Saunière had done tonight suddenly made perfect sense.

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