Sion is a secret European society founded in 1099, a real organization.
In 1975, handwritten scrolls known as the "Secret Files" were discovered in the Paris National Library, revealing the names of many members of the Priory of Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo and Leonardo da Vinci.
The personal prelature of the Vatican, known as the "Opus Dei", is a Catholic sect that professes deep piety. Infamous for her brainwashing, violence, and dangerous "mortification" rituals. The Opus Dei cult has just completed the $47 million construction of its New York headquarters at 243 Lexington Avenue.
The book provides accurate descriptions of works of art, architecture, documents and secret rituals.
Paris, Louvre 21.46
The famous curator Jacques Sauniere staggered under the vaulted arch of the Grand Gallery and rushed to the first painting that caught his eye, the canvas of Caravaggio. He grabbed the gilded frame with both hands and began to pull it towards himself until the masterpiece fell off the wall and collapsed on the seventy-year-old old man Saunière, burying him under him.
As Saunière had predicted, a metal grating came down with a roar, blocking access to this hall. The parquet floor shook. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm siren blared.
For several seconds the curator lay motionless, gasping for air and trying to figure out what light he was in. I am still alive. Then he crawled out from under the canvas and began to frantically look around in search of a place where he could hide.
- Do not move.
The curator, who was on all fours, went cold, then slowly turned around.
Only fifteen feet away, behind bars, stood the imposing and formidable figure of his pursuer. Tall, broad-shouldered, with pale skin and sparse white hair. The whites of the eyes are pink, and the pupils are a menacing dark red. The albino took a pistol out of his pocket, thrust the long barrel through the hole between the iron bars, and aimed at the curator.
"You mustn't run," he said in a hard-to-detect accent. “Now tell me, where is it?”
“But I already told you,” the curator stammered, still on all fours helplessly. “I have no idea what you're talking about.
- Lie! The man was motionless and looked at him with the unblinking gaze of terrible eyes, in which red sparks gleamed. “You and your brothers have something that does not belong to you.
The Curator winced. How can he know?
– And today this item will find its true owners. So tell me where he is and stay alive. - The man lowered the barrel a little lower, now it was aimed directly at the handler's head. "Or is it a secret you're willing to die for?"
Sauniere held his breath.
The man tilted his head slightly and took aim.
Saunière raised his hands helplessly.
“Wait,” he muttered. - I'll tell you everything I know. And the curator spoke, choosing his words carefully. This lie he had rehearsed many times, and each time he prayed that he would not have to resort to it.
When he finished, his pursuer smiled smugly.
- Yes. That is what others have told me.
Other? Saunière was mentally surprised.
“I found them too,” said the albino. - All three. And they confirmed what you just said.
That cannot be! For the true identity of the curator and the identity of his three sénéchaux were as sacred and inviolable as the ancient secret they held. But then Sauniere guessed: three of his senechaux, faithful to their duty, told the same legend before their death as he did. That was part of the plan.
The man took aim again.
“So when you die, I'll be the only person in the world who knows the truth.
Truth!.. The curator instantly caught the terrible meaning of this word, the whole horror of the situation became clear to him. If I die, no one will ever know the truth. And he, driven by the instinct of self-preservation, tried to find shelter.
A shot rang out, the curator limply sank to the floor. The bullet hit him in the stomach. He tried to crawl ... with difficulty overcoming the terrible pain. Slowly he raised his head and peered through the bars at his killer.
Now he was aiming for his head.
Sauniere closed his eyes, fear and regret tormented him.
The click of a blank shot echoed down the corridor.
Sauniere opened his eyes.
The albino looked at his weapon with mocking bewilderment. I wanted to reload it, then, apparently, changed my mind, pointed to Saunière's stomach with a grin:
- I did my job.
The curator lowered his eyes and saw a bullet hole on a white linen shirt. It was framed in a red ring of blood and was several inches below the sternum. Stomach! A cruel miss: the bullet hit not in the heart, but in the stomach. The curator was a veteran of the Algerian war and had seen many painful deaths. He will live another fifteen minutes, and the acids from the stomach, seeping into the chest cavity, will slowly poison him.
“Pain, you know, it’s good, monsieur,” said the albino.
Left alone, Jacques Sauniere glanced at the iron bars. He was trapped, the doors wouldn't open for another twenty minutes. And by the time someone arrives to help, he will already be dead. But it was not his own death that frightened him at the moment.
I must convey the secret.
Trying to get to his feet, he saw before him the faces of his three murdered brothers. He remembered the generations of other brothers, the mission they carried out, carefully passing the secret to their descendants.
An unbreakable chain of knowledge.
And now, despite all the precautions... despite all the tricks, he, Jacques Sauniere, remained the only link in this chain, the only keeper of the secret.
Trembling, he finally stood up.
I have to find some way...
He was locked in the Grand Gallery, and there was only one person in the world to whom the torch of knowledge could be passed. Sauniere looked at the walls of his luxurious dungeon. They were adorned with a collection of world-famous paintings, they seemed to be looking down at him, smiling like old friends.
Grimacing in pain, he called for help with all his strength and skill. The task ahead of him will require concentration and take away all the seconds of his life allotted to the last.
Robert Langdon did not wake up immediately.
Somewhere in the darkness, a telephone rang. But the call sounded unusually sharp, piercing. He fumbled on the bedside table and switched on the night lamp. He squinted at the furnishings: a velvet-lined Renaissance bedroom, Louis XVI furniture, hand-painted frescoed walls, a huge mahogany four-poster bed.
Where the hell am I?
On the back of the chair hung a jacquard robe with the monogram HOTEL RITZ, PARIS.
The fog in my head began to gradually dissipate.
Langdon picked up the phone.
Squinting, Langdon glanced at the desk clock. They showed 12.32 at night. He slept for only an hour and was barely alive from fatigue.
- It's the porter, monsieur. Sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. He says he has urgent business.
Langdon was still confused. Visitor? His eyes fell on a crumpled piece of paper on the bedside table. It was a small poster.
Current page: 1 (total book has 34 pages) [accessible reading excerpt: 19 pages]
Dan Brown
The Da Vinci Code
And again dedicated to Blythe ... Even more than ever
about the author
Dan Brown was born in 1965 in New Hampshire (USA), his father was a professor of mathematics, and his mother was a professional musician. He graduated from Philips-Exeter Academy and Amherst College, then moved to California where he began his career as a songwriter, musician and performer, releasing several CDs of his recordings. In 1993, Dan Brown returned to New Hampshire and began teaching English at Amherst College. In 1995, he and his wife published 187 Men to Stay Away from: A Guide for Romantically Frustrated Women. In 1998, the writer, who has always been interested in philosophy, the history of religion, cryptography and secret organizations, published his first thriller novel, Digital Fortress. His further works were also created at the "junction of genres": in 2000, the intellectual conspiracy detective Angels and Demons saw the light, and in 2001 the thriller Deception Point was released. In 2003, the adventures of Professor Robert Langdon from "Angels and Demons" were continued by the novel "The Da Vinci Code" - on the first day after publication it was sold in the amount of 6 thousand copies, and the total world circulation of Dan Brown's bestsellers, translated into 40 languages, approaching 8 million copies. The writer is also engaged in journalism, regularly publishes in Newsweek, TIME, Forbes, People, GQ, The New Yorker, and appears on various popular radio and television programs.
Data
Priory 1
The priory, or signoria, is the city government of a number of medieval towns-communes. In the Masonic tradition, the Grand Priory is a division in the leadership system of one of the denominations of Freemasonry (Temple, Hospital). - Note. Ed.
Siona is a secret European society founded in 1099, a real organization. In 1975, handwritten scrolls known as the "Secret Files" were discovered in the Paris National Library, revealing the names of many members of the Priory of Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo and Leonardo da Vinci.
The personal prelature of the Vatican, known as the "Opus Dei", is a Catholic sect that professes deep piety. Infamous for her brainwashing, violence, and dangerous "mortification" rituals. The Opus Dei cult has just completed the $47 million construction of its New York headquarters at 243 Lexington Avenue.
The book provides accurate descriptions of works of art, architecture, documents and secret rituals.
Prologue
Paris, Louvre 21.46
The famous curator Jacques Sauniere staggered under the vaulted arch of the Grand Gallery and rushed to the first painting that caught his eye, the canvas of Caravaggio. He grabbed the gilded frame with both hands and began to pull it towards himself until the masterpiece fell off the wall and collapsed on the seventy-year-old old man Saunière, burying him under him.
As Saunière had predicted, a metal grating came down with a roar, blocking access to this hall. The parquet floor shook. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm siren blared.
For several seconds the curator lay motionless, gasping for air and trying to figure out what light he was in. I am still alive. Then he crawled out from under the canvas and began to frantically look around in search of a place where he could hide.
- Do not move.
The curator, who was on all fours, went cold, then slowly turned around.
Only fifteen feet away, behind bars, stood the imposing and formidable figure of his pursuer. Tall, broad-shouldered, with pale skin and sparse white hair. The whites of the eyes are pink, and the pupils are a menacing dark red. The albino took a pistol out of his pocket, thrust the long barrel through the hole between the iron bars, and aimed at the curator. "You mustn't run," he said in a hard-to-detect accent. “Now tell me, where is it?”
“But I already told you,” the curator stammered, still on all fours helplessly. “I have no idea what you're talking about.
- Lie! The man was motionless and looked at him with the unblinking gaze of terrible eyes, in which red sparks gleamed. “You and your brothers have something that does not belong to you.
The Curator winced. How can he know?
– And today this item will find its true owners. So tell me where he is and stay alive. - The man lowered the barrel a little lower, now it was aimed directly at the handler's head. "Or is it a secret you're willing to die for?"
Sauniere held his breath.
The man tilted his head slightly and took aim.
Saunière raised his hands helplessly.
“Wait,” he muttered. - I'll tell you everything I know. And the curator spoke, choosing his words carefully. This lie he had rehearsed many times, and each time he prayed that he would not have to resort to it.
When he finished, his pursuer smiled smugly.
- Yes. That is what others have told me.
Other? Saunière was mentally surprised.
“I found them too,” said the albino. - All three. And they confirmed what you just said.
That cannot be! For the true identity of the curator and the identity of his three sénéchaux 2
Old servants, servants (fr.). - Note here and below. per.
were as sacred and inviolable as the ancient secret they kept. But then Saunière guessed: three of his sénéchaux, faithful to their duty, told the same legend before their death as he did. That was part of the plan.
The man took aim again.
“So when you die, I'll be the only person in the world who knows the truth.
Truth!.. The curator instantly caught the terrible meaning of this word, the whole horror of the situation became clear to him. If I die, no one will ever know the truth. And he, driven by the instinct of self-preservation, tried to find shelter.
A shot rang out, the curator limply sank to the floor. The bullet hit him in the stomach. He tried to crawl ... with difficulty overcoming the terrible pain. Slowly he raised his head and peered through the bars at his killer.
Now he was aiming for his head.
Sauniere closed his eyes, fear and regret tormented him.
The click of a blank shot echoed down the corridor.
Sauniere opened his eyes.
The albino looked at his weapon with mocking bewilderment. I wanted to reload it, then, apparently, changed my mind, pointed to Saunière's stomach with a grin:
- I did my job.
The curator lowered his eyes and saw a bullet hole on a white linen shirt. It was framed in a red ring of blood and was several inches below the sternum. Stomach! A cruel miss: the bullet hit not in the heart, but in the stomach. The curator was a veteran of the Algerian war and had seen many painful deaths. He will live another fifteen minutes, and the acids from the stomach, seeping into the chest cavity, will slowly poison him.
“Pain, you know, it’s good, monsieur,” said the albino. And left.
Left alone, Jacques Sauniere glanced at the iron bars. He was trapped, the doors wouldn't open for another twenty minutes. And by the time someone arrives to help, he will already be dead. But it was not his own death that frightened him at the moment.
I must convey the secret.
Trying to get to his feet, he saw before him the faces of his three murdered brothers. He remembered the generations of other brothers, the mission they carried out, carefully passing the secret to their descendants.
An unbreakable chain of knowledge.
And now, despite all the precautions... despite all the tricks, he, Jacques Sauniere, remained the only link in this chain, the only keeper of the secret.
Trembling, he finally stood up.
I have to find some way... He was locked in the Grand Gallery, and there was only one person in the world to whom the torch of knowledge could be passed. Sauniere looked at the walls of his luxurious dungeon. They were adorned with a collection of world-famous paintings, they seemed to be looking down at him, smiling like old friends.
Grimacing in pain, he called for help with all his strength and skill. The task ahead of him will require concentration and take away all the seconds of his life allotted to the last.
Chapter 1
Robert Langdon did not wake up immediately.
Somewhere in the darkness, a telephone rang. But the call sounded unusually sharp, piercing. He fumbled on the bedside table and switched on the night lamp. He squinted at the furnishings: a velvet-lined Renaissance bedroom, Louis XVI furniture, hand-painted frescoed walls, a huge mahogany four-poster bed. Where the hell am I?
On the back of the chair hung a jacquard robe with the monogram HOTEL RITZ, PARIS.
The fog in my head began to gradually dissipate. Langdon picked up the phone.
Squinting, Langdon glanced at the desk clock. They showed 12.32 at night. He slept for only an hour and was barely alive from fatigue.
- It's the porter, monsieur. Sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. He says he has urgent business.
Langdon was still confused. Visitor? His eyes fell on a crumpled piece of paper on the bedside table. It was a small poster.
AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF PARIS
has the honor to invite
to meet Robert Langdon,
professor of religious symbolism
Harvard University
Langdon groaned softly. The evening lecture was accompanied by a slide show: pagan symbolism, reflected in the stonework of the cathedral at Chartres, and it certainly did not appeal to conservative professors. Or maybe the most religious scientists will even ask him out and put him on the first flight to America.
“Sorry,” Langdon replied, “but I’m very tired and—”
Mais, monsieur 3
But, monsieur (fr.).
, the porter continued to insist, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper. Your guest is a very influential person.
Langdon had no doubts about it. Books on religious painting and cult symbolism made him a kind of celebrity in the art world, only with a minus sign. And last year, Langdon's notoriety was only increased by his involvement in a rather ambiguous incident in the Vatican, which was widely covered by the press. And since then, he was simply overcome by all sorts of unrecognized historians and dilettantes from art, and he was brought down by the crowd.
“Please,” Langdon did his best to be polite, “write down the name and address of this person.” And tell him I'll try to call him on the Thursday before we leave Paris. OK? Thank you! - And he hung up before the receptionist had a chance to object.
He sat up in bed and frowned at the hotel diary on the table, the cover of which bore the now-mocking inscription: "SLEEP LIKE A BABY IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS, SWEET DREAMS AT THE RITZ HOTEL, PARIS." He turned away and looked wearily into the tall mirror on the wall. The man reflected there was almost a stranger. Tousled, tired.
You need to get some rest, Robert.
The last year was especially difficult, and this was reflected in the appearance. Usually such lively blue eyes dimmed and looked sad. The cheekbones and dimpled chin were shaded by stubble. The hair at the temples was silvery gray, moreover, the gray hairs flashed even in the thick black hair. And although all the female colleagues assured him that gray hair suits him terribly, emphasizes the learned look, he himself was not at all delighted.
You should have seen me at the Boston Store now!
Last month, to Langdon's amazement and some dismay, The Boston Magazine named him one of the city's ten most "intriguing" people, a dubious honor that has been the subject of constant ridicule from Harvard colleagues. And now, three thousand miles from home, the honor given to him by the magazine turned into a nightmare that haunted him even at a lecture at the University of Paris.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host announced to the crowded hall called the Dauphin's Pavilion, “our today's guest needs no introduction. He is the author of many books, including: "The Symbolism of Secret Sects", "The Art of Intellectuals: The Lost Language of Ideograms". And if I say that it was from his pen that "Religious Iconology" came out, then I will not reveal to you a big secret. For many of you, his books have become textbooks.
The students nodded vigorously in agreement.
– And today I wanted to present it to you, outlining such an impressive curriculum vitae 4
Circle of life (lat.).
this man. But…” she glanced playfully at Langdon, who was sitting at the presidium table, “one of our students just provided me with even more, so to speak, intriguing introduction.
And she showed me a Boston magazine.
Langdon winced. Where the hell did she get it?
The host began to read out excerpts from a completely idiotic article, and Langdon sank deeper and deeper into the chair. Thirty seconds later, the audience was already giggling with might and main, and the lady did not let up.
"Mr. Langdon's refusal to tell the media about his unusual role in last year's Vatican meeting definitely helped him score points in the fight for entry into the top ten 'schemers'." - Here she stopped and turned to the audience: - Do you want to listen to more?
The response was a round of applause. No, someone has to stop her thought Langdon. And she read a new passage:
“While Professor Langdon isn't quite as stunning as some of our younger applicants, at 40 plus he has the full charm of a scientist. And his charm only emphasizes the low baritone, which, according to the students, acts “just like chocolate on the ears.”
The hall erupted with laughter.
Langdon managed a shy smile. He knew what was coming next, a passage on "Harrison Ford in Harris Tweed." And since today he recklessly dressed up in a tweed jacket from Harris and a turtleneck from Burbury, he decided to urgently take some action.
“Thank you, Monique,” Langdon said as he rose and stepped off the podium. – This Boston magazine definitely employs people endowed with the gift of artistic expression. They should write novels. He sighed and looked around the audience. - And if I only find out who brought this magazine here, I will demand to throw the bastard out.
Everyone laughed together again.
- Well, my friends, as everyone knows, I came to you today to talk about the power of symbols ...
The ringing of the phone interrupted Langdon's thoughts.
He sighed resignedly and picked up the phone.
As expected, it was the porter again.
“Mr. Langdon, once again I apologize for disturbing you. But I'm calling to inform you that a guest is on his way to your room. So I thought it might be better to warn you.
Langdon woke up completely.
“So you sent him to my room?”
“I beg your pardon, monsieur, but a man of such rank ... I just thought that I had no right to stop him.”
“Who is he, after all?”
But the porter had already hung up.
And almost immediately there was a loud knock on the door. Langdon rose reluctantly from the bed, his bare feet sinking into the thick, fluffy carpet. He put on a bathrobe and walked towards the door.
- Who's there?
"Mr. Langdon?" I need to speak with you. The man spoke English with an accent, his voice harsh and authoritative. “I am Lieutenant Jerome Collet. From the Central Directorate of the Judicial Police.
Langdon froze. Central Directorate of the Judicial Police, or CUSP for short? He knew that this organization in France is about the same as the FBI in the USA.
Without removing the chain, he opened the door a few inches. A thin face with inexpressive, as if erased features looked at him. And the man in the blue uniform was incredibly thin.
- May I come in? Kollet asked.
Langdon hesitated, feeling the lieutenant's gaze on him.
– And what, exactly, is the matter?
“My captain needs your help. Expertise in one particular case.
- Right now? Langdon was surprised. "But it's already past midnight."
– This evening you were supposed to meet with the curator of the Louvre, am I correctly informed?
Langdon had a disturbing premonition. Indeed, he and the Honorable Jacques Saunière had arranged to meet after the lecture and chat over drinks, but the curator never showed up.
- Yes. But how do you know?
We found your name on his desk calendar.
"I hope he's all right?"
The agent sighed and slipped the Polaroid snapshot into the slot.
Seeing the photo made Langdon go cold.
The picture was taken less than an hour ago. Within the walls of the Louvre.
Langdon stared at the chilling scene, and his disgust and indignation expressed itself in an angry exclamation:
“But who could do such a thing?!”
“That's what we want to find out. And we hope you will help us, given your knowledge of religious symbolism and the intention to meet Saunière.
Langdon stared at the picture, and outrage was replaced by fear. It's a disgusting sight, but that's not the only thing. He had an uneasy feeling of deja vu 5
I've seen this somewhere before.
Just over a year ago, Langdon received a photograph of a corpse and a similar request for help. And twenty-four hours later he almost lost his life, and it happened in the Vatican. No, this picture is completely different, but, nevertheless, there was a clear similarity in the script.
The agent glanced at his watch.
“My captain is waiting, sir.
But Langdon didn't hear him. His eyes were still focused on the picture.
– This symbol is here, and then the fact that the body is so strange…
- Is he poisoned? 1.
Is he poisoned?– Located? ( positioned?) – N.
the agent suggested.
Langdon nodded, winced, and looked up at him.
“I just can’t imagine who could have done something like this…”
The agent darkened.
“You don't understand, Mr. Langdon. What you see in the picture…” Here he faltered. “In short, Monsieur Saunière did this to himself.
Chapter 2
About a mile from the Ritz, an albino named Silas limped through the gate in front of a sumptuous red-brick mansion on Rue La Bruyère. The spiked garter of human hair he wore on his hip was painful, but his soul sang with joy. Still, he served the Lord gloriously. Pain, it's only good.
He entered the mansion, ran around the vestibule with red eyes. And then he began to quietly climb the stairs, trying not to wake his sleeping comrades. The door to his bedroom was open, locks were forbidden here. He entered and closed the door behind him.
The furnishings in the room were spartan - a bare plank floor, a simple pine chest of drawers, a linen mattress in the corner that served as a bed. Here Silas was only a guest, but at home, in New York, he had about the same cell. The Lord gave me shelter and a purpose in life. For today, at least, Silas felt like he was paying off his debts. Hastily went to the chest of drawers, pulled out the bottom drawer, found a mobile phone there and dialed a number.
“Master, I have returned.
– Speak! - commandingly said the interlocutor.
All four are finished. With three sénéchaux… and the Grand Master himself.
There was a pause in the receiver, as if the interlocutor offered a brief prayer to God.
“In that case, I assume you got the information?”
All four confessed. Regardless of one another.
- And you believed them?
- They said the same thing. This is hardly a coincidence.
The interlocutor exhaled excitedly into the phone:
- Great! I was afraid that the fraternity's inherent desire for secrecy would prevail here.
“Well, the prospect of death is a strong motivation.
- So, my student, tell me at last what I so wanted to know.
Silas knew that the information he received from the victims would come across as a bombshell.
“Master, all four have confirmed the existence of the clef de voûte… the legendary keystone.
He distinctly heard how the person at the other end of the line held his breath, felt the excitement that took possession of the Teacher.
- Foundation stone. Exactly what we assumed. According to legend, the brotherhood created the clef de voûte, or keystone, map. It was a stone plate with signs engraved on it, describing where the greatest secret of the brotherhood was kept ... This information had such explosive power that protecting it became the raison d'être of the brotherhood itself.
“Well, now that we have the stone,” the Teacher said, “there is only one, the last step left.
We are even closer than you think. The cornerstone here in Paris.
- In Paris? Incredible! Even a little too easy.
Silas recounted the events of the previous evening to him. He told how each of the four victims, seconds before death, tried to redeem their wicked life by betraying all the secrets of the brotherhood. And everyone told Silas the same thing: that the cornerstone was very ingeniously hidden in a secluded place, in one of the oldest churches in Paris - Eglise de Saint-Sulpice.
- In the walls of the house of the Lord! the Teacher exclaimed. How dare they make fun of us!
“They have been doing this for centuries.
The teacher fell silent, as if wanting to enjoy the moment of triumph. And then he said:
“You have done our Creator a great service. We have been waiting for this hour for centuries. You must get this stone for me. Immediately. Today! I hope you understand how high the stakes are?
Silas understood, but the Master's demand seemed impossible.
“But this church is like a fortified fortress. Especially at night. How will I get there?
And then, in the confident tone of a man with great power and influence, the Teacher explained to him how to do it.
Silas hung up and felt his skin tingle with excitement.
One hour, he reminded himself, grateful to the Master for giving him the opportunity to inflict penance on himself before entering the abode of the Lord. I must cleanse my soul from the sins committed today. However, today's sins were committed with a good purpose. Wars against the enemies of the Lord have been going on for centuries. Forgiveness was secured.
Even so, Silas knew that absolution required sacrifice.
He drew the curtains, stripped naked, and knelt in the center of the room. Then he lowered his eyes and looked at the spiked garter around his thigh. All true followers of The Way wore such garters, a strap studded with sharpened metal spikes that cut into the flesh with every movement and reminded of the suffering of Jesus. Pain also helped to restrain carnal impulses.
Even though Silas had worn his thong for over two hours today, he knew it was an unusual day. And so he grabbed the buckle and tightened the strap, wincing in pain as the spikes dug even deeper into his flesh. He closed his eyes and began to revel in this pain that brings cleansing.
Pain is only good Silas mentally uttered the words from the sacred mantra of Father José Maria Escrivá, the Master of all teachers. Although Escrivá himself died in 1975, his wise words continued to be whispered by thousands of devoted servants around the globe, especially when they knelt down and performed the sacred ritual known as "mortification".
Then Silas turned and looked down at the crudely woven rope in small knots, neatly coiled on the floor at his feet. The nodules were stained with gore. Anticipating even greater purging pain, Silas said a short prayer. Then he grabbed one end of the rope, closed his eyes, and lashed his back over his shoulder, feeling the knots scratch his skin. He lashed again, harder. And for a long time continued self-flagellation.
– Castigo corpus meum 6
I punish my body (lat.).
Finally, he felt blood running down his back.
Dan Brown's novel "The Da Vinci Code" is very popular. Its total circulation is more than eighty million copies, it has been translated into more than forty languages. This novel perfectly combines religion, art, mysticism, secret orders, symbolism and unusually high intelligence. The riddles and mysteries that this book touches on have worried society for many years, which caused such interest in the work. In addition, the events of the novel take place rapidly, you barely have time to follow the characters, it captivates you so much that you forget about reality.
Professor of religious symbolism Robert Langdon teaches at Harvard, he has to go to Europe to tell people about symbolism in Catholicism. But he finds himself at the very center of the crime. At the Louvre, the caretaker Jacques Saunière, who is a longtime friend of Langdon, was killed. The police suspect the professor himself of the murder, because his name was written in blood near the corpse. Then Langdon decides to conduct his own investigation to prove his innocence in this case. Everything turns out to be much more complicated, this is not an ordinary murder at all.
The professor is assisted by the murdered Sophie's granddaughter. Grandfather from childhood instilled in her a love of intellectual riddles. The key to unraveling death is the work of Leonardo Da Vinci. It turns out that Jacques was an influential person in a secret society that keeps the legacy of the Knights Templar and information about finding the Holy Grail, which scientists, including Langdon himself, have been trying to find for many years.
Solving the mystery of Jacques' death and escaping from the police is not all that awaits the professor and Sophie. They are already followed by a religious fanatic who wants to interfere with Langdon in every way in order to keep the secret that has been hidden for so many years...
On our website you can download the book "The Da Vinci Code" by Dan Brown for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy a book in an online store.
Dan Brown
The Da Vinci Code
And again dedicated to Blythe ... Even more than ever
Dan Brown was born in 1965 in New Hampshire (USA), his father was a professor of mathematics, and his mother was a professional musician. He graduated from Philips-Exeter Academy and Amherst College, then moved to California where he began his career as a songwriter, musician and performer, releasing several CDs of his recordings. In 1993, Dan Brown returned to New Hampshire and began teaching English at Amherst College. In 1995, he and his wife published 187 Men to Stay Away from: A Guide for Romantically Frustrated Women. In 1998, the writer, who has always been interested in philosophy, the history of religion, cryptography and secret organizations, published his first thriller novel, Digital Fortress. His further works were also created at the "junction of genres": in 2000, the intellectual conspiracy detective Angels and Demons saw the light, and in 2001 the thriller Deception Point was released. In 2003, the adventures of Professor Robert Langdon from "Angels and Demons" were continued by the novel "The Da Vinci Code" - on the first day after publication it was sold in the amount of 6 thousand copies, and the total world circulation of Dan Brown's bestsellers, translated into 40 languages, approaching 8 million copies. The writer is also engaged in journalism, regularly publishes in Newsweek, TIME, Forbes, People, GQ, The New Yorker, and appears on various popular radio and television programs.
The Priory of Sion is a secret European society founded in 1099, a real organization. In 1975, handwritten scrolls known as the "Secret Files" were discovered in the Paris National Library, revealing the names of many members of the Priory of Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo and Leonardo da Vinci.
The personal prelature of the Vatican, known as the "Opus Dei", is a Catholic sect that professes deep piety. Infamous for her brainwashing, violence, and dangerous "mortification" rituals. The Opus Dei cult has just completed the $47 million construction of its New York headquarters at 243 Lexington Avenue.
The book provides accurate descriptions of works of art, architecture, documents and secret rituals.
Paris, Louvre 21.46
The famous curator Jacques Sauniere staggered under the vaulted arch of the Grand Gallery and rushed to the first painting that caught his eye, the canvas of Caravaggio. He grabbed the gilded frame with both hands and began to pull it towards himself until the masterpiece fell off the wall and collapsed on the seventy-year-old old man Saunière, burying him under him.
As Saunière had predicted, a metal grating came down with a roar, blocking access to this hall. The parquet floor shook. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm siren blared.
For several seconds the curator lay motionless, gasping for air and trying to figure out what light he was in. I am still alive. Then he crawled out from under the canvas and began to frantically look around in search of a place where he could hide.
- Do not move.
The curator, who was on all fours, went cold, then slowly turned around.
Only fifteen feet away, behind bars, stood the imposing and formidable figure of his pursuer. Tall, broad-shouldered, with pale skin and sparse white hair. The whites of the eyes are pink, and the pupils are a menacing dark red. The albino took a pistol out of his pocket, thrust the long barrel through the hole between the iron bars, and aimed at the curator. "You mustn't run," he said in a hard-to-detect accent. “Now tell me, where is it?”
“But I already told you,” the curator stammered, still on all fours helplessly. “I have no idea what you're talking about.
- Lie! The man was motionless and looked at him with the unblinking gaze of terrible eyes, in which red sparks gleamed. “You and your brothers have something that does not belong to you.
The Curator winced. How can he know?
– And today this item will find its true owners. So tell me where he is and stay alive. - The man lowered the barrel a little lower, now it was aimed directly at the handler's head. "Or is it a secret you're willing to die for?"
Sauniere held his breath.
The man tilted his head slightly and took aim.
Saunière raised his hands helplessly.
“Wait,” he muttered. - I'll tell you everything I know. And the curator spoke, choosing his words carefully. This lie he had rehearsed many times, and each time he prayed that he would not have to resort to it.
When he finished, his pursuer smiled smugly.
- Yes. That is what others have told me. Other? Saunière was mentally surprised.
“I found them too,” said the albino. - All three. And they confirmed what you just said.
That cannot be! For the true identity of the curator and the identity of his three senechaux were as sacred and inviolable as the ancient secret they held. But then Sauniere guessed: three of his senechaux, faithful to their duty, told the same legend before their death as he did. That was part of the plan.
The man took aim again.
“So when you die, I'll be the only person in the world who knows the truth.
Truth!.. The curator instantly caught the terrible meaning of this word, the whole horror of the situation became clear to him. If I die, no one will ever know the truth. And he, driven by the instinct of self-preservation, tried to find shelter.
A shot rang out, the curator limply sank to the floor. The bullet hit him in the stomach. He tried to crawl ... with difficulty overcoming the terrible pain. Slowly he raised his head and peered through the bars at his killer.
Now he was aiming for his head.
Sauniere closed his eyes, fear and regret tormented him.
The click of a blank shot echoed down the corridor.
Sauniere opened his eyes.
The albino looked at his weapon with mocking bewilderment. I wanted to reload it, then, apparently, changed my mind, pointed to Saunière's stomach with a grin:
- I did my job.
The curator lowered his eyes and saw a bullet hole on a white linen shirt. It was framed in a red ring of blood and was several inches below the sternum. Stomach! A cruel miss: the bullet hit not in the heart, but in the stomach. The curator was a veteran of the Algerian war and had seen many painful deaths. He will live another fifteen minutes, and the acids from the stomach, seeping into the chest cavity, will slowly poison him.
“Pain, you know, it’s good, monsieur,” said the albino. And left.
Left alone, Jacques Sauniere glanced at the iron bars. He was trapped, the doors wouldn't open for another twenty minutes. And by the time someone arrives to help, he will already be dead. But it was not his own death that frightened him at the moment.
I must convey the secret.
Trying to get to his feet, he saw before him the faces of his three murdered brothers. He remembered the generations of other brothers, the mission they carried out, carefully passing the secret to their descendants.
An unbreakable chain of knowledge.
And now, despite all the precautions... despite all the tricks, he, Jacques Sauniere, remained the only link in this chain, the only keeper of the secret.
Trembling, he finally stood up.
I have to find some way... He was locked in the Grand Gallery, and there was only one person in the world to whom the torch of knowledge could be passed. Sauniere looked at the walls of his luxurious dungeon. They were adorned with a collection of world-famous paintings, they seemed to be looking down at him, smiling like old friends.
Grimacing in pain, he called for help with all his strength and skill. The task ahead of him will require concentration and take away all the seconds of his life allotted to the last.
Robert Langdon did not wake up immediately.
Somewhere in the darkness, a telephone rang. But the call sounded unusually sharp, piercing. He fumbled on the bedside table and switched on the night lamp. He squinted at the furnishings: a velvet-lined Renaissance bedroom, Louis XVI furniture, hand-painted frescoed walls, a huge mahogany four-poster bed. Where the hell am I?
On the back of the chair hung a jacquard robe with the monogram HOTEL RITZ, PARIS.
Robert Langdon - 2
And again dedicated to Blythe... Even more so than ever
The Priory of Sion is a secret European society founded in 1099, a real organization. In 1975, handwritten scrolls known as the "Secret Files" were discovered in the Paris National Library, revealing the names of many members of the Priory of Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo and Leonardo da Vinci.
The personal prelature of the Vatican, known as the "Opus Dei", is a Catholic sect that professes deep piety. Infamous for her brainwashing, violence, and dangerous "mortification" rituals. The Opus Dei cult has just completed the $47 million construction of its New York headquarters at 243 Lexington Avenue.
The book provides accurate descriptions of works of art, architecture, documents and secret rituals.
Prologue
Paris, Louvre 21. 46
The famous curator Jacques Sauniere staggered under the vaulted arch of the Grand Gallery and rushed to the first painting that caught his eye, the canvas of Caravaggio. He grabbed the gilded frame with both hands and began to pull it towards himself until the masterpiece fell off the wall and collapsed on the seventy-year-old old man Saunière, burying him under him.
As Saunière had predicted, a metal grating came down with a roar, blocking access to this hall. The parquet floor shook. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm siren blared.
For several seconds the curator lay motionless, gasping for air and trying to figure out what light he was in. I am still alive. Then he crawled out from under the canvas and began to frantically look around in search of a place where he could hide.
The voice sounded unexpectedly close.
- Do not move.
The curator, who was on all fours, went cold, then slowly turned around.
Only fifteen feet away, behind bars, stood the imposing and formidable figure of his pursuer. Tall, broad-shouldered, with pale skin and sparse white hair. The whites of the eyes are pink, and the pupils are a menacing dark red. The albino took a pistol out of his pocket, thrust the long barrel through the hole between the iron bars, and aimed at the curator. "You mustn't run," he said in a hard-to-detect accent. “Now tell me, where is it?”
“But I already told you,” the curator stammered, still on all fours helplessly. - I have no idea what you're talking about.
- Lie! - The man was motionless and looked at him with the unblinking gaze of terrible eyes, in which red sparks gleamed. - You and your brothers have something that does not belong to you.
The Curator winced. How can he know?
- And today this item will find its true owners. So tell me where he is and stay alive. - The man lowered the barrel a little lower, now it was aimed directly at the handler's head. "Or is it a secret you're willing to die for?"
Sauniere held his breath.
The man tilted his head slightly and took aim.
Saunière raised his hands helplessly.
"Wait," he muttered. - I'll tell you everything I know. And the curator spoke, choosing his words carefully. This lie he had rehearsed many times, and each time he prayed that he would not have to resort to it.
When he finished, his pursuer smiled smugly.
- Yes.
