Chapter 5 third chapter

When the Citroen ZX sped southwards past the Opera House and across Place Vendôme, the cold April wind hit the car through the windows.Robert Langdon was sitting in the guest seat, trying to gather his thoughts, only to feel the city speeding past him.He'd showered and shaved hastily, which made for an acceptable appearance, but he couldn't ease his anxiety.The image of the ghastly corpse of the curator remained locked in his mind. Jacques Saunière was dead. Langdon couldn't help but feel a sense of loss about the curator's death.Although Saunière was known to be a reclusive man, his devotion to art easily earned him awe.His book on the hidden codes in the paintings of Poussin and Teniers was Lang's favorite textbook in class.Langdon had great expectations for tonight's meeting, and he was very disappointed that the curator did not come.The image of the curator's dead body flashed through his mind again.Jacques Saunière made himself like that?Langdon turned and looked out the window, trying to force the image out of his mind.

Outside the car, the city streets zigzag.A street vendor pushes a cart along the street selling preserved peaches, a waiter is carrying garbage bags to put them on the side of the road, a pair of late-night lovers hug each other to keep warm in the breeze full of jasmine fragrance.The Citroen commands its way through the chaos, its piercing two-tone siren cutting through traffic like a knife. "Our chief was delighted to find you in Paris tonight," said the agent.It was the first time he spoke since leaving the hotel. "What a coincidence, how lucky." Langdon didn't feel lucky at all.He didn't quite believe in chance.A man who has spent his life exploring the hidden correlations between isolated symbols or ideas, Langdon sees the world as an unfathomable web of interwoven history and events.He often preaches in semiotics classes at Harvard that connections may not be seen, but they are always there, lying beneath the surface.

"I think the American University of Paris told you where I live," Langdon said. The driver shook his head and said, "Interpol." Interpol, Langdon thought.certainly.He forgot that all European hotels ask to see the passport of the guest.This innocuous request isn't just an odd check-in, it's the law.On any given night, across Europe, Interpol can pinpoint exactly who is sleeping where.It probably took five seconds to figure out that Langdon was staying at the Ritz.The Citroen continued to accelerate south through the city.This is when the silhouette of the illuminated Eiffel Tower begins to emerge.On the right side of the car, the iron tower goes straight into the sky.Seeing the Iron Tower, Langdon thought of Victoria and his playful promise a year ago.He said they travel around the globe for a romantic date every six months.The Eiffel Tower must have been on their list, Langdon thought.Sadly, he kissed Victoria goodbye a year ago at a raucous airport in Rome.

"Have you ever fucked her?" the agent asked looking into the distance. Langdon glanced up at him, convinced he hadn't understood him. "Excuse me, what did you say?" "She's cute, isn't she?" The agent pointed at the Eiffel Tower through the windshield. "Have you ever fucked her?" Langdon rolled his eyes. "No, I haven't climbed that tower yet." "She is a symbol of France. I think she is flawless." Langdon nodded absently. Semioticians often say that France is a country known for its manly, effeminate, and dangerous little leaders like Napoleon and Pepin the Short.It was only fitting that it chose a thousand-foot-tall penis as a national symbol.

They came to a red light at the Rivoli junction, but the Citroen didn't slow down.The agent accelerates across the intersection, speeding into the tree-lined section of Via Castigiano.This part of the road is used as the northern entrance to the famous Tuileries Gardens, the French version of Central Park.Many tourists mistakenly believe that the name Tuileries has something to do with the thousands of lilacs that bloom here, because the two have similar pronunciations.But the literal meaning of Tuileries does refer to something somewhat romantic.The park was once a polluted crater.From here, Parisian contractors dug clay to fire Paris's famous red roof tiles - the French pronunciation of the word is Tuileries.As they entered the deserted park, the agent reached under the dashboard and turned off the loud siren.Langdon let out a breath, savoring the tranquility that came at this moment.Outside the car, the white headlights flickeringly illuminate the gravel parking road ahead, and the tires make an unpleasant, rhythmic rustling sound, which makes people drowsy.

Langdon had always regarded the Tuileries as a holy place.It was in these gardens that Claude Monet experimented with form and color, in fact giving birth to the Impressionist movement.Tonight, however, an ominous vibe hangs over the place. Citroen is now starting to turn left, heading west along the central avenue of the park.The car raced along a circular pond, across a deserted road and into a quadrilateral in the distance.Langdon could now see the boundaries of the Tuileries Gardens, bordered by a massive stone arch—the Petit Triumphal Arch. Although there was a carnival at the Petit Arc de Triomphe, art fans admire it for a completely different reason.Four of the world's best art museums can be seen from the open space at the end of the Tuileries Gardens - one in each of the four directions of the compass.

Out the right-hand window, facing south across the Seine and the Boulevard Ke Voltaire, Langdon could see the brightly lit facade of the old train station, now known as the Dause Museum of Fine Arts.He glanced to the left and saw the top of the ultra-modern Center Pompidou.The Center Pompidou is home to the Museum of Modern Art.Behind him to the west, he saw the ancient obelisk of Ramesses high above the treetops, the symbol of the National Gallery of Jude Beauhm. But due east, through the stone arches, Langdon could see the Renaissance palace with its monolith, now a world-famous art museum.

Louvre Museum. As Langdon's eyes tried in vain to see the entire building, he felt some familiar surprise.Across the vast square, the magnificent front of the Louvre stands like a castle against the Parisian sky.Shaped like a huge horseshoe, the Louvre is the longest building in Europe, and its length is longer than three Eiffel Towers laid flat but connected together.Even the million-square-foot open plaza between the museum wings cannot match the width of its frontage.Langdon had once wandered the Louvre, an astonishing three miles. Although it takes an estimated five days to get a good look at the museum's 653,000 works of art, most visitors opt for what Langdon calls a "light Louvre" tour—a rush to see the palace's most recent monuments. Famous for three things - Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo and Victory.Art Butchward once proudly said that he once finished watching these three masterpieces in five minutes and fifty-six seconds.The driver took out his walkie-talkie and said in French, "Sir, Langdon is here. Two minutes."

The other party's sharp and hasty reply came back from the walkie-talkie, and others could not understand what he was saying. The agent stowed the walkie-talkie and turned to Langdon. "You'll meet the Chief at the gate." The driver ignored the signs prohibiting vehicles from passing in the square, started the Citroen, and drove quickly over the curb on the side of the road.At this time, the gate of the Louvre can be seen standing conspicuously in the distance. The main gate is surrounded by seven rectangular pools, and the fountains projected from the pools are illuminated by lights.pyramid.

This new entrance to the Louvre in Paris is now almost as famous as the Louvre Museum of Art.The controversial new modern glass pyramid designed by the Chinese-born American architect I.M. Pei is still ridiculed by traditionalists.Because they feel that it destroys the dignity of this Renaissance palace.Goethe once described architecture as frozen music, and Pei's critics described the pyramid as fingernail scratches on a polished blackboard.Radical admirers, however, see Pei's transparent seventy-one-foot-tall pyramid combining ancient structures with modern methods in a showy, colorful combination—a symbol that connects the old and the new, and it Helps propel the Louvre into the next millennium.

"Do you like our pyramid?" the agent asked.Langdon frowned.It seems that the French like to ask Americans this question.This is of course not an easy question to answer.Admitting that you like the pyramid, others think you are a very tasteless American, and say you hate it, which is disrespectful to France. "Mitterrand is a very bold man," Langdon replied, avoiding the dilemma.The former president who authorized the construction of the pyramid is said to suffer from a "pharaoh complex".François Mitterrand was single-handedly responsible for filling Paris with Egyptian minarets, arts and crafts.He liked the time-consuming Egyptian culture very much, so now the French still call him Sphinx. "What's the chief's name?" Langdon asked, changing the subject. "Bezu Fache," said the driver.They were approaching the gate of the pyramid. "We call him LeTaureau." Langdon glanced at him, wondering if every Frenchman had a strange animal name. "Your name is Chief Bull?" The man frowned. "Your French is better than you admit, Mr. Langdon." My French stinks, Langdon thought.But I know a lot about constellation maps. Taurus is Taurus.Astrological symbols are consistent throughout the world. The agent stopped the car, pointed from the middle of the two fountains to the gate on the side of the pyramid and said, "The entrance is here. Good luck, sir." "Aren't you going?" "I was ordered to send you here, and I have other tasks." Langdon sighed and got out of the car.This is your sideshow.The agent quickly started the car and drove off in a hurry. Langdon stood there alone, watching the taillights of cars receding away.He knew he could easily re-plan, walk out of the yard, hail a taxi and go home to sleep.But he vaguely felt that this might be a bad idea. As Langdon walked toward the mist from the fountain, he had the uneasy feeling that he was crossing an unreal threshold into another world.In this nighttime atmosphere, he seemed to be dreaming.Twenty minutes before he had been sound asleep in the hotel.Now he was waiting for a policeman they called a bull in front of the transparent pyramid built by the Sphinx. It's as if I'm trapped in a Salvador Dali painting, he thought. Langdon strode toward the main entrance—a giant revolving door.The hall in the distance was dimly lit and deserted. should i knock Langdon wondered if a venerable Harvard Egyptologist had ever knocked on the front door of the pyramid expecting an answer.He raised his hand to pat the glass, but out of the darkness a figure emerged from below, striding up the spiral staircase.The man was stocky and dark, almost like a primitive Neanderthal.He was wearing a black double-breasted suit that was pulled tightly over his broad shoulders.He walked forward with unquestionable authority on stubby legs.He was talking on his cell phone, but had just finished talking when he reached Langdon.He motioned for Langdon to enter. "I'm Bezu Fache, Chief of the Central Judicial Police," Langdon introduced himself as he walked through the revolving door. His tone befitted his appearance—a throaty voice... like a storm. The thunder before.Langdon reached out to shake his hand. "Robert Langdon." Fache's big hand was tightly wrapped around Langdon's hand, and the strength seemed to be able to crush Langdon's hand. "I saw the picture," Langdon said. "Your agent says Jacques Saunière made himself into—" Fache's dark eyes looked at Langdon. "Mr. Langdon, what you see in the photograph is only the beginning of what Saunière has done."