I am the Shade.
Through the dolent city, I flee.
Through the eternal woe, I take flight.
Along the banks of the river Arno, I scramble, breathless . . . turning left onto Via dei Castellani, making my way northward, huddling in the shadows of the Uffizi.
And still they pursue me.
Their footsteps grow louder now as they hunt with relentless determination.
For years they have pursued me. Their persistence has kept me underground . . . forced me to live in purgatory . . . laboring beneath the earth like a chthonic monster.
I am the Shade.
Here aboveground, I raise my eyes to the north, but I am unable to find a direct path to salvation . . . for the Apennine Mountains are blotting out the first light of dawn.
I pass behind the palazzo with its crenellated tower and one- handed clock . . . snaking through the early- morning vendors in Piazza San Firenze with their hoarse voices smelling of lampredotto and roasted olives. Crossing before the Bargello, I cut west toward the spire of the Badia and come up hard against the iron gate at the base of the stairs.
Here all hesitation must be left behind.
I turn the handle and step into the passage from which I know there will be no return. I urge my leaden legs up the narrow staircase . . . spiraling skyward on soft marble treads, pitted and worn.
The voices echo from below. Beseeching.
They are behind me, unyielding, closing in.
They do not understand what is coming . . . nor what I have done for them!
Ungrateful land!
As I climb, the visions come hard . . . the lustful bodies writhing in fiery rain, the gluttonous souls floating in excrement, the treacherous villains frozen in Satan's icy grasp.
I climb the final stairs and arrive at the top, staggering near dead into the damp morning air. I rush to the head- high wall, peering through the slits. Far below is the blessed city that I have made my sanctuary from those who exiled me.
The voices call out, arriving close behind me. "What you've done is madness!"
Madness breeds madness.
"For the love of God," they shout, "tell us where you've hidden it!"
For precisely the love of God, I will not.
I stand now, cornered, my back to the cold stone. They stare deep into my clear green eyes, and their expressions darken, no longer cajoling, but threatening. "You know we have our methods. We can force you to tell us where it is."
For that reason, I have climbed halfway to heaven.
Without warning, I turn and reach up, curling my fingers onto the high ledge, pulling myself up, scrambling onto my knees, then standing. . . unsteady at the precipice. Guide me, dear Virgil, across the void.
They rush forward in disbelief, wanting to grab at my feet, but fearing they will upset my balance and knock me off. They beg now, in quiet desperation, but I have turned my back. I know what I must do.
Beneath me, dizzyingly far beneath me, the red tile roofs spread out like a sea of fire on the countryside, illuminating the fair land upon which giants once roamed . . . Giotto, Donatello, Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, Botticelli.
I inch my toes to the edge.
"Come down!" they shout. "It's not too late!"
O, willful ignorants! Do you not see the future? Do you not grasp the splendor of my creation? The necessity?
I will gladly make this ultimate sacrifice . . . and with it I will extinguish your final hope of finding what you seek.
You will never locate it in time.
Hundreds of feet below, the cobblestone piazza beckons like a tranquil oasis. How I long for more time . . . but time is the one commodity even my vast fortunes cannot afford.
In these final seconds, I gaze down at the piazza, and I behold a sight that startles me.
I see your face.
You are gazing up at me from the shadows. Your eyes are mournful, and yet in them I sense a veneration for what I have accomplished. You understand I have no choice. For the love of Mankind, I must protect my masterpiece.
It grows even now . . . waiting . . . simmering beneath the bloodred waters of the lagoon that reflects no stars.
And so, I lift my eyes from yours and I contemplate the horizon. High above this burdened world, I make my final supplication.
Dearest God, I pray the world remembers my name not as a monstrous sinner, but as the glorious savior you know I truly am. I pray Mankind will understand the gift I leave behind.
My gift is the future.
My gift is salvation.
My gift is Inferno.
With that, I whisper my amen . . . and take my final step, into the abyss.
Chapter 1
The memories materialized slowly . . . like bubbles surfacing from the darkness of a bottomless well.
A veiled woman.
Robert Langdon gazed at her across a river whose churning waters ran red with blood. On the far bank, the woman stood facing him, motionless, solemn, her face hidden by a shroud. In her hand she gripped a blue tainia cloth, which she now raised in honor of the sea of corpses at her feet. The smell of death hung everywhere.
Seek, the woman whispered. And ye shall find.
Langdon heard the words as if she had spoken them inside his head. "Who are you?" he called out, but his voice made no sound.
Time grows short, she whispered. Seek and find.
Langdon took a step toward the river, but he could see the waters were bloodred and too deep to traverse. When Langdon raised his eyes again to the veiled woman, the bodies at her feet had multiplied. There were hundreds of them now, maybe thousands, some still alive, writhing in agony, dying unthinkable deaths . . . consumed by fire, buried in feces, devouring one another. He could hear the mournful cries of human suffering e
第一次在京东购买原版进口的书,非常满意。京东送货快速到位是最大的有点,商品包装保护得很好,没有出现破损什么的。
评分东西不错,物流给力!
评分"NCIS")患有严重的“与异性交往障碍症”,有异性在场的时候他就无法说话,只有在喝醉以后才能自在地与女孩交流。
评分全英文,好书,送货快
评分丹布朗的这本小说也的也不错,但由于涉及到太多的建筑物的描写,有点难懂。
评分书挺好的,虽然等了一段时间,还算满意。
评分第一次买原版精装书,有点失望,不如想象中的精致。但是与平装相比,书脊不容易翻坏。
评分丹布朗的书都要买的。。。
评分他称自己是加州理工学院的"卡萨诺瓦"(1725-1798,意大利冒险家,以所写的包括他的许多风流韵事的《自传》而著称,后来该词被
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