Page 10 of The Lost Symbol

“Yes. There are nine million pounds of ironwork in that dome. An unparalleled feat of architectural ingenuity for the 1850s.”

“Awesome!” somebody shouted.

Langdon rolled his eyes, wishing somebody would ban that word. “Okay, and how many of you have ever been to Washington?”

A scattering of hands went up.

“So few?” Langdon feigned surprise. “And how many of you have been to Rome, Paris, Madrid, or London?”

Almost all the hands in the room went up.

As usual. One of the rites of passage for American college kids was a summer with a Eurorail ticket before the harsh reality of real life set in. “It appears many more of you have visited Europe than have visited your own capital. Why do you think that is?”

“No drinking age in Europe!” someone in back shouted.

Langdon smiled. “As if the drinking age here stops any of you?”

Everyone laughed.

It was the first day of school, and the students were taking longer than usual to get settled, shifting and creaking in their wooden pews. Langdon loved teaching in this hall because he always knew how engaged the students were simply by listening to how much they fidgeted in their pews.

“Seriously,” Langdon said, “Washington, D.C., has some of the world’s finest architecture, art, and symbolism. Why would you go overseas before visiting your own capital?”

“Ancient stuff is cooler,” someone said.

“And by ancient stuff,” Langdon clarified, “I assume you mean castles, crypts, temples, that sort of thing?”

Their heads nodded in unison.

“Okay. Now, what if I told you that Washington, D.C., has every one of those things? Castles, crypts, pyramids, temples . . . it’s all there.”

The creaking diminished.

“My friends,” Langdon said, lowering his voice and moving to the front of the stage, “in the next hour, you will discover that our nation is overflowing with secrets and hidden history. And exactly as in Europe, all of the best secrets are hidden in plain view.”

The wooden pews fell dead silent.

Gotcha.

Langdon dimmed the lights and called up his second slide. “Who can tell me what George Washington is doing here?”

The slide was a famous mural depicting George Washington dressed in full Masonic regalia standing before an odd-looking contraption—a giant wooden tripod that supported a rope-and-pulley system from which was suspended a massive block of stone. A group of well-dressed onlookers stood around him.

“Lifting that big block of stone?” someone ventured.

Langdon said nothing, preferring that a student make the correction if possible.

“Actually,” another student offered, “I think Washington is lowering the rock. He’s wearing a Masonic costume. I’ve seen pictures of Masons laying cornerstones before. The ceremony always uses that tripod thing to lower the first stone.”

“Excellent,” Langdon said. “The mural portrays the Father of Our Country using a tripod and pulley to lay the cornerstone of our Capitol Building on September 18, 1793, between the hours of eleven fifteen and twelve thirty.” Langdon paused, scanning the class. “Can anyone tell me the significance of that date and time?”

Silence.

“What if I told you that precise moment was chosen by three famous Masons—George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and Pierre L’Enfant, the primary architect for D.C.?”

More silence.

“Quite simply, the cornerstone was set at that date and time because, among other things, the auspicious Caput Draconis was in Virgo.”