-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Лев Толстой
-
- Война и мир
-
- Стр. 992/1273
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Having
tied
a
girdle
over
his
coat
and
pulled
his
cap
low
on
his
head
,
Pierre
went
down
the
corridor
,
trying
to
avoid
making
a
noise
or
meeting
the
captain
,
and
passed
out
into
the
street
.
The
conflagration
,
at
which
he
had
looked
with
so
much
indifference
the
evening
before
,
had
greatly
increased
during
the
night
.
Moscow
was
on
fire
in
several
places
.
The
buildings
in
Carriage
Row
,
across
the
river
,
in
the
Bazaar
and
the
Povarskóy
,
as
well
as
the
barges
on
the
Moskvá
River
and
the
timber
yards
by
the
Dorogomílov
Bridge
,
were
all
ablaze
.
Pierre
's
way
led
through
side
streets
to
the
Povarskóy
and
from
there
to
the
church
of
St.
Nicholas
on
the
Arbát
,
where
he
had
long
before
decided
that
the
deed
should
be
done
.
The
gates
of
most
of
the
houses
were
locked
and
the
shutters
up
.
The
streets
and
lanes
were
deserted
.
The
air
was
full
of
smoke
and
the
smell
of
burning
.
Now
and
then
he
met
Russians
with
anxious
and
timid
faces
,
and
Frenchmen
with
an
air
not
of
the
city
but
of
the
camp
,
walking
in
the
middle
of
the
streets
.
Both
the
Russians
and
the
French
looked
at
Pierre
with
surprise
.
Besides
his
height
and
stoutness
,
and
the
strange
morose
look
of
suffering
in
his
face
and
whole
figure
,
the
Russians
stared
at
Pierre
because
they
could
not
make
out
to
what
class
he
could
belong
.
The
French
followed
him
with
astonishment
in
their
eyes
chiefly
because
Pierre
,
unlike
all
the
other
Russians
who
gazed
at
the
French
with
fear
and
curiosity
,
paid
no
attention
to
them
.
At
the
gate
of
one
house
three
Frenchmen
,
who
were
explaining
something
to
some
Russians
who
did
not
understand
them
,
stopped
Pierre
asking
if
he
did
not
know
French
.
Pierre
shook
his
head
and
went
on
.
In
another
side
street
a
sentinel
standing
beside
a
green
caisson
shouted
at
him
,
but
only
when
the
shout
was
threateningly
repeated
and
he
heard
the
click
of
the
man
's
musket
as
he
raised
it
did
Pierre
understand
that
he
had
to
pass
on
the
other
side
of
the
street
.
He
heard
nothing
and
saw
nothing
of
what
went
on
around
him
.
He
carried
his
resolution
within
himself
in
terror
and
haste
,
like
something
dreadful
and
alien
to
him
,
for
,
after
the
previous
night
's
experience
,
he
was
afraid
of
losing
it
.
But
he
was
not
destined
to
bring
his
mood
safely
to
his
destination
.
And
even
had
he
not
been
hindered
by
anything
on
the
way
,
his
intention
could
not
now
have
been
carried
out
,
for
Napoleon
had
passed
the
Arbát
more
than
four
hours
previously
on
his
way
from
the
Dorogomílov
suburb
to
the
Krémlin
,
and
was
now
sitting
in
a
very
gloomy
frame
of
mind
in
a
royal
study
in
the
Krémlin
,
giving
detailed
and
exact
orders
as
to
measures
to
be
taken
immediately
to
extinguish
the
fire
,
to
prevent
looting
,
and
to
reassure
the
inhabitants
.
But
Pierre
did
not
know
this
;
he
was
entirely
absorbed
in
what
lay
before
him
,
and
was
tortured
--
as
those
are
who
obstinately
undertake
a
task
that
is
impossible
for
them
not
because
of
its
difficulty
but
because
of
its
incompatibility
with
their
natures
--
by
the
fear
of
weakening
at
the
decisive
moment
and
so
losing
his
self-esteem
.
Though
he
heard
and
saw
nothing
around
him
he
found
his
way
by
instinct
and
did
not
go
wrong
in
the
side
streets
that
led
to
the
Povarskóy
.
As
Pierre
approached
that
street
the
smoke
became
denser
and
denser
--
he
even
felt
the
heat
of
the
fire
.
Occasionally
curly
tongues
of
flame
rose
from
under
the
roofs
of
the
houses
.
He
met
more
people
in
the
streets
and
they
were
more
excited
.
But
Pierre
,
though
he
felt
that
something
unusual
was
happening
around
him
,
did
not
realize
that
he
was
approaching
the
fire
.
As
he
was
going
along
a
footpath
across
a
wide-open
space
adjoining
the
Povarskóy
on
one
side
and
the
gardens
of
Prince
Gruzínski
's
house
on
the
other
,
Pierre
suddenly
heard
the
desperate
weeping
of
a
woman
close
to
him
.
He
stopped
as
if
awakening
from
a
dream
and
lifted
his
head
.
By
the
side
of
the
path
,
on
the
dusty
dry
grass
,
all
sorts
of
household
goods
lay
in
a
heap
:
featherbeds
,
a
samovar
,
icons
,
and
trunks
.
On
the
ground
,
beside
the
trunks
,
sat
a
thin
woman
no
longer
young
,
with
long
,
prominent
upper
teeth
,
and
wearing
a
black
cloak
and
cap
.
This
woman
,
swaying
to
and
fro
and
muttering
something
,
was
choking
with
sobs
.
Two
girls
of
about
ten
and
twelve
,
dressed
in
dirty
short
frocks
and
cloaks
,
were
staring
at
their
mother
with
a
look
of
stupefaction
on
their
pale
frightened
faces
.
The
youngest
child
,
a
boy
of
about
seven
,
who
wore
an
overcoat
and
an
immense
cap
evidently
not
his
own
,
was
crying
in
his
old
nurse
's
arms
.
A
dirty
,
barefooted
maid
was
sitting
on
a
trunk
,
and
,
having
undone
her
pale-colored
plait
,
was
pulling
it
straight
and
sniffing
at
her
singed
hair
.
The
woman
's
husband
,
a
short
,
round-shouldered
man
in
the
undress
uniform
of
a
civilian
official
,
with
sausage-shaped
whiskers
and
showing
under
his
square-set
cap
the
hair
smoothly
brushed
forward
over
his
temples
,
with
expressionless
face
was
moving
the
trunks
,
which
were
placed
one
on
another
,
and
was
dragging
some
garments
from
under
them
.
