最后一片叶子英文原文学习资料Word文档格式.docx

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h&

ocirc;

teofanEighthStreet"

Delmonico'

s,"

andfoundtheirtastesinart,chicorysaladandbishopsleevessocongenialthatthejointstudioresulted.

　　ThatwasinMay.InNovemberacold,unseenstranger,whomthedoctorscalledPneumonia,stalkedaboutthecolony,touchingonehereandtherewithhisicyfingers.Overontheeastsidethisravagerstrodeboldly,smitinghisvictimsbyscores,buthisfeettrodslowlythroughthemazeofthenarrowandmoss-grown"

　　Mr.Pneumoniawasnotwhatyouwouldcallachivalricoldgentleman.AmiteofalittlewomanwithbloodthinnedbyCaliforniazephyrswashardlyfairgameforthered-fisted,short-breathedoldduffer.ButJohnsyhesmote;

andshelay,scarcelymoving,onherpaintedironbedstead,lookingthroughthesmallDutchwindow-panesattheblanksideofthenextbrickhouse.

　　OnemorningthebusydoctorinvitedSueintothehallwaywithashaggy,greyeyebrow.

　　"

Shehasonechancein-letussay,ten,"

hesaid,asheshookdownthemercuryinhisclinicalthermometer."

Andthatchanceisforhertowanttolive.Thiswaypeoplehaveoflining-uonthesideoftheundertakermakestheentirepharmacopoeialooksilly.Yourlittleladyhasmadeuphermindthatshe'

snotgoingtogetwell.Hassheanythingonhermind?

"

She-shewantedtopainttheBayofNaplessomeday."

saidSue.

Paint?

-bosh!

Hassheanythingonhermindworththinkingtwice-amanforinstance?

Aman?

saidSue,withajew'

s-harptwanginhervoice."

Isamanworth-but,no,doctor;

thereisnothingofthekind."

Well,itistheweakness,then,"

saidthedoctor."

Iwilldoallthatscience,sofarasitmayfilterthroughmyefforts,canaccomplish.ButwhenevermypatientbeginstocountthecarriagesinherfuneralprocessionIsubtract50percentfromthecurativepowerofmedicines.IfyouwillgethertoaskonequestionaboutthenewwinterstylesincloaksleevesIwillpromiseyouaone-in-fivechanceforher,insteadofoneinten."

　　AfterthedoctorhadgoneSuewentintotheworkroomandcriedaJapanesenapkintoapulp.ThensheswaggeredintoJohnsy'

sroomwithherdrawingboard,whistlingragtime.

　　Johnsylay,scarcelymakingarippleunderthebedclothes,withherfacetowardthewindow.Suestoppedwhistling,thinkingshewasasleep.

　　Shearrangedherboardandbeganapen-and-inkdrawingtoillustrateamagazinestory.YoungartistsmustpavetheirwaytoArtbydrawingpicturesformagazinestoriesthatyoungauthorswritetopavetheirwaytoLiterature.

　　AsSuewassketchingapairofeleganthorseshowridingtrousersandamonocleofthefigureofthehero,anIdahocowboy,sheheardalowsound,severaltimesrepeated.Shewentquicklytothebedside.

　　Johnsy'

seyeswereopenwide.Shewaslookingoutthewindowandcounting-countingbackward.

Twelve,"

shesaid,andlittlelater"

eleven"

;

andthen"

ten,"

and"

nine"

eight"

seven"

almosttogether.

　　Suelooksolicitouslyoutofthewindow.Whatwastheretocount?

Therewasonlyabare,drearyyardtobeseen,andtheblanksideofthebrickhousetwentyfeetaway.Anold,oldivyvine,gnarledanddecayedattheroots,climbedhalfwayupthebrickwall.Thecoldbreathofautumnhadstrickenitsleavesfromthevineuntilitsskeletonbranchesclung,almostbare,tothecrumblingbricks.

Whatisit,dear?

askedSue.

Six,"

saidJohnsy,inalmostawhisper."

They'

refallingfasternow.Threedaysagotherewerealmostahundred.Itmademyheadachetocountthem.Butnowit'

seasy.Theregoesanotherone.Thereareonlyfiveleftnow."

Fivewhat,dear?

TellyourSudie."

Leaves.Ontheivyvine.WhenthelastonefallsImustgo,too.I'

veknownthatforthreedays.Didn'

tthedoctortellyou?

Oh,Ineverheardofsuchnonsense,"

complainedSue,withmagnificentscorn."

Whathaveoldivyleavestodowithyourgettingwell?

Andyouusedtolovethatvineso,younaughtygirl.Don'

tbeagoosey.Why,thedoctortoldmethismorningthatyourchancesforgettingwellrealsoonwere-let'

sseeexactlywhathesaid-hesaidthechancesweretentoone!

Why,that'

salmostasgoodachanceaswehaveinNewYorkwhenwerideonthestreetcarsorwalkpastanewbuilding.Trytotakesomebrothnow,andletSudiegobacktoherdrawing,soshecanselltheeditormanwithit,andbuyportwineforhersickchild,andporkchopsforhergreedyself."

Youneedn'

tgetanymorewine,"

saidJohnsy,keepinghereyesfixedoutthewindow."

Theregoesanother.No,Idon'

twantanybroth.Thatleavesjustfour.Iwanttoseethelastonefallbeforeitgetsdark.ThenI'

llgo,too."

Johnsy,dear,"

saidSue,bendingoverher,"

willyoupromisemetokeepyoureyesclosed,andnotlookoutthewindowuntilIamdoneworking?

Imusthandthosedrawingsinbyto-morrow.Ineedthelight,orIwoulddrawtheshadedown."

Couldn'

tyoudrawintheotherroom?

askedJohnsy,coldly.

I'

dratherbeherebyyou,"

saidSue."

Beside,Idon'

twantyoutokeeplookingatthosesillyivyleaves."

Tellmeassoonasyouhavefinished,"

saidJohnsy,closinghereyes,andlyingwhiteandstillasfallenstatue,"

becauseIwanttoseethelastonefall.I'

mtiredofwaiting.I'

mtiredofthinking.Iwanttoturnloosemyholdoneverything,andgosailingdown,down,justlikeoneofthosepoor,tiredleaves."

Trytosleep,"

ImustcallBehrmanuptobemymodelfortheoldhermitminer.I'

llnotbegoneaminute.Don'

ttrytomove'

tilIcomeback."

　　OldBehrmanwasapainterwholivedonthegroundfloorbeneaththem.HewaspastsixtyandhadaMichaelAngelo'

sMosesbeardcurlingdownfromtheheadofasatyralongwiththebodyofanimp.Behrmanwasafailureinart.FortyyearshehadwieldedthebrushwithoutgettingnearenoughtotouchthehemofhisMistress'

srobe.Hehadbeenalwaysabouttopaintamasterpiece,buthadneveryetbegunit.Forseveralyearshehadpaintednothingexceptnowandthenadaubinthelineofcommerceoradvertising.Heearnedalittlebyservingasamodeltothoseyoungartistsinthecolonywhocouldnotpaythepriceofaprofessional.Hedrankgintoexcess,andstilltalkedofhiscomingmasterpiece.Fortheresthewasafiercelittleoldman,whoscoffedterriblyatsoftnessinanyone,andwhoregardedhimselfasespecialmastiff-in-waitingtoprotectthetwoyoungartistsinthestudioabove.

　　SuefoundBehrmansmellingstronglyofjuniperberriesinhisdimlylighteddenbelow.Inonecornerwasablankcanvasonaneaselthathadbeenwaitingtherefortwenty-fiveyearstoreceivethefirstlineofthemasterpiece.ShetoldhimofJohnsy'

sfancy,andhowshefearedshewould,indeed,lightandfragileasaleafherself,floataway,whenherslightholdupontheworldgrewweaker.

　　OldBehrman,withhisredeyesplainlystreaming,shoutedhiscontemptandderisionforsuchidioticimaginings.

Vass!

hecried."

Isderepeopleindeworldmitderfoolishnesstodiebecauseleafsdeydropofffromaconfoundedvine?

Ihafnotheardofsuchathing.No,Iwillnotboseasamodelforyourfoolhermit-dunderhead.Vydoyouallowdotsillypusinesstocomeinderbrainofher?

Ach,dotpoorleetleMissYohnsy."

Sheisveryillandweak,"

saidSue,"

andthefeverhaslefthermindmorbidandfullofstrangefancies.Verywell,Mr.Behrman,ifyoudonotcaretoposeforme,youneedn'

t.ButIthinkyouareahorridold-oldflibbertigibbet."

Youarejustlikeawoman!

yelledBehrman."

WhosaidIwillnotbose?

Goon.Icomemityou.ForhalfanhourIhafpeentryingtosaydotIamreadytobose.Gott!

disisnotanyblaceinwhichonesogootasMissYohnsyshallliesick.SomedayIvillbaintamasterpiece,andveshallallgoaway.Gott!

yes."

　　Johnsywassleepingwhentheywentupstairs.Suepulledtheshadedowntothewindow-sill,andmotionedBehrmanintotheotherroom.Intheretheypeeredoutthewindowfearfullyattheivyvine.Thentheylookedateachotherforamomentwithoutspeaking.Apersistent,coldrainwasfalling,mingledwithsnow.Behrman,inhisoldblueshirt,tookhisseatasthehermitmineronanupturnedkettleforarock.

　　WhenSueawokefromanhour'

ssleepthenextmorningshefoundJohnsywithdull,wide-openeyesstaringatthedrawngreenshade.

Pullitup;

Iwanttosee,"

sheordered,inawhisper.

　　WearilySueobeyed.

　　But,lo!

afterthebeatingrainandfiercegustsofwindthathadenduredthroughthelivelongnight,thereyetstoodoutagainstthebrickwalloneivyleaf.Itwasthelastoneonthevine.Stilldarkgreennearitsstem,withitsserratededgestintedwiththeyellowofdissolutionanddecay,ithungbravelyfromthebranchsometwentyfeetabovetheground.

Itisthelastone,"

saidJohnsy."

Ithoughtitwoul