最后一片叶子英文原文.docx

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最后一片叶子英文原文

最后一片叶子英文原文

　　InalittledistrictwestofWashingtonSquarethestreetshaveruncrazyandbrokenthemselvesintosmallstripscalled"places。

”These”places”makestrangeanglesandcurves.OneStreetcrossesitselfatimeortwo。

Anartistoncediscoveredavaluablepossibilityinthisstreet。

Supposeacollectorwithabillforpaints,paperandcanvasshould，intraversingthisroute,suddenlymeethimselfcomingback，withoutacenthavingbeenpaidonaccount！

　　So，toquaintoldGreenwichVillagetheartpeoplesooncameprowling,huntingfornorthwindowsandeighteenth-centurygablesandDutchatticsandlowrents。

ThentheyimportedsomepewtermugsandachafingdishortwofromSixthAvenue,andbecamea”colony.”

　　Atthetopofasquatty,three-storybrickSueandJohnsyhadtheirstudio."Johnsy”wasfamiliarforJoanna.OnewasfromMaine；theotherfromCalifornia.Theyhadmetatthetabled'h＆ocirc；teofanEighthStreet”Delmonico’s,”andfoundtheirtastesinart，chicorysaladandbishopsleevessocongenialthatthejointstudioresulted.

　　ThatwasinMay。

InNovemberacold，unseenstranger,whomthedoctorscalledPneumonia,stalkedaboutthecolony,touchingonehereandtherewithhisicyfingers.Overontheeastsidethisravagerstrodeboldly，smitinghisvictimsbyscores,buthisfeettrodslowlythroughthemazeofthenarrowandmoss—grown"places."

　　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";andthen"eight"and”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，”saidSue。

"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."Ithoughtitwouldsu