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'hôteofanEighthStreet"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."Ithoughtitwouldsur