最后一片叶子英文原文学习资料Word文档格式.docx
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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
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