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考试吧-双语故事：最后一片叶子
来源：　 15:25:09　【】　
　　英文原文
　　In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
　　So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."
　　At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from M the other from California. They had met at the table d'h&te of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
　　That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
　　Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But J and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
　　One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.
　　"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
　　"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
　　"Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"
　　"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, there is nothing of the kind."
　　"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."
　　After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
　　Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
　　She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
　　As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
　　Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
　　"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.
　　Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
　　"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
　　"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
　　"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
　　"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
　　"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."
　　"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
　　"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
　　"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
　　"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."
　　"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
　　"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."
　　Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.
　　Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
　　Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.
　　"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy."
　　"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet."
　　"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
　　Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
　　When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
　　"P I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
　　Wearily Sue obeyed.
　　But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.
　　"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."
　　"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"
　　But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.
　　The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
　　When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
　　The ivy leaf was still there.
　　Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
　　"I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."
　　And hour later she said:
　　"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
　　The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
　　"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. Ther but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."
　　The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."
　　And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
　　"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."&&&2&&&　　推荐：
　　　　　
　　　　　
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新版大学英语综合教程第三册 UNIT6-2
来源：　 17:00:23　【】　
　　“12，”她数道，过了一会儿“11”，接着数“10”和“9”;再数“8”和“7”，几乎一口同时数下来。
　　11 Sue looked out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had blown away its leaves, leaving it almost bare.
　　苏朝窗外望去。外面有什么好数的呢?外面只看到一个空荡荡的沉闷的院子，还有20英尺开外那砖房的侧墙，上面什么也没有。一棵古老的常青藤爬到半墙高。萧瑟秋风吹落了枝叶，藤上几乎光秃秃的。
　　12 "Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
　　“6”，约翰西数着，声音几乎听不出来。“现在叶子掉落得快多了。三天前差不多还有100片。数得我头都疼。可现在容易了。又掉了一片。这下子只剩5片了。”
　　13 "Five what, dear? "
　　“5片什么，亲爱的?”
　　14 "Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
　　“叶子。常青藤上的叶子。等最后一片叶子掉了，我也就得走了。三天前我就知道会这样。大夫没跟你说吗?”
　　15 "Oh, I never heard of such nonsense. What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? Don't be so silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were ten to one! Try to take some soup now, and let Sudie go and buy port wine for her sick child."
　　“噢，我从没听说过这种胡说八道。常青藤叶子跟你病好不好有什么关系?别这么傻。对了，大夫上午跟我说，你的病十有八九就快好了。快喝些汤，让苏迪给她生病的孩子去买些波尔图葡萄酒来。”
　　16 "You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
　　“你不用再去买酒了，”约翰西说道，两眼一直盯着窗外。“又掉了一片。不，我不想喝汤。这一下只剩下4片了。我要在天黑前看到最后一片叶子掉落。那时我也就跟着走了。我都等腻了。也想腻了。我只想撇开一切, 飘然而去，就像那边一片可怜的疲倦的叶子。”
　　17 "Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old miner. I'll not be gone a minute."
　　“快睡吧，”苏说。“我得叫贝尔曼上楼来给我当老矿工模特儿。我去去就来。”
　　18 Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a long white beard curling down over his chest. Despite looking the part, Behrman was a failure in art. For forty years he had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who mocked terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as guard dog to the two young artists in the studio above.
　　老贝尔曼是住在两人楼下底层的一个画家。他已年过六旬，银白色蜷曲的长髯披挂胸前。贝尔曼看上去挺像艺术家，但在艺术上却没有什么成就。40年来他一直想创作一幅传世之作，却始终没能动手。他给那些请不起职业模特的青年画家当模特挣点小钱。他没节制地喝酒，谈论着他那即将问世的不朽之作。要说其他方面，他是个好斗的小老头，要是谁表现出一点软弱，他便大肆嘲笑，并把自己看成是楼上画室里两位年轻艺术家的看护人。
　　19 Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of gin in his dimly lighted studio below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker. Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt for such foolish imaginings.
　　苏在楼下光线暗淡的画室里找到了贝尔曼，他满身酒味刺鼻。屋子一角的画架上支着一张从未落过笔的画布，在那儿搁了25年，等着一幅杰作的起笔。苏把约翰西的怪念头跟他说了，并说约翰西本身就像一片叶子又瘦又弱，她害怕要是她那本已脆弱的生存意志再软下去的话，真的会凋零飘落。老贝尔曼双眼通红，显然是泪涟涟的，他大声叫嚷着说他蔑视这种傻念头。
　　20 "What!" he cried. "Are there people in the world foolish enough to die because leafs drop off from a vine? I have never heard of such a thing. Why do you allow such silly ideas to come into that head of hers? God! This is not a place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy should lie sick. Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away. Yes."
　　“什么!”他嚷道。“世界上竟然有这么愚蠢的人，因为树叶从藤上掉落就要去死?我听都没听说过这等事。你怎么让这种傻念头钻到她那个怪脑袋里?天哪!这不是一个像约翰西小姐这样的好姑娘躺倒生病的地方。有朝一日我要画一幅巨作，那时候我们就离开这里。真的。”
　　21 Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
　　两人上了楼，约翰西已经睡着了。苏放下窗帘，示意贝尔曼去另一个房间。在那儿两人惶惶不安地凝视着窗外的常青藤。接着两人面面相觑，哑然无语。外面冷雨夹雪，淅淅沥沥。贝尔曼穿着破旧的蓝色衬衣, 坐在充当矿石的倒置的水壶上，摆出矿工的架势。
　　22 When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
　　第二天早上，只睡了一个小时的苏醒来看到约翰西睁大着无神的双眼，凝望着拉下的绿色窗帘。
　　23 "P I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
　　“把窗帘拉起来;我要看，”她低声命令道。
　　24 Wearily Sue obeyed.
　　苏带着疲倦，遵命拉起窗帘。
　　25 But, Lo! after the beating rain and fierce wind that had endured through the night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, but with its edges colored yellow, it hung bravely from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.
　　可是，瞧!经过一整夜的急风骤雨，竟然还存留一片常青藤叶，背靠砖墙，格外显目。这是常青藤上的最后一片叶子。近梗部位仍呈暗绿色，但边缘已经泛黄了，它无所畏惧地挂在离地20多英尺高的枝干上。
　　26 "It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today, and I shall die at the same time."
　　“这是最后一片叶子，”约翰西说。“我以为夜里它肯定会掉落的。我晚上听到大风呼啸。今天它会掉落的，叶子掉的时候，也是我死的时候。”
　　27 The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed.
　　白天慢慢过去了，即便在暮色黄昏之中，他们仍能看到那片孤零零的常青藤叶子，背靠砖墙，紧紧抱住梗茎。尔后，随着夜幕的降临，又是北风大作。
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