Original text of The Last Leaf

The original text of "The Last Leaf" by American writer O. Henry:

In a community west of Washington Square, the streets seemed to be going crazy, divided into many called " Alley" small alley. These "alleys" form many strange angles and curves. A street itself often crosses once or twice.

Once, an artist discovered that this street had its value. It would be interesting if a businessman went to collect payment for paint, paper and canvas, and when he was twisting and turning in this street, he suddenly encountered himself who had not received a penny and came back empty-handed. That would be interesting!

As a result, art people soon came to this quaint Greenwich Village. They wandered around, looking for north-facing windows, 18th-century pediments, Dutch attics, and low rents. Then, they bought some pewter cups and one or two baking pans from Sixth Avenue to form an "art area".

Sue and Joanne set up their studio on the top floor of a squat, three-story brick house. "Jones" is Joanna's nickname. One is from Maine; the other is from California. They met while dining at Delmonigo's Restaurant on Eighth Avenue. After talking with each other, they found that they had very similar tastes in art, food, and clothing, so they jointly rented the studio.

That was in May. In November, a callous, invisible visitor, whom the doctors called "Pneumonia," lurked around the Arts District, touching here and there with his cold fingers. On the east side of the square, this bad guy walked around brazenly. Every time he got into trouble, there were always dozens of victims. However, in this intricate, narrow and moss-covered "alley", his pace slowed down.

"Mr. Pneumonia" is not what you call an old gentleman who helps the weak and needy. A weak woman who had been blown away by California's west wind would certainly not be able to withstand the common sense of that old guy with red fists and panting. But he struck Johnsy; she lay motionless on the painted iron bed, looking out the little Dutch window at the wall of the brick house opposite.

One morning, the busy doctor raised his fluffy gray eyebrows and called Sue up the aisle.

"In my opinion, there is only 10% chance of her illness." He said, shaking off the mercury in the thermometer. "The only hope is whether she wants to live. People don't want to live and would rather take care of the business of the funeral home. This mental state makes medicine useless. Your young lady is full of thinking that she will not get better. Is she worried? ?”

“She—she hopes to paint the Bay of Naples one day.”

"Painting? - Don't talk nonsense! Is there anything worth thinking about twice in her mind - for example, a man?"

"A man?" Su Ai said like a small mouthful He snorted like a piano and said, "Are men worth it? Don't say it, no, doctor; there is no such thing."

"Then it must be related to physical weakness." The doctor said, " I will try to treat her with all the methods that science can achieve, but every time my patient starts to count the number of carriages that will take him to his funeral, I have to subtract one percent from the healing power of medicine. Fifty.

If you can get her interested in winter coat sleeve styles, I can guarantee that her chances of recovery will increase from one in ten to one in five. 1. "

After the doctor left, Su Ai went to the studio and cried, wiping a Japanese paper napkin into a mess. Then she picked up her drawing board, played ragtime tunes, and strutted into Johnsy's room.

Johnson was lying on the bed, facing the window, and there was no movement at all. Su Ai thought she fell asleep and quickly stopped whistling.

She set up her drawing board and began to draw a pen-and-ink illustration of a short story for the magazine. Young painters had to pave the way to art with illustrations in magazine novels, which were created by young writers to pave the way to literature.

Suai was drawing a pair of beautiful breeches and a single eyeglass for the protagonist in the novel, an Idaho herdsman to wear at the horse show, when she suddenly heard a faint voice repeating Several times. She quickly walked to the bed.

Johnson's eyes widened. She looked out the window and counted—counting down.

"Twelve," she said, and after a while, she said "eleven"; then "ten", "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven" that were almost connected together. ".

Su Ai looked out the window with concern. What is there to count? All he saw outside was an empty, gloomy yard and the wall of a brick house twenty feet away. A very old ivy, its tangled roots have withered, clinging to half the wall. The cold autumn wind blew almost all the leaves off the vines, leaving only a few almost bare vine branches clinging to the loose and incomplete brick wall.

"What's going on, dear?" Su Ai asked.

"Six," said Johnsy, her voice low as a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It makes me dizzy to count. It's easier now." Here, there are only five pieces left.”

“Five pieces, dear?”

“Ye Zi. The leaves on the ivy. I have to go when the last one falls. Didn't the doctor tell you that three days ago?"

"Oh, I never heard that. Ridiculous words." Su Ai said in a nonchalant manner, "What do the old vine leaves have to do with your illness? Come on, you naughty girl. I forgot, the doctor told you this morning that your chances of recovering quickly were - let me think about what he said.

He said your chances of recovery were ten to one! It's almost like riding a streetcar in New York or walking through a construction site of a new house. There are very few accidents. Now let Suai continue to draw pictures so that she can sell them to the editor for money. Buy some claret for her sick child, and some pork chops to satisfy her cravings."

"You don't need to buy any more wine," said Johnsy, still staring out the window. One piece fell. No, I don't want any soup. I hope to see the last vine leaves fall before dark."

"Joan. "Shan, dear," Sue bent over and said to her, "can you promise me not to open your eyes or look out the window until I finish painting? I have to hand in those pictures tomorrow, otherwise I will." The curtains have been drawn down a long time ago."

"Can't you go to another room to paint?" Johnston asked coldly.

"I want to stay here, with you." Su Ai said, "And I don't like you always staring at those inexplicable vine leaves."

"You just Tell me when you're done." Johnston closed her eyes and lay there quietly, like a fallen statue. "Because I want to see the last vine leaf fall. I can't wait any longer. . I am getting impatient. I want to get rid of everything, floating down like a pitiful and tired vine leaf."

"Try to sleep for a while. Said, "I'm going to ask Bellman to come up and be the model for the reclusive old miner for me. I can't go for a minute. Don't move until I come back."

Old Bell Mann is a painter who lives on the ground floor downstairs. He was in his sixties and had a beard like the one on Michelangelo's Moses that curled down from his satyr-like head down his imp-like body. Behrman was a frustrated man in the art world. He has been playing with the paintbrush for forty years, but he is still far away from the goddess of art, and he has not even touched the edge of her robe.

He always said he wanted to paint a masterpiece, but he never did it. Apart from the occasional daubing of some commercial or advertising paintings, I haven’t painted anything for several years. He earned a few pennies by modeling for young artists in the "art district" who couldn't afford professional models, always drinking too much gin and chattering about his future masterpieces.

In addition, he is still a grumpy little old man who extremely despises the warmth of others, but thinks that he is a guard dog protecting the two young artists upstairs.

Suai found the drunken Bellman in the dimly lit small room downstairs. There is a blank canvas stretched on an easel in the corner, where it has been waiting for the completion of a masterpiece for twenty-five years. She told him what Johnsy was thinking, and how much she feared that Johnsy, who was as weak as a withered leaf, would lose hold of her feeble connection with the world and die.

Old Behrman's bloodshot eyes always shed tears in the wind. He disagreed with this idiotic idea and roared sarcastically for a while.

"What are you talking about!" he shouted, "Is there such a fool in the world who wants to die because the hateful vine leaves fall? I have never heard of such a strange thing in my entire life. No, I have no intention of being your boring hermit model. How could you let such foolish thoughts enter her head? Oh, poor little Miss Johnston."

"She's sick. Very strong, very weak," Sue said. "The high fever makes her suspicious and her head is full of strange thoughts. Okay, Mr. Bellman, since you are not willing to be a model for me, I won't force you. I recognize you, this disgusting old bastard."

"You are so feminine!" Bellman shouted, "Who said I don't want to? I'll go with you. I've been saying it for a long time, and I'm willing to do something for you. Oh my God! Someone as good as Miss Johnston shouldn't be sick in a place like this. One day, I'm going to paint a masterpiece, and then we can all get out of here. Oh my God! Yes."

When they went upstairs, Johnsy was already asleep. Sue drew the curtains to the window sill and gestured for Behrman to go into another room. There they glanced worriedly at the ivy outside the window. Then they looked at each other in silence for a while. The cold rain mixed with snowflakes kept falling. Behrman wore an old blue shirt and sat on a cast iron pot with a turned rock, pretending to be a reclusive miner.

The next morning, when Sue woke up from an hour's sleep, she saw Jonesy staring at the closed green curtains with her eyes open.

"Pull the curtains up, I want to see." She ordered in a weak voice.

Su Ai followed the instructions sleepily.

However, behold, after a long night of wind and rain, there is still an ivy leaf stuck to the wall. It is the last piece of the vine. The color near the petiole is still dark green, but the jagged edge has been stained with withered yellow. It hangs proudly on a vine branch about twenty feet above the ground.

"That's the last leaf," said Johnsy. "I thought it was going to fall last night. I heard the wind blowing. It's going to fall off today, and I'm going to die at the same time. ."

"Oh, oh!" Su Ai put her sleepy face to the pillow and said, "If you don't think about yourself, what can I do? ”

But Johnsy didn’t answer. A mind that is prepared to embark on the mysterious and distant road of death is the loneliest and saddest thing in the world. As her ties to the world and to friendships fell away piece by piece, the fantasy seemed to have a stronger hold on her.

The day finally passed. At dusk, they saw the lone vine leaf on the wall still clinging to its stem. The howling north wind came with the night, and the raindrops kept hitting the windows and pouring down from the low Dutch-style eaves.

When the sky was just getting bright, the cruel Johnsy ordered the curtains to be drawn up again.

The ivy leaf is still on the wall.

Johnson lay looking at it for a long time. Then she called to Sue, who was stirring chicken soup for Johnston on the coal stove.

"I am such a bad girl, Sue," said Johnsy. "Something in the world kept that last leaf from falling, revealing how evil I had been. Not wanting to live is a bad thing. Sin. Now please bring me some soup, and some milk mixed with wine, and - wait a minute; give me a small mirror first, and use pillows to prop me up. I want to sit up and watch you cook.

"

An hour later, she said:

"Suai, I hope to go to the Bay of Naples to sketch one day. "

In the afternoon, the doctor came. When he left, Su Ai made an excuse and ran to the aisle.

"The hope for good is 50%. The doctor grabbed Su Ai's thin, trembling hand and said, "As long as you take good care of her, you will win." Now I have to go downstairs to see another patient. His surname is Bellman - as far as I know, he is also engaged in art. It’s also pneumonia. He was old and frail, and his illness came on violently. There is no hope for him, but we still have to take him to the hospital today to make him feel better. "

That afternoon, Sue ran to the bedside, where Johnsy was leaning there, contentedly knitting a useless dark blue towel. Sue hugged her with the pillow.

"I have something to tell you, little one. "Bellman died in the hospital," she said. He contracted pneumonia and was ill for only two days. The porter had found him in his downstairs room the morning before, in a terrible fit. His shoes and clothes were soaked and cold. They couldn't imagine where he had gone on that windy and rainy night.

Later, they found a lantern that was still burning, which looked like it had been moved from its original place, a few scattered paintbrushes, and a palette with green and yellow mixed on it. paint, the last - look out the window, dear, look at the last leaf on the wall. Aren't you wondering why it doesn't float in the wind?

Ah, dear, that's Behrman's masterpiece—he painted it on the wall that night when the last leaf fell. ”

Extended information:

Creative background:

At the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century, American society was in a period of great historical change. From 1861 to 1865, the North and South of the United States The Civil War finally overthrew the cruel and backward black slavery system. In July 1873, Lincoln elaborated on the three principles of an ideal government, namely, by the people, by the people, and for the people.

The U.S. Congress also proposed this in 1868. The Fourth and Fifth Amendments to its Constitution were promulgated in 1870 and 1870 respectively. All these measures greatly inspired the people. In the eyes of people at that time, the United States seemed to have truly become an ideal of equality, fraternity and freedom. country.

Economically, monopoly capitalism gradually formed, modern industrial society developed rapidly, telegraph communication networks were widely established across the United States, and telephones, calculators, typewriters, and cash registers also began to appear in business. During this period, Edison invented the incandescent lamp and led to more inventions and creations in society. These greatly expanded the scale of production and greatly promoted the development of social productivity.

Ou· Henry's novels are easy to understand. No matter what happens, where they happen, or who the protagonist is, his stories are about the human condition of the world, and tend to have a strong American flavor, generally speaking, driving people to action. The desires and motivations of O. Henry are relatively simple, and their motivations are relatively simple.

The center of the conflict seems to be poverty and wealth. Probably because the United States is a civilian society and there is no aristocratic class that is inherently superior to others. Since everyone is equal before money, rich and poor have become the main contradiction in society. On the other hand, this is the "Gilded Age" after the American Civil War, and money is worshiped. Socialism is prevalent, fraud and abduction are everywhere, and corruption is rampant.

It seems that as long as a person can make money, he or she is successful, regardless of whether the source of the money is innocent or legal, and the degree of possession of the money is determined. The center of people's attention is that all the living beings in O. Henry's novels live in such a world dominated by money. Their motivations and emotions are mostly related to the possession of money.

So O. Henry depicts the world and human emotions, whether good or evil, with a certain American simplicity. The touching little characters in O. Henry's novels can still show sincere love and kindness to others in a difficult survival environment. Care and make a rare sacrifice. In order to buy a platinum watch chain for her husband as a Christmas gift, the wife sold her hair.

For the same purpose, the husband sold his gold watch to buy a set of hair combs for his wife. Although each other's gifts have lost their use value, the emotion they get from them is priceless. In order to encourage the poor and sick young painter to live tenaciously, the old painter struggled to paint an ivy leaf on the wall on a stormy night.

He paid with his life for his masterpiece, but the young painter gained courage and survived. A rich man was reduced to the point of starvation, but he persisted in fulfilling his annual duty to feed his poor friends on Thanksgiving Day. The poor friend who had just eaten also faithfully played his role in order to satisfy the other party.

They each made sacrifices to give others some comfort. All of these may not be called spectacular events, but small things that little people accomplish every day. But in these small things, they have achieved goodness and reached the highest point of their spiritual realm. O. Henry has the same sensitivity to evil, and he sees the tricks of the American fame and fortune fair very thoroughly.

Those "children of the jungle" engage in intrigues, intrigues, and plunder, and they all follow the "laws of the jungle." Cruelty meets cruelty, small fraud meets big fraud, no matter how clever the robbers and swindlers are, they still can't beat the financiers. Wall Street brokers will never show mercy. What's even more sad is that in this competition for wealth, people The soul is corrupted.

The young girl obviously works as a cashier in a restaurant, but she pretends to be from a famous family. The busy agent even forgot about the wedding last night and proposed to his wife again. In a world where money is everything, the father's God of Wealth can create a traffic jam at the most critical moment, thereby giving the only son a chance to propose. The God of Love has no choice but to be defeated.

However, the good and evil described by O. Henry are not so completely separated. There is a broad middle zone between them, in which there are various possibilities for conscience discovery, repentance, and a new life. .

Author introduction:

O. Henry (September 11, 1862 - June 5, 1910), also translated as O. Henry, formerly known as William West. William Sydney Porter is an American short story writer and the founder of modern American short stories. His main works include "The Gift of the Magi", "The Police and the Hymn", "The Last Leaf", "Twenty Years" Later》etc. ?

O. Henry was born in Greensboro, North Carolina, USA on September 11, 1862. He worked as a bank clerk, pharmacist, etc. In February 1896, O. Henry was imprisoned on charges of embezzling public funds and later fled to Honduras. He was imprisoned again in 1898, during which time he began to publish his works. In 1902, O. Henry moved to New York and became a professional writer.

On June 5, 1910, O. Henry died of cirrhosis of the liver in New York, USA. O. Henry is one of the three greatest short story masters in the world, along with Chekhov and Maupassant. He has been hailed by critics as the Manhattan prose writer and the father of modern American short stories. His works are known as "the encyclopedia of American life".

In 1885, O. Henry met a 17-year-old girl named Athol Estes, who was still in middle school at the time. O. Henry was a guitarist and luthier at the time. O. Henry pursued her for two years. It was the night of July 1, 1887, the night Athol Estes had just finished high school.

She and O. Henry went to a pastor's house in Austin to get married without telling her parents, and asked him to witness the marriage. Although the pastor didn't expect the two young people to come to get married at night, seeing that they were adults, he took advantage of the situation and solemnized their marriage. So, he married Athol Estes on the night of July 1, 1887.

After their marriage, Athol Estes changed his name to Athol Porter. The girl's mother originally wanted her to marry a rich man, but she was very angry after learning about this incident. She refused to go to church for several months, and even ignored the pastor. However, this marriage only lasted 10 years.

In 1897, O. Henry's wife died of illness. ?

In 1907, O. Henry married his early lover, Sarah Lindsay Coleman, but they divorced the following year.