The last leaf is a parallel translation. O.Henry - The Last Leaf - (Last Leaf, The) - WebLitera - parallel reading library

About Henry
(Translation Daruzez)

STAY LIST

In a small quarter, on the way out of Washington Square, the streets intertwined and broke into short knots, as they are called passages. These journeys make marvelous cuts and crooked lines. One street there turns over to itself once in two. As an artist, I was far away from knowing the value of power in the streets. Let's say, picking up a shop with a rahunka for a farbi, papyrus and a canvas for yourself, go in your own way, without taking away your precious cent!

The first axis of the mits was set on their own quarter of Greenwich Village near the windows, which overlook the pivnich, roof of the XVIII century, Dutch attics and cheap rent. Then the stench brought there a sprinkling of tin cookers and one or two braziers from Shostaya Avenue and fell asleep the "colony".

Sue and Jonesy's studio moved up the hillside of a tripod-topped ashlar booth. Jonesy is a change in the form of Joannie. One came from Maine, the other came from California. The stinks got to know each other at the table d'hôte of a restaurant on Eighth Street and knew what to look at my art, chicorn salad and fashionable sleeves zigzayutsya. The result of vinyl has a bedroom studio. Tse Bulo in grass. In the leaf fall, an unwelcome foreigner, whom the doctors call Pneumonia, invisibly wandering around the colony, sticking first one, then the other with their screaming fingers. On the Hidden side of this killer, croaking boldly, hostilely, dozens of victims, but here, at the labyrinth of narrow passages, overgrown with moss, the wines flowed foot by foot.

Pan Pneumonia could not be called a gallant old gentleman. A miniature girl, anemic like Californian marshmallows, she could hardly have been an enemy for an arched old deaf kut with red fists and a backside. However, vin called її з ніг, and Jonesy lay unruly on the farbovanny zalezhku, marveling at the crisp palette of the Dutch vikna on the deaf wall of the suede sack.

One wound of turbovaniya likar with one hand kudlatih gray brow called Sue into the corridor.

She has one chance ... well, let's say, about ten, - saying wine, rushing mercury at the thermometer. - I those, as if she herself wants to live. Our entire pharmacopoeia is to waste sense, as if people would begin to act on the greed of a trunar. Your little pannochka said that she can no longer see. What is she thinking about?

Їy ... їy wanted to write with farbs to the Neapolitan tributary.

Farbami? Nіsenіtnitsa! What is there in her soul for something like that, about what the right thing would be to think, for example, a person?

Well, then she just got weaker, - virishiv doctor. - I will destroy everything that I can, as a representative of science. And if my patient begins to rebuild the carriages at his funeral process, I will throw off fifty thousand dollars from the healthy strength of the face. As far as you can reach, if you want to get it once, what style of sleeves to wear in winter, I guarantee you that mother has one chance out of five to replace one out of ten.

After that, like a doctor, Sue woke up in the main room and cried into the Japanese paper servlet doti, the dock did not get wet enough. Then she boldly walked away to the stone Jonesy with a chair, whistling ragtime.

Jonesy lay, turning her face until the end, the ice was crushed under the carpets. Sue stopped whistling, thinking Jonesy had fallen asleep.

Vaughn lashed the dowel and started the little ink before the magazine's announcement. For young artists in the paths of the Art, they are paved with illustrations to the publications of magazines, with which young authors make their own paths to Literature.

Throwing on for a pink figure a cowboy from Idaho in elegant trousers with a looking pidkov and a monocle in his eyes, Sue felt a soft whisper, which was repeated once again. Vaughn pidially went to bed. Jonesy's eyes were squashed. Vaughn marveled at the window and cheered - cheered at the return order.

Twelve, - said the woman, and three times a year: - eleven, - and then: "ten" and "nine", and then: "vіsіm" and "sіm" may be one hour.

Sue marveled at the window. What's bulo rahuvati there? Only an empty one could be seen, a gloomy door and a deaf wall of a stone house for twenty short distances. The old-old ivy iz vzluvatim, rotten was white with a root of stovbur, flooding up to half a stone. walls. In the cold breath of autumn, the leaves froze with the vines, and the bare skeletons of the skeletons choked on the chain, which was sagging.

What is it, love? Sue asked.

Shit, - the ice chimed in Jonesy. Now the stench is swirling around. Three days ago it was maybe a hundred. The head was confused rahuvati. And now it's simple. Axis and one more flight. Now it has lost less than five.

What the hell, love? Tell your Sudy.

Leafing. On ivy. If the rest of the leaf falls, I will die. I have known you for three days. Hiba likar without telling you?

I smell such stupidity! - With miraculous znevago Sue parried. - Like a reminder of a mother leafing on an old ivy until you see it! And yet she loved that ivy so much, the little girl's breeze! Don't be stupid. The other day, the lie of the doctor, having shown me that you will soon wake up ... allow me, how did you say it? .. you have ten chances against one. Aje is no less, lower than our skin here, near New York, if you go by the tram or go to the next booth. Try to make a little broth and let your Sudy finish the little ones, so that she can beat the editor and buy wine for her ailing girl and pork cutlets for herself.

You don’t need to bathe the wine anymore, - Jonesy said, staring at the window. - Axis and one more flight. No, I don't want broth. Otzhe, zalishaetsya less chotiri. I want bachiti, like the rest of the leaf. Then I will die.

Jonesy, love, - said Sue, fawning over her, - will you tell me not to smash my eyes and not marvel at the window until I finish practicing? I may build these illustrations tomorrow. I need more light, I would lower the curtain.

Can't you paint in another room? Jonesy slept coldly.

I would like to sit with you, said Sue. - And moreover, I don’t know if you marveled at the whole stupidity of leafing.

Tell me if you're skinny, - zaplyuschie eyes, wimovila Jonesy, bleak and uncompromising like a statue toppled, - because I want to bachiti, like a left leaf in the fall. I got tired of checking. I got tired of thinking. I want to fly in the air, which is less than three, - fly, fly lower and lower, like one of these vicious, sunken leaves.

Try to sleep,” Sue said. - I need to call Berman, I want to write from the new gold-slinger-samіtnik. I'm more on the hvilinka. Look, do not break in, until I come.

Old Berman was an artist, who is alive on the lower version under his studio. Yomu was already over sixty, and a beard, all in curls, like that of Moses Michelangelo, descended into his head a satyr on the body of a dwarf. Mystic Berman was in trouble. Vіn mustache zbiravsya to write a masterpiece, but without starting yoga. Already a few years ago I didn’t write anything, krim vivisok, advertisements just daubed for the sake of earning. Vіn having earned money, singing to young artists, like professional naturalists, they showed themselves not in the gut. We drank wine, but still talking about our future masterpiece. And in another case, he was an evil child, who was aware of any sentimentality and marveled at himself like a watchdog, specially assigned to protect two little artists.

Sue found Berman, smelling of yellow berries, in the dark-coloured commissary on the bottom. In one cubbyhole stood an unoccupied canvas on an easel, ready to receive the first touches of a masterpiece. Sue tells the old man about Jonesy's fantasy and about her fight for something like a bivan, light and tenditna, like a leaf, did not see them, if the German sound was weaker. Old Berman, the red eyes of which, for the most part, commemorated, cried out, mocking such idiotic fantasies.

What! - shouting wine. - Chi is possible such foolishness - die in front of the one that leaves falling from the damned ivy! First time I hear! No, I don't want to call for your idiot-samitnik. How do you allow her to beat her head with such a slut? Ah, sweet little Miss Jones!

She's already sick and weak, said Sue, - and in the form of a fever, she falls into the thought of various painful fantasies. Better yet, Mr. Berman, if you don't want to call me, then you don't need to. But I still think that you are an unacceptable old ... an unacceptable old base

Axis right woman! Berman screamed. - Who told you that I don't want to call? Idemo. I'm following you. Pіvgodini I show what I want to call. Here we call not the place of ailment for such a girl's garn, like Miss Jones. One day I will write a masterpiece, and we will all see the stars. Well well!

Jonesy slept when the stench rose up the hill. Sue lowered the blind all the way to the end of the night and made Berman's sign to go to the next room. There the stench went up until late and glanced glaringly at the old ivy. Then they looked at each other, not seeming to say the right word. Ishov cold, stubborn plank navpіl z_ with snow. Berman at the old blue shirt of gray at the pose of a golden-shukach-satellite on an overturned teapot instead of a rock.

On another morning Sue short sleep, chimed that Jonesy did not open dark, wide-open eyes from the lowered green curtain.

Come on, I want a bachiti, - Jonesy commanded in whispers.

Sue listened intently.

And wonder, be kind! Then you angered and sharp blows in the wind, which didn’t blow all the time, on the glassy wall you could still see one ivy leaf - the rest! The stems were still dark green, scarlet along the serrated edges of the yellowish decay and decay, the wines were well trimmed on the ridge twenty feet above the ground.

Tse stop, - said Jonesy. - I thought that I was constantly falling at night. I felt the wind. If you fall this year, then I will die.

Sweetheart, sweetheart! said Sue, putting her weary head on the pillow! - Think about me, if you don't want to think about yourself! What will be with me!

Ale Jones didn't reply. The soul, preparing to break into a mysterious, distant path, becomes a stranger to the whole world. Painful fantasy enthralled Jonesy without restraint, since, one by one, all the threads that tied him to life and people were torn.

The day passed, and the stench blew around the day, that the self-made ivy leaf was trimmed on its stalk on the aphids of the cellar wall. And then, in the dark of the present day, the pivnіchny wind rose again, and the boards were constantly banging at the window, moving from the low Dutch cover.

As soon as it became clear, merciless Jonesy blew the curtain up again.

The ivy leaf is still overflowing on the mist.

Jonesy lay for a long time, marveling at the new one. Then Sue called, as she played chicken broth for her on a gas burner.

I was a filthy girl, Sudy, said Jonesy. - Maybe, the rest of the sheet was left on the head only in order to show me how I was a brig. It's a sin to forgive your own death. Now you can give me a crumb of broth, and then milk with port wine ... If you want: bring me a handful of a mirror, and then wrap it around me with pillows, and I will sit and wonder, like you are a cook.

A year later, she said:

Here, I dare to write with farbs to the Neapolitan tributary.

On the day the doctor came, and Sue knew what a dream would be to spend yoga until peace.

Chance is equal, - having said to the doctor, poking thin, tremtyach Sue's hand. - With a good exit, you won't win. And now I can see one sick person downstairs. Yogo nickname Berman. Here you go, vin mitets. Tezh zapalennya legen. Win is already old and rather weak, but a strong attack. Nadії not much work, but today you will be corrected to the liquor, there you will be better off.

Another day the doctor said to Sue:

There's an unsafe pose. You have won. Now eating that sight - that's all.

That same day, until evening, Sue went to bed, where Jonesy lay, from the satisfaction of a bright blue, familiarly blue scarf, and hugged him with one arm at the same time with a pillow.

I need to tell you, there was a bear, - it started out. Mr. Berman died this year at the librarian in the presence of burning legends. I've been sick for less than two days. On the first day of the day, the porter knew Berman on the bed in the room, where she lay untidy. The cloaks and all the clothes were soaking wet and were cold, like a krieg. No one could understand in a moment, where the wine came out of the zhahlivu of the night. Then we knew the lіkhtar, which is still burning, go down, zsunutі z mіstsya, throwing a sprat of penzlіv that palette with yellow and green farbs. Look at the window, love, on the remaining ivy leaf. Didn't it surprise you that you didn't shake the wind and break into the wind? Ah, my love, this is Berman's masterpiece - I've written this night, if the rest of the sheet is angry.
====================

At LITTLE DISTRICT West Washington Square on the streets mayut grandiose and twisted by their hands in small strips called "places". Qi "places" make strange angles and curves. 1 street crosses itself a time or two. As an artist once discovered a valuable possibility in my street. Image collector with bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, no cent having been paid on account!

So, in the old Greenwich Village, people artists, how to make fires, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. There stench imported deakі pewter cabbage and roses'zhayuchi box or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "column."

On top of squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy have their own studio. "Johnsy" letter familiar for Joanna. One letter from Maine, otherwise from California. Stink mav metu in the table d'ho ^ te of eighth street "Delmonico" s, and are being tested in the art, cigar salad and basketball sleeves so congenial that in the joint studio resulted.

That was in May. At Listopad zabarvleniy, unseen stranger, de likars called Pneumonia, transformed into a colony, shooting one here and there with yoga iti finger. Above the East Side tsia hirska strode boldly, smiting victims scores, and trod slowly through ore deposits and moss-grown "places."

Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of little woman with blood thinned by Californian zephyrs was hardly fair game for red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. Ale Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, running through window-panes small battles onto the blank side of next brick house.

One fucking busy doctor invited Sue in a big shaggy, gray eyebrow.

"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinic thermometer. "Hell are those who change in order to drink on the living. The same way people can shoot in the kennel on the side of the underwater box, to marvel at the nature of pharmacography, to feel it." . 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 who was thinking about twice - a man, for instance?"

"A man?" said Sue, with a jews"-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."

"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I want to do everything that is my language, so that I can yogo filtr through my effects, I can work it. But I can also start my patients to start fraternizing before the kar'yagu in її funeral procession I subtract 50 cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get to like one problem about new winter styles in cloak sleeves

After the doctor had gone, Sue went into the workroom and cried Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with її drawing-board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under bedclothes, face towards the window. Winning with a hairpin, thinking, what a win.

Winning the board and began pen-and-ink drawing illustrate a magazine story. Young artists write to pave thair wat o Literature.

Yak Sue buv is a sticker in pár of elegant horses, which makes tees and monocle on the figure of hero, Idaho comboy, її arkushі new sound, kіlka razіv repeated. Tse went quickly to bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.

Twelve, "she said, and a little later, "eleven"; and then "ten", and "nine";

Sue looked solicitously out the window. What was there to count? The stench was only bare, dreary yard, like the moon, and blank side of brick house twenty feet away. Znovu, old ivy vine, ice-driving and pinning on stilettos, climbed half-way uphill brick wall. I'll cut the yogo leaf from vinné until iits skeleton branches clung, may bare, to crumbling bricks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six", said Johney, in a whisper. "They" re falling faster now. Three days ago, the stench of the stench was Mayzha Pivgodini. It made my head ache to count them. But bow it "s easy. There goes another one. There areonle five left now."

"Five what, dear?" Tell your judge/"

"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one false I must go too. I"ve known that for three days. Disn"t the doctor tell you?"

"Oh, I know what that nonsense is," Sue said, with magnificent scorn. "What will old ivy leaves to do with your gotting 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 real soon were - let "s see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! New York, if we are walking on street-cars or walking past a new building. Try to do that broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, editor man with it, and buy a port wine for her child, and pork chops for greedy self."

"You needn"t get any more wine," said Johnsy yogo eyes fixed out the window.

"There goes another. No, I dont 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, "be gentle with me, have a drink in purple yees closee, and not look out of the window until I am done working? A must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I will demand light or I am guilty of shade down."

"Couldn"t you draw in the other room?" asked Johny coldly.

I"d rather be here by you," said Sue. "Besides, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ovy 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 sailng down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.

"Try to sleep", said Sue. "I'm guilty of speeding Behrmann up to me be my model for the old hermit miner. I"ll not be gone a minute. Don"t cry too move till I come back."

Old Behrman bouv painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. Vіn buv st sixteen i mav Michael Angelo "s Mose beard curling down from the heart of satyr along the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. of his Mistress's robe. He had been about paint a masterpiece, but had never not yet begun it. pull gin to excess, and continue to promote yoga communication masterpiece. above.

Sue found Behrmann smelling strongly of juniper berries dimly-lighted den below. At one quarter, the bula was bavovnyan on the leaves, which vіn buv vitrachayuchi їх for twenty-five years on the first line of the masterpiece. Vіn maє svіy gentleman fans, i like vіn embellishments he will be, deep light and fragile, like arkush її, float away, if її gliskavka trimaє light grew weaker.

Star Behrman, s yogo červenim ochima povіlno streaming, is guilty of buti yogo povaga and directing to such idiotic images.

"Vass!" he cried. "Who are the people in the world without fail to die because leafs dey drop off from the confounded vineyard? I can't say that.

"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the feveer has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies.

"You are just like a woman!" yelles Behrman. "How can I nі bіsa? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! 10:00:00:00:00:00:00:00: 00

Johnsy boo sleeping if the stench went upstairs. Rushed past shade down to the window-sill and motioned Behrman into other room. Their stench has gone from window dobre to ivy vine. There stench hangs on all others for a moment without roses. A persistent, cold rain was fallung, mingled with snow. Behrman, in yogo old blue shirt, big yogo seat like a hermit-miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep Next mornong she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open staring at the drawn green shade.

"Pull it up! I want to see," win the order, in a whisper.

Wearily Sue obeyed.

But lo! In addition, how to live snidanki and the majestic breadth of the wind, that the lad stretches through the living long night, the stink of the crisis of the walll brilkoy one ivy leaf. Tse buv stay at the top. The darkness is overflowing with green beating its little thing, but with її z'єєnami glasses are thrown with zhovtim rozvyazannyam and ruined, yogo good bryazki like brothers deyakі twenty leaves over the gron.

"It is the last one," Johnsy said. "I think it will fall at 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?"

Ale Johnsy did njt answer. Beloved, what should I believe in my world, what should I be afraid of, what should I go to yoga cunning, far jouney. Fancy seemed to posses her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.

The day wore away, and through twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night 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, merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

The ivy leaf is still there.

Johnsy lay a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who bula stirring її tsukerki zukerki over the pants.

"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 can bring me a malý broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirrow first; and the pack deyakі munitsipalіty about me, i'll sit und watch you cook."

An hour later she said

"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Anaples."

Likar lives in doba, and Sue had broken before the move in the move, like wine.

"Here's the way," the doctor wails, saying what you think, shaking hand in his. "Yak good nursuvati you", schob vikonati. artist, I believe.

Next Day Doctor Said to Sue: "She"s out of dange. You "ve won. Nutrition and care now - that" s all.

And taht afternoon Sue came to bed where Johnsy lay, contentdely knitting a blue and usedless woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pilllows and al.

"A have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in hospital. He wai ill only two days. Janitor lifted yoga on the evening of the first, dobi in yoga bed at the bottom of the bed with a balcony. Yogo cherevichi i shkir buli wet through and icy cold. And couldnt imagene where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found lantern, still lighted, and ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the lasr 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."

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Our story is forever called "The Last Leaf." It was written by O. Henry. Here is Barbara Klein with the story.

A lot of artists live in the Greenwich Village area of ​​New York. Two young women named Sue and Johnsy shared apartment studio at the top of three-story building. Johnsy's real name buv Joanna.

At the fall of the leaves, zabarvleniya, unseen stranger came to visit the city. Tse disease, pneumonia, killed a lot of people. Johnsy lay on her bed, hardly moving. Vin dropping through a small window. Vіn musit bachiti bіk booth next to her building.

One manner, Dr. Vivchaє Jonesy and big її temperature. Then he spoke with Sue in another room.

"She has one chance in - let us say ten," he said. "And that chance is for her to want to live. Your friend has made up her mind that she is not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"

"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples in Italy some day," said Sue.

"Paint?" said the doctor. "Bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice -- a man for example?"

"A man?" said Sue. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."

"I will do all that science can do," said the doctor. "Be if my ailment is repaired before count the carriages at її funeral, I'm away fifty percent from the curative power of medicines."

After the doctor had gone, Sue went into the workroom and cried. The she went to Johnsy's room with її drawing board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay with її face towards the window. Sue stopped whistling, thought she was asleep. She began making a pen and ink drawing for the store in the store. Young artists must work their way to "Art" by making pictures for magazine stories. Sue heard a low sound, several times repeated. Tse went quickly to bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting -- counting backward. "Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven"; and then "ten" and "nine;" and then "eight " and "seven," may be more.

Sue looked out the window. What was there to count? There were only empty yard and blank side of house seven meters away. I know ivy vine, going bad at roots, climbed half way up the wall. Frozen brizki had cut leaves from plant until yogo branches, may bare, hung on the bricks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six," said Johnsy, quietly. "They" re falling faster now. Three days ago, the stench of the stench was Mayzha Pivgodini. It made my head hurt to count them. But now it "s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."

"Five what, dear?" asked Sue.

"Leaves. On the plant. When the last one falls I must go, too. I"ve known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?

"Oh, I know what it is," said Sue. "What will old ivy leaves to do with your get well? And you used to love that vine. Don't be silly. 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! Try to eat some soup now. And, let me go back to my drawing, so I can sell it to magazine and buy food and wine for us."

"You're guilty" to get some more wine," said Johnsy, looking at it fixed out the window. "There goes another one. No, I don"t want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to see the time one fall before it gets dark. Then I"ll go, too."

"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, "would you care for me with your eyes closeed, and not visible from the window until I am done working?

"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a fallen statue. "I want to see the last one fall. I"m tired of waiting. I "m like to think. I want to throw my sword at everything, and I climb down, down, just like one of these thresholds, lily foxes."

"Try to sleep," Sue said. "I'm sorry Call Mister Behrman up the hill to my car for my drawing of old miner. Don"t try to move until I come back."

Old Behrman boov painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment Life. Behrman was a failure in art. For the fates, Vіn is guilty of planning before farbuvannya by the robot of the science, but Vіn is not guilty of yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who can't pay for a professional model. He was a fierce, little, old man who protected the two young women in the studio apartment above him.

Sue found Behrman in his room. At one zone, there was a canvas blank that could be thrown twenty-five years for the first line with farboi. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared that her friend would float away like a leaves.

Old Behrman boo angered at such an idea. Why do you let that silly business come in her brain? Why do you let that silly business come in her brain?

"She is very sick and weak," said Sue, "and the disease has left her mind full of strange ideas."

"Don't be like a miss, like a good one like Miss Johnsy shall lie sick," yelled Behrman. "Yakscho you will farbuvati masterpiece, and we are going all go away."

Johnsy boo sleeping if the stench went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to cover the window. Vin and Behrman went to another room. The stench hung from the windows like ivy vine. There the stench hangs on all others without negotiations. A cold rain buw falling, mixed with snow. Behrman sat and posed yak miner.

Next morning, Sue awoke after 'hour's sleep. She found Johnsy with wide-open eyes staring at the covered window.

"Pull up the shade; I want to," she ordered, quietly see.

After a heavy hit and poles we will fire, which zanuryuetsya through nothing, the stink of stiltniki through the wall one ivy leaf. Vaughn was left on the vіrnі. It was still dark green at the center. Ale yoga edges boules colored with the yellow. It hung bravely looked like brothers for the same meters above the throne.

"It is the last one," Johnsy said. "I think it will fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today and I shall die at the same time."

"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down towards the bed. "Think of me, if you won"t think of yourself. What would I do?"

Ale Johnsy did not answer.

Next morning, if the window shade is bright, Jones believes that the window shade be raised. The ivy leaf is still there. Johnsy lay for a long time, looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was preparing chicken soup.

"I"ve been a bad girl," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how bad I was. It is wrong to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now."

An hour later she said: "The end. I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

Stay in the day, likarka, and vіn moving up to the new in the hall.

"Even chances," said the doctor. "What a good way, you"ll win. And now I am guilty of more than another fall, which I may in your booth. Behrman, his name is -- such a little artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is old, weak man and his case is severe. There is no hope for him; but the stink of walking to hospital today to ease his pain."

Next day, doctor said to Sue: "She"s out of danger. You won't. Nutrition and care now - that"s all."

Rest of the day, Sue came to bed de Johnsy lay, and put 1 arm around her.

"I'm the next hour, ty, white," she said. "Mr. Behrman, after asking for pneumonia today in the hospital. He had been on such a terrible night.

And then they found a lantern, still lit. And they found a ladder scho vin buv relocations from yogo city. And art supplies and painting board with green and yellow colors mixed on it.

And look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn "t you wonder why it never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it is Behrman"s masterpiece – he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."

In order to take advantage of the plan, to get ahead of the city of the capital, .

Now it "s your turn to used the words in this story. How much would you risk to help another person? Let us know in the comments section or on our

Near the small center of West Washington Square, on the streets, crazy and twisted by their hands in small strips are called "places." Qi "places" make strange angles and curves. 1 street crosses itself a time or two. As an artist once discovered a valuable possibility in my street. Image collector with bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, no cent having been paid on account!

So, in the old Greenwich Village, people artists, how to make fires, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. There stench imported deakі pewter cabbage and roses'zhayuchi box or two from six avenue, and became a "column."

On top of squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy have their own studio. "Johnsy" letter familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; more from California. The stench of the ball in the table d'hote of eighth street "Delmonico"s," and the foundations of their art in the kitchen, cigar salad and basketball sleeves so congenial that in the joint studio resulted.

That was in May. At Listopadі cold, unseen stranger, de likars called Pneumonia, they exchanged about the colony, shooting one of them and there with yoga itsi fingers. In front on the outer side of the floating strode boldly, smiting the victims at speeds, and trod slowly through the ore of the deposits and moss-grown "places."

Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. Ale Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, running through window-panes small battles onto the blank side of next brick house.

One evening busy doctor invited Sue in a big shaggy, gray eyebrow.

"She has one chance in--let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury into a yoga clinical thermometer. "Hell are those who change in order to drink on a living. What way of people can shoot on the edge of the underground keruvannya, to marvel at the pharmaceutical life science. . 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 about twice--a man, for instance?"

"A man?" said Sue, with a jew"s-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth--but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."

"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I want to do everything that I want to do, so that I can help my filter through my effects, I can work it out. Also, I want my patients to start taking care of the funeral procession in її funeral procession I subtract 50%. get her to ask one question o new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a 1-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."

After the doctor walks, they come to the workroom and cry Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered in Johnsy's room with її drawing board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under bedclothes, face towards the window. Sue stopped whistling, thought she was asleep.

Winning the board and began pen-and-ink drawing illustrate a magazine story. Young artists are guilty of pave their way to literature, drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.

Yak Sue buv sticker in pár elegant horshow, їzdat tees and monocle on figure hero, Idaho cowboy, її arkushі low sound, kіlka razіv repeated. Tse went quickly to bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting--counting backward.

"Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven;" and then "ten," and "nine;" and then "8" and "7," maybe more.

Sue looked solicitously out the window. What was there to count? The stench was only on the bar, zanurennya yard to himself, and blank side of brick house twenty feet, away. Znovu, old ivy vine, ice-driving and pinning on stilettos, climbed half way up brick wall. Zabarvleniy breath autumn had struck yogo leaves z vinné until yogo skelts branches clung, may bare, until lyapasiv.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six," said Johnsy, in a whisper. "They" re falling faster now. Three days ago, the stench of the stench was Mayzha Pivgodini. 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 Jude."

"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 know it's nonsense," Sue said, with magnificent scorn. "What will old ivy leaves to do with your gotting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this ranking that your chances for getting well real real soon was--let's see exactly what he said--he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's as good as we can be in New York, if we walk on street cars or walk past a new building. Try to do that broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing editor man with it, and buy port wine for her child, and pork chops for her greedy self."

"You're guilty" to take some more wine," said Johnsy, three times 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, "be sure to keep your eyes closed, and don't marvel at the window until I am done working? 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. "Besides 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 tried to think. I am turbulent, so that we wanted to do everything, and walking downstairs, left hand, only like one of these thresholds, foxes were erased.

"Try to sleep," Sue said. "I'm sorry Behrman up to my model for the old hermit miner. I"ll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move "till I come back."

Old Behrman bouv painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. Vіn buv sixteen і mav Michael Angelo "s Moses beard curling down from the head of satyr along the body of an imp. Behrman buv failure in art. of his Mistress's robe. He had been zavzhd about paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. gin to excess, and continue to promote the coming of a masterpiece. artists in the studio.

Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries dimly lighted den below. At one quarter, the bula was bavovnyan on the leaves, which would live there for twenty and five years on the first line of the masterpiece. Vіn mav Johnsy's fancy, i like vіn lich yoma, unintelligent, bright and fragile, like a leaf її, float away when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.

Alone Behrman, with Yogo červenimi eyes, smoothly streaming, shouted Yogo contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.

"Vass!" he cried. "Are people in his world fighting to die because leafs dey drop off confounded vin? I can't write with that thought.

"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies.

"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "How can I fight? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! 10:00:00:00:00:00:00: 00

Johnsy boo sleeping if the stench went upstairs. Rushed past shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman to the next room. Their stench has gone from window dobre to ivy vine. There stench hangs on all others for a moment without roses. A persistent, cold rain buw falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in yogo old blue shirt, big yogo seat like a hermit-miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep Next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.

"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.

Wearily Sue obeyed.

But lo! In addition, as the snidanki stretch and the majestic breadth of the wind, that the lad stretches through the living long night, the stench of the wind blows from the brilko wall of one ivy leaf. Tse buv stay at the top. The darkness is overflowing with green beating its little thing, but with її z'єєnami glasses are thrown with zhovtim rozvyazannyam and ruined, yogo good bryazki like brothers deyakі twenty leaves over the gron.

"It is the last one," Johnsy said. "I think it will fall at night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."

"Dear, dear!" said Sue, "think me you wanted to" think to yourself. What would I do?"

Ale Johnsy did not answer. Lonesomest thing in all the world is soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. Fantasy 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 through twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night 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, merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

The ivy leaf is still there.

Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who bula stirring її tsukerki zukerki over the pants.

"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 can bring mi a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and--no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and the pack some pillows o me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."

An hour later she said.

"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

Likar lives in doba, and Sue had broken before the move in the move, like wine.

"He's the best way," the healer, take it upon yourself to think, shaking hand in hi. "Yak good Nursing Tee" win. an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute.

Next day doctor said to Sue: "She"s out of danger. You "ve won. Nutrition and care now--that"s all."

І after that, how can you stitch, if Jones is hanging, contented knitting over blue and over useless woolen shoulder scarf, and put 1 arm around her, pillows and all.

"I'm the next hour, ty, white," she said. "Mr. Behrman asking for pneumonia before the day at the hospital. We're only two days old. That gentleman knowing yoga on a day to day in yoga, to take revenge on the arc. The couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found lantern, still lighted, and ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and palette with green and yellow colors 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."

If you haven't read O. Henry's essays yet, it's time to get to know this American writer. І let me know, maybe, the best explanation is The Last Leaf. Wanting O. Henry to spell out the uniqueness of filthy stories, so as not to embarrass his reader, the end of this history is ambiguous ... The description is adapted to equal intermediate (for sellers). Read online rozpovid The Last Leaf is English or Russian mine, and also marvel at its screening.

O. Henry "The Last Leaf (part 1)"

Words for part 1:

• shared a studio apartment- shared a one-room apartment
• Tse disease, pneumonia- Tsya sickness, pneumonia
• She has one chance in- Let us say ten- There is one chance out of, say, ten.
• Has she anything on her mind worth thinking?- Chi є їy about what to think?
• to count the carriages at її funeral- rahuvati carriages at your funeral procession
• several times repeated which is repeated sprat times
• She was …. — counting backward- Vaughn praised the gate order.
• What was there to count?- What's bulo rahuvati there?
• An old ivy vine- Old Ivy
• When the last one falls- If the rest falls
• Then I'll go, too.- Then I'll die.