最后一片叶子

【摘 要】 The Last Leaf 赏析

美国著名短篇小说家欧·亨利《最后一片叶子》描写了一个已经濒于死亡的贫穷女画家乔安西因为一片永不凋落的常春藤叶而恢复健康的离奇故事，塑造了一个命运不济，但品德高尚的老画家贝尔门的形象，歌颂了他舍己为人的崇高精神，从而唱出了一曲生命与希望的赞歌，歌颂了人性的美与善。《最后一片叶子》作为欧·亨利的代表作，充分体现了这位“世界短篇小说之王”的创作特色。文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德，展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望

The Novel "The Last Leaf" is about a young girl decides that she will die when the last leaf drops from a dying vine outside her window, as lingering pneumonia slowly takes her will to live. Her neighbor, Art Carney, is an elderly artist frustrated by his inability to paint what is in his heart. In an attempt to save the young girl, he creates the masterpiece he has been struggling to paint. A beautifully shot and moving story. This excellent short novel is my favorite story. Art Carney does a great job, although his character is French in this version, as opposed to the German character in the book. and just like the book,it truly touched the heart of its reader.

【关键词】生命；希望；赞歌；

一、希望的使者

“当最后一片叶子落下时，生命就都结束了，我也得离开这个世界而去了”，女画家乔安西，患了肺炎濒临大限时，丧失了生的希望，她天天躺在床上望着窗外长春藤上的叶子想：等到最后一片叶子凋零时，我的生命也就走到了尽头。越来越多的藤叶飘落大地，她也感到自己的病情越来越严重，只等着最后一片叶子飘落时结束自己的生命。

乔安西眼里的最后一片叶子是生命的征兆，是死神的化身，苦难世界的终极。乔安西把这最后一片叶子作为自己与世界的最后一丝微弱牵连，作为放弃生命的理由。叶落，就意味着乔安西的死；叶在，乔安西就有生的希望。这里，“常春藤上的叶子”与乔安西的生死发生了紧密的联系。

在寒秋风雨中，藤叶越掉越少，读者的心也越揪越紧，藤叶终将掉完，年轻、纯洁的乔安西却不该过早逝去，矛盾到了高潮。

但是，谁没想到最后一片叶子历经了一天一夜风雨仍傲然挂在墙上，长春藤上最后那片老叶子却始终没有掉下来。情节发生了戏剧性的转折，乔安西从这片不落的叶子上重新找回了生存的勇气和希望。终于，医生对休易说，“她脱离了危险期。你们胜利了。剩下的事是营养和护理。”

是谁给乔安西带来了生的希望呢？是那永不坠落的长春藤上最后一片叶子吗？

原来，在那个凄风苦雨的夜晚，当最后一片叶子落下来的时候，年逾花甲的老画家贝尔门，为了给乔安西求生的希望,不惜以牺牲自己

的生命为代价，冒雨把“它”画在了那儿!

正是这画在墙上的常春藤的“最后一片叶子”，使乔安西由死到生；而贝尔门也正是在风雨交加的夜晚创造了这“最后一片叶子”，才使自己由生到死。乔安西生命的转机，与其说是对最后的常春藤叶的信心和希望，不如说是老画家贝尔门人性的善与美所创造的奇迹， 所以，对乔安西而言，贝尔门是真正的“希望的使者”！

二、生命的歌者

与把自己的生命寄托于一片飘摇的叶子的乔安西相比，贝尔门更像一个失败的英雄。 “他操了四十年的画笔，还远没有摸着艺术女神的衣裙”，是个“失败的画家”。虽穷困潦倒，但贝尔门信念不灭，坚信“总有一天，我要画一幅杰作。”

他认为“自己是专门保护楼上画室里那两个年轻女画家的看门狗。”当看到乔安西病得十分沉重时，贝尔门伤心地“流泪”了，乔安西放弃生命的念头更是触发了他，使他成了乔安西与休易的保护神，在那个风雨交加的夜晚，托着调色板调和黄色和绿色，在墙上施展他从未能施展的艺术才能创造了这“最后一片叶子”，同时毫无保留地奉献了他的生命，实现了他一生的夙愿——“画一幅杰作”。

贝尔门并没有死，他的灵魂，他的希望，他整个的生命之光全集结在这片叶子上了。这最后的一片叶子，这凄风苦雨中的叶子，也是贝尔门颠沛流离坎坷一生的最后一个亮点。老贝尔门用自己的一生谱写了一曲感人至深的生命之歌。

总结：欧 亨利笔下这片小小的常春藤叶，沐浴着人性的光辉，创

造了挽救生命的奇迹。在狰狞的死神面前，生命的信念往往比名药更有效。信念是生命赖以延续的坚强支柱。乔安西因有生的信念、对自己生命的珍爱而活了下来；老贝尔门因对他人生命的珍爱，虽然死去，但精神至今感动人心，他的生命通过那片永恒的叶子在琼西的身上得到延续，他活在了人们的心里。他们共同谱写了一曲生命与希望的赞歌！

 

第二篇：The_last_leaf(最后一片叶子)

Many artists lived in the Greenwich Village area of New York. Two young women named Sue and Johnsy shared a studio apartment at the top of a three-story building. Johnsy's real name was Joanna.

In November, a cold, unseen stranger came to visit the city. This disease, pneumonia, killed many people. Johnsy lay on her bed, hardly moving. She looked through the small window. She could see the side of the brick house next to her building.

One morning, a doctor examined Johnsy and took her 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. "But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages at her funeral, I take away fifty percent from the curative power of medicines."

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

Johnsy lay with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. She began making a pen and ink drawing for a story in a magazine. Young artists must work their way to "Art" by making pictures for magazine stories. Sue 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 a little later "eleven"; and then "ten" and "nine;" and then "eight" and "seven," almost together.

Sue looked out the window. What was there to count? There was only an empty yard and the blank side of the house seven meters away. An old

ivy vine, going bad at the roots, climbed half way up the wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken leaves from the plant until its branches, almost bare, hung on the bricks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six," said Johnsy, quietly. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. 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 never heard of such a thing," said Sue. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting 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 ¨C 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 the magazine and buy food and wine for us."

"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another one. 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."

"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, "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 tomorrow."

"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 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 Mister Behrman up to be my model for my drawing of an old miner. Don't try to move until I come back."

Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment building. Behrman was a failure in art. For years, he had always been

planning to paint a work of art, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who could not 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. In one area was a blank canvas that had been waiting twenty-five years for the first line of paint. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared that her friend would float away like a leaf.

Old Behrman was angered at such an idea. "Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a vine? 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."

"This is not any place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick," yelled Behrman. "Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away."

Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to cover the window. She and Behrman went into the other room. They looked out a window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other without speaking. A cold rain was falling, mixed with snow. Behrman sat and posed as the miner.

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

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

Sue obeyed.

After the beating rain and fierce wind that blew through the night, there yet stood against the wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. It was still dark green at the center. But its edges were colored with the yellow. It hung bravely from the branch about seven meters 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 today and I shall die at the same time."

"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down toward the bed. "Think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"

But Johnsy did not answer.

The next morning, when it was light, Johnsy demanded that the window 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 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: "Someday I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

Later in the day, the doctor came, and Sue talked to him in the hallway.

"Even chances," said the doctor. "With good care, you'll win. And now I must see another case I have in your building. Behrman, his name is -- some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man and his case is severe. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital today to ease his pain."

The next day, the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now -- that's all."

Later that day, Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, and put one arm around her.

"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mister Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was sick only two days. They found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were completely wet and icy cold. They could not imagine where he had been on such a terrible night.

And then they found a lantern, still lighted. And they found a ladder that had been moved from its place. And art supplies and a 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 ¨C he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."