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."
在华盛顿广场西面的一个小区里，街道仿佛发了狂似地，分成了许多叫做“巷
子”的小胡同。这些“巷子”形成许多奇特的角度和曲线。一条街本身往往交叉一
两回。有一次，一个艺术家发现这条街有它可贵之处。如果一个商人去收颜
料、纸张和画布的账款，在这条街上转弯抹角、大兜圈子的时候，突然碰上一
文钱也没收到，空手而回的他自己，那才有意思呢！
因此，搞艺术的人不久都到这个古色天香的格林威治村来了。他们逛来逛
去，寻找朝北的窗户，18 世纪的三角墙，荷兰式的阁楼，以及低廉的房租。接
着，他们又从六马路买来了一些锡蜡杯子和一两只烘锅，组成了一个“艺术
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy"
was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had
met at the table d'hte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art,
chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
区”。
苏艾和琼珊在一座矮墩墩的三层砖屋的顶楼设立了她们的画室。“琼珊”是
琼娜的昵称。两人一个是从缅因州来的；另一个的家乡是加利福尼亚州。她们
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."
是在八马路上一家“德尔蒙尼戈饭馆”里吃客饭时碰到的，彼此一谈，发现她们
对于艺术、饮食、衣着的口味十分相投，结果便联合租下那间画室。
那是五月间的事。到了十一月，一个冷酷无情，肉眼看不见，医生管他叫
“肺炎”的不速之客，在艺术区里潜蹑着，用他的冰冷的手指这儿碰碰那儿摸
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 Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely
moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch windowpanes at the blank side of the next brick house.
摸。在广场的东面，这个坏家伙明目张胆地走动着，每闯一次祸，受害的人总
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray
eyebrow.
被加利福尼亚的西风吹得没有什么血色了，当然经不起那个有着红拳头，气吁
有几十个。但是，在这错综复杂，狭窄而苔藓遍地的“巷子”里，他的脚步却放
慢了。
“肺炎先生”并不是你们所谓的扶弱济困的老绅士。一个弱小的女人，已经
"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?"
吁的老家伙的赏识。但他竟然打击了琼珊；她躺在那张漆过的铁床上，一动也
不动，望着荷兰式小窗外对面砖屋的墙壁。
一天早晨，那位忙碌的医生扬扬他那蓬松的灰眉毛，招呼苏艾到过道上去。
"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?"
“依我看，她的病只有一成希望。”他说，一面把体温表里的水银甩下去。
“那一成希望在于她自己要不要活下去。人们不想活，情愿照顾殡仪馆的生意，
这种精神状态使医药一筹莫展。你的这位小姐满肚子以为自己不会好了。她有
什么心事吗？”
"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."
“她——她希望有一天能去画那不勒斯海湾。”苏艾说。
"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."
“画画？——别扯淡了！她心里有没有值得想两次的事情——比如说，男
人？”
“男人？”苏艾像吹小口琴似地哼了一声说，“难道男人值得——别说啦，
不，大夫；根本没有那种事。”
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.
“那么，一定是身体虚弱的关系。”医生说，“我一定尽我所知，用科学所能
达到的一切方法来治疗她。可是每逢我的病人开始盘算有多少辆马车送他出殡
的时候，我就得把医药的治疗力量减去百分之五十。要是你能使她对冬季大衣
的袖子式样发生兴趣，提出一个总是，我就可以保证，她恢复的机会准能从十
分之一提高到五分之一。”
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.
医生离去之后，苏艾到工作室里哭了一声，把一张日本纸餐巾擦得一团
糟。然后，她拿起画板，吹着拉格泰姆音乐调子，昂首阔步地走进琼珊的房
间。
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting counting backward.
琼珊躺在被窝里，脸朝着窗口，一点儿动静也没有。苏艾以为她睡着了，
赶紧停止吹口哨。
"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.
她架起画板，开始替杂志画一幅短篇小说的钢笔画插图。青年画家不得不
以杂志小说的插图来铺平通向艺术的道路，而这些小说则是青年作家为了铺平
文学道路而创作的。
苏艾正为小说里的主角，一个爱达荷州的牧人，画上一条在马匹展览会里
穿的漂亮的马裤和一片单眼镜，忽然听到一个微弱的声音重复了几遍。她赶紧
走到床边。
琼珊的眼睛睁得大大的。她望着窗外，在计数——倒数上来。
"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."
“十二，”她说，过了一会儿，又说“十一”；接着是“十”、“九”；再接着是几
乎连在一起的“八”和“七”。
"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?"
苏艾关切地向窗外望去。有什么可数的呢？外面见到的只是一个空荡荡、
阴沉沉的院子，和二十英尺外的一幛砖屋的墙壁。一标极老极老的常春藤，纠
"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."
结的根已经枯萎，樊在半墙上。秋季的寒风把藤上的叶子差不多全吹落了，只
剩下几根几乎是光秃秃的藤枝依附在那堵松动残缺的砖墙上。
“怎么回事，亲爱的？”苏艾问道。
“六。”琼珊说，声音低得像是耳语，“它们现在掉得快些了。三天前差不多
有一百片。数得我头昏眼花。现在可容易了。喏，又掉了一片。只剩下五片
了。”
“五片什么，亲爱的？告诉你的苏艾。”
"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."
“叶子，常春藤上的叶子。等最后一片掉落下来，我也得去了。三天前我
就知道了。难道大夫没有告诉你吗？”
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
“哟，我从没听到这样荒唐的话。”苏艾装出满不在乎的样子数落地说，“老
"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 a 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.
藤叶同你的病有什么相干？你一向很喜欢那株常春藤，得啦，你这淘气的姑
娘。别发傻啦。我倒忘了，大夫今天早晨告诉你，你很快康复的机会是——让
我想想，他是怎么说的——他说你好的希望是十比一！哟，那几乎跟我们在纽
约搭街车或者走过一幛新房子的工地一样，碰到意外的时候很少。现在喝一点
儿汤吧。让苏艾继续画图，好卖给编辑先生，换了钱给她的病孩子买点儿红葡
萄酒，也买些猪排填填她自己的馋嘴。”
“你不用再买什么酒啦。”琼珊说，仍然凝视着窗外，“又掉了一片。不，我
不要喝汤。只剩四片了。我希望在天黑之前看到最后的藤叶飘下来。那时候我
也该去了。”
“琼珊，亲爱的，”苏艾弯着身子对她说，“你能不能答应我，在我画完之
前，别睁开眼睛，别瞧窗外？那些图画我明天得交。我需要光线，不然我早就
把窗帘拉下来了。”
“你不能到另一间屋子里去画吗？”琼珊冷冷地问道。
“我要呆在这儿，跟你在一起。”苏艾说，“而且我不喜欢你老盯着那些莫名
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
其妙的藤叶。”
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."
“你一画完就告诉我。”琼珊闭上眼睛说，她脸色惨白，静静地躺着，活像
一尊倒塌下来的塑像，“因为我要看那最后的藤叶掉下来。我等得不耐烦了。也
想得不耐烦了。我想摆脱一切，像一片可怜的、厌倦的藤叶，悠悠地往下飘，
往下飘。”
“你争取睡一会儿。”苏艾说，“我要去叫贝尔曼上来，替我做那个隐居的老
矿工的模特儿。我去不了一分钟。在我回来之前，千万别动。”
老贝尔曼是住在楼下底层的一个画家。他年纪六十开外，有一把像米开朗琪罗
"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."
的摩西雕像上的胡子，从萨蒂尔似的脑袋上顺着小鬼般的身体卷垂下来。贝尔
曼在艺术界是个失意的人。他耍了四十年的画笔，还是同艺术女神隔有相当距
离，连她的长袍的边缘都没有摸到。他老是说就要画一幅杰作，可是始终没有
"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."
动手。除了偶尔涂抹了一些商业画或广告画之外，几年没有画过什么。他替“艺
术区”里那些雇不起职业模特儿的青年艺术家充当模特儿，挣几个小钱，他喝杜
松子酒总是过量，老是唠唠叨叨地谈着他未来的杰作。此外，他还是个暴躁的
小老头儿，极端瞧不起别人的温情，却认为自己是保护楼上两个青年艺术家的
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.
"Pull it up; 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?"
看家恶狗。
苏艾在楼下那间灯光暗淡的小屋子里找到了酒气扑人的贝尔曼。角落里的
画架上绷着一幅空白的画布，它在那儿静候杰作的落笔，已经有了二十五年。
她把琼珊的想法告诉了他，又说她多么担心，惟恐那个虚弱得像枯叶一般的琼
珊抓不住她同世界的微弱联系，真会撒手而去。
老贝尔曼的充血的眼睛老是迎风流泪，他对这种白痴般的想法大不以为
然，连讽带刺地咆哮了一阵子。
“什么话！”他嚷道，“难道世界上竟有这种傻子，因为可恶的藤叶落掉而想
死？我活了一辈子也没有听到过这种怪事。不，我没有心思替你当那无聊的隐
士模特儿。你怎么能让她脑袋里有这种傻念头呢？唉，可怜的小琼珊小姐。”
“她病得很厉害，很虚弱，”苏艾说，“高烧烧得她疑神疑鬼，满脑袋都是希
奇古怪的念头。好吗，贝尔曼先生，既然你不愿意替我当模特儿，我也不勉强
了。我认得你这个可恶的老——老贫嘴。”
“你真女人气！”贝尔曼嚷道，“谁说我不愿意？走吧。我跟你一起去。我已
经说了半天，愿意替你效劳。天哪！像琼珊小姐那样好的人实在不应该在这种
地方害病。总有一天，我要画一幅杰作，那么我们都可以离开这里啦。天哪！
是啊。”
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.
他们上楼时，琼珊已经睡着了。苏艾把窗帘拉到窗槛上，做手势让贝尔曼
到另一间屋子里去。他们在那儿担心地瞥着窗外的常春藤。接着，他们默默无
言地对瞅了一会儿。寒雨夹着雪花下个不停。贝尔曼穿着一件蓝色的旧衬衫，
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.
坐在一翻转过身的权充岩石的铁锅上，扮作隐居的矿工。
第二天早晨，苏艾睡了一个小时醒来的时候，看到琼珊睁着无神的眼睛，
凝视着放下来的绿窗帘。
“把窗帘拉上去，我要看。”她用微弱的声音命令着。
苏艾困倦地照着做了。
可是，看那！经过了漫漫长夜的风吹雨打，仍旧有一片常春藤的叶子贴在
墙上。它是藤上最后的一片了。靠近叶柄的颜色还是深绿的，但那锯齿形的边
缘已染上了枯败的黄色，它傲然挂在离地面二十来英尺的一根藤枝上面。
"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 - no; bring me a hand-
“那是最后的一片叶子。”琼珊说，“我以为昨夜它一定会掉落的。我听到刮风的
声音。它今天会脱落的，同时我也要死了。”
mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you
cook."
“哎呀，哎呀！”苏艾把她困倦的脸凑到枕边说，“如果你不为自己着想，也
得替我想想呀。我可怎么办呢？”
And hour later she said:
但是琼珊没有回答。一个准备走上神秘遥远的死亡道路的心灵，是全世界
"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
最寂寞、最悲哀的了。当她与尘世和友情之间的联系一片片地脱离时，那个玄
想似乎更有力地掌握了她。
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as
he left.
那一天总算熬了过去。黄昏时，她们看到墙上那片孤零零的藤叶仍旧依附
"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. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital today 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 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."
在茎上。随夜晚同来的北风的怒号，雨点不住地打在窗上，从荷兰式的低屋檐
上倾泻下来。
天色刚明的时候，狠心的琼珊又吩咐把窗帘拉上去。
那片常春藤叶仍在墙上。
琼珊躺着对它看了很久。然后她喊喊苏艾，苏艾正在煤气炉上搅动给琼珊
喝的鸡汤。
“我真是一个坏姑娘，苏艾，”琼珊说，“冥冥中有什么使那最后的一片叶子
不掉下来，启示了我过去是多么邪恶。不想活下去是个罪恶。现在请你拿些汤
来，再弄一点掺葡萄酒的牛奶，再——等一下；先拿一面小镜子给我，用枕头
替我垫垫高，我想坐起来看你煮东西。”
一小时后，她说：
“苏艾，我希望有朝一日能去那不勒斯海湾写生。”
下午，医生来，他离去时，苏艾找了个借口，跑到过道上。
“好的希望有了五成。”医生抓住苏艾瘦小的、颤抖的手说，“只要好好护
理，你会胜利。现在我得去楼下看看另一个病人。他姓贝尔曼——据我所知，
也是搞艺术的。也是肺炎。他上了年纪，身体虚弱，病势来得很猛。他可没有
希望了，不过今天还是要把他送进医院，让他舒服些。”
第二天，医生对苏说：“她已经脱离危险，你成功了。现在，你只需要好
好护理，给她足够的营养就行了。”
那天下午，苏艾跑到床边，琼珊靠在那儿，心满意足地在织一条毫无用处
的深蓝色肩巾，苏艾连枕头把她一把抱住。
“我有些话要告诉你，小东西。”她说，“贝尔曼在医院里去世了。他害肺
炎，只病了两天。头天早上，看门人在楼下的房间里发现他难过得要命。他的
鞋子和衣服都湿透了，冰凉冰凉的。他们想不出，在那种凄风苦雨的夜里，他
究竟是到什么地方去了。后来，他们找到了一盏还燃着的灯笼，一把从原来地
方挪动过的梯子，还有几枝散落的的画笔，一块调色板，上面和了绿色和黄色
的颜料，末了——看看窗外，亲爱的，看看墙上最后的一片叶子。你不是觉得
纳闷，它为什么在风中不飘不动吗？啊，亲爱的，那是贝尔曼的杰作——那晚
最后的一片叶子掉落时，他画在墙上的。”