Henry "Last Leaf" (in Russian in Reduction). Story about

In a small quarter, west of the Washington Square of the streets were confused and reversed in short strips, referred to as traveling. These passages form strange corners and curves lines. One street there even crosses the same time two. A certain artist managed to open a very valuable property of this street. Suppose a collector from the store with a score for paint, paper and canvas meets himself, going by the ravis, without receiving a single cent of account!

And here in search of windows overlooking the north, the roofing of the XVIII century, the Dutch attic and cheap apartment feet of art of art came to the kind of Glinic-Williage quarter. Then they transported there with the sixth Avenue several tin mugs and one or two braziers and founded the "colony".

Studio Sue and Jones joined at the top of a three-story brick house. Johnxi is a diminutive from Joanna. One came from Maine, the other - from California. They met for the Tabldot of one restaurant on the eighth street and found that their views on art, the cycor salad and fashionable sleeves completely coincide. As a result, a common studio has arisen.

It was in May. In November, the unwriting stranger, whom the doctors refer to the pneumonia, invisibly walked around the colony, touching one, then another with his icy fingers.

Last page

In a small quarter, west of the Washington Square of the streets were confused and reversed in short strips, referred to as traveling. These passages form strange corners and curves lines. One street there even crosses the same time two. A certain artist managed to open a very valuable property of this street. Suppose a collector from the store with a score for paint, paper and canvas meets himself, going by the ravis, without receiving a single cent of account!

And this is the arts of art to come across the original Glinic-Williage quarter in search of windows overlooking the north, Roofing of the XVIII century, Dutch attic and cheap apartment fee. Then they transported there with the sixth Avenue several tin mugs and one or two braziers and founded the "colony".

Studio Sue and Jones joined at the top of a three-story brick house. Johnxi is a diminutive from Joanna. One arrived from Maine, the other from California. They met for the Tabldot of one restaurant on the Volme street and found that their views on art, the cycor salad and fashionable sleeves completely coincide. As a result, a common studio has arisen.

It was in May. In November, the unwriting stranger, whom the doctors refer to the pneumonia, invisibly walked around the colony, touching one, then another with his icy fingers. On the eastern side, this shredder walked boldly, hitting dozens of victims, but here, in the labyrinth of the narrow, smoking moss of the alley, he was flewing his leg for Nagu.

Mr. Pneumonia could not be called a gallant old gentleman. A miniature girl, anemone from Californian marshmallows, could hardly be considered a worthy opponent for a duke of old stupid with red cudders and shortness of breath. However, he dumped her from his feet, and Johnxi lay motionless on the painted iron bed, looking through the small binding of the Dutch window to the deaf wall of the neighboring brick house.

Once in the morning, a concerned Dr. in one movement of the cosmatic gray eyebrows caused Sue into the corridor.

"She has one chance ... Well, let's say, against ten," he said, shaking up mercury in the thermometer. - And that if she herself wants to live. Our entire pharmacopoeia loses its meaning when people begin to act in the interests of the Umbrella. Your little young lady decided that she was no longer corrected. What does she think about?

"She ... she wanted to write to the paints of the Neapolitan Bay.

- paints? Nonsense! Does she have something like that, what would it really be to think, for example, men?

"Well, then she just loosen," the doctor decided. - I will do everything that I will be able to do as a representative of science. But when my speech begins to count the carriage in his funeral procession, I throw off fifty percent with the healing forces of drugs. If you are able to achieve that she at least once asked what a simply sleeves will wear this winter, I handle you that it will have one chance out of five, instead of one of ten.

After the doctor left, Sue ran into the workshop and cried to the Japanese paper napkin until he was completely twisted. Then she man worked into Jones's room with a drawing board, having mastered the ragtime.

Johnxi lay, turning face to the window, barely noticeable under the blankets. Sue stopped wasting, thinking that Johnxi fell asleep.

She attached the board and started a drawing in walking towards a magazine story. For young artists, the path to art is paved with illustrations to magazine stories, which young authors brighten their way into literature.

Plowing for the story of the figure of the cowboy from Idaho in elegant bridges and with a monoclete in the eye, Sue heard a quiet whisper, repeated several times. She hurriedly approached the bed. Jones's eyes were wide open. She looked out the window and thought - believed in the reverse order.

"Twelve," she said, and some weather: - eleven, and then: - "Ten" and "nine", and then: - "Eight" and "Seven" - almost at the same time.

Sue looked out the window. What was considered there? Only a blank, sad yard and a deaf wall of a brick house in twenty steps was visible. Old-old ivy with knotted, who fired with the roots of the trunk soldered to half a brick wall. The cold respiration of the autumn disrupted the leaves from the vine, and the bare skeletons of the branches clinging behind the hearty bricks.

We offer to read the story O. Henry "Last List" in Russian (in reducing). This option is not suitable for those who study Russian, English or for those who want to get acquainted with the content of the work. As is known O. Henry distinguishes a kind of style. It is replete with neologisms, sophimons, calabris and other stylistic means. To read the stories O. Henry in the original, the preparation is needed.

O.Henry. Last page. Part 1 (according to the story of O. Henry "The Last Leaf")

In a small quarter, west of Washington, the streets are called travel. They form strange corners and lines curves. And in this quarter, artists loved to settle, because the windows there were mostly north, and the apartment fee was cheap.

Studio Sue and Jones joined at the top of a three-story brick house. Johnxi is a diminutive from Joanna. One arrived from Maine, the other from California. They met in one cafe on the eighth street and found that their views on art, the cycor salad and fashionable sleeves completely coincide. As a result, a common studio has arisen. It was in May.

In November, the unwriting stranger, whom the doctors refer to pneumonia, invisibly walked around the quarter, touching one, then another with his icy fingers. But if in other parts of the city he walked boldly, hitting dozens of victims, then here, in the labyrinth of narrow alley, he was flew down his leg. Mr. Pneumonia could not be called a gallant gentleman. Slender Malokrovna Girl, hardly could be considered a worthy opponent for a dowelly well done with red cudders and shortness of breath. However, he dumped her, and Johnxi lay motionless on the painted iron bed, looking through the small binding of the window on the deaf wall of the neighboring brick house.

She has one chance ... Well, let's say, against ten, "said the doctor, shaking up mercury in the thermometer. - And that if she herself wants to live. Our whole medicine loses its meaning when people begin to act in the interests of the Umbrella. Your little young lady decided that she was no longer corrected. What does she think about?

"She ... she wanted to write to the paints of the Naples Bay, said Sue.

- paints? Nonsense! Does she have something like that, what would it really be to think, for example, men?

"Well, then she just loosen," the doctor decided. - I will do everything that I will be able to do as a representative of science. But when my patient begins to count the carriage in his funeral procession, I throw off fifty percent with the healing force of medicines. If you are able to achieve that she at least once asked what a simply sleeves will wear this winter, I handle you that it will have one chance out of five, instead of one of ten.

After the doctor left, Sue ran into the workshop and cried for a long time. Then she man worked into Jones's room with a drawing board, having mastered the ragtime.

Johnxi lay, turning face to the window, barely noticeable under the blankets. Sue stopped wasting, thinking that Johnxi fell asleep. She attached the board and start a drawing to a magazine story.

Plowing for the story of the cowboy figure, Sue heard a quiet whisper, repeated several times. She hurriedly approached the bed. Jones's eyes were wide open. She looked out the window and thought - thought in reverse order

"Twelve," she said, and some weather: - eleven, and then: - "Ten" and "nine", and then: - "Eight" and "Seven" - almost at the same time. Sue looked out the window. What was considered there? Only a blank, sad yard and a deaf wall of a brick house in twenty steps was visible. Old-old ivy with knotted, who fired with the roots of the trunk soldered to half a brick wall. The cold respiration of the autumn disrupted the leaves from the vine, and the bare skeletons of the branches clinging behind the hearty bricks.

"Six," Johnsey answered barely heard. - Now they fly away much faster. Three days ago they were almost a hundred. The head was circling. And now it's easy. So one more flight. Now there are only five.

- What are five, honey? Tell your suity.

- Leaves. On a ivy. When the last sheet falls, I will die. I have already known this for three days.

- The first time I hear such nonsense! - with contempt, Sue was repaired. - What is the relationship can leave the leaves on the old ivy to the fact that you will recover? And you still loved this Ivy, a nasty girl! Do not be stormy. Why, even today, the doctor told me that you would soon recover ... let him say? .. What do you have ten chances against one. Try to eat a little broth and give your sudie to finish the drawing so that she can sell his editor and buy wines for his sick girl and pork boiler for himself.

"You don't need to buy wine anymore," Johnssee answered, looking at the window. - So one more flight. No, I don't want broth. So, there are only four. I want to see the last sheet falls. Then I die and me.

LAST PAGE

(from the collection "Burning lamp" 1907)

In a small quarter, west of the Washington Square of the streets were confused and reversed in short strips, referred to as traveling. These passages form strange corners and curves lines. One street there even crosses the same time two. A certain artist managed to open a very valuable property of this street. Suppose a collector from the store with a score for paint, paper and canvas meets himself, going by the ravis, without receiving a single cent of account!

And this is the arts of art to come across the original Glinic-Williage quarter in search of windows overlooking the north, Roofing of the XVIII century, Dutch attic and cheap apartment fee. Then they transported several tin mugs to the sixth avenue there and one or two braziers and founded the "colony."

Studio Sue and Jones joined at the top of a three-story brick house. Johnxi is a diminutive from Joanna. One arrived from Maine, the other from California. They met for the Tabldot of one restaurant on the Volme street and found that their views on art, the cycor salad and fashionable sleeves completely coincide. As a result, a common studio has arisen.

It was in May. In November, the unwriting stranger, whom the doctors refer to the pneumonia, invisibly walked around the colony, touching one, then another with his icy fingers. On the eastern side, this shredder walked boldly, hitting dozens of victims, but here, in the labyrinth of the narrow, smoking moss of the alley, he was flewing his leg for Nagu.

Mr. Pneumonia could not be called a gallant old gentleman. A miniature girl, anemone from Californian marshmallows, could hardly be considered a worthy opponent for a duke of old stupid with red cudders and shortness of breath. However, he dumped her from his feet, and Johnxi lay motionless on the painted iron bed, looking through the small binding of the Dutch window to the deaf wall of the neighboring brick house.

Once in the morning, a concerned Dr. in one movement of the cosmatic gray eyebrows caused Sue into the corridor.

She has one chance ... Well, let's say, against ten, "he said, shaking down mercury in the thermometer. - And that if she herself wants to live. Our entire pharmacopoeia loses its meaning when people begin to act in the interests of the Umbrella. Your little young lady decided that she was no longer corrected. What does she think about?

She ... She wanted to write to the paints of the Neapolitan Bay.

Paints? Nonsense! Does she have something like that, what would it really be to think, for example, men?

Well, then she just weakened, "the doctor decided. - I will do everything that I will be able to do as a representative of science. But when my speech begins to count the carriage in his funeral procession, I throw off fifty percent with the healing forces of drugs. If you are able to achieve that she at least once asked what a simply sleeves will wear this winter, I handle you that it will have one chance out of five, instead of one of ten.

After the doctor left, Sue ran into the workshop and cried to the Japanese paper napkin until he was completely twisted. Then she man worked into Jones's room with a drawing board, having mastered the ragtime.

Johnxi lay, turning face to the window, barely noticeable under the blankets. Sue stopped wasting, thinking that Johnxi fell asleep.

She attached the board and started a drawing in walking towards a magazine story. For young artists, the path to art is paved with illustrations to magazine stories, which young authors brighten their way into literature.

Plowing for the story of the figure of the cowboy from Idaho in elegant bridges and with a monoclete in the eye, Sue heard a quiet whisper, repeated several times. She hurriedly approached the bed. Jones's eyes were wide open. She looked out the window and thought - believed in the reverse order.

Twelve, "she said, and a little time: - eleven, - and then: -" Ten "and" nine ", and then: -" Eight "and" Seven "- almost at the same time.

Sue looked out the window. What was considered there? Only a blank, sad yard and a deaf wall of a brick house in twenty steps was visible. Old-old ivy with knotted, who fired with the roots of the trunk soldered to half a brick wall. The cold respiration of the autumn disrupted the leaves from the vine, and the bare skeletons of the branches clinging behind the hearty bricks.

What is there, honey? - asked Sue.

Six, - barely heard Johnsey answered. - Now they fly away much faster. Three days ago they were almost a hundred. The head was circling. And now it's easy. So one more flight. Now there are only five.

What are five, honey? Tell your suity.

Leaf on ivy. When the last sheet falls, I will die. I have already known this for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?

The first time I hear such nonsense! - with great contempt, Sue was repaired. - What is the relationship can leave the leaves on the old ivy to the fact that you will recover? And you still loved this Ivy, a nasty girl! Do not be stormy. Why, even today, the doctor told me that you would soon recover ... let him say? .. What do you have ten chances against one. But it is no less than each of us here in New York, when you go in the tram or you go past a new home. Try to eat a little broth and give your sudie to finish the drawing so that she can sell his editor and buy wines for his sick girl and pork boiler for himself.

You don't need to buy wine anymore, "Johnssee answered, looking closely into the window. - So one more flight. No, I don't want broth. So, there are only four. I want to see the last sheet falls. Then I die and me.

Jones, cute, - said Sue, leaning over her, - do you promise me not to open your eyes and do not look out the window until I finish working? I have to hand the illustration tomorrow. I need a light, otherwise I would have lowered the chart.

Do not you draw in another room? Johnxi asked coldly.

I would like to sit with you, "Sue said. - And besides, I do not want you to look at these stupid leaves.

In a small quarter, west of the Washington Square of the streets were confused and reversed in short strips, referred to as traveling. These passages form strange corners and curves lines. One street there even crosses the same time two. A certain artist managed to open a very valuable property of this street. Suppose a collector from the store with a score for paint, paper and canvas meets himself, going by the ravis, without receiving a single cent of account!

And this is the arts of art to come across the original Glinic-Williage quarter in search of windows overlooking the north, Roofing of the XVIII century, Dutch attic and cheap apartment fee. Then they transported there with the sixth Avenue several tin mugs and one or two braziers and founded the "colony".

Studio Sue and Jones joined at the top of a three-story brick house. Johnxi is a diminutive from Joanna. One arrived from Maine, the other from California. They met for the Tabldot of one restaurant on the Volme street and found that their views on art, the cycor salad and fashionable sleeves completely coincide. As a result, a common studio has arisen.

It was in May. In November, the unwriting stranger, whom the doctors refer to the pneumonia, invisibly walked around the colony, touching one, then another with his icy fingers. On the eastern side, this shredder walked boldly, hitting dozens of victims, but here, in the labyrinth of the narrow, smoking moss of the alley, he was flew down his leg.

Mr. Pneumonia could not be called a gallant old gentleman. A miniature girl, anemone from Californian marshmallows, could hardly be considered a worthy opponent for a duke of old stupid with red cudders and shortness of breath. However, he dumped her from his feet, and Johnxi lay motionless on the painted iron bed, looking through the small binding of the Dutch window to the deaf wall of the neighboring brick house.

Once in the morning, a concerned Dr. in one movement of the cosmatic gray eyebrows caused Sue into the corridor.

She has one chance ... Well, let's say, against ten, "he said, shaking down mercury in the thermometer. - And that if she herself wants to live. Our entire pharmacopoeia loses its meaning when people begin to act in the interests of the Umbrella. Your little young lady decided that she was no longer corrected. What does she think about?

She ... She wanted to write to the paints of the Neapolitan Bay.

Paints? Nonsense! Does she have something like that, what would it really be to think, for example, men?

Well, then she just weakened, "the doctor decided. - I will do everything that I will be able to do as a representative of science. But when my patient begins to count the carriage in his funeral procession, I throw off fifty percent with the healing force of medicines. If you are able to achieve that she at least once asked what a simply sleeves will wear this winter, I handle you that it will have one chance out of five, instead of one of ten.

After the doctor left, Sue ran into the workshop and cried to the Japanese paper napkin until he was completely twisted. Then she man worked into Jones's room with a drawing board, having mastered the ragtime.

Johnxi lay, turning face to the window, barely noticeable under the blankets. Sue stopped wasting, thinking that Johnxi fell asleep.

She attached the board and started a drawing in walking towards a magazine story. For young artists, the path to art is paved with illustrations to magazine stories, which young authors brighten their way into literature.

Plowing for the story of the figure of the cowboy from Idaho in elegant bridges and with a monoclete in the eye, Sue heard a quiet whisper, repeated several times. She hurriedly approached the bed. Jones's eyes were wide open. She looked out the window and thought - believed in the reverse order.

Twelve, she said, and a little time: - eleven, and then: - "Ten" and "nine", and then: - "Eight" and "Seven" - almost simultaneously.

Sue looked out the window. What was considered there? Only a blank, sad yard and a deaf wall of a brick house in twenty steps was visible. Old-old ivy with knotted, who fired with the roots of the trunk soldered to half a brick wall. The cold respiration of the autumn disrupted the leaves from the vine, and the bare skeletons of the branches clinging behind the hearty bricks.

What is there, honey? - asked Sue.

Six, - barely heard Johnsey answered. - Now they fly away much faster. Three days ago they were almost a hundred. The head was circling. And now it's easy. So one more flight. Now there are only five.

What are five, honey? Tell your suity.

Leaves. On a ivy. When the last sheet falls, I will die. I have already known this for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?

The first time I hear such nonsense! - with great contempt, Sue was repaired. - What is the relationship can leave the leaves on the old ivy to the fact that you will recover? And you still loved this Ivy, a nasty girl! Do not be stormy. Why, even today, the doctor told me that you would soon recover ... let him say? .. What do you have ten chances against one. But it is no less than each of us here in New York, when you go in the tram or you go past a new home. Try to eat a little broth and give your sudie to finish the drawing so that she can sell his editor and buy wines for his sick girl and pork boiler for himself.

You don't need to buy wine anymore, "Johnssee answered, looking closely into the window. - So one more flight. No, I don't want broth. So, there are only four. I want to see the last sheet falls. Then I die and me.

Jones, cute, - said Sue, leaning over her, - do you promise me not to open your eyes and do not look out the window until I finish working? I have to hand the illustration tomorrow. I need a light, otherwise I would have lowered the chart.

Do not you draw in another room? Johnxi asked coldly.

I would like to sit with you, "Sue said. - And besides, I do not want you to look at these stupid leaves.

Tell me when you end, - closing my eyes, said Johnsi, pale and fixed, as a defeated statue, - because I want to see how the last sheet fell. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to get rid of everything that keeps me - to fly, fly everything lower and lower as one of these poor, tired leaves.

Try to fall asleep, "said Sue. "I need to call Bermana, I want to write a gold designer from him. I am at the most for a minute. Look, did not move, until I come.

Sue found Berman, strongly smelling juniper berries, in his adversummate climbing the lower floor. In one corner, twenty five years old stood on the easel of the pristine canvas, ready to take the first landscaps of the masterpiece. Sue told the old man about the fantasy of Johnxi and about his fears about how she, light and fragile, like a leaf, did not fly away from them, when her continuity would weaken with the world. Old Man Berman, whose red eyes were very noticeable, revealed, mocking such idiotic fantasies.

What! He shouted. - Is such nonsense possible - to die because the leaves fall from the damned ivy! The first time I've heard. No, I do not want to pose for your pet idiot. How do you allow her to score with such nonsense? Ah, poor little Miss Johnsi!

She is very sick and weak, "Sue said," and from the fever, different painful fantasies come into mind. Very good, Mr. Berman, - If you do not want to pose, then it is not necessary. And I still think that you are a nasty old man ... Nasty old chatter.

Here is a real woman! - shouted Berman. - Who said that I do not want to pose? We go. I go with you. Half an hour I say I want to pose. Oh my God! There is no place to hurt such a good girl as Miss Jones. Someday I will write a masterpiece, and we will go away from here. Yes Yes!

Johnsey Dremea when they rose upstairs. Sue lowered the chart to the windowsill and made Bermana sign to another room. There they came to the window and looked at the old ivy with fear. Then they looked at, not to say a word. It was cold, stubborn rain in half with snow. Berman in the old blue shirt sat down in the post-hermit gold descendant on an inverted kettle instead of a cliff.

At the other morning, Sue, waking up after a short sleep, saw that Jones would not cut dull, widely opened eyes with a sloped green curtain.

Raise her, I want to see, - whispering junction was whisper.

Sue was tiredly obeyed.

And what? After heavy rain and sharp gusts of the wind, who did not lose all night, one sheet of ivy was still visible on the brick wall - the last one! It is still dark green in a stalk, but touched on the toothed edges of yellowing and decay, he bravely kept on a branch of twenty feet above the ground.

This is the last, "Jones said. - I thought he would definitely fall at night. I heard the wind. He will fall today, then I will die.

Yes, God is with you! - said Sue, leaning her tired head to the pillow. - Think at least about me if you do not want to think about yourself! What will happen to me?

But Jones did not answer. The soul, getting ready to go to the mysterious, distant path, becomes alien to everything in the world. A painful fantasy took possession of Johnsey more stronger, as one threads touched it with life with life and people.

The day passed, and even at twilight they saw that a lonely leaf of ivy was holding on his stalk against the brick wall. And then, with the onset of darkness, the north wind rose again, and the rain continuously pounded into the windows, rolling down with a low Dutch roof.

As soon as Raw, merciless Johnxi ordered to raise the chart again.

Ivy leaf still remained in place.

Johnxi lay for a long time, looking at him. Then I called Sue, which heated the chicken broth for her on the gas burner.

I was a bad girl, Siudi, said Johnsi. "It should be, this last leaf stayed on a branch in order to show me what I was ugly." Sinlessly desire death. Now you can give me a little broth, and then milk with a port ... Although there is no: bring me first the mirror, and then sider me with pillows, and I will sit and look like you cut down.

An hour later she said:

Sudy, I hope to ever write to the paints of the Neapolitan Bay.

In the afternoon, the doctor came, and Sue under some kind of pretext came after him in the hallway.

Chances are equal, "said the doctor, shaking a slender, trembling her hand. - With good care, you won. And now I have to visit another patient below. His surname Berman. It seems he is an artist. Also inflammation of the lungs. He is already an old man and very weak, and the form of illness is heavy. There is no hope, but today it will be sent to the hospital, there he will be faded.

On the other day, Dr. said Sue:

She is out of danger. You won. Now food and care - and nothing more needs.

At that same evening, Sue went to the bed, where Johnsey lay, gladly taking a bright blue, a completely useless scarf, and hugged her with one hand - along with a pillow.

I need something to tell you, a white mouse, "she began. - Mr. Berman died today in the hospital from the inflammation of the lungs. He had only for two days. In the morning of the first day, the Swiss found a poor old man on the floor in his room. He was unconscious. Shoes and all his clothes were wicked through and cold as ice. No one could understand where he went out in such a terrible night. Then they found a lantern, which was still burning, the staircase shifted from the place, several abandoned brushes and the palette with yellow and green paints. Look out the window, dear, on the last sheet of ivy. I was not surprised that he would not tremble and does not move from the wind? Yes, honey, it is a masterpiece of Bermana - he wrote it to that night when the last leaf flew.