字幕列表 影片播放 列印英文字幕 In a little district west of Washington Square, a colony of artists settled, attracted by low rents in the buildings abandoned by the companies so prosperous until "the crash". At the top of a squatty, three- story brick, Sue and Johnsy had their studio. They had met in May and enjoyed each other's company so much that the joint studio resulted. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Johnsy, he smote. Her thin blood was no match for Mr. Pneumonia. Sue was beside herself with worry, and the only shoulder to cry upon was that of Old Behrman - a painter who lived on the ground floor below them. Behrman was a failure in art. He had wielded the brush for forty years, always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. He drank to excess, and regarded himself as a guard dog of sorts, to protect the two young women in the studio above. Ahh!, Good afternoon, Miss Susie. Good afternoon, Mr. Behrman. Any luck with your paintings today? Nothing today. Here, let me help you with your groceries. Thank you, but I think you've got your hands full enough. I shlep all this down to Washington Square, and for what? Oooh! My goodness! Ah! Mr. Behrman, this is beautiful. Is it new? Ja, ja, ja, I paint it today. I could have sold it too. For twenty dollars. What?! Why didn't you? Ach! No, no, no! It's not for a woman like that! An art maven from Park Avenue. She only wanted to buy the painting because it matched the color of her sofa! Hmmph! Ein Yuchna! Yes, but twenty dollars... Twenty dollars? You want money, be a banker. You want misery, be a painter like me. How is she? Miss Johnsy, I mean. I'm going to make her some soup. She seems to be getting worse... The doctor is on his way. Oh, such a foolish girl! Painting out in the cold like that for hours - Now she gets pneumonia and perhaps dies? Uhh, I'm sorry,- I mean - She's such a sweet young thing. And such a talent - a gift - for painting, I should have. Listen. You tell her I will make a prayer for her. Ja? Thank you, Mr. Behrman. [MUSIC] She has one chance in... let us say, ten. And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-up on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind? She... she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day. Paint! Bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth giving a second thought to? A man for instance? A man?! Is a man worth ... No, doctor. There's nothing like that. Well, it is the weakness, then. I will do all that science, in as far as it's filtered through my efforts, can accomplish, but when a my patient of mine begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I must subtract fifty percent from the curative power of medicine. If you can get her to ask just one question about the new winter styles in overcoats, I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of a one-in-ten. Thank you, doctor. Twelve. Eleven. Did I tell you I saw old Mr. Behrman on my way back from the market? He almost sold a painting today. A new one. Oh, you should see it. It's wonderful. Still trying to paint his masterpiece. You shouldn't have bothered. I really don't want any soup. Oh, Johnsie, you have to eat something. You need your energy. I'll just leave it here next to you. Try to have a little at least. Nine Eight Seven What is it, dear? Six. 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. Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days now. Didn't the doctor tell you? I've never heard such nonsense! What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so. Don't be a goosey! Why, the doctor told me that your chances for getting well real soon were... let's see exactly what he said... He said your chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some soup 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. There goes another. Now there's only four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too. Oh, Johnsy - - 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. I need the light, or I would draw the curtain. Couldn't you draw in the other room? I'd rather be here by you. Besides, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves. Tell me as soon as you've finished. 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 of everything, and go sailing down. Just like one of those poor, tired leaves. Try to get some sleep. I must call Mr. Behrman up to model for a new illustration. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move until I get back. Three. Vas? Is there people in this world who will die because some leaves drop from a confounded vine? I have never heard of such a thing! Why do you let such silly thoughts enter her pretty little head? Hmm? Nein! I will not pose for you. She is very ill and weak, 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! You are just like a woman! Who told you I would not pose? I come. I come with you. Oh, Mein Gott! This is no place for someone as good as Miss Yohnsy to lie in sickness. Some day I shall paint my masterpiece. And then we can all go away. Ja. ... Ja. Pull them open, I want to see. It is the last one. I thought it would surely have fallen during the night. I heard the wind. Today it will fall. And I will die at the same time. Think of me. If you won't think of yourself. What would I do? [MUSIC] [Rain, Thunder] Open the curtains. I've been a bad girl, Sudie. Something has made that last leaf stay there 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 me a little soup now. And some milk with a little port wine in it, and - No, wait. Bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me. I'll sit up while you cook. Sudie - Some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples. You will. We both will. Even chances. With good nursing you'll win. Now I must return to a case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is. Pneumonia too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There's no hope for him. But he goes to the hospital today to make him feel more comfortable. Thank you, doctor. I'm so sorry - - Yes. I will. - Thank you for calling, doctor. Bye. I have something to tell you, white mouse. Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him on 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'd been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place. Some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow paints 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? Oh, sweetie, it's Behrman's masterpiece! He painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.