STUDY IN CHINA GLOBAL (SCG)作品原文
宗璞 《我爱燕园》
我爱燕园。
考究起来，我不是北大或燕京的学生，也从未在北大任教或兼个什么差事。我只是一名居民，在这里有了三十五年居住资历的居民。时光流逝，如水如烟，很少成绩；却留得一点刻骨铭心之情：我爱燕园。
我爱燕园的颜色。五十年代，春天从粉红的桃花开始。看见那单薄的小花瓣在乍暖还寒的冷风中轻轻颤动，便总为强加于它轻薄之名而不平，它其实是仅次于梅的先行者。还没有来得及为它翻案，不要说花，连树都难逃斧钺之灾，砍掉了。于是便总由金黄的连翘迎来春天。因它可以入药，在校医院周围保住了一片。紧接着是榆叶梅热闹地上场，花团锦簇，令人振奋。白丁香、紫丁香，幽远的甜香和着朦胧的月色，似乎把春天送到了每人心底。
绿草间随意涂抹的二月兰，是值得大书特书的。那是野生的花，浅紫掺着乳白，仿佛有一层亮光从花中漾出，随着轻拂的微风起伏跳动，充满了新鲜，充满了活力，充满了生机。简直让人不忍走开。紫色经过各种变迁，最后便是藤萝。藤萝的紫色较凝重，也有淡淡的光，在绿叶间缓缓流泻，这时便不免惊悟，春天已老。
夏日的主色是绿，深深浅浅浓浓淡淡的绿。从城里奔走一天回来，一进校门，绿色满眼，猛然一凉，便把烦恼都抛在校门外了。绿色好像是底子，可以融化一切的底子，那文眼则是红荷。夏日荷塘是我招待友人的保留节目。鸣鹤园原有大片荷花，红白相间，清香远播。动乱多年后，寻不到了。现在勺园附近、朗润园桥边都有红荷，最好的是镜春园内的一池，隐藏在小山之后，幽径曲折，豁然得见。红荷的红不同于桃、杏，鲜艳中显出端庄，就像白玉兰于素静中显出华贵一样。我曾不解为什么佛的宝座做莲花状，再一思忖，无论从外貌或品德比较，没有比莲花更适合的了。
秋天的色彩令人感到充实和丰富。木槿的花有紫有白，紫薇的花有紫有红，美人蕉有各种颜色，玉簪花则是玉洁冰清，一片纯白。而最得秋意的是树叶的变化。临湖轩下池塘北侧一排高大的银杏树，秋来成为一面金色高墙，满地落叶也是金灿灿的，踩上去不由生出无限遐想。池塘西侧一片灌木不知名字，一个叶柄上对称地生着秀长的叶子，着雨后红得格外鲜亮。前年我为它写了一篇小文《秋韵》，去年再去观赏时，却见树丛东倒西歪，让人踩出一条路。若再成红霞一片，还不知要多少年!我在倒下的枝叶旁徘徊良久，恨不能起死回生!”文化大革命”中滋长的破坏习性，什么时候才能改变？！
一望皆白的雪景当然好看，但这几年很少下雪。冬天的颜色常常是灰蒙蒙的，很模糊。晴时站在未名湖边四顾，天空高处很蓝，愈往边上愈淡，亮亮地发白，枯树枝桠，房屋轮廓显出各种姿态。像是一幅没有着色只有线条的钢笔画。
我爱燕园的线条。湖光塔影，常在从燕园离去的人的梦中。映在天空的塔身自不必说，投在水中的塔影，轮廓弯曲了，摇曳着，而线条还是那么美!湖心岛旁的白石舫，两头微微翘起，有一点弧度，显得既圆润又利落。据说几座仿古建筑的檐角，因为缺少了弧度，而成凡品。湖西侧小山上的钟亭，亭有亭的线条，钟有钟的线条，钟身上铸了十八条龙和八卦。那几条长短不同的横线做出的排列组合，几千年来研究不透。
我爱燕园的气氛，那是人的活动造成的。每年秋天，新学年开始，园中添了许多稚气的脸庞。”老师，六院在哪里？””老师，一教怎样走？”他们问得专心，像是在问人生的道路。每年夏天，学年结束，道听途说则是：”你分在哪里？””你哪天走？”布告牌上出现了转让车票、出让旧物的字条。毕业生要到社会上去了。不知他们四年里对原来糊涂的事明白了多少，也不知今后会有怎样的遭遇。我只觉得这一切和四季一样分明，这是人生的节奏。
有时晚上在外面走–应该说，这种机会越来越少了–看见图书馆灯火通明，像一条夜航的大船，总是很兴奋。那凝聚着教师与学生心血的智慧之光，照亮着黑暗。这时我便知道，糊涂会变成明白。
三角地没有灯，却是小小的信息中心，前两年曾特别热闹，几乎天天有学术报告，各种讲座，各种意见，显示出每个人都用自己的头脑在思索。一片绚烂胜过自然间的万紫千红。这才是燕园本色！去年上半年骤然冷落，只剩些舞会通知、电影广告和遗失启事，虽然有些遗失启事很幽默，却总感到茫然凄然。近来又恢复些生气。我很少参加活动，看看布告，也是好的。
我爱燕园中属于我自己的记忆。我扫过自家门前雪，和满地扔瓜子壳儿的男士女士们争吵过。我为奉老抚幼，在衰草凄迷的园中奔走过。我记得室内冷如冰窖的寒冬，也记得新一代水暖工送来温暖的微笑。我那操劳一生的母亲怀着无限不安和惦念在校医院病逝，没有足够的人抬她下楼。当天，她所钟爱的狮子猫被人用鸟枪打死，留下一只尚未满月的小猫。这小猫如今已是十一岁，步入老年行列了。这些记忆，无论是美好的还是痛苦的，都同样珍贵。因为那属于我自己。
我爱燕园。
作品译文
I Love Yanyuan
Strictly speaking, I was never a student in Beida (short for Peking University) or Yenching University. Nor have I ever held any appointment in either university. I was merely a resident there for some thirty-five years. How time flies, like water, like smoke. I have ended up with very little but a profound sentiment – my love for Yanyuan.
I love the color of Yanyuan. In the fifties, spring began with pink peach blossoms, their tiny flimsy petals lightly trembling in the still cold breeze. I always think the association of being flimsy scribed to peach blossom is unjust. The peach blossom is but a runner-up with the plum blossom. Not found innocent in time, not only the blossoms but even the peach trees themselves came under the chopper’s blades. Since then, it has been left to the golden forsythia to welcome the spring. Forsythia, because of its medicinal value, is a protected plant on the university campus. The Nanking cherry immediately followed with its splendid uplifting clusters. The white and purple cloves with their sweetness spreading afar under a misty moon send spring straight into one’s heart.
The wild violet, nonchalantly tinting the green grass, deserves proper attention. For the violet is wild, and its purple is mixed with a profuse white brightness. It dances in the wind, undulating lightly, so fresh and lively. One does not feel like parting from it. The color purple evolves into different shades until it becomes wisteria whose purple, a dark hue, glistens among the green leaves. By then one could not help but realize that the spring is no longer young.
The color of summer is green, dark green, light green, deep green or pale green. Whenever returning from a trip downtown, as soon as I enter the university gate my eyes are filled with the color green, and I feel instantly cooler, forgetting the troubles outside the campus gate. Green is the overall backdrop, infusing all other shades. The focal point is on the red lotus. The summer lotus pond used to be the highlight when I entertained my friends. There are huge lotus pads in Mingheyuan, the white lotus intertwined with the red, the fragrance dispersed afar. After all those years of turmoil during the Cultural Revolution, the lotus pads are no longer there. But near Shaoyuan, by the bridge of Langrinyuan, the red lotus reappear. There it is hidden behind the hill, with shaded winding paths which come suddenly into view. The red of the lotus is of a different hue from that of the peach blossom or apricot blossom. The lotus, not unlike the white magnolia, is stately but subdued. I had often wondered why Buddha is couched on a lotus pad. But when I pursue the thought further, I realized what could be more appropriate than lotus, considering its shape and its virtue.
Autumn colors make one feel substantial and rich. The Rose-of-Sharon is purple, red and white. Grape myrtle can be purple or red. Indian Root is of many shades, while the plantain lily is pure icy white. The trees are full of autumn. Under Linhuxuan, north of the pond, there is a row of tall gingko trees. By autumn they turn into a high golden wall, and the ground is covered with golden leaves. As I step on the leaves, my thoughts begin to take flight. West of the pond, there are trees with unknown names, slender leaves shooting evenly from the base of the branch. After a sprinkle of rain, the leaves turn flaming red. The year before last, I had written “Ode to Autumn,” but last year I returned and found the branches leaning to left and right. Amidst the branches a path had been tramped flat. I lingered there, feeling powerless. How many years will pass before the leaves turn red again? When will the destructive mentality unleashed by the Cultural Revolution end?
The snow white scenery of Yanyuan is beautiful. On a sunny winter day, standing on the shore of Lake Weiming, I look out and see the sky, high and blue; the higher the sky the lighter the gleaming white snow. The outline of bare branches and the surrounding buildings bring into sharp relief the shapes and forms of the landscape. It is like a black and white sketch by pen. But there has been little snow in recent years. The winter color is gloomy grey and misty.
I like the outline of Yanyuan, the light on the lake and the shadow of the pagoda. It is in the dream world of those departed. Without a doubt, it is also the shadow of the pagoda on the lake, slightly titled, moving; yet the lines are still beautiful. Docking alongside the mid-lake island is the white stone boat with its two ends arching upward. The outline is sharp and full. The Bell Pavilion on the west side of the lake and the lines of the bell stand out distinctly. There are eighteen dragons and eight diagram carved on the sides of the bell. The composition of the uneven horizontal lines is a thousand-year old enigma.
I love the atmosphere of Yanyuan. It is created with human effort. Every autumn, when the new academic year begins, innocent new faces appear on campus. Teacher, where is No 6 courtyard? Teacher, where is such and such a classroom? They ask the questions with such intensity as if they are searching for the Way of Life. Every summer, when the academic year ends, one overhears on the lanes such questions as “Where have you been assigned?” “When are you leaving?” on the bulletin board there are notices of bicycle sales. The graduates are entering society. I wonder how much they have learned during four years of studies. I wonder what their future holds. I feel it is the same with the four seasons. It is the rhythm of life itself.
Sometimes in the evening when I take a walk – such chances are increasingly rare – I see the library bright with lights. I am always excited to find the library looking like a giant boat afloat in the night. The library shines with the cumulative wisdom of faculty and students. It lights up the darkness. It is earned at great cost. I know now that all the confusion is being straightened out.
There is no light in the Triangle area, that tiny “information center.” It has been very exciting there the last two years. Academic talks almost daily, forums and panel discussions, all sorts of opinions were aired. It seemed that everyone was thinking independently. It was like a rainbow surpassing the color of the seasons. It is the true color of Yanyuan. Since the beginning of last year, however, things have quieted down; movie ads and Lost and Found notices fill the bulletin board. Altogether some lost items are described with much humor, one feels sad. But recently things are getting brighter. Though I do not participate in many activities, it does me good just to peruse the notices.
I love the Yanyuan of my memory. I have quarreled with the men and women who spat watermelon seed shells all over the place, and I have shoveled snow in our front yard. In order to care for the elderly and the young, I have scurried about in our desolate compound. I remember the icy cold rooms in winter. I also remember a new generation of hot-water and heating servicemen with their gentle warm smiles. I remember my mother how toiled all her life and who passed away in the university hospital, worrying about us with her last breath. There were not enough staff to carry her body downstairs. The same day, her favorite cat was shot dead by a bird-hunter’s gun, leaving behind a kitten. Today, her kitten is eleven years old, getting on in years. All the memories, sweet or bitter, are equally precious. For they are part of me.
I love Yanyuan.
