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1今天,一九九○年九月二十四日,我在校园里闻到了一股浓郁的桂花香。哦,那些桂花树总算还活着,上海戏剧学院还有美的地方,哪怕只是一股看不见的花香。不管学院的历史怎么写,这股香味却年复一年,幽幽地把这个院子颠荡不定的岁月连结起来了。有关这股香味的最初记忆是一个雾濛濛的早晨,草树茂盛的校园里密密地散落着晨练的学生,而在一棵桂花树下却徘徊着一位谢顶的老人,他就是老院长熊佛西先生。他每天早晨都到校园里来散步,一圈圈地围着院子转,象是执意要让学院的每一天都从湿漉漉、滋润润的花草间开始。这天他哨兵似地守卫着一树芬芳,那片草地上还没有现在这条水泥直路,只有一条大弯
1 Today, September 24, 1990, I smell a rich osmanthus fragrance on campus. Oh, those sweet-scented osmanthus trees are still alive, the Shanghai Theater Academy, there are beautiful places, even if only an invisible flower. No matter how the history of the school to write, this fragrance is year after year, faintly linked to the fluctuating years of the yard together. The initial memory of this fragrance was a morning misty morning, densely populated morning grass-lined campus students, but in a sweet-scented osmanthus tree is wandering around a bald-headed elderly, he is the old care home Long bear Buddha West. Every morning he went to school for a walk around the yard, encircling the yard as if to insist that every day of the college begin with the wet, moist flowers. This day he sentinel guarding a tree fragrance, that piece of grass is not now the cement straight, only a big bend