卷一 西湖总记

卷一 西湖总记

张岱

明圣二湖

自马臻开鉴湖，而由汉及唐，得名最早。后至北宋，西湖起而夺之，人皆奔走西湖，而鉴湖之澹远，自不及西湖之冶艳矣。至于湘湖则僻处萧然，舟车罕至，故韵士高人无有齿及之者。余弟毅孺常比西湖为美人，湘湖为隐士，鉴湖为神仙。余不谓然。余以湘湖为处子，眡娗羞涩，犹及见其未嫁之时；而鉴湖为名门闺淑，可钦而不可狎；若西湖则为曲中名妓，声色俱丽，然倚门献笑，人人得而媟亵之矣。人人得而媟亵，故人人得而艳羡；人人得而艳羡，故人人得而轻慢。在春夏则热闹之，至秋冬则冷落矣；在花朝则喧哄之，至月夕则星散矣；在晴明则萍聚之，至雨雪则寂寥矣。故余尝谓：“善读书，无过董遇三馀，而善游湖者，亦无过董遇三馀。董遇曰：‘冬者，岁之馀也；夜者，日之馀也；雨者，月之馀也。’雪古梅，何逊烟堤高柳；夜月空明，何逊朝花绰约；雨色涳濛，何逊晴光滟潋。深情领略，是在解人。”即湖上四贤，余亦谓：“乐天之旷达，固不若和靖之静深；邺侯之荒诞，自不若东坡之灵敏也。”其馀如贾似道之豪奢，孙东瀛之华赡，虽在西湖数十年，用钱数十万，其于西湖之性情、西湖之风味，实有未曾梦见者在也。世间措大，何得易言游湖。

苏轼《夜泛西湖》诗：

菰蒲无边水茫茫，荷花夜开风露香。渐见灯明出远寺，更待月黑看湖光。

又《湖上夜归》诗：

我饮不尽器，半酣尤味长。篮舆湖上归，春风吹面凉。行到孤山西，夜色已苍苍。清吟杂梦寐，得句旋已忘。尚记梨花村，依依闻暗香。

又《怀西湖寄晁美叔》诗：

西湖天下景，游者无愚贤。深浅随所得，谁能识其全。嗟我本狂直，早为世所捐。独专山水乐，付与宁非天。三百六十寺，幽寻遂穷年。所至得其妙，心知口难传。至今清夜梦，耳目馀芳鲜。君持使者节，风采烁云烟。清流与碧，安肯为君妍。胡不屏骑从，暂借僧榻眠。读我壁间诗，清凉洗烦煎。策杖无道路，直造意所便。应逢古渔父，苇间自夤缘。问道若有得，买鱼弗论钱。

李奎《西湖》诗：

锦帐开桃岸，兰桡系柳津。鸟歌如劝酒，花笑欲留人。钟磬千山夕，楼台十里春。回看香雾里，罗绮六桥新。

苏轼《开西湖》诗：

伟人谋议不求多，事定纷纭自唯阿。尽放龟鱼还绿净，肯容萧苇障前坡。一朝美事谁能继，百尺苍崖尚可磨。天上列星当亦喜，月明时下浴金波。

周立勋《西湖》诗：

平湖初涨绿如天，荒草无情不记年。犹有当时歌舞地，西泠烟雨丽人船。

夏炜《西湖竹枝词》：

四面空波卷笑声，湖光今日最分明。舟人莫定游何外，但望鸳鸯睡处行。平湖竟日只溟濛，不信韶光只此中。笑拾杨花装半臂，恐郎到晚怯春风。行觞次第到湖湾，不许莺花半刻闲。眼看谁家金络马，日驼春色向孤山。春波四合没晴沙，昼在湖船夜在家。怪杀春风归不断，担头原自插梅花。

欧阳修《西湖》诗：

菡萏香消画舸浮，使君宁复忆扬州。都将二十四桥月，换得西湖十顷秋。

赵子昂《西湖》诗：

春阴柳絮不能飞，两足蒲芽绿更肥。只恐前呵惊白鹭，独骑款段绕湖归。

袁宏道《西湖总评》诗：

龙井饶甘泉，飞来富石骨。苏桥十里风，胜果一天月。钱祠无佳处，一片好石碣。孤山旧亭子，凉荫满林樾。一年一桃花，一岁一白发。南高看云生，北高见日没。楚人无羽毛，能得几游越。

范景文《西湖》诗：

湖边多少游观者，半在断桥烟雨间。尽逐春风看歌舞，几人着眼看青山。

张岱《西湖》诗：

追想西湖始，何缘得此名。恍逢西子面，大服古人评。冶艳山川合，风姿烟雨生。奈何呼不已，一往有深情。一望烟光里，沧茫不可寻。吾乡争道上，此地说湖心。泼墨米颠画，移情伯子琴。南华秋水意，千古有人钦。到岸人心去，月来不看湖。渔灯隔水见，堤树带烟糢。真意言词尽，淡妆脂粉无。问谁能领略，此际有髯苏。

又《西湖十景》诗：

一峰一高人，两人相与语。此地有西湖，勾留不肯去。

（两峰插云）

湖气冷如冰，月光淡于雪。肯弃与三潭，杭人不看月。

（三潭印月）

高柳荫长堤，疏疏漏残月。步松沙，恍疑是踏雪。

（断桥残雪）

夜气滃南屏，轻岚薄如纸。钟声出上方，夜渡空江水。

（南屏晚钟）

烟柳幕桃花，红玉沉秋水。文弱不胜夜，西施刚睡起。

（苏堤春晓）

颊上带微酡，解颐开笑口。何物醉荷花，暖风原似酒。

（曲院风荷）

深柳叫黄鹂，清音入空翠。若果有诗肠，不应比鼓吹。

（柳浪闻莺）

残塔临湖岸，颓然一醉翁。奇情在瓦砾，何必藉人工。

（雷峰夕照）

秋空见皓月，冷气入林皋。静听孤飞雁，声轻天正高。

（平湖秋月）

深恨放生池，无端造鱼狱。今来花港中，肯受人拘束？

（花港观鱼）

柳耆卿《望海潮》词：

东南形胜，三吴都会，钱塘自古繁华。烟柳画桥，风帘翠幕，参差十万人家。云树绕堤沙。怒涛卷霜雪，天堑无涯。市列珠玑，户盈罗绮，竞豪奢。

重湖叠清佳，有三秋桂子，十里荷花。羌管弄晴，菱歌泛夜，嬉嬉钓叟莲娃。千骑拥高牙。乘醉听箫鼓，吟赏烟霞。异日图将好景，归去凤池夸。（金主阅此词，慕西湖胜景，遂起投鞭渡江之思。）

于国宝《风入松》词：

一春常费买花钱，日日醉湖边。玉骢惯识西湖路，骄嘶过、沽酒楼前。红杏香中箫鼓，绿杨影里秋千。

暖风十里丽人天，花压鬓云偏。画船载得春归去，馀情付、湖水湖烟。明日重扶残醉，来寻陌上花钿。

Fascicle One: General Record of West Lake

张岱

The Two Lakes of Mingsheng

Ever since Ma Zhen opened Jian Lake it had been famous from the Han down through the Tang, the earliest of all to win a name. Later, under the Northern Song, West Lake rose up and took that fame away; everyone hurried off to West Lake, and the mild remoteness of Jian Lake could not, of course, match West Lake's seductive glitter. As for Xiang Lake, it lies off in a corner, forlorn and seldom reached by boat or carriage, so that men of taste and lofty temper never mention it. My younger brother Yiru used to liken West Lake to a beauty, Xiang Lake to a recluse, and Jian Lake to an immortal. I do not agree. To my mind Xiang Lake is a maiden, demure and shy, still to be seen as she was before her marriage; Jian Lake is a gentlewoman of good family, to be revered and not made free with; while West Lake is a noted courtesan of the singing quarters, lovely in voice and face, but leaning at her door and offering smiles, so that anyone at all may take liberties with her. Because anyone may take liberties, anyone may envy her; and because anyone may envy her, anyone may slight her. In spring and summer they crowd about her; by autumn and winter she is left cold. At the Flower Festival they throng and clamour; by the evening of the moon they have scattered like stars. In clear bright weather they gather like duckweed; in rain and snow all is desolate. So I have said: for reading well there is nothing to surpass Dong Yu's three spare times, and for touring the lake well there is likewise nothing to surpass Dong Yu's three spare times. Dong Yu said: winter is the year's spare time, night is the day's spare time, rain is the month's spare time. Old plum trees in snow — how are they inferior to tall willows on the misty embankment? The night moon's empty brightness — how inferior to the grace of morning flowers? The blur of rain — how inferior to the shimmer of clear light? To take it in with deep feeling rests with the man who understands. Even of the Four Worthies of the lake I say: Letian's expansiveness is certainly not the equal of Hejing's still depth, and the Marquis of Ye's extravagance is naturally not the equal of Dongpo's quickness of spirit. As for the others — Jia Sidao with his lavishness, Sun Dongying with his opulence — though they spent decades at West Lake and hundreds of thousands in cash, of West Lake's temper and West Lake's savour there was much they had never so much as dreamed. What poor scholar of this world may speak lightly of touring the lake?

Su Shi, "Sailing on West Lake at Night":

Wild rice and rushes without end, the water vast and dim; lotuses opening at night, the wind and dew fragrant. Slowly lamps appear, shining out from far-off temples; I wait longer yet, for the moon to darken and the lake to glow.

Again, "Returning at Night from the Lake":

I never drain the cup; half-drunk, the flavour lasts longest. Home over the lake in a bamboo sedan, the spring wind cool on my face. By the time I reach the west of Solitary Hill the dusk has deepened to grey. Clear humming mingles with drowsing and dream; a line comes to me and is gone again. Still I remember Pear Blossom Village, and lingering there, a hidden fragrance.

Again, "Thinking of West Lake, Sent to Chao Meishu":

West Lake is the finest sight under heaven, and those who tour it are neither dull nor wise. Each takes it deep or shallow as he can; who is able to know the whole? Alas, I was always wild and blunt, and the age cast me off early. That the joy of hills and waters should be mine alone — was that not Heaven's doing? Three hundred and sixty temples: I sought out their quiet the whole year round. Wherever I came I caught the marvel of it; the mind knows what the mouth can hardly pass on. To this day, in the dreams of clear nights, ear and eye keep that freshness. You carry the envoy's tally, your bearing flashing through cloud and mist; but will clear streams and green summits consent to look fair for you? Why not dismiss your outriders and borrow a monk's couch for a night? Read the poems I left on the wall; their coolness will wash your fretting away. Staff in hand and no road to keep to, go straight wherever your fancy finds ease. You are bound to meet the old fisherman, threading his way among the reeds; and if his talk of the Way gives you something, buy his fish without asking the price.

Li Kui, "West Lake":

Brocade curtains open on the peach-lined shore; orchidwood oars are moored at the willow ford. Birds sing as though pressing wine on us; flowers laugh as though to keep us here. Bells and chimes at dusk across a thousand hills; towers and terraces, ten li of spring. Looking back through the fragrant mist, the silks and gauzes at the Six Bridges are new.

Su Shi, "Opening West Lake":

A great man does not ask for many counsels; once the thing is settled, the clamour turns to assent. He lets the turtles and fish all go back to the green clarity — would he suffer reeds and rushes to block the near slope? So fine a work of a single morning, who could carry it on? A hundred-foot grey cliff can still be polished smooth for the record. The ranked stars of heaven must be glad of it too, and on bright nights come down to bathe in the golden waves.

Zhou Lixun, "West Lake":

The level lake newly risen, green as the sky; the wild grass, unfeeling, keeps no count of the years. Still there remains the old ground of song and dance — at Xiling, in misty rain, the boats of lovely women.

Xia Wei, "Bamboo Branch Songs of West Lake":

On every side the empty waves roll up the sound of laughter; the lake's light today is clearest of all. Boatman, settle on no destination — just steer for where the mandarin ducks are asleep. All day the level lake is nothing but haze; who would believe the spring's glory is only here? Laughing, I gather willow floss to pad a short-sleeved coat, afraid my love will flinch from the spring wind by evening. The wine cup goes round in turn as we reach the lake's bend, and not half a moment's idleness is allowed to oriole or flower. Look there — whose horse is that in its golden bridle, carrying the spring all day toward Solitary Hill? Spring waves close on all sides and drown the sunlit sand; by day on the lake boat, by night at home. Maddening — the spring wind's going and coming never stops; and on the carrying-pole, plum blossom stuck there from the start.

Ouyang Xiu, "West Lake":

The lotus fragrance fades, the painted barge floats; would the governor still be remembering Yangzhou? He has traded all the moonlight of the Twenty-Four Bridges for ten qing of autumn on West Lake.

Zhao Zi'ang, "West Lake":

Under the spring overcast the willow floss cannot fly; on both sides the cattail shoots grow greener and fuller. Fearing only that the outriders' shouts would startle the white egrets, I ride home round the lake alone at an easy pace.

Yuan Hongdao, "A General Appraisal of West Lake":

Dragon Well is rich in sweet springs; Feilai is rich in bones of stone. At Su's bridge, ten li of wind; at Shengguo, a whole sky of moon. The Qian shrine has no fine spot about it — only one good stone tablet. The old pavilion on Solitary Hill, cool shade filling the grove. One peach blossom a year; one white hair a year. From the South Peak watch the clouds come up; from the North Peak see the sun go down. A man of Chu has no feathers — how many times can he get to roam in Yue?

Fan Jingwen, "West Lake":

How many sightseers along the lake, half of them out in the mist and rain at Broken Bridge? All chase the spring wind to watch the singing and dancing; how many turn their eyes to the green hills?

Zhang Dai, "West Lake":

I think back to West Lake's beginning: by what chance did it come by this name? As if meeting Xi Shi face to face, I submit entirely to the ancients' verdict. Its seductive brightness suits the hills and streams; its charm is born out of mist and rain. Why do I call on it without ceasing? Because once the heart goes that way, the feeling runs deep. One gaze into the misty light: a vastness not to be searched out. In my own district they press for the road; here they talk of the lake's heart. Ink flung as in Mi the Madman's painting; feeling carried as on Bozi's zither. The sense of the Autumn Floods in the Nanhua — a thousand years, and men revere it still. Once ashore, men's hearts are elsewhere; the moon comes up and they do not look at the lake. Fishing lamps show across the water; the embankment trees blur into mist. True meaning lies past the end of words; in plain adornment there is no rouge at all. Ask who can take it in — at this moment, bearded Su.

Again, "The Ten Views of West Lake":

One peak, one lofty man; the two of them in talk together. Here there is West Lake, and it holds them so that they will not go.

(Twin Peaks Piercing the Cloud)

The lake's air is cold as ice, the moonlight paler than snow. Content to leave it all to the Three Pools — the people of Hangzhou do not look at the moon.

(Three Pools Mirroring the Moon)

Tall willows shade the long embankment, letting the waning moon through in patches. Walking the pine-shaded sand, one half fancies it is snow underfoot.

(Lingering Snow at Broken Bridge)

Night air billows up over Nanping; the light haze is thin as paper. The bell sounds from the upper monastery, crossing by night the empty river water.

(Evening Bell at Nanping)

Misty willows curtain the peach blossom; red jade sinks in autumn water. Too frail to bear the night — Xi Shi just risen from sleep.

(Spring Dawn at Su Causeway)

A faint flush along the cheek, the jaw loosening into laughter. What has made the lotus drunk? The warm wind was like wine from the first.

(Lotus in the Breeze at Quyuan)

Deep in the willows the orioles call, the clear notes entering the empty green. If they really had a poet's gut in them, they should not be likened to pipes and drums.

(Orioles Singing in the Willow Waves)

The ruined pagoda leans above the lake shore, slumped there like a drunken old man. Its strange feeling lies in the rubble; what need has it of human craft?

(Leifeng Pagoda in the Evening Glow)

In the autumn sky the white moon shows; cold air comes into the wooded banks. Listening quietly to one wild goose in flight — the cry faint, the sky at its highest.

(Autumn Moon over the Calm Lake)

I bitterly resent the release pool: for no reason it made a prison for fish. Now that they are here in Flower Harbour, would they consent to be confined?

(Watching Fish at Flower Harbour)

Liu Qiqing, to the tune "Gazing on the Tidal Sea":

Finest ground of the southeast, metropolis of the Three Wu, Qiantang has been splendid since ancient times. Misty willows and painted bridges, wind-blown blinds and kingfisher curtains, a hundred thousand households ranged high and low. Trees like clouds ring the embankment sands. Angry breakers roll up frost and snow; the heaven-made moat runs on without end. The markets are laid out with pearls and gems, the houses filled with silks and gauzes, all vying in extravagance.

Layered lakes and ranged summits, clear and fine; there are osmanthus blossoms of the third autumn month, ten li of lotus flowers. Qiang pipes sport in the fair weather, water-chestnut songs drift by night, and old anglers and lotus-picking girls make merry together. A thousand horsemen throng the tall standard. Drunken, he listens to the pipes and drums, and chants his praise of mist and rosy cloud. One day he will have the fine scene painted, and go home to boast of it at the Phoenix Pool. (When the ruler of Jin read this lyric, he was taken with the beauty of West Lake, and so conceived the thought of flinging his whip across the river.)

Yu Guobao, to the tune "Wind through the Pines":

All spring I have kept spending money on flowers, drunk beside the lake day after day. My jade-grey horse knows the West Lake road by heart, and whinnies proudly as he passes the wine-shop tower. Pipes and drums amid the scent of red apricot; a swing in the shadow of green willow.

Ten li of warm wind, a day of lovely women; flowers weigh the cloud of hair down aslant. The painted boat carries the spring away with it, and the feeling left over is given to the lake's water and the lake's mist. Tomorrow, propped up in the dregs of my drunkenness, I shall come to look for the flower-ornament dropped on the path.