卷三 西湖中路

卷三 西湖中路

张岱

秦楼

秦楼初名水明楼，东坡建，常携朝云至此游览。壁上有三诗，为坡公手迹。过楼数百武，为镜湖楼，白乐天建。宋时宦杭者，行春则集柳洲亭，竞渡则集玉莲亭，登高则集天然图画阁，看雪则集孤山寺，寻常宴客则集镜湖楼。兵燹之后，其楼已废，变为民居。

苏轼《水明楼》诗：

黑云翻墨未遮山，白雨跳珠乱入船。卷地风来忽吹散，望湖楼下水连天。放生鱼鸟逐人来，无主荷花到处开。水浪能令山俯仰，风帆似与月裴回。未成大隐成中隐，可得长闲胜暂闲。我本无家更焉往，故乡无此好湖山。

片石居

由昭庆缘湖而西，为餐香阁，今名片石居。阁精庐，皆韵人别墅。其临湖一带，则酒楼茶馆，轩爽面湖，非惟心胸开涤，亦觉日月清朗。张谓“昼行不厌湖上山，夜坐不厌湖上月”，则尽之矣。再去则桃花港，其上为石函桥，唐刺史李邺侯所建，有水闸泄湖水以入古荡。沿东西马塍、羊角埂，至归锦桥，凡四派焉。白乐天记云：“北有石函，南有笕，决湖水一寸，可溉田五十馀顷。”闸下皆石骨磷磷，出水甚急。

徐渭《八月十六片石居夜泛》词：

月倍此宵多，杨柳芙蓉夜色蹉。鸥鹭不眠如昼里，舟过，向前惊换几汀莎。

筒酒觅稀荷，唱尽塘栖《白苎歌》。天为红妆重展镜，如磨，渐照胭脂奈褪何。

十锦塘

十锦塘，一名孙堤，在断桥下。司礼太监孙隆于万历十七年修筑。堤阔二丈，遍植桃柳，一如苏堤。岁月既多，树皆合抱。行其下者，枝叶扶苏，漏下月光，碎如残雪。意向言断桥残雪，或言月影也。苏堤离城远，为清波孔道，行旅甚稀。孙堤直达西泠，车马游人，往来如织。兼以西湖光艳，十里荷香，如入山阴道上，使人应接不暇。湖船小者，可入里湖，大者缘堤倚徙，由锦带桥循至望湖亭，亭在十锦塘之尽。渐近孤山，湖面宽厂。孙东瀛修葺华丽，增筑露台，可风可月，兼可肆筵设席。笙歌剧戏，无日无之。今改作龙王堂，旁缀数楹，咽塞离披，旧景尽失。再去，则孙太监生祠，背山面湖，颇极壮丽。近为卢太监舍以供佛，改名卢舍庵，而以孙东瀛像置之佛龛之后。孙太监以数十万金钱装塑西湖，其功不在苏学士之下，乃使其遗像不得一见湖光山色，幽囚面壁，见之大为鲠闷。

袁宏道《断桥望湖亭小记》：

湖上由断桥至苏公堤一带，绿烟红雾，弥漫二十馀里。歌吹为风，粉汗为雨，罗纨之盛，多于堤畔之柳，冶艳极矣。然杭人游湖，止午、未、申三时，其实湖光染翠之工，山岚设色之妙，全在朝日始出、夕舂未下，始极其浓媚。月景尤为清艳，花态柳情，山容水意，别是一种趣味。

此乐留与山僧游客受用，安可为俗士道哉！望湖亭即断桥一带，堤甚工致，比苏公堤犹美。夹道种绯桃、垂柳、芙蓉、山茶之属二十馀种。堤边白石砌如玉，布地皆软沙如茵。杭人曰：“此内使孙公所修饰也。”此公大是西湖功德主。自昭庆、天竺、净慈、龙井及山中庵院之属，所施不下数十万。余谓白、苏二公，西湖开山古佛，此公异日伽蓝也。“腐儒，几败乃公事！”可厌！可厌！

张京元《断桥小记》：

西湖之胜，在近；湖之易穷，亦在近。朝车暮舫，徒行缓步，人人可游，时时可游。而酒多于水，肉高于山，春时肩摩趾错，男女杂沓，以挨簇为乐。无论意不在山水，即桃容柳眼，自与东风相倚，游者何曾一着眸子也。

李流芳《断桥春望图题词》：

往时至湖上，从断桥一望，便魂消欲死。还谓所知，湖之潋滟熹微，大约如晨光之着树，明月之入庐。盖山水映发，他处即有澄波巨浸，不及也。壬子正月，以访旧重至湖上，辄独往断桥，裴回终日，翌日为杨谶西题扇云：“十里西湖意，都来到断桥。寒生梅萼小，春入柳丝娇。乍见应疑梦，重来不待招。故人知我否，吟望正萧条。”又明日作此图。小春四月，同孟旸、子与夜话，题此。谭元春《湖霜草序》：

予以己未九月五日至西湖，不寓楼阁，不舍庵刹，而以琴尊书札，托一小舟。而舟居之妙，在五善焉。舟人无酬答，一善也。昏晓不爽其候，二善也。访客登山，恣意所如，三善也。入断桥，出西泠，午眠夕兴，四善也。残客可避，时时移棹，五善也。挟此五善，以长于湖。僧上凫下，觞止茗生，篙楫因风，渔筊聚火。盖以朝山夕水，临涧对松，岸柳池莲，藏身接友，早放孤山，晚依宝石，足了吾生，足济吾事矣。

王叔杲《十锦塘》诗：

横截平湖十里天，锦桥春接六桥烟。芳林花发霞千树，断岸光分月两川。几度觞飞堤外景，一清棹发镜中船。奇观妆点知谁力，应有歌声被管弦。

白居易《望湖楼》诗：

尽日湖亭卧，心闲事亦稀。起因残醉醒，坐待晚凉归。松雨飘苏帽，江风透葛衣。柳堤行不厌，沙软絮霏霏。

徐渭《望湖亭》诗：

亭上望湖水，晶光淡不流。镜宽万影落，玉湛一矶浮。寒入沙芦断，烟生野鹜投。若从湖上望，翻羡此亭幽。

张岱《西湖七月半记》：

西湖七月半，一无可看，止可看看七月半之人。看七月半之人，以五类看之。其一，楼船箫鼓，峨冠盛筵，灯火优傒，声光相乱，名为看月而实不见月者，看之；其一，亦船亦楼，名娃闺秀，携及童娈，笑啼杂之，环坐露台，左右盼望，身在月下而实不看月者，看之；其一，亦船亦声歌，名妓闲僧，浅斟低唱，弱管轻丝，竹肉相发，亦在月下，亦看月，而欲人看其看月者，看之；其一，不舟不车，不衫不帻，酒醉饭饱，呼群三五，跻入人丛，昭庆、断桥，呼嘈杂，装假醉，唱无腔曲，月亦看，看月者亦看，不看月者亦看，而实无一看者，看之；其一，小船轻幌，净几暖炉，茶铛旋煮，素瓷静递，好友佳人，邀月同坐，或匿影树下，或逃嚣里湖，看月而人不见其看月之态，亦不作意看月者，看之。

杭人游湖，巳出酉归，避月如仇，是夕好名，逐队争出，多犒门军酒钱，轿夫擎燎，列俟岸上。一入舟，速舟子急放断桥，赶入胜会。以故二鼓以前，人声鼓吹，如沸如撼，如魇如呓，如聋如哑，大船小船一齐凑岸，一无所见，止见篙击篙，舟触舟，肩摩肩，面看面而已。少刻兴尽，官府席散，皂隶喝道去，轿夫叫船上人，怖以关门，灯笼火把如列星，一一簇拥而去。岸上人亦逐队赶门，渐稀渐薄，顷刻散尽矣。

吾辈始舣舟近岸，断桥石磴始凉，席其上，呼客纵饮。此时月如镜新磨，山复整妆，湖复颒面。向之浅斟低唱者出，匿影树下者亦出，吾辈往通声气，拉与同坐。韵友来，名妓至，杯箸安，竹肉发。月色苍凉，东方将白，客方散去。吾辈纵舟，酣睡于十里荷花之中，香气拍人，清梦甚惬。

孤山

《水经注》曰：水黑曰卢，不流曰奴；山不连陵曰孤。梅花屿介于两湖之间，四面岩峦，一无所丽，故曰孤也。是地水望澄明，皦焉冲照，亭观绣峙，两湖反景，若三山之倒水下。山麓多梅，为林和靖放鹤之地。林逋隐居孤山，宋真宗征之不就，赐号和靖处士。常畜双鹤，豢之樊中。逋每泛小艇，游湖中诸寺，有客来，童子开樊放鹤，纵入云霄，盘旋良久，逋必棹艇遄归，盖以鹤起为客至之验也。临终留绝句曰：“湖外青山对结庐，坟前修竹办萧疏。茂陵他日求遗稿，犹喜曾无封禅书。”绍兴十六年建四圣延祥观，尽徙诸院刹及士民之墓，独逋墓诏留之，弗徙。至元，杨连真伽发其墓，唯端砚一、玉簪一。明成化十年，郡守李端修复之。天启间，有王道士欲于此地种梅千树。云间张侗初太史补《孤山种梅序》。

袁宏道《孤山小记》：

孤山处士，妻梅子鹤，是世间第一种便宜人。我辈只为有了妻子，便惹许多俗事，撇之不得，傍之可厌，如衣败絮行荆棘中，步步牵挂。近日雷峰下有虞僧儒，亦无妻室，殆是孤山后身。所著《溪上落花诗》，虽不知于和靖如何，然一夜得百五十首，可谓迅捷之极。至于食淡参禅，则又加孤山一等矣，何代无奇人哉！

张京元《孤山小记》：

孤山东麓，有亭翼然。和靖故址，今悉编篱插棘。诸巨家规种桑养鱼之利，然亦赖其稍葺亭榭，点缀山容。楚人之弓，何问官与民也。

又《萧照画壁》：

西湖凉堂，绍兴间所构。高宗将临观之。有素壁四堵，高二丈，中贵人促萧照往绘山水。照受命，即乞尚方酒四斗，夜出孤山，每一鼓即饮一斗，尽一斗则一堵已成，而照亦沉醉。上至，览之叹赏，宣赐金帛。

沈守正《孤山种梅疏》：

西湖之上，葱蒨亲人，亦爽朗易尽。独孤山盘郁重湖之间，水石草木皆有幽色。唐时楼阁参差，诗歌点缀，冠于两湖。读“不雨山常润，无云水自阴”之句，犹可想见当时。道孤山者，不径西泠，必沿湖水，不似今从望湖折阛阓而入也。此地尚有古梅偃蹇，云是和靖故居。

李流芳《题孤山夜月图》：

曾与印持诸兄弟醉后泛小艇，从孤山而归。时月初上新堤，柳枝皆倒影湖中，空明摩荡，如镜中，复如画中。久怀此胸臆，壬子在小筑，忽为孟旸写出，真画中矣。

苏轼《书林逋诗后》：

吴侬生长湖山曲，呼吸湖光饮山渌。不论世外隐君子，佣儿贩妇皆冰玉。先生可是绝俗人，神清骨冷无由俗。我不识见曾梦见，瞳子瞭然光可烛。遗篇妙字处处有，步绕西湖看不足。诗如东野不言寒，书似西台差少肉。平生高节已难继，将死微言犹可录。自言不作封禅书，更肯悲吟白头曲。我笑吴人不好事，好作祠堂傍修竹。不然配食水仙王，一盏寒泉荐秋菊。

张祜《孤山》诗：

楼台耸碧岑，一径入湖心。不雨山常润，无云水自阴。断桥荒藓合，空院落花深。犹忆西窗月，钟声出北林。徐渭《孤山玩月》诗：

湖水淡秋空，练色澄初静。

倚棹激中流，幽然适吾性。举酒忽见月，光与波相映。西子拂淡妆，遥岚挂孤镜。座客本玉姿，照耀几筵莹。暇时吐高怀，四座尽倾听。却言处士疏，徒抱梅花咏。如以径寸鱼，蹄涔即成泳。论久兴弥洽，返棹堤逾迥。自顾纵清谈，何嫌麾麈柄。

卓敬《孤山种梅》诗：

风流东阁题诗客，潇洒西湖处士家。雪冷江深无梦到，自锄明月种梅花。

王稚登《赠林纯卿卜居孤山》诗：

藏书湖上屋三间，松映轩窗竹映关。引鹤过桥看雪去，送僧归寺带云还。轻红荔子家千里，疏影梅花水一湾。和靖高风今已远，后人犹得住孤山。

陈鹤《题孤山林隐君祠》诗：

孤山春欲半，犹及见梅花。笑踏王孙草，闲寻处士家。尘心莹水镜，野服映山霞。岩壑长如此，荣名岂足夸。

王思任《孤山》诗：

淡水浓山画里开，无船不署好楼台。春当花月人如戏，烟入湖灯声乱催。万事贤愚同一醉，百年修短未须哀。只怜逋老栖孤鹤，寂寞寒篱几树梅。

张岱《补孤山种梅叙》：

盖闻地有高人，品格与山川并重；亭遗古迹，梅花与姓氏俱香。名流虽以代迁，胜事自须人补。在昔西泠逸老，高洁韵同秋水，孤清操比寒梅。疏影横斜，远映西湖清浅；暗香浮动，长陪夜月黄昏。今乃人去山空，依然水流花放。瑶葩洒雪，乱飘冢上苔痕；玉树迷烟，恍堕林间鹤羽。兹来韵友，欲步前贤，补种千梅，重修孤屿。凌寒三友，早连九里松篁；破腊一枝，远谢六桥桃柳。伫想水边半树，点缀冰花；待将雪后横枝，低昂铁干。美人来自林下，高士卧于山中。白石苍崖，拟筑草亭招放鹤；浓山淡水，闲锄明月种梅花。有志竟成，无约不践。将与罗浮争艳，还期庾岭分香。实为林处士之功臣，亦是苏长公之胜友。吾辈常劳梦想，应有宿缘。哦曲江诗（曲江张九龄有《庭梅吟》），便见孤芳风韵；读广平赋，尚思铁石心肠。共策灞水之驴，且向断桥踏雪；遥瞻漆园之蝶，群来林墓寻梅。莫负佳期，用追芳躅。

张岱《林和靖墓柱铭》：

云出无心，谁放林间双鹤。月明有意，即思冢上孤梅。

关王庙

北山两关王庙，其近岳坟者，万历十五年为杭民施如忠所建。如忠客燕，涉潞河，飓风作，舟将覆，恍惚见王率诸河神拯救获免，归即造庙祝之，并祀诸河神。冢宰张瀚记之。其近孤山者，旧祠卑隘。万历四十二年，金中丞为导首鼎新之。太史董其昌手书碑石记之，其词曰：“西湖列刹相望，梵宫之外，其合于祭法者，岳鄂王、于少保与关神而三尔。甲寅秋，神宗皇帝梦感圣母中夜传诏，封神为伏魔帝君，易兜鍪而衮冕，易大纛而九斿。五帝同尊，万灵受职。视操、懿、莽、温偶奸大物，生称贼臣，死堕下鬼，何啻天渊。顾旧祠湫隘，不称诏书播告之意，金中丞父子爰议鼎新，时维导首，得孤山寺旧址，度材垒土，勒墙墉，庄像设，先后三载而落成。中丞以余实倡议，属余记之。余考孤山寺，且名永福寺。唐长庆四年，有僧刻《法华》于石壁。会元微之以守越州，道出杭，而杭守白乐天为作记。有九诸侯率钱助工，其盛如此。成毁有数，金石可磨，越数百年而祠帝君。以释典言之，则旧寺非所谓现天大将军身，而今祠非所谓现帝释身者耶。至人舍其生而生在，杀其身而身存。孔曰成仁，孟曰取义，与《法华》一大事之旨何异也。彼谓忠臣义士犹待坐蒲团、修观行而后了生死者，妄矣。然则石壁岿然，而石经初未泐也。顷者四川歼叛，神为助力，事达宸聪，非同语怪。惟辽西黠卤尚缓天诛，帝君能报曹而有不报神宗者乎？左挟鄂王，右挟少保，驱雷部，掷火铃，昭陵之铁马嘶风，蒋庙之塑兵濡露，谅荡魔皆如蜀道矣。先是金中丞抚闽，藉神之告，屡歼倭夷，上功盟府，故建祠之费，视众差巨，盖有夙意云。”寺中规制精雅，庙貌庄严，兼之碑碣清华，柱联工确，一以文理为之，较之施庙，其雅俗真隔霄壤。

董其昌《孤山关王庙柱铭》：

忠能择主，鼎足分汉室君臣；德必有邻，把臂呼岳家父子。

宋兆禴《关帝庙柱联》：

从真英雄起家，直参圣贤之位；以大将军得度，再现帝王之身。

张岱《关帝庙柱对》：

统系让偏安，当代天王归汉室；春秋明大义，后来夫子属关公。

苏小小墓

苏小小者，南齐时钱塘名妓也。貌绝青楼，才空士类，当时莫不艳称。以年少早卒，葬于西泠之坞。芳魂不殁，往往花间出现。宋时有司马槱者，字才仲，在洛下梦一美人搴帷而歌，问其名，曰：“西陵苏小小也。”问歌何曲？曰：“《黄金缕》。”后五年。才仲以东坡荐举，为秦少章幕下官，因道其事。少章异之，曰：“苏小之墓，今在西泠，何不酹酒吊之。”才仲往寻其墓拜之。是夜，梦与同寝，曰：“妾愿酬矣。”自是幽昏三载，才仲亦卒于杭，葬小小墓侧。

旧时苏小小墓

西陵苏小小诗：

妾乘油壁车，郎跨青骢马。何处结同心，西陵松柏下。

又词：

妾本钱塘江上住，花落花开，不管流年度。燕子衔将春色去，纱窗几阵黄梅雨。

斜插玉梳云半吐，檀板轻敲，唱彻《黄金缕》。梦断彩云无觅处，夜凉明月生南浦。

李贺《苏小小》诗：

幽兰露，如啼眼。无物结同心，烟花不堪剪。草如茵，松如盖。风为裳，水为珮。油壁车，久相待。冷翠烛，劳光彩。西陵下，风吹雨。

沈原理《苏小小歌》：

歌声引回波，舞衣散秋影。梦断别青楼，千秋香骨冷。青铜镜里双飞鸾，饥乌吊月啼勾栏。风吹野火火不灭，山妖笑入狐狸穴。西陵墓下钱塘潮，潮来潮去夕复朝。墓前杨柳不堪折，春风自绾同心结。

元遗山《题苏小像》：

槐荫庭院宜清昼，帘卷香风透。美人图画阿谁留，都是宣和名笔内家收。

莺莺燕燕分飞后，粉浅梨花瘦。只除苏小不风流，斜插一枝萱草凤钗头。

徐渭《苏小小墓》诗：

一抔苏小是耶非，绣口花腮烂舞衣。自古佳人难再得，从今比翼罢双飞。薤边露眼啼痕浅，松下同心结带稀。恨不颠狂如大阮，欠将一曲恸兵闺。

陆宣公祠

孤山何以祠陆宣公也？盖自陆少保炳为世宗乳母之子，揽权怙宠，自谓系出宣公，创祠祀之。规制宏厂，吞吐湖山。台榭之盛，概湖无比。炳以势焰，孰有美产，即思攫夺。旁有故锦衣王佐别墅壮丽，其孽子不肖，炳乃罗织其罪，勒以献产。捕及其母，故佐妾也。对簿时，子强辩。母膝行前，道其子罪甚详。子泣，谓母忍陷其死也。母叱之曰：“死即死，尚何说！”指炳座顾曰：“而父坐此非一日，作此等事亦非一日，而生汝不肖子，天道也，汝死犹晚！”炳颊发赤，趣遣之出，弗终夺。炳物故，祠没入官，以名贤得不废。隆庆间，御史谢廷杰以其祠后增祀两浙名贤，益以严光、林逋、赵忭、王十朋、吕祖谦、张九成、杨简、宋濂、王琦、章懋、陈选。会稽进士陶允宜以其父陶大临自制牌版，令人匿之怀中，窃置其旁。时人笑其痴孝。

祁彪佳《陆宣公祠》诗：

东坡佩服宣公疏，俎豆西泠藻香。泉石苍凉存意气，山川开涤见文章。画工界画增金碧，庙貌巍峨见矞皇。陆炳湖头夸势焰，崇韬乃敢认汾阳。

六一泉

六一泉在孤山之南，一名竹阁，一名勤公讲堂。宋元祐六年，东坡先生与惠勤上人同哭欧阳公处也。勤上人讲堂初构，掘地得泉，东坡为作泉铭。以两人皆列欧公门下，此泉方出，适哭公讣，名以六一，犹见公也。其徒作石屋覆泉，且刻铭其上。南渡高宗为康王时，常使金，夜行，见四巨人执殳前驱。登位后，问方士，乃言紫薇垣有四大将，曰：天蓬、天猷、翊圣、真武。帝思报之，遂废竹阁，改延祥观，以祀四巨人。至元初，世祖又废观为帝师祠。泉没于二氏之居二百馀年。元季兵火，泉眼复见，但石屋已圮，而泉铭亦为邻僧舁去。洪武初，有僧名行升者，锄荒涤垢，图复旧观。仍树石屋，且求泉铭，复于故处。乃欲建祠堂，以奉祀东坡、勤上人，以参寥故事，力有未逮。教授徐一夔为作疏曰：“睠兹胜地，实在名邦。勤上人于此幽栖，苏长公因之数至。迹分缁素，同登欧子之门；谊重死生，会哭孤山之下。惟精诚有感通之理，故山岳出迎劳之泉。名聿表于怀贤，忱式昭于荐菊。虽存古迹，必肇新祠。此举非为福田，实欲共成胜事。儒冠僧衲，请恢雅量以相成；山色湖光，行与高峰而共远。愿言乐助，毋诮滥竽。”

苏轼《六一泉铭》：

欧阳文忠公将老，自调六一居士。予昔通守钱塘，别公于汝阴而南。公曰：“西湖僧惠勤甚文而长于诗。吾昔为《山中乐》三章以赠之。子闲于民事，求人于湖山间而不可得，则往从勤乎？”予到官三日，访勤于孤山之下，抵掌而论人物，曰：“六一公，天人也。人见其暂寓人间，而不知其乘云驭风，历五岳而跨沧海也。此邦之人，以公不一来为恨。公麾斥八极，何所不至。虽江山之胜，莫适为主，而奇丽秀绝之气，常为能文者用。故吾以为西湖盖公几案间一物耳。”勤语虽怪幻，而理有实然者。明年公薨，予哭于勤舍。又十八年，予为钱塘守，则勤亦化去久矣。访其旧居，则弟子二仲在焉。画公与勤像，事之如生。舍下旧无泉，予未至数月，泉出讲堂之后，孤山之趾，汪然溢流，甚白而甘。即其地凿岩架石为室。二仲谓：“师闻公来，出泉以相劳苦，公可无言乎？”乃取勤旧语，推本其意，名之曰“六一泉”。且铭之曰：“泉之出也，去公数千里，后公之没十八年，而名之曰‘六一’，不几于诞乎？曰：君子之泽，岂独五世而已，盖得其人，则可至于百传。常试与子登孤山而望吴越，歌山中之乐而饮此水，则公之遗风馀烈，亦或见于此泉也。”

白居易《竹阁》诗：

晚坐松檐下，宵眠竹阁间。清虚当服药，幽独抵归山。巧未能胜拙，忙应不及闲。无劳事修炼，只此是玄关。

葛岭

葛岭者，葛仙翁稚川修仙地也。仙翁名洪，号抱朴子，句容人也。从祖葛玄，学道得仙术，传其弟子郑隐。洪从隐学，尽得其秘。上党鲍玄妻以女。咸和初，司徒导招补主簿，干宝荐为大著作，皆同辞。闻交趾出丹砂，独求为勾漏令。行至广州，刺史郑岳留之，乃炼丹于罗浮山中。如是者积年。一日，遗书岳曰：“当远游京师，克期便发。”岳得书，狼狈往别，而洪坐至日中，兀然若睡，卒年八十一。举尸入棺，轻如蝉蜕，世以为尸解仙去。智果寺西南为初阳台，在锦坞上，仙翁修炼于此。台下有投丹井，今在马氏园。宣德间大旱，马氏甃井得石匣一，石瓶四。匣固不可启。瓶中有丸药若芡实者，啖之，绝无气味，乃弃之。施渔翁独啖一枚，后年百有六岁。浚井后，水遂淤恶不可食，以石匣投之，清洌如故。

祁豸佳《葛岭》诗：

抱朴游仙去有年，如何姓氏至今传。钓台千古高风在，汉鼎虽迁尚姓严。勾漏灵砂世所稀，携来烹炼作刀圭。若非渔子年登百，几使还丹变井泥。平章甲第半湖边，日日笙歌入画船。循州一去如烟散，葛岭依然还稚川。葛岭孤山隔一丘，昔年放鹤此山头。高飞莫出西山缺，岭外无人勿久留。

苏公堤

杭州有西湖，颍上亦有西湖，皆为名胜，而东坡连守二郡。其初得颍，颍人曰：“内翰只消游湖中，便可以了公事。”秦太虚因作一绝云：“十里荷花菡萏初，我公身至有西湖。欲将公事湖中了，见说官闲事亦无。”后东坡到颍，有谢执政启云：“入参两禁，每玷北扉之荣；出典二邦，迭为西湖之长。”故其在杭，请浚西湖，聚葑泥，筑长堤，自南之北，横截湖中，遂名苏公堤。夹植桃柳，中为六桥。南渡之后，鼓吹楼船，颇极华丽。后以湖水漱啮，堤渐凌夷。入明，成化以前，里湖尽为民业，六桥水流如线。正德三年，郡守杨孟瑛辟之，西抵北新堤为界，增益苏堤，高二丈，阔五丈三尺，增建里湖六桥，列种万柳，顿复旧观。久之，柳败而稀，堤亦就圮。嘉靖十二年，县令王令犯罪轻者种桃柳为赎，红紫灿烂，错杂如锦。后以兵火，砍伐殆尽。万历二年，盐运使朱炳如复植杨柳，又复灿然。迨至崇祯初年，堤上树皆合抱。太守刘梦谦与士夫陈生甫辈时至。二月，作胜会于苏堤。城中括羊角灯、纱灯几万盏，遍挂桃柳树上，下以红毡铺地，冶童名妓，纵饮高歌。夜来万蜡齐烧，光明如昼。湖中遥望堤上万蜡，湖影倍之。箫管笙歌，沉沉昧旦。传之京师，太守镌级，因想东坡守杭之日，春时每遇休暇，必约客湖上，早食于山水佳处。饭毕，每客一舟，令队长一人，各领数妓，任其所之。晡后鸣锣集之，复会望湖亭或竹阁，极欢而罢。至一、二鼓，夜市犹未散，列烛以归。城中士女夹道云集而观之。此真旷古风流，熙世乐事，不可复追也已。

张京元《苏堤小记》：

苏堤度六桥，堤两旁尽种桃柳，萧萧摇落。想二三月，柳叶桃花，游人阗塞，不若此时之为清胜。

李流芳《题两峰罢雾图》：

三桥龙王堂，望西湖诸山，颇尽其胜。烟林雾障，映带层叠；淡描浓抹，顷刻百态。非董、巨妙笔，不足以发其气韵。余在小筑时，呼小舟桨至堤上，纵步看山，领略最多。然动笔便不似。甚矣，气韵之难言也。予友程孟旸《湖上题画》诗云：“风堤露塔欲分明，阁雨萦阴雨未成。我试画君团扇上，船窗含墨信风行。”此景此诗，此人此画，俱属可想。癸丑八月清晖阁题。

苏轼《筑堤》诗：

六桥横截天汉上，北山始与南屏通。忽惊二十五万丈，老葑席卷苍烟空。昔日珠楼拥翠钿，女墙犹在草芊芊。东风第六桥边柳，不见黄鹂见杜鹃。

又诗：

惠勤、惠思皆居孤山。苏子倅郡，以腊日访之，作诗云：天欲雪时云满湖，楼台明灭山有无。水清石出鱼可数，林深无人鸟相呼。腊月不归对妻孥，名寻道人实自娱。道人之居在何许，宝云山前路盘纡。孤山孤绝谁肯庐，道人有道山不孤。纸窗竹屋深自暖，拥褐坐睡依团蒲。天寒路远愁仆夫，整驾催归及未晡。出山回望云水合，但见野鹤盘浮屠。兹游淡泊欢有馀，到家恍如梦蘧蘧。作诗火急追亡逋，清景一失后难摹。

王世贞《泛湖度六桥堤》诗：

拂幰莺啼出谷频，长堤夭矫跨苍旻。六桥天阔争虹影，五马飙开散曲尘。碧水乍摇如转盼，青山初沐竞舒颦。莫轻杨柳无情思，谁是风流白舍人？

李鉴龙《西湖》诗：

花柳曾闻暗六桥，近来游舫甚萧条。折残画阁堤边失，倒入山光波上摇。秋水湖心眸一点，夜潭塔影黛双描。兰亭感慨今移此，痴对雷峰话寂寥。

湖心亭

湖心亭旧为湖心寺，湖中三塔，此其一也。明弘治间，按察司佥事阴子淑秉宪甚厉。寺僧怙镇守中官，杜门不纳官长。阴廉其奸事，毁之，并去其塔。嘉靖三十一年，太守孙孟寻遗迹，建亭其上。露台亩许，周以石栏，湖山胜概，一览无遗。数年寻圮。万历四年，佥事徐廷祼重建。二十八年，司礼监孙东瀛改为清喜阁，金碧辉煌，规模壮丽，游人望之如海市蜃楼。烟云吞吐，恐滕王阁、岳阳楼俱无甚伟观也。春时，山景、睺罗、书画、古董，盈砌盈阶，喧阗扰嚷，声息不辨。夜月登此，阒寂凄凉，如入鲛宫海藏。月光晶沁，水气滃之，人稀地僻，不可久留。

张京元《湖心亭小记》：

湖心亭雄丽空阔。时晚照在山，倒射水面，新月挂东，所不满者半规，金盘玉饼，与夕阳彩翠重轮交网，不觉狂叫欲绝。恨亭中四字匾、隔句对联，填楣盈栋，安得借咸阳一炬了此业障。张岱《湖心亭小记》：

崇祯五年十二月，余住西湖。大雪三日，湖中人鸟声俱绝。是日更定矣，余拏一小舟，拥毳衣炉火，独往湖心亭看雪。雾淞沆砀，天与云、与山、与水，上下一白。湖上影子，惟长堤一痕，湖心亭一点，与余舟一芥，舟中人两三粒而已。

到亭上，有两人铺毡对坐，一童子烧酒，炉正沸。见余大惊喜，曰：“湖中焉得更有此人！”拉余同饮。余强饮三大白而别。问其姓氏，是金陵人，客此。及下船，舟子喃喃曰：“莫说相公痴，更有痴似相公者。”

胡来朝《湖心亭柱铭》：

四季笙歌，尚有穷民悲夜月。六桥花柳，浑无隙地种桑麻。

郑烨《湖心亭柱铭》：

亭立湖心，俨西子载扁舟，雅称雨奇晴好。席开水面，恍东坡游赤壁，偏宜月白风清。

张岱《清喜阁柱对》：

如月当空，偶似微云点河汉。在人为目，且将秋水剪瞳神。

放生池

宋时有放生碑，在宝石山下。盖天禧四年，王钦若请以西湖为放生池，禁民网捕，郡守王随为之立碑也。今之放生池，在湖心亭之南。外有重堤，朱栏屈曲，桥跨如虹，草树蓊翳，尤更岑寂。古云三潭印月，即其地也。春时游舫如鹜，至其地者，百不得一。其中佛舍甚精，复阁重楼，迷禽暗日，威仪肃洁，器钵无声。但恨鱼牢幽闭，涨腻不流，刿鬐缺鳞，头大尾瘠，鱼若能言，其苦万状。以理揆之，孰若纵壑开樊，听其游泳，则物性自遂，深恨俗僧难与解释耳。昔年余到云栖，见鸡鹅豚羖，共牢饥饿，日夕挨挤，堕水死者不计其数。余向莲池师再四疏说，亦谓未能免俗，聊复尔尔。后见兔鹿猢狲亦受禁锁，余曰：“鸡凫豚羖，皆藉食于人，若兔鹿猢狲，放之山林，皆能自食，何苦锁禁，待以胥縻。”莲师大笑，悉为撤禁，听其所之，见者大快。

陶望龄《放生池》诗：

介卢晓牛鸣，冶长识雀哕。吾愿天耳通，达此音声类。群鱼泣妻妾，鸡鹜呼弟妹。不独死可哀，生离亦可慨。闽语既嘤咿，吴听了难会。宁闻闽人肉，忍作吴人脍。可怜登陆鱼，喁向人谇。人曰鱼口喑，鱼言人耳背。何当破网罗，施之以无畏。昔有二勇者，操刀相与酤。曰子我肉也，奚更求食乎。互割还互啖，彼尽我亦屠。食彼同自食，举世嗤其愚。还语血食人，有以异此无？。

吴越王钱镠于西湖上税渔，名“使宅渔”。一日，罗隐入谒，壁有磻溪垂钓图，王命题之。题云：“吕望当年展庙谟，直钩钓国又何如？假令身住西湖上，也是应供使宅鱼。”王即罢渔税。

放生池柱对：

天地一网罟，欲度众生谁解脱；飞潜皆性命，但存此念即菩提。

醉白楼

杭州刺史白乐天啸傲湖山时，有野客赵羽者，湖楼最畅，乐天常过其家，痛饮竟日，绝不分官民体。羽得与乐天通往来，索其题楼。乐天即颜之曰“醉白”。在茅家埠，今改吴庄。一松苍翠，飞带如虬，大有古色，真数百年物。当日白公，想定盘礴其下。

倪元璐《醉白楼》诗：

金沙深处白公堤，太守行春信马蹄。冶艳桃花供祗应，迷离烟柳藉提携。闲时风月为常主，到处鸥凫是小傒。野老偶然同一醉，山楼何必更留题。

小青佛舍

小青，广陵人。十岁时遇老尼，口授《心经》，一过成诵。尼曰：“是儿早慧福薄，乞付我作弟子。”母不许。长好读书，解音律，善弈棋。误落武林富人，为其小妇。大妇奇妒，凌逼万状。一日携小青往天竺，大妇曰：“西方佛无量，乃世独礼大士，何耶？”小青曰：“以慈悲故耳。”大妇笑曰：“我亦慈悲若。”乃匿之孤山佛舍，令一尼与俱。小青无事，辄临池自照，好与影语，絮絮如问答，人见辄止。故其诗有“瘦影自临春水照，卿须怜我我怜卿”之句。后病瘵，绝粒，日饮梨汁少许，奄奄待尽。乃呼画师写照，更换再三，都不谓似。后画师注视良久，匠意妖纤。乃曰：“是矣。”以梨酒供之榻前，连呼：“小青！小青！”一恸而绝，年仅十八。遗诗一帙。大妇闻其死，立至佛舍，索其图并诗焚之，遽去。

小青《拜慈云阁》诗：

稽首慈云大士前，莫生西土莫生天。愿将一滴杨枝水，洒作人间并蒂莲。

又《拜苏小小墓》诗：

西泠芳草绮粼粼，内信传来唤踏青。杯酒自浇苏小墓，可知妾是意中人。

Fascicle Three: The Middle Route of West Lake

张岱

Qin Tower

Qin Tower was first called the Water-Bright Tower. Dongpo built it and often brought Zhaoyun here on outings; on its wall are three poems in his own hand. A few hundred paces past the tower is the Mirror Lake Tower, built by Bai Letian. In the Song, officials serving at Hangzhou gathered at Liuzhou Pavilion for the spring progress, at Yulian Pavilion for the boat races, at the Natural Picture Gallery for climbing the heights, at Gushan Monastery for viewing snow, and at the Mirror Lake Tower for ordinary banquets. After the ravages of war the tower fell into ruin and became people's houses.

Su Shi, "Water-Bright Tower":

Black clouds spill their ink but have not yet hidden the hills; white rain leaps like pearls and scatters into the boat. A wind comes rolling over the ground and suddenly blows it all away; below the Lake-Viewing Tower the water meets the sky. Released fish and birds come following people; lotus flowers with no owner bloom everywhere. The waves can make the hills bow and rise; the sail seems to linger with the moon. Not become the great recluse, I have become the middling recluse; to gain long leisure is better than brief leisure. I have no home to begin with — where else would I go? My native place has no such lovely lake and hills.

Single Stone Retreat

Going west along the lake from Zhaoqing, one comes to the Canxiang Pavilion, now called the Single Stone Retreat. Its pavilions and fine lodges are all villas of men of taste. The stretch along the lake is lined with wine-houses and tea-houses, open and airy, facing the lake, where not only is the heart cleansed and opened, but sun and moon too seem clear and bright. Zhang Wei's lines, "Walking by day I never tire of the hills on the lake; sitting at night I never tire of the moon on the lake," say all there is to say. Further on is Peach Blossom Harbour, above which is the Stone Box Bridge, built by the Tang prefect Li, Marquis of Ye, with a sluice to drain lake water into Gudang. The water runs along the East and West Mache and the Yangjiao dyke as far as Guijin Bridge, in four branches in all. Bai Letian's record says: "To the north is the Stone Box, to the south the bamboo conduit; letting out one inch of lake water can irrigate more than fifty qing of fields." Below the sluice the stone bones are all jagged, and the water rushes out very fast.

Xu Wei, lyric "Boating at Night at the Single Stone Retreat on the Sixteenth of the Eighth Month":

The moon is twice as much tonight; willows and lotus lose themselves in the colour of the night. Gulls and egrets are as sleepless as at midday; the boat passes, and ahead, startled, they shift among several sedgy islets.

With wine in bamboo tubes we seek out the sparse lotus, singing through Tangqi's "Songs of the White Ramie." Heaven sets up its mirror again for the rouged beauty, bright as if just polished; as it shines on, what can be done about the rouge fading?

Shijin Embankment

The Shijin Embankment, also called the Sun Embankment, is below Broken Bridge. It was built by Sun Long, eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, in the seventeenth year of Wanli. The embankment is two zhang wide and planted all along with peach and willow, just like the Su Causeway. With the passing years the trees have all grown a full embrace around. For those walking beneath them the branches and leaves are luxuriant, and the moonlight leaking through lies broken like lingering snow; I think that what is called "Lingering Snow at Broken Bridge" may really mean the moon's shadows. The Su Causeway is far from the city and is the thoroughfare to the Qingbo Gate, so travellers there are very few; the Sun Embankment runs straight to Xiling, and carriages, horses and sightseers come and go like threads on a loom. Add the glitter of West Lake and the fragrance of ten li of lotus, and it is like travelling the Shanyin road, where one cannot take it all in. Small lake boats can enter the Inner Lake; large ones drift along the embankment, going from Jindai Bridge round to the Lake-Viewing Pavilion, which stands at the end of the Shijin Embankment. Nearing Solitary Hill the lake opens wide. Sun Dongying repaired the pavilion splendidly and added an open terrace, good for wind and moon and good for spreading feasts, and pipes and songs and plays went on every day. Now it has been turned into a Dragon King Hall, with a few bays tacked on beside it, choked and ragged, and the old scene is entirely lost. Further on is the shrine to Eunuch Sun, raised in his lifetime, its back to the hill and facing the lake, very grand. Recently Eunuch Lu gave it over for the worship of the Buddha, renaming it the Lushe Hermitage, and put Sun Dongying's image behind the Buddha's shrine. Eunuch Sun spent hundreds of thousands in money to adorn West Lake, and his merit is not below that of Scholar Su; yet his surviving image is not allowed a single glimpse of the lake's light and the hills' colour, but sits imprisoned facing a wall. To see it chokes one with indignation.

Yuan Hongdao, "A Short Record of the Lake-Viewing Pavilion at Broken Bridge":

On the lake, from Broken Bridge to Lord Su's causeway, green smoke and red mist spread over more than twenty li. Song and piping make the wind, powdered sweat makes the rain, and the silks and gauzes outnumber the willows along the embankment — the very height of seductive beauty. Yet the people of Hangzhou tour the lake only in the wu, wei and shen hours, whereas in fact the craft of the lake light dyeing things green and the marvel of the mountain haze laying on its colours belong wholly to the moment when the morning sun first rises or before the evening sun has set; only then are they at their richest and loveliest. The moonlit scene is purer and lovelier still: the manner of the flowers, the feeling of the willows, the face of the hills and the mood of the waters all have a flavour of their own.

This pleasure is left for mountain monks and wanderers to enjoy — how could it be told to the vulgar? The Lake-Viewing Pavilion is the stretch by Broken Bridge; its embankment is very finely made, lovelier even than Lord Su's causeway. Along both sides are planted more than twenty kinds of trees — crimson peach, weeping willow, hibiscus, camellia and the like. The white stone of its edge is laid like jade, and the ground is covered all over with soft sand like a mat. The people of Hangzhou say, "This was adorned by Master Sun, the palace commissioner." This man is truly a great patron of West Lake: to Zhaoqing, Tianzhu, Jingci, Dragon Well and the hermitages in the hills, what he gave came to no less than hundreds of thousands. I say that Bai and Su are the ancient founding Buddhas of West Lake, and this man will one day be its guardian spirit. "Rotten pedant, you nearly ruined your master's affairs!" Detestable! Detestable!

Zhang Jingyuan, "A Short Record of Broken Bridge":

The charm of West Lake lies in its nearness, and the ease with which the lake is exhausted lies in its nearness too. Carriages in the morning, boats in the evening, walking on foot or strolling slowly: anyone may tour it, at any time. But the wine outweighs the water and the meat stands higher than the hills; in spring shoulders rub and toes tread, men and women jumble together, and they take their pleasure in jostling. Not only are their thoughts not on hills and water; even the peach-blossom faces and willow eyes, leaning of themselves upon the east wind — when did any sightseer once turn his eyes to them?

Li Liufang, "Inscription on the Painting Spring View from Broken Bridge":

In the past, whenever I came to the lake and took one look from Broken Bridge, my soul melted and I wished to die. Going home, I told those I knew that the lake's rippling and faint glimmer were roughly like the morning light falling on trees, or the bright moon entering a cottage; for here hill and water shine upon each other, and elsewhere, though there be clear waves and vast waters, nothing matches it. In the first month of the renzi year, visiting old friends, I came to the lake again and at once went alone to Broken Bridge, wandering there all day. The next day I inscribed a fan for Yang Chenxi: "The whole meaning of ten li of West Lake comes to rest at Broken Bridge. Cold is born in the small plum calyxes; spring enters the delicate willow threads. Seeing it suddenly I should think it a dream; coming again I need no invitation. Old friends, do you know me? Chanting and gazing, all is bleak." The day after, I made this painting. In the fourth month, the little spring, talking at night with Mengyang and Ziyu, I inscribed this. Tan Yuanchun, "Preface to Lake Frost Drafts":

I reached West Lake on the fifth of the ninth month of the jiwei year. I lodged in no tower or pavilion and stayed in no hermitage or temple, but entrusted my zither, wine jar, books and letters to a small boat. The wonder of living in a boat lies in five virtues. The boatman makes no conversation: that is the first. Dusk and dawn keep their hours without fail: the second. Visiting friends and climbing hills, I go wherever I please: the third. Entering by Broken Bridge and leaving by Xiling, napping at noon and rising in the evening: the fourth. Tiresome guests can be avoided, since the oars can be moved at any time: the fifth. With these five virtues I stay long upon the lake. Monks come aboard and wild ducks go down; the cup stops and the tea begins; pole and oar follow the wind; fishing baskets gather round the fires. Hills in the morning and water in the evening, facing the stream and the pines, the willows on the bank and the lotus in the pools, hiding myself and receiving friends, casting off from Solitary Hill at dawn and mooring by Baoshi at dusk — it is enough to fulfil my life, enough to accomplish my affairs.

Wang Shugao, "Shijin Embankment":

It cuts across the level lake, ten li of sky; the Jin Bridge in spring joins the mist of the Six Bridges. In the fragrant grove flowers open, a thousand trees of rosy cloud; at the broken bank the light divides the moon into two streams. How often the cups flew over the scenes beyond the embankment; one clear oar sets the boat off within the mirror. Whose strength adorned this wondrous sight? There should be singing, set to pipes and strings.

Bai Juyi, "Lake-Viewing Tower":

All day I lie in the lake pavilion, my mind at ease and affairs few. I rise as the last of my drunkenness wears off, and sit waiting for the evening cool to go home. Rain from the pines drifts onto my Su cap; the river wind comes through my hemp robe. I never tire of walking the willow embankment, the sand soft and the catkins drifting thick.

Xu Wei, "Lake-Viewing Pavilion":

From the pavilion I gaze at the lake water, its crystal light pale and unmoving. The mirror is wide and ten thousand shadows fall in it; the jade lies deep and a single rock floats. Cold comes in and the sandy reeds break off; mist rises and the wild ducks drop in. Were one to gaze from the lake, one would envy instead this pavilion's seclusion.

Zhang Dai, "West Lake at the Middle of the Seventh Month":

At West Lake in the middle of the seventh month there is nothing whatever to see; one can only look at the people of the middle of the seventh month. The people of the middle of the seventh month may be looked at in five kinds. First: storied barges with pipes and drums, tall caps and grand feasts, lamps and players, sound and light in confusion — nominally viewing the moon, but in fact never seeing it: look at them. Second: also in boats, also on terraces, famous beauties and ladies of good family bringing along their pretty boys, laughter and tears mixed together, sitting in a ring on the open deck and glancing left and right — their bodies under the moon, but in fact not looking at it: look at them. Third: also in boats, also with song, famous courtesans and idle monks, sipping lightly and singing low, soft pipes and gentle strings, bamboo and voice answering each other — also under the moon, also looking at the moon, but wanting people to look at them looking at the moon: look at them. Fourth: neither boat nor carriage, neither jacket nor headcloth, full of wine and food, calling up a crowd of three or five and pushing into the throng at Zhaoqing and Broken Bridge, shouting and clamouring, feigning drunkenness, singing songs without a tune — they look at the moon, look at those looking at the moon, look at those not looking at the moon, and in fact look at nothing at all: look at them. Fifth: a small boat with light curtains, a clean table and a warm stove, the tea kettle boiling, the plain porcelain passed round quietly, good friends and fine women inviting the moon to sit with them, now hiding their shadows beneath the trees, now escaping the din in the Inner Lake — looking at the moon, yet no one sees how they look at it, nor do they look at it with any intent: look at them.

The people of Hangzhou tour the lake going out at the si hour and coming back at the you hour, shunning the moon like an enemy. On this evening, for the sake of the name, they come out in troops vying with one another, tipping the gate guards handsomely for wine, while the sedan-bearers hold up torches and wait in rows on the bank. Once in the boat, they hurry the boatman to row fast to Broken Bridge and rush into the great gathering. So before the second watch the voices, drums and pipes boil and shake, like nightmare and sleep-talk, like the deaf and the dumb; big boats and small all crowd in to the shore, and nothing can be seen but pole striking pole, boat bumping boat, shoulder rubbing shoulder, face looking at face. In a little while their spirits flag; the officials' feasts break up and the runners shout to clear the way; the sedan-bearers call to those on the boats, frightening them with the closing of the gates; and lanterns and torches like rows of stars bustle off, one crowd after another. The people on the bank too hurry in troops for the gates, thinning little by little, and in a moment all have scattered.

Only then do we bring our boat in to the bank. The stone steps of Broken Bridge have just turned cool; we spread mats on them and call to our guests to drink freely. At this moment the moon is like a mirror newly polished, the hills have put on their make-up again, and the lake has washed its face anew. Those who were sipping and singing low come out, and those who were hiding their shadows under the trees come out too; we go over to exchange greetings and draw them to sit with us. Friends of taste arrive, famous courtesans come, cups and chopsticks are set, bamboo and voice begin. The moonlight grows pale and cool, the east is about to whiten, and only then do the guests disperse. We let our boat drift and sleep soundly among ten li of lotus, the fragrance brushing against us, our clear dreams most pleasant.

Solitary Hill

The Commentary on the Water Classic says: water that is black is called lu, water that does not flow is called nu, and a hill not joined to other heights is called gu, solitary. The Plum Blossom Islet lies between the two lakes, with rocks and ridges on four sides but attached to nothing, and so it is called Solitary. Here the water is clear to look into, shining brightly; the pavilions and belvederes stand like embroidery, and the two lakes cast back their reflections, as though the Three Isles lay upside down beneath the water. At the foot of the hill are many plum trees; it is where Lin Hejing set his cranes free. Lin Bu lived in retirement on Solitary Hill; Emperor Zhenzong of the Song summoned him but he would not come, and he was granted the title Recluse Hejing. He kept a pair of cranes in a cage. Whenever Bu went out in his small boat to visit the temples around the lake and a guest came, the boy would open the cage and let the cranes out; they soared into the clouds and circled a long while, and Bu would always row back quickly, taking the cranes' rising as the sign that a guest had come. On his deathbed he left a quatrain: "Beyond the lake the green hills face the hut I built; before the grave the tall bamboo grows sparse. Should Maoling one day seek my remaining drafts, I am glad there is no Book on the Feng and Shan." In the sixteenth year of Shaoxing the Four Saints Yanxiang Temple was built, and all the cloisters and temples and the graves of gentry and commoners were moved away; only Bu's grave was left in place by decree. Under the Yuan, Yang Lianzhenjia dug up his grave and found nothing but a Duan inkstone and a jade hairpin. In the tenth year of Chenghua of the Ming the prefect Li Duan restored it. In the Tianqi years a Daoist named Wang wished to plant a thousand plum trees here, and the Hanlin scholar Zhang Tongchu of Yunjian wrote a supplementary "Preface on Planting Plums at Solitary Hill."

Yuan Hongdao, "A Short Record of Solitary Hill":

The Recluse of Solitary Hill, with the plum for his wife and cranes for his sons, was the most fortunate sort of man in the world. People like us, simply because we have wives and children, stir up a host of vulgar affairs that we cannot throw off and find hateful to stay near — like walking through brambles in a tattered padded coat, snagged at every step. Recently there has been a Yu Sengru below Leifeng, who also has no wife and is perhaps a later incarnation of Solitary Hill. I do not know how the "Poems on Fallen Flowers by the Stream" he wrote compare with Hejing's, but he produced a hundred and fifty of them in a single night, which is the height of speed; and in eating plain food and practising Chan he surpasses Solitary Hill by a degree. In what age are there no remarkable men!

Zhang Jingyuan, "A Short Record of Solitary Hill":

At the eastern foot of Solitary Hill is a pavilion spread like wings. Hejing's old site is now all fenced with hedges and thorns; the great families plan their profits from planting mulberry and raising fish, yet it is also on them that we rely to repair the pavilions a little and adorn the face of the hill. The man of Chu lost his bow and a man of Chu will find it — why ask whether it be official or common?

Again, "Xiao Zhao's Wall Paintings":

The Cool Hall on West Lake was built in the Shaoxing years, and Emperor Gaozong was about to come and view it. There were four blank walls two zhang high, and a palace eunuch urged Xiao Zhao to go and paint landscapes on them. On receiving the order, Zhao begged four dou of wine from the imperial kitchens and went out at night to Solitary Hill. At each drum-watch he drank a dou, and by the time a dou was finished a wall was done — and Zhao too was deep in drink. When the emperor came and viewed them he sighed in admiration and bestowed gold and silk on him.

Shen Shouzheng, "Petition for Planting Plums at Solitary Hill":

On West Lake the lush greenery draws one close, but it is also bright and easily exhausted. Only Solitary Hill winds and gathers between the two lakes, and its water, stones, grass and trees all have a hidden colour. In the Tang its towers and pavilions stood at varying heights, adorned with poems, the finest on the two lakes; reading the lines "Without rain the hills are always moist; without clouds the water is shaded of itself," one can still picture those times. Those who went to Solitary Hill did not take the Xiling path but went along the lake shore, not as now, turning in from the Lake-Viewing Pavilion through the markets. Here there are still old plum trees lying twisted, said to mark Hejing's former dwelling.

Li Liufang, "Inscription on the Painting Night Moon at Solitary Hill":

Once, drunk, with Yinchi and his brothers, I went out in a small boat and came back from Solitary Hill. The moon had just risen over the new embankment, and the willow branches were all reflected upside down in the lake, empty and bright, rubbing and swaying, as in a mirror and again as in a painting. I long kept this in my heart, and in the renzi year, at my little retreat, I suddenly painted it for Mengyang — now it is truly in a painting.

Su Shi, "Written after Lin Bu's Poems":

The people of Wu grow up in the bends of lake and hill, breathing the lake's light and drinking the hills' clear water. Not only the recluse gentlemen beyond the world — even hired boys and peddler women are all ice and jade. The master was indeed a man far above the vulgar; his spirit clear and his bones cold, he had no way to be vulgar. I never knew him, but once saw him in a dream, his pupils bright enough to light a candle. His surviving poems and wonderful calligraphy are everywhere; walking round West Lake I cannot see enough of them. His poems are like Dongye's, but without speaking of the cold; his hand like Xitai's, but with a little less flesh. His lifelong lofty integrity is hard to follow; his subtle words at death are still worth recording. He said himself he wrote no Book on the Feng and Shan — would he then have stooped to sing the mournful Song of White Hair? I laugh that the people of Wu are not officious enough: they ought to build him a shrine beside the tall bamboo. Otherwise let him share the offerings of the Water Immortal King, with a cup of cold spring water and autumn chrysanthemums.

Zhang Hu, "Solitary Hill":

Towers and terraces rise on the green peak; one path runs into the lake's heart. Without rain the hills are always moist; without clouds the water is shaded of itself. The broken bridge closes over with wild moss; in the empty courtyard fallen flowers lie deep. I still remember the moon at the west window, and the bell sounding from the northern wood. Xu Wei, "Enjoying the Moon at Solitary Hill":

The lake water pales the autumn sky; its silken colour is clear and newly still.

Leaning on the oar I push into midstream, in quiet that suits my nature. Raising my wine I suddenly see the moon, its light mirrored in the waves. Xi Shi brushes on light make-up; the distant haze hangs up a lone mirror. The guests are of jade-like bearing, shining so that the feast table gleams. At leisure they utter lofty thoughts, and all around listen intently. Yet they say the recluse was aloof, merely clinging to his plum-blossom chants — like a fish an inch long, for which a hoofprint puddle is enough to swim in. The longer we talk the warmer the mood; rowing back, the embankment seems all the farther. Looking at myself indulging in pure talk, why mind the waving of the whisk?

Zhuo Jing, "Planting Plums at Solitary Hill":

A gallant guest who wrote poems at the Eastern Pavilion; the unfettered home of the Recluse of West Lake. Snow cold and river deep, no dream reaches here; he hoes the bright moonlight himself to plant plum blossom.

Wang Zhideng, "For Lin Chunqing, Who Has Chosen to Live on Solitary Hill":

Three rooms by the lake to keep his books; pines shade the windows and bamboo the gate. He leads his cranes across the bridge to look at the snow; seeing monks back to their temple, he returns bringing clouds. Pale-red lychees — his home a thousand li away; the sparse shadows of plum over a bend of water. Hejing's lofty spirit is far off now, yet a later man may still dwell on Solitary Hill.

Chen He, "Inscribed at the Shrine of the Recluse Lin on Solitary Hill":

Spring on Solitary Hill is almost half gone, yet I am in time to see the plum blossom. Laughing, I tread the prince's grass; at leisure I seek the recluse's home. My dusty heart is polished in the water's mirror; my rustic clothes glow with the hills' rosy clouds. Cliffs and gullies are forever like this — what is glory and fame worth boasting of?

Wang Siren, "Solitary Hill":

Pale water and deep hills open as in a painting; there is no boat not signboarded as some fine tower. In spring, with flowers and moon, people are as in a play; mist enters the lake lamps and voices urge on in confusion. In all things wise and foolish share one drunkenness; long or short, a hundred years need not be mourned. I pity only old Bu, a lone crane at roost, a lonely cold hedge and a few plum trees.

Zhang Dai, "Supplementary Preface on Planting Plums at Solitary Hill":

I have heard that where a place has a lofty man, his character weighs equal with its hills and rivers; where a pavilion leaves an ancient trace, the plum blossom is as fragrant as the family name. Famous men may pass with the ages, but a fine thing must be restored by men. Of old the untrammelled old man of Xiling had a lofty purity whose tone matched the autumn waters, a solitary clarity whose conduct rivalled the winter plum. Sparse shadows slanting across were reflected far in the clear shallows of West Lake; a hidden fragrance drifting kept company long with the night moon at dusk. Now the man is gone and the hill is empty, yet still the water flows and the flowers open. Jasper petals scatter like snow, drifting in confusion over the moss on the grave; jade trees lost in mist seem like cranes' feathers fallen in the wood. Now come friends of taste who wish to follow the former worthy, to plant a thousand plums anew and restore the solitary isle. The three friends that defy the cold will soon join the pines and bamboo of the Nine Li; the single branch that breaks the winter will bid a far farewell to the peach and willow of the Six Bridges. I stand and imagine half a tree beside the water, dotted with flowers of ice, and wait for the slanting branches after snow, their iron trunks rising and falling. The fair lady comes from beneath the woods; the lofty scholar lies among the hills. On white stone and grey cliff we plan to build a thatched pavilion to invite the cranes set free; among deep hills and pale water, at leisure we hoe the bright moon to plant plum blossom. Where there is a will it shall be done; no pledge shall go unkept. We shall vie in beauty with Luofu and hope to share fragrance with the Yu Ridge. It will truly be a meritorious service to Recluse Lin and a fine friendship with the elder Su. We have often laboured over it in our dreams; there must be a bond from former lives. Chant the poem of Qujiang (Zhang Jiuling of Qujiang has a "Song of the Courtyard Plum"), and one sees the air of solitary fragrance; read the rhapsody of Guangping, and one still thinks of a heart of iron and stone. Let us urge on the donkeys of the Ba River together and tread the snow toward Broken Bridge; gazing far to the butterfly of the Lacquer Garden, let us come in a crowd to Lin's grave to seek the plum. Do not fail the happy appointment; so follow the fragrant footsteps.

Zhang Dai, "Inscription for the Pillars at Lin Hejing's Tomb":

The clouds come forth without intent — who set free the pair of cranes in the wood? The bright moon has its meaning — at once I think of the lone plum on the grave.

Temple of Lord Guan

Of the two temples of Lord Guan on the northern hills, the one near Yue's tomb was built in the fifteenth year of Wanli by Shi Ruzhong, a man of Hangzhou. Ruzhong, sojourning in Yan, was crossing the Lu River when a typhoon arose and the boat was about to capsize; in a daze he saw the Lord leading the river gods to rescue him, and he was spared. On his return he built a temple to pray to him, and worshipped the river gods there as well; the Minister of Personnel Zhang Han recorded it. The one near Solitary Hill was an old shrine, low and cramped; in the forty-second year of Wanli, Vice Censor-in-Chief Jin led the way in renewing it entirely, and the Hanlin scholar Dong Qichang wrote the stele recording it in his own hand. Its words say: "On West Lake the temples stand within sight of one another, and beyond the Buddhist halls, those that accord with the statutes of sacrifice are only three: Prince E of Yue, Junior Guardian Yu, and the god Guan. In the autumn of jiayin, Emperor Shenzong was moved by a dream of the Holy Mother, and at midnight a decree went out enfeoffing the god as Demon-Subduing Emperor-Lord, exchanging his helmet for crown and robe and his great banner for the nine-pennoned standard. He is honoured equally with the Five Emperors, and ten thousand spirits receive their charges from him. Compared with Cao Cao, Sima Yi, Wang Mang and Huan Wen, who by chance usurped the great prize, were called traitor ministers in life and fell to lowly ghosts in death, the distance is as heaven from the abyss. But the old shrine was low and cramped and did not befit the intent proclaimed in the decree, so Vice Censor-in-Chief Jin and his son proposed to renew it entirely and took the lead at the time. They obtained the old site of Gushan Monastery, measured timber and piled earth, built the walls and set up the image with dignity, and in three years it was completed. Because I had in fact first proposed it, the Vice Censor-in-Chief asked me to record it. I find that Gushan Monastery was also called Yongfu Monastery. In the fourth year of Changqing of the Tang a monk carved the Lotus Sutra on its stone walls. It happened that Yuan Weizhi, going to govern Yuezhou, passed through Hangzhou, and the prefect of Hangzhou, Bai Letian, wrote a record of it, and nine lords contributed money to aid the work — so great was it then. Making and unmaking have their fated number, and metal and stone can be worn away; after several hundred years it has become the Emperor-Lord's shrine. In the language of the Buddhist scriptures, was the old monastery not what is called manifesting in the body of the Great General of Heaven, and is the present shrine not what is called manifesting in the body of Indra? The perfected man gives up his life and his life remains; he is killed in body and his body endures. Confucius spoke of achieving humaneness and Mencius of choosing righteousness — how does this differ from the teaching of the one great matter in the Lotus? Those who say that loyal ministers and righteous men must still sit on the cushion and cultivate contemplation before they can resolve birth and death are deluded. So the stone walls stand firm, and the stone sutra has never crumbled. Recently, when the rebels in Sichuan were annihilated, the god lent his strength, and the matter reached the imperial ear — this is not the same as talk of prodigies. Only the cunning barbarians of Liaoxi still escape heaven's punishment; the Emperor-Lord could repay Cao Cao — would he fail to repay Emperor Shenzong? With the Prince of E at his left and the Junior Guardian at his right, driving the Thunder Ministry and hurling fire bells, the iron horses of Zhaoling neighing in the wind and the clay soldiers of the Jiang temple wet with dew, surely his sweeping away of demons will be as it was on the Shu road. Before this, when Vice Censor-in-Chief Jin was governor of Fujian, relying on the god's warnings he repeatedly annihilated the Japanese pirates and reported his merits to the covenant office; so the cost of building the shrine exceeded others', for he had long intended it." The monastery's plan is refined and elegant and the temple's appearance solemn; in addition its steles are pure and fine and its pillar couplets well wrought and exact, all done with literary sense. Compared with Shi's temple, the difference between elegant and vulgar is truly that of heaven and earth.

Dong Qichang, "Pillar Inscription for the Temple of Lord Guan at Solitary Hill":

Loyal, he could choose his lord, and made a tripod's leg of the Han house's ruler and ministers; virtue never stands alone, and arm in arm he hails the father and son of the Yue family.

Song Zhaoyue, "Pillar Couplet for the Temple of the Emperor Guan":

Rising from a true hero, he goes straight up to the rank of sages and worthies; saved in the body of a great general, he appears again in the body of an emperor.

Zhang Dai, "Pillar Couplet for the Temple of the Emperor Guan":

In the line of succession he yields to the partial peace, yet in his own day the Heavenly King returned to the Han house; the Spring and Autumn makes the great principle clear, and in later ages the title of Master belongs to Lord Guan.

The Tomb of Su Xiaoxiao

Su Xiaoxiao was a famous courtesan of Qiantang in the Southern Qi. Her looks were unmatched in the green bowers and her talent left scholars nowhere, and in her day everyone praised her beauty. She died young and was buried in a hollow at Xiling. Her fragrant soul did not perish, and often appeared among the flowers. In the Song there was Sima You, styled Caizhong, who at Luoyang dreamed that a beautiful woman lifted the curtain and sang. He asked her name, and she said, "Su Xiaoxiao of Xiling." He asked what song it was, and she said, "Golden Threads." Five years later Caizhong, recommended by Dongpo, became an officer on the staff of Qin Shaozhang, and told him of the matter. Shaozhang found it strange and said, "Su Xiao's tomb is at Xiling now — why not pour a libation and mourn her?" Caizhong went to find the tomb and paid his respects. That night he dreamed he slept with her, and she said, "My wish is fulfilled." After that he lived in a dark daze for three years, and Caizhong too died at Hangzhou and was buried beside Xiaoxiao's tomb.

Su Xiaoxiao's Tomb as It Once Was

A poem by Su Xiaoxiao of Xiling:

I ride in a carriage with oiled-silk walls; you ride a dappled grey horse. Where shall we tie the knot of one heart? Beneath the pines and cypresses of Xiling.

Again, a lyric:

I used to live on the Qiantang River; flowers fall and flowers bloom, heedless of the passing years. The swallows carry the colours of spring away in their beaks; against the gauze window, several showers of plum rain.

A jade comb set aslant, the cloud of hair half loosed; the sandalwood clappers tap lightly as I sing "Golden Threads" through. The dream breaks, and the bright cloud is nowhere to be found; the night is cool, and the bright moon rises over the southern shore.

Li He, "Su Xiaoxiao":

Dew on the hidden orchid, like weeping eyes. Nothing to tie the knot of one heart; misty flowers bear no cutting. Grass like a cushion, pines like a canopy. Wind for her skirt, water for her pendants. The oiled-silk carriage waits a long while. Cold green candles labour at their light. Below Xiling, the wind blows the rain.

Shen Yuanli, "Song of Su Xiaoxiao":

Her song draws back the returning waves; her dancing dress scatters autumn shadows. The dream broke and she left the green bower; for a thousand autumns her fragrant bones lie cold. In the bronze mirror, a pair of phoenixes flying together; a hungry crow mourns the moon and cries at the pleasure house. The wind blows the wild fires but the fires do not go out; mountain goblins laugh their way into the foxes' holes. Below the tomb at Xiling, the Qiantang tide; the tide comes and goes, evening and morning again. The willows before the tomb cannot bear breaking; the spring wind ties the lovers' knot by itself.

Yuan Yishan, "Inscribed on a Portrait of Su Xiao":

A courtyard shaded by locust trees suits the clear daytime; the blinds roll up and a fragrant breeze comes through. Who left this picture of a beauty? All are famous brushes of Xuanhe, kept in the inner palace.

After the orioles and swallows have flown apart, the powder is pale and the pear blossom thin. Only Su Xiao is not given to romance, with a single daylily stuck aslant in her phoenix hairpin.

Xu Wei, "The Tomb of Su Xiaoxiao":

A handful of earth — is this Su Xiao or not? The embroidered mouth, the flowered cheeks and the dancing dress have rotted away. Since ancient times a fair lady has been hard to find again; from now on the paired wings no longer fly together. Dew-eyes by the shallots, the traces of weeping faint; beneath the pines the lovers' knot, its sash grown thin. I regret I am not mad like the elder Ruan, and still owe a song of lament for the soldier's daughter.

Shrine of Lu, Duke Xuan

Why is there a shrine to Lu, Duke Xuan, on Solitary Hill? It began when Junior Guardian Lu Bing, son of Emperor Shizong's wet nurse, seized power and presumed on favour; he claimed descent from Duke Xuan and founded a shrine to worship him. Its layout was vast, taking in the lake and hills, and the splendour of its terraces and pavilions was unmatched on the whole lake. With his overweening power, Bing would at once think of seizing any fine property he saw. Beside the shrine was the magnificent villa of the late Embroidered Uniform officer Wang Zuo, whose son by a concubine was worthless; Bing trumped up crimes against him and forced him to surrender the property, and he arrested even the mother, who had been Zuo's concubine. At the hearing the son argued stubbornly, but the mother came forward on her knees and set out her son's crimes in great detail. The son wept, saying his mother could bear to bring about his death. The mother scolded him: "If you die, you die — what more is there to say!" Pointing to Bing's seat, she turned and said: "Your father sat in this seat not for one day, and did such things not for one day; that he begot a worthless son like you is the Way of Heaven. Your death comes late!" Bing's cheeks flushed red; he hurriedly sent them out, and in the end did not seize the property. After Bing died the shrine was confiscated by the state, and because of the famous worthy it honoured it was not abandoned. In the Longqing years the censor Xie Tingjie added at the back of the shrine offerings to famous worthies of the two Zhe: Yan Guang, Lin Bu, Zhao Bian, Wang Shipeng, Lü Zuqian, Zhang Jiucheng, Yang Jian, Song Lian, Wang Qi, Zhang Mao and Chen Xuan. The Kuaiji jinshi Tao Yunyi had a tablet made for his father Tao Dalin, had someone hide it in his bosom, and secretly set it beside them; people of the time laughed at his foolish filial piety.

Qi Biaojia, "Shrine of Lu, Duke Xuan":

Dongpo admired Duke Xuan's memorials; at Xiling the sacrificial vessels are fragrant with water-plant offerings. Springs and rocks, bleak and cool, preserve his spirit; hills and rivers, opened and cleansed, reveal his writings. Painters in the ruled-line manner add gold and green; the temple, towering, shows its splendour. Lu Bing at the lakeside boasted his overweening power — like Chongtao daring to claim Fenyang as his ancestor.

Six-One Spring

The Six-One Spring is south of Solitary Hill; it is also called the Bamboo Pavilion, and also the Lecture Hall of Master Qin. It is where, in the sixth year of Yuanyou of the Song, Master Dongpo and the Venerable Huiqin wept together for Lord Ouyang. When the Venerable Qin's lecture hall was first built, a spring was found in digging the ground, and Dongpo wrote an inscription for it. Because both men had been Lord Ouyang's disciples, and the spring came out just as they were mourning his death, they named it Six-One, as if seeing the lord himself. His disciples built a stone house over the spring and carved the inscription on it. When Emperor Gaozong of the southern crossing was Prince of Kang, he was once sent as envoy to the Jin; travelling by night, he saw four giants holding staves going before him. After ascending the throne he asked a fangshi, who said that in the Purple Forbidden Enclosure there are four great generals: Tianpeng, Tianyou, Yisheng and Zhenwu. The emperor wished to repay them, so he abolished the Bamboo Pavilion and made it the Yanxiang Temple to worship the four giants. At the beginning of Zhiyuan, Shizu of the Yuan in turn made the temple a shrine of the Imperial Preceptor. The spring lay buried beneath the dwellings of those two creeds for more than two hundred years. In the war fires at the end of the Yuan the spring's eye reappeared, but the stone house had collapsed and the inscription had been carried off by a neighbouring monk. At the beginning of Hongwu a monk named Xingsheng cleared the waste and washed away the grime, planning to restore the old sight. He set up the stone house again, sought out the inscription and put it back in its old place. He then wished to build a shrine to worship Dongpo and the Venerable Qin, after the precedent of Canliao, but his means fell short. The instructor Xu Yikui wrote an appeal for him, saying: "Behold this scenic spot, set truly in a famous land. The Venerable Qin dwelt here in seclusion, and the elder Su came often on his account. Their paths divided into black robe and white, yet both entered the gate of Master Ouyang; their bond weighed life and death, and they met to mourn below Solitary Hill. Only because sincerity has its principle of response did the mountain bring forth a spring to greet and comfort them. The name was set up in cherishing the worthy; the devotion is shown in offering chrysanthemums. Though the ancient traces remain, a new shrine must be begun. This undertaking is not for a field of blessings, but in truth to accomplish a fine thing together. Scholars' caps and monks' robes, I pray you extend your generosity to help complete it; the hills' colour and the lake's light will go far together with the high peaks. May you gladly contribute, and not mock me as an impostor in the band."

Su Shi, "Inscription on the Six-One Spring":

When Lord Ouyang Wenzhong was growing old, he called himself the Six-One Retired Scholar. Formerly, when I went to Qiantang as vice-prefect, I took leave of him at Ruyin and went south. The lord said: "The West Lake monk Huiqin is very cultivated and excels at poetry. I once wrote three pieces of 'Joy in the Mountains' for him. You will have leisure from the people's affairs; if you seek a companion among the lakes and hills and cannot find one, why not go to Qin?" Three days after taking up my post I visited Qin below Solitary Hill, and we clapped our hands and discussed men. He said: "The Six-One Lord is a man of heaven. People see him lodging for a while in the human world, but do not know that he rides the clouds and drives the wind, passing over the Five Peaks and striding across the blue sea. The people of this region regret that he has never once come. The lord commands the eight extremes — where does he not reach? Though the beauty of rivers and hills has no fixed master, their wondrous, lovely, surpassing air is always put to use by those who can write. So I think West Lake is merely one of the things on his desk." Though Qin's words were strange and fantastic, there was truth in their reasoning. The next year the lord died, and I wept for him in Qin's lodging. Eighteen years later I became prefect of Qiantang, and Qin too had long since passed away. I visited his old dwelling, where his disciples Erzhong were living; they had painted likenesses of the lord and of Qin and served them as though living. There had been no spring below the lodging, but a few months before I arrived a spring came out behind the lecture hall at the foot of Solitary Hill, brimming over, very white and sweet, and on the spot they cut the rock and laid stones to make a house over it. Erzhong said: "The master heard that you were coming and brought forth a spring to comfort you for your labours — can you have nothing to say?" So I took Qin's old words, traced back their meaning, and named it the Six-One Spring. And I inscribed it: "The spring came forth thousands of li from the lord and eighteen years after his death, and is named Six-One — is this not close to absurdity? I say: the influence of a gentleman lasts not only five generations; given the right men, it may be handed down a hundred times. Try climbing Solitary Hill with me to gaze over Wu and Yue, singing the joy of the mountains and drinking this water, and the lord's lingering manner and surviving glory may perhaps be seen in this spring."

Bai Juyi, "The Bamboo Pavilion":

In the evening I sit beneath the pine eaves; at night I sleep in the bamboo pavilion. Pure emptiness serves as my medicine; secluded solitude is as good as returning to the hills. Skill cannot surpass clumsiness; busyness surely falls short of leisure. No need to labour at cultivation — just this is the mysterious pass.

Ge Ridge

Ge Ridge is where the immortal Ge Zhichuan cultivated immortality. The immortal's name was Hong and his sobriquet the Master Who Embraces Simplicity; he was a man of Jurong. His grand-uncle Ge Xuan studied the Way, gained the arts of immortality, and passed them to his disciple Zheng Yin; Hong studied under Yin and obtained all his secrets. Bao Xuan of Shangdang gave him his daughter in marriage. Early in Xianhe, the Minister over the Masses Wang Dao summoned him as Recorder, and Gan Bao recommended him as Grand Editor; he declined both. Hearing that cinnabar came from Jiaozhi, he asked only to be made magistrate of Goulou. When he reached Guangzhou, the regional inspector Zheng Yue detained him, and so he refined elixirs on Mount Luofu, and so it went for years. One day he sent a letter to Yue: "I am about to travel far to the capital, and shall set out at the appointed time." On receiving it Yue hurried to take leave of him, but Hong sat until noon, motionless as if asleep, and died at the age of eighty-one. When the body was lifted into the coffin it was as light as a cicada's shed skin, and people held that he had left his corpse and gone off as an immortal. Southwest of Zhiguo Monastery is the Chuyang Terrace, on Jin Wu, where the immortal practised his cultivation. Below the terrace is the Elixir-Casting Well, now in the Ma family garden. In a great drought in the Xuande years, the Ma family, lining the well with bricks, found a stone casket and four stone bottles. The casket was fast shut and could not be opened; in the bottles were pills like foxnuts, which had no taste at all when eaten, and so they were thrown away. Only an old fisherman named Shi ate one, and he afterwards lived to a hundred and six. After the well was dredged its water became silted and foul and could not be drunk; when the stone casket was thrown back in, it became clear and cold as before.

Qi Zhijia, "Ge Ridge":

Baopu went off to roam as an immortal years ago — how is it that his name is handed down to this day? At the Fishing Terrace the lofty spirit endures a thousand ages; though the Han cauldrons moved, it still bears the name of Yan. The magic cinnabar of Goulou is rare in the world; he brought it here to refine into a spoonful of elixir. Had the fisherman not lived to a hundred, the returning elixir would nearly have turned to well mud. The Chief Minister's great mansion stood along half the lake, and pipes and songs entered the painted boats every day. Once he went off toward Xunzhou it scattered like smoke; Ge Ridge has gone back to Zhichuan after all. Ge Ridge and Solitary Hill are one hill apart; in years gone by the cranes were loosed on this hilltop. Fly high, but do not go out past the gap in the western hills; beyond the ridge there is no one — do not linger long.

Lord Su's Causeway

Hangzhou has a West Lake, and Yingshang has a West Lake too; both are famous sights, and Dongpo governed both prefectures in succession. When he was first given Ying, the people of Ying said, "The Hanlin scholar need only tour the lake to get his official business done." Qin Taixu accordingly wrote a quatrain: "Ten li of lotus, the buds just forming; wherever our lord goes, there is a West Lake. He means to finish his official business on the lake; they say the office is idle and there is nothing to do." Later, when Dongpo reached Ying, he wrote in a letter of thanks to the councillors: "Called into the two forbidden offices, I have often tarnished the honour of the northern gate; sent out to govern two regions, I have twice been head of a West Lake." So when he was at Hangzhou he petitioned to dredge West Lake, and piled up the weed-mud to build a long embankment from south to north, cutting across the lake, which came to be called Lord Su's Causeway. Peach and willow were planted along both sides, and six bridges were set in it. After the southern crossing, drums and pipes and storied barges made it extremely splendid. Later, gnawed by the lake water, the causeway gradually wore down. Into the Ming, before Chenghua, the Inner Lake had all become people's property, and the water under the Six Bridges flowed as thin as a thread. In the third year of Zhengde the prefect Yang Mengying cleared it, taking the North Xin embankment on the west as the boundary; he built up the Su Causeway to two zhang high and five zhang three chi wide, added six bridges on the Inner Lake, and planted ten thousand willows in rows, so that the old sight was restored at once. In time the willows decayed and thinned, and the causeway began to crumble. In the twelfth year of Jiajing the county magistrate Wang ordered those guilty of light offences to plant peach and willow in redemption, and the reds and purples blazed, interwoven like brocade. Later, because of war, they were almost all cut down. In the second year of Wanli the salt commissioner Zhu Bingru replanted willows, and again it became splendid. By the early years of Chongzhen the trees on the causeway were all a full embrace around. The prefect Liu Mengqian and gentlemen such as Chen Shengfu often came there, and in the second month they held a grand gathering on the Su Causeway. They collected tens of thousands of horn lanterns and gauze lanterns from the city and hung them all over the peach and willow trees, spread red felt on the ground beneath, and pretty boys and famous courtesans drank freely and sang aloud. At night ten thousand candles were lit together, bright as day; seen from afar across the lake, the ten thousand candles on the causeway were doubled by their reflections. Flutes, pipes and songs went on through the dark until dawn. When word reached the capital, the prefect was demoted. This brings to mind how, when Dongpo governed Hangzhou, in spring whenever he had a holiday he would invite guests onto the lake, taking breakfast at some fine spot among the hills and waters. After the meal each guest had a boat, with a leader appointed to take charge of several courtesans each, going wherever they pleased. In the late afternoon a gong was struck to gather them, and they met again at the Lake-Viewing Pavilion or the Bamboo Pavilion, making merry to the full before breaking up. At the first or second watch, when the night market had not yet dispersed, they came home between lines of candles, and the gentlemen and ladies of the city gathered like clouds along the road to watch. This was truly a gallantry unmatched in all ages, the pleasure of a prosperous age, never to be recovered.

Zhang Jingyuan, "A Short Record of the Su Causeway":

The Su Causeway crosses the Six Bridges, and both its sides are planted with peach and willow, rustling and shedding their leaves. I imagine that in the second and third months, with willow leaves and peach blossom, the sightseers crowd it full — not so pure and fine as it is now.

Li Liufang, "Inscription on the Painting Twin Peaks after the Mist Clears":

From the Dragon King Hall at the third bridge, looking at the hills around West Lake, one takes in nearly all their beauty. Misty woods and screens of fog, setting one another off layer on layer, lightly sketched and thickly daubed, take a hundred shapes in a moment; without the wonderful brushes of Dong and Ju nothing could bring out their spirit resonance. When I was at my little retreat I would call a small boat to row me to the causeway and stroll at will looking at the hills, and there I took in more than anywhere. Yet the moment I set brush to paper it was unlike. How hard spirit resonance is to put into words! My friend Cheng Mengyang's poem "Inscribed on a Painting on the Lake" says: "Wind on the causeway, dew on the pagoda, about to come clear; the pavilion's rain hangs round in shade, but the rain has not yet formed. I tried to paint it for you on a round fan; the boat window holds the ink and moves with the wind." This scene and this poem, this man and this painting, can all be imagined. Inscribed at the Qinghui Pavilion in the eighth month of guichou.

Su Shi, "Building the Causeway":

The Six Bridges cut across the Milky Way; the North Hills first connect with Nanping. Suddenly I am startled by two hundred and fifty thousand zhang: the old weed rolled up like a mat, the grey mist emptied. The pearl towers of old were crowded with kingfisher ornaments; the parapets still stand amid lush grass. The east wind and the willows by the sixth bridge — no orioles to be seen, only cuckoos.

Again, a poem:

Huiqin and Huisi both lived on Solitary Hill. When Master Su was vice-prefect, he visited them on the La day and wrote a poem: The sky about to snow, clouds fill the lake; towers flicker in and out, hills there and not there. The water clear, stones show and fish can be counted; the woods deep and no one there, birds call to each other. In the twelfth month I do not go home to wife and children; I say I am seeking the Daoists, but in truth amuse myself. Where do the Daoists live? Before Baoyun Hill, where the road winds round. Solitary Hill is lonely and remote — who would build a hut there? The Daoists have the Way, and the hill is not alone. Paper windows and bamboo rooms, deep and warm of themselves; wrapped in coarse wool they sit sleeping on round rush cushions. The day is cold and the way long, the servants fret; they harness up and hurry us home before late afternoon. Leaving the hill I look back: cloud and water merge; I see only a wild crane circling the pagoda. This outing was plain and bland, yet joy was more than enough; reaching home I am as one in a dream, bewildered. I write the poem in haste, as if chasing a fugitive; a clear scene once lost is hard to paint afterward.

Wang Shizhen, "Boating on the Lake and Crossing the Six-Bridge Causeway":

Brushing the carriage curtain, orioles sing often, leaving the valley; the long causeway, sinuous, spans the grey sky. The Six Bridges under the wide sky vie with rainbow shadows; five horses break into a gale and scatter the yellow dust. The green water suddenly stirs like a turning glance; the green hills, freshly washed, vie in unknitting their brows. Do not make light of the willows as having no feelings — who was the gallant Secretary Bai?

Li Jianlong, "West Lake":

I once heard the flowers and willows darkened the Six Bridges; of late the pleasure boats are very few. The painted pavilions, broken and ruined, have vanished from the causeway; the hills' light, turned upside down, sways on the waves. The autumn water at the lake's heart is one dot of an eye; the pagoda's shadow in the night pool, two brows painted in dark. The lament of the Orchid Pavilion has now moved here; foolishly I face Leifeng and speak of desolation.

Mid-Lake Pavilion

The Mid-Lake Pavilion was formerly the Mid-Lake Monastery, one of the Three Pagodas in the lake. In the Hongzhi years of the Ming, the Surveillance Assistant Commissioner Yin Zishu administered the law very strictly. The monks of the monastery, relying on the eunuch Grand Defender, shut their gate and would not admit officials; Yin investigated their villainies, destroyed the monastery and removed its pagoda too. In the thirty-first year of Jiajing the prefect Sun Meng sought out the old remains and built a pavilion on them, with an open terrace of about a mu surrounded by stone balustrades, from which the whole sweep of lake and hills could be taken in at a glance. In a few years it collapsed. In the fourth year of Wanli the Assistant Commissioner Xu Tingguan rebuilt it, and in the twenty-eighth year Sun Dongying of the Directorate of Ceremonial turned it into the Qingxi Pavilion, gold and green and dazzling, grand in scale, so that sightseers gazing at it took it for a mirage over the sea. As the mist and cloud swallow it and breathe it out, I fear neither the Pavilion of Prince Teng nor the Yueyang Tower makes so great a sight. In spring, miniature landscapes, clay dolls, calligraphy, paintings and antiques fill the steps and stairs, with such clamour and din that no voice can be made out. Climb it on a moonlit night and it is hushed and desolate, as if one had entered the palace of the mermen or the treasury of the sea. The moonlight is crystalline and pervading and the water vapour rises dense; with few people about and the place remote, one cannot stay long.

Zhang Jingyuan, "A Short Record of the Mid-Lake Pavilion":

The Mid-Lake Pavilion is grand, beautiful, empty and open. At the time the evening glow lay on the hills and shone back upon the water, and the new moon hung in the east, lacking half its circle; the golden plate and the jade cake, with the coloured and green halos of the setting sun, crossed like a net, and without knowing it I shouted wildly as if I would expire. What I resent is the four-character plaques and couplets of alternate lines filling the lintels and crowding the beams — how could one borrow the torch of Xianyang to put an end to this karmic hindrance? Zhang Dai, "A Short Record of the Mid-Lake Pavilion":

In the twelfth month of the fifth year of Chongzhen I was living at West Lake. For three days heavy snow fell, and the sounds of people and birds on the lake were entirely cut off. On that day, after the first watch had been struck, I took a small boat, wrapped in fur clothes and with a brazier, and went alone to the Mid-Lake Pavilion to look at the snow. Rime and mist hung vast and white; sky and clouds and hills and water, above and below, were one whiteness. The only shadows on the lake were the long causeway, one trace; the Mid-Lake Pavilion, one dot; my boat, one mustard seed; and the people in the boat, two or three grains — nothing more.

When I reached the pavilion, two men had spread a felt and were sitting facing each other, while a boy heated wine, the stove just coming to the boil. Seeing me they were greatly surprised and delighted, and said, "How could there be another such man on the lake!" They pulled me in to drink with them; I forced down three large cups and took my leave. I asked their names: they were men of Jinling, sojourning here. As I got back into the boat, the boatman muttered, "Don't say the master's mad — there are others as mad as the master."

Hu Laichao, "Pillar Inscription for the Mid-Lake Pavilion":

Pipes and songs through all four seasons, yet there are still poor folk grieving under the night moon. Flowers and willows at the Six Bridges, and not a spare foot of ground left to plant mulberry and hemp.

Zheng Ye, "Pillar Inscription for the Mid-Lake Pavilion":

The pavilion standing in the lake's heart is like Xi Shi carried in a little boat — fitly praised as wondrous in rain and fine in sun. The feast spread on the water's surface is like Dongpo roaming the Red Cliff — best suited to a white moon and a clear breeze.

Zhang Dai, "Pillar Couplet for the Qingxi Pavilion":

Like the moon in the sky, it seems by chance a wisp of cloud dotting the Milky Way; in a person it would be the eye, cutting the autumn water into a pupil.

Release Pond

In the Song there was a Release stele below Baoshi Hill: in the fourth year of Tianxi, Wang Qinruo requested that West Lake be made a pond for releasing living creatures, forbidding the people to net or catch in it, and the prefect Wang Sui set up the stele for it. The present Release Pond is south of the Mid-Lake Pavilion. Outside it is a double embankment with vermilion railings winding about and bridges spanning like rainbows; grass and trees grow dense, and it is especially quiet. What was called of old Three Pools Mirroring the Moon is this very place. In spring the pleasure boats are thick as ducks, but not one in a hundred comes here. Within, the Buddhist lodging is very fine, with layered pavilions and storeyed towers in which birds lose their way and the sun is darkened, its ceremony solemn and clean, its vessels and bowls without a sound. But I regret the fish prison, shut in darkness, the water swollen and greasy and not flowing, the fish with torn fins and missing scales, big heads and thin tails; if fish could speak, their suffering would take ten thousand forms. Reasoning it out, what could be better than opening the gully and the cage and letting them swim at will, so that each creature follows its own nature? I deeply regret that vulgar monks are hard to make understand this. Years ago when I went to Yunqi, I saw chickens, geese, pigs and rams all penned together and starving, jostling day and night, and countless fell into the water and died. I urged Master Lianchi again and again, and he too said he could not escape convention and so let it be. Later I saw hares, deer and monkeys also kept locked up, and I said: "Chickens, ducks, pigs and rams all depend on people for food; but hares, deer and monkeys, if released into the hills and woods, can all feed themselves — why take the trouble to lock them up and keep them tethered?" Master Lian laughed heartily, released them all and let them go where they would, and those who saw it were greatly pleased.

Tao Wangling, "Release Pond":

Jie Lu understood the lowing of oxen; Yechang knew the chirping of sparrows. I wish I had the heavenly ear, to understand the voices of these kinds. The shoals of fish weep for wives and concubines; chickens and ducks cry for brothers and sisters. Not only is death to be mourned; parting in life too is to be lamented. The speech of Min is twittering and chattering; the ear of Wu can hardly make it out. Having heard of the flesh of men of Min, could one bear to make of it mince for men of Wu? Pity the fish landed on the shore, gaping and scolding at people. People say the fish are dumb; the fish say men are deaf. When shall the nets be broken, and fearlessness be bestowed upon them? Once there were two brave men who took their knives and went drinking together. They said, "You are my meat — why seek other food?" Each cut the other and each ate the other; when one was finished, the other too was butchered. To eat him was the same as eating oneself, and the whole world laughed at their folly. Turn and say to the eaters of blood-food: is there any difference from this?

Qian Liu, King of Wuyue, levied a tax on fishing on West Lake called "fish for the commissioner's residence." One day Luo Yin came to call; on the wall hung a painting of angling at Panxi, and the king told him to inscribe it. He wrote: "Lü Wang in his day laid out the grand counsels of the temple; angling for a kingdom with a straight hook — what of that? Had he lived on West Lake, he too would have had to supply fish for the commissioner's residence." The king at once abolished the fishing tax.

Pillar couplet for the Release Pond:

Heaven and earth are one great net — who can be set free, when one would save all beings? Flying and swimming things all have life — only keep this thought, and it is bodhi.

Tower of the Drunken Bai

When Bai Letian, prefect of Hangzhou, was roaming at ease among the lakes and hills, there was a rustic named Zhao Yu whose lake tower was the most open. Letian often visited his house and drank deep all day, never observing the distinction between official and commoner. Having come to associate with Letian, Yu asked him to name his tower, and Letian at once inscribed it "Drunken Bai." It stood at Maojia Wharf, and is now changed into the Wu Villa. A single pine, deep green, its flying branches like a dragon, has a strongly ancient air — truly a thing of several hundred years. Master Bai in those days must surely have sat sprawling beneath it.

Ni Yuanlu, "Tower of the Drunken Bai":

Deep in the golden sands lies the Bai embankment; the prefect makes his spring progress, letting his horse's hooves go where they will. Seductive peach blossom attends upon him; the blurred misty willows lend him a helping hand. In leisure, wind and moon are his constant hosts; wherever he goes, gulls and ducks are his little servants. An old rustic by chance shares one drunkenness with him — why need the hill tower keep an inscription as well?

Xiaoqing's Buddhist Lodging

Xiaoqing was a woman of Guangling. At ten she met an old nun who taught her the Heart Sutra by word of mouth, and she could recite it after one hearing. The nun said, "This child is precocious but her fortune is thin; I beg you to give her to me as a disciple." Her mother would not allow it. Grown up, she loved reading, understood music, and was good at weiqi. By mischance she fell to a rich man of Wulin as his concubine. The principal wife was extraordinarily jealous and oppressed her in ten thousand ways. One day she took Xiaoqing to Tianzhu, and said, "The Buddhas of the West are beyond number, yet the world worships the Great Being alone — why?" Xiaoqing said, "Only because of her compassion." The wife laughed and said, "I too will be compassionate to you." And she hid her away in the Buddhist lodging on Solitary Hill, with a nun to keep her company. Having nothing to do, Xiaoqing would often look at herself in the pool and liked to talk to her reflection, murmuring as if in question and answer, but stopping whenever anyone saw. Hence her poem has the lines: "My thin shadow leans over the spring water; you must pity me as I pity you." Later she fell ill with consumption and stopped eating, drinking a little pear juice each day, fading away as she awaited the end. Then she called a painter to make her portrait; he changed it two or three times, and she said none was like her. At last the painter gazed at her a long while and devised a slender, bewitching likeness, and she said, "That is it." She set pear wine before it at her bedside and called again and again, "Xiaoqing! Xiaoqing!" and with one burst of grief she died, only eighteen years old. She left a volume of poems. When the wife heard of her death she came at once to the Buddhist lodging, demanded the portrait and the poems, burned them, and went off abruptly.

Xiaoqing, "Worshipping at the Ciyun Pavilion":

I bow my head before the Great Being of the Compassionate Cloud: let me be born neither in the Western Land nor in heaven. I wish to take one drop of the willow-branch water and sprinkle it into twin lotuses on a single stem in the world of men.

Again, "Worshipping at the Tomb of Su Xiaoxiao":

The fragrant grass of Xiling ripples like patterned silk; word comes from the inner rooms calling us to tread the green. I pour a cup of wine myself on Su Xiao's tomb — do you know that I am one after your own heart?