Classical Prose

湖心亭看雪

Húxīn Tíng kàn xuě

张岱

Zhāng Dài

Chóngzhēn wǔ nián shí’èr yuè, yú zhù Xīhú.

崇祯五年十二月,余住西湖。

Dà xuě sān rì, hú zhōng rén niǎo shēng jù jué.

大雪三日,湖中人鸟声俱绝。

Shì rì gēng dìng yǐ, yú ná yī xiǎo zhōu, yōng cuì yī lúh uǒ, dú wǎng Húxīn Tíng kàn xuě.

是日更定矣,余拏一小舟,拥毳衣炉火,独往湖心亭看雪。

Wù sōng hàng dàng, tiān yǔ yún yǔ shān yǔ shuǐ, shàng xià yī bái.

雾凇沆砀,天与云与山与水,上下一白。

Hú shàng yǚng zi, wéi cháng dī yī hén, Húxīn Tíng yì diǎn, yǔ yú zhōu yī jiè, zhōu zhōng rén liǎnǡng sān lì ér yǐ.

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。

Dào tíng shàng, yǒu liǎng rén pū zhān duì zuò, yī tóng zǐ shāo jiǔ lú zhèng fèi.

到亭上,有两人铺毡对坐,一童子烧酒炉正沸。

Jiàn yú, dà xǐ yuē: “Hú zhōng yān dé gèng yǒu cǔ rén!”

见余,大喜曰:“湖中焉得更有此人!”

Lā yú tóng yǐn.

拉余同饮。

Yú qiǎng yǐn sān dà bái ér bié.

余强饮三大白而别。

Wèn qí xìng shì, shì Jīnlíng rén, kè cǔ.

问其姓氏,是金陵人,客此。

Jí xià chuán, zhōu zǐ nán nán yuē: “Mò shuō xiàng gōng chī, gèng yǒu chī sì xiàng gōng zhě.”

及下船,舟子喃喃曰:“莫说相公痴,更有痴似相公者。”


Translation

In the twelfth month of the fifth year of Chongzhen, I was living by West Lake. Snow fell heavily for three days. On the lake, the sounds of people and birds had entirely ceased. That night, after the first watch had settled, I took a small boat, wrapped myself in a fur coat, held a brazier for warmth, and went alone to the Mid-Lake Pavilion to view the snow. Rime and mist spread boundlessly. Sky, clouds, mountains, and water — above and below — were all one whiteness. The only shadows on the lake were a single trace of the long causeway, one dot of the Mid-Lake Pavilion, my boat like a tiny blade of grass, and the two or three people in it like grains. When I reached the pavilion, there were two men sitting opposite each other on a felt mat, while a boy was heating wine, the stove just boiling. Seeing me, they were overjoyed and said, “How could there still be such a person on the lake!” They pulled me in to drink with them. I forced myself to drink three large cups and then took my leave. When I asked their names, they were from Jinling, staying here as guests. After I got back into the boat, the boatman muttered, “Do not say my lord is eccentric. There are others even more eccentric than my lord.”

Analysis

Viewing Snow at the Mid-Lake Pavilion is one of Zhang Dai's most celebrated prose sketches and a masterpiece of late Ming short prose. It records a winter night journey across West Lake after three days of snow, but beneath the scene lies a meditation on beauty, solitude, obsession, and memory. The opening date — the fifth year of Chongzhen — carries the atmosphere of recollection, as Zhang Dai wrote this after the fall of the Ming. 'Snow fell heavily for three days. On the lake, the sounds of people and birds had entirely ceased.' This empties West Lake of its usual life, sealing it in snow. The narrator goes out alone at night in a small boat, wrapped in fur and carrying warmth. This action defines the 'chi' (obsession/devotion) at the heart of the piece. The central snow scene is minimal: sky, clouds, mountains, and water are all one whiteness. Then Zhang Dai reduces the visible world to a few marks — the causeway is a trace, the pavilion a dot, the boat a blade of grass, the people grains. Human beings become almost nothing within the snow-filled universe. The encounter at the pavilion changes the mood. The expected solitude is broken by two others drinking there. Their exclamation reveals mutual recognition between people with the same aesthetic devotion. The drinking is brief, making the meeting more dreamlike. The boatman's final comment names the theme: do not call the narrator eccentric; there are others just as eccentric. The deeper sadness comes from Zhang Dai's life as a Ming loyalist writing after dynastic collapse. The snow-covered West Lake is pure, silent, and almost empty — like a vanished dream.

About the Author

Zhang Dai was a late Ming and early Qing writer and historian, courtesy name Zongzi and Shigong, literary name Tao'an. He was from Shanyin in Zhejiang. Born into a wealthy and cultivated family, he loved theater, gardens, tea, wine, mountains, water, and urban pleasures. After the fall of the Ming, he lived in seclusion and wrote works filled with memory of the lost Ming world. His major works include 'Dream Memories of Tao'an,' 'Dream Search of West Lake,' and 'The Stone Casket.' Zhang Dai's prose is concise, vivid, and highly visual, often combining elegance and leisure with nostalgia, loss, and historical sorrow.