秋陽(yáng)賦

　　蘇軾

　　越王之孫，有賢公子，宅于不土之里，而詠無(wú)言之詩(shī)。以告東坡居士曰：“吾心皎然，如秋陽(yáng)之明;吾氣肅然，如秋陽(yáng)之清;吾好善而欲成之，如秋陽(yáng)之堅(jiān)百谷;吾惡惡而欲刑之，如秋陽(yáng)之隕群木。夫是以樂(lè)而賦之，子以為何如?”

　　居士笑曰：“公子何自知秋陽(yáng)哉?生于華屋之下，而長(zhǎng)游于朝廷之上，出擁大蓋，入侍帷幄，暑至于溫，寒至于涼而已矣。何自知秋陽(yáng)哉!若予者，乃真知之。方夏潦之淫也，云蒸雨泄，雷電發(fā)越，江湖為一，后土冒沒(méi)，舟行城郭，魚(yú)龍入室。菌衣生于用器，蛙蚓行于幾席。夜違濕而五遷，晝燎衣而三易。是猶未足病也。畊于三吳，有田一廛。禾已實(shí)而生耳，稻方秀而泥蟠。溝塍交通，墻壁頹穿。面垢落曁之涂，目泣濕薪之煙。釜甑其空，四鄰悄然。鸛鶴鳴于戶庭，婦宵興而永嘆。計(jì)有食其幾何，矧無(wú)衣于窮年。忽釜星之雜出，又燈花之雙懸。清風(fēng)西來(lái)，鼓鐘其鏜。奴婢喜而告余，此雨止之祥也。蚤作而占之，則長(zhǎng)庚澹其不芒矣。浴于旸谷，升于扶桑。曾未轉(zhuǎn)盼，而倒景飛于屋梁矣。方是時(shí)也，如醉如醒，如而鳴。如痿而行，如還故鄉(xiāng)初見(jiàn)父兄。公子亦有此樂(lè)乎?”公子曰：“善哉!吾雖不身履，而可以意知也。”

　　居士曰：“日行于天，南北異宜。赫然而炎非其虐，穆然而溫非其慈。且今之溫者，昔人炎者也。云何以夏為盾而以冬為衰乎?吾儕小人，輕慍易喜。彼冬夏之畏愛(ài)，乃群狙之三四。自今知之，可以無(wú)惑。居不墐戶，出不仰笠，暑不言病，以無(wú)忘秋陽(yáng)之德。”公子拊掌，一笑而作。

　　Autumn Sun

　　Su Shih

　　A descendant of Yüeh Wang, a worthy gentleman, dwells in a village without soil and croons verses without words. He once told Tung-p’o, the Retired Scholar, that his mind was as pure as the rays of the Autumn Sun, his emotions as peaceful as its tranquility. “I love virtue,” he said, “and am determined to fulfil it, even as the Autumn Sun strengthens the crops. I hate evil, and desire to chastise it even as the Autumn Sun strikes that group of trees. So I am anxious to write a fu upon it. What does the Master think?”

　　The Retired Scholar smiled. “How,” he replied, “can a gentleman like yourself appreciate the Autumn Sun? Born into a luxurious mansion, when older, you roamed through the Emperor’s Courts. Outside, you were sheltered by a large umbrella; at home, you were waited upon behind curtain and veil. You could stand the hot weather up to the point of warmth, and the winter to the point of coolness – that is all! What then can you know about the Autumn Sun?

　　Now, a man like myself really appreciates it. When the summer floods become excessive, when the clouds become vapour and the rains fall, when the thunder rolls and the lightning flashes, when rivers and lakes merge together and the god of the soil is in danger of drowning, then do boats sail on the city-walls, fish and dragon enter the house, mildew covers the utensils, frogs and earth-worms crawl about the tables. At night, one must move five times to avoid the damp; in day-time, one must dry the clothes in the sun for three changes. But still there is nothing in all this to worry about!

　　In San Wu, there is a plot of ploughed land. There, ripened grain becomes covered with fungi, matured rice curls up into the mud. Drains and dykes overflow. Walls, undermined by water, collapse in ruins in the mud. One’s eyes glisten with tears as the smoke from the fuel in boiler and cauldron fills the room. All around, the neighbourhood is silent. The crane cries in the doorway. The wife rises in the night and heaves a deep sigh, as she reckons up the number of foodless days and wonders whether the clothing will last to the end of the year.

　　Suddenly, the cauldron sends out sparks in myriad confusion, and the lamp-wick hangs down in double blossom. Clear blows the west wind; drums and bells resound. The slaves joyously tell me that this is the sign of no more rain. So I rise early to divine it, and I find that Hesperus, the evening star, is placid and no longer flashes as it bathes in the Valley of Sunshine and rise over Fu-sang. Ere one has winked, the whole prospect has changed with winged flight to the crossbeams of the house. In that moment, I feel as though I am awakening from a drunken slumber. I am like a dumb man who can speak, a paralytic who can rise and walk. I am like a wanderer returning to his ancestral village who gets his first glimpse of the Elders! Have you, Sire, also tasted joy like this?”

　　“That’s fine!” he laughed. “Although I cannot say that I have personally experienced this, yet I can well appreciate it.”

　　“The Sun,” continued the Retired Scholar, “moves through the Southern and the Northern Heavens in different ways. Its fierce and fiery heat is not the result of tyranny, nor is its soothing warmth due to tenderness, for the warmth of today is the heat of yesterday. Why then consider Summer as Tun and Winter as Ts’ui? We little men are easily vexed or glad, so that the dread of summer or the love of winter is of no greater import to us than the numbers ‘3’ and ‘4’ to a crowd of monkeys!

　　Henceforth, understand this and be not in doubt. Live without plastering the door; go out without putting on a labourer’s hat; and do not complain of the summer heat if you would not forget the virtues of the Autumn Sun.”

　　Whereat my nobleman clapped his hands and laughed as he wrote this down.

　　(Cyril Drummond Le Gros Clark 譯)