THE FIELD WHERE THE SATYRS DANCED
THE FIELD WHERE THE SATYRS DANCED, by Lord Dunsany, in The Atlantic Monthly, an American magazine, Vol. CXLI, pp. 830,831, June, 1928.
Lord Dunsany, the 18th Baron Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett （1878-1957）, Irish dramatist and author of several collection of tales. His work is in fantastic vein; his characters god and men. His style is Biblical in its simplicity.
There is a field above my house in which I sometimes walk in the evening. And whenever I go there in summer I always see the same thing, very small and far off, the tiniest fraction of the wide view that one has, and not appearing until one has looked for it a little carefully—a field surrounded by woods, a green space all among shadows, which suggested to me, the very first time I saw it, an odd idea. But the idea was so evanescent, and floated by so like a traveling butterfly, that by the time I went again a few days later to look at the view at evening I barely remembered it. But then the idea came again, coming as suddenly as a wind that got up soon after sunset, bringing the chill of night a little before its time. And the idea was that to that field at evening satyrs slipped out of the woods to dance on the grass.
This time I did not forget the idea at all; on the contrary it rather haunted me, but down in the valley it grew to seem so unlikely that one put it away as one puts away lumber of old collections, scarcely counting it any more, though knowing that it was there.
And then one evening, the nightingale\'s song being over for many days, and hay ripening, it struck me that if I wanted to see the wild roses I must go soon or they would all be over, and I should have to wait another year to see what we can only see for a limited number of times; so I went up to the field again behind my house, on the hill. It is a perfectly ordinary field, even though at one end the hedge has run a bit wild and is one bank of wild roses. I do not know why one calls it an ordinary field, nor why one sometimes feels of another field that it lies deep under enchantment, yet ordinary it was; one felt sure of that as one walked in it.
On my way to the wild roses at the far end of the field, with my back to the view of the valley, I almost felt as though something behind me and far away were beckoning. For a moment I felt it and the feeling passed, and I walked on toward the wild roses. Then it came again, and I turned round to look; and there was the view over the valley the same as it ever looked, rather featureless from the loss of the sunlight and not yet mysterious with night. I moved my eyes left-handed along the far ridge. And soon they fell on the field where the satyrs danced. Of this I was certain: they danced there. Nothing had changed in the view; the far field was the same as ever, a little mysterious around its edges and flat and green in the middle, high up on the top of a hill;but the certainty had grown and become immense. It was just too far to see if anything moved in the shadows, too far to see if anything came from the wood, but I was sure that this was a dancing ground for those that lurked in the dark of the distant trees, and that they were satyrs. And all things darkened towards the likely hour, till the field was too dim to see at that great distance, and I went home down the hill. And that night and all the next day the certainty remained with me, so that I decided that evening to go to the field and see.
The field where the satyrs danced was some way from my house, so I started a little before sunset, and climbed the far hill in the cool. There I came by a little road scarce more than a lane that ran deep through a wood of Spanish chestnut and oak, to a great road of tar.
Down this I walked for a bit, while the twentieth century streamed by me, with its machinery, its crowds, and its speed;flowing from urban sources. It was as though for a while I waded in a main current of time. But soon I saw a lane on the other side of it that ran in what should be the direction of my field; and I crossed the road of tar, and soon I was in a rural quiet again that time seemed scarcely to bother about. And so I came to the woods that I knew surrounded the field. Hazel and oak they were and masses of dogwood, on the right, and on the left they were thinning down to a hedge; and over the hedge I suddenly saw the field.
Ahead of me, on the far side of the field, the wood was dense and old. On my right lay, as I have said, oak, hazel, and dogwood, and on the left, where the field dipped down to the valley, I saw the tops of old oaks. It was an idyllic scene amongst all that circle of woods. All the more so by contrast with the road of tar. But the moment I looked at the field I realized that there was nothing unearthly about it. There were a few buttercups growing in a very sparse crop of hay; dog daisies farther off and patches of dry brown earth showing through, and unmistakably over the whole field an ordinary air of every day. Whatever there is in enchantment is hard to define, or whatever magic is visible from the touch of fabulous things, but amongst these buttercups and dog daisies and poor crop of hay it certainly was not.
I looked up from the field over the tops of the oaks that grew on the slope of the valley, to be sure by looking across that I had come to the right field. If I could see, and only just see, the field of the wild roses, then this field and these woods must be the ones that I sought. And sure enough, I saw the unmistakable hills from which I had come, and the woods along the top of them, and above these woods a field. For a moment I could not be sure. So strange it looked, so haunted, —not by shadows, for the sun was long set, but by a certain darkness gathering under the hedges while the gloaming still shone on its center, —that I did not immediately know it. And, as I watched it and recognized it by many landmarks as my very ordinary field, the mystery deepened and deepened, until before the gloaming faded away it was obviously touched by that eeriness that is never found far from the haunt of fabulous things.
It was too far to get there to-night, and I looked once more at the field by whose edges I stood, to see if anything lurked at all of the magic that it had. No, nothing; it was all gone. At this moment a rustic boy skipped out of the wood and came over the field towards me. And something about him made him seem so much at home in that field and so knowing of all its neighboring shrubs and shadows that, clinging still to a last vestige of my fancy, I hailed him, and he pricked up his ears. Then I asked, just as I might have asked if the busses were running: “Do the satyrs dance here to-night?”
“Here? No!” he said with such certainty that I knew for sure I was wrong.
I mumbled something like that I thought they were going to.
“No,” he said, shaking his head and pointing away to my field of wild roses, gleaming only faintly now, a dim gray green before nightfall, “they are dancing there to-night.”
Notes
evanescent, fleeting; quickly fading in impression or appearance.
satyrs, Greek woodland deities in human form with horse\'s ears and tail （or, as represented by the Romans, with goat\'s ears, tail, legs, and budding horns）. Satyrs are, in other words, spirits that live in woods.
lumber, disused or discarded articles that still take up room.
nightingale\'s song. The nightingale is noted for the sweet song of the male, often heard at night during the breeding season.
hay ripening, in autumn.
the likely hour, twilight.
in the cool, weather of twilight.
road of tar, a road paved with tar or asphalt.
the twentieth century, our present civilization with our automobiles, and masses of people going from one place to another, and the great speed with which automobiles are driven on the roads.
dogwood,a low shrub of the genus Cornus.
idyllic scene, pleasing and picturesque in its natural simplicity.
unearthly, supernatural; not of this earth.
buttercups,yellow-flowered crowfoot of the genus Ranunculus.
dog daisies, plants with fleshy leaves and pink and white flowers, of the aster family.
haunted, inhabited with supernatural spirits.
gloaming, twilight.
landmarks, conspicuous marks on the land that serve to locate or identify the place.
eeriness, strangeness, weirdness.
rustic boy, country lad.
busses, automobile busses, contracted from the word omnibus.
Questions
1. What does this story mean?
参考译文
【作品简介】
《萨梯跳舞的田野》，作者邓萨尼勋爵，载于1928年6月出版的《大西洋月刊》杂志第141卷，830、831页。
【作者简介】
邓萨尼勋爵，第18世男爵爱德华·约翰·莫顿·德拉克斯·普伦基特（1878—1957），爱尔兰剧作家，也创作过几部故事集。他的作品充满奇幻色彩，作品的主角既有神也有人，作品具有圣经风格，非常简洁。
从我的房子向高处走有一片田野，我傍晚有时会在那里散步。夏天，无论什么时候去，总能看到相同的东西，很小，离我很远，即使视力绝佳，如果不仔细看一点也发现不了——那是一块树木环绕的田野，是树荫中的一片翠绿。我第一次看见它就生出一种古怪的念头，不过这种念头如此短暂，仿佛一只翩翩的蝴蝶瞬间飞走了。几天以后，傍晚再次看到这片田野，我几乎不记得那个古怪的念头了。不过后来，古怪的念头又出现了，如同日落后忽然刮起的风，早早地带来夜的寒意。这个念头就是：傍晚时分，萨梯会轻巧地走出森林，在这片田野的草地上翩翩起舞。
这一次，我不仅没有忘记这个念头，反而被它紧紧地缠住。不过，待我走进山谷，这个念头又变得如此令人讨厌，想把它抛在一边，就像一堆旧的东西，尽管知道就在那里，却几乎不去碰它。
好多天没有听到夜莺的歌声了，草渐渐枯黄。这天傍晚，我突然觉得，如果想要欣赏野蔷薇，就必须马上出发，否则花儿就要凋谢了，要想欣赏某个季节才能看到的东西，就不得不再等一年。因此，我再次前往房子后面小山上的田野。这是一片极为普通的田野，尽管它尽头的树篱有点杂乱，长满了野蔷薇。不知道为什么会称之为一片普通的田野，也不知道为什么有时会觉得另一片田野更加迷人，尽管那片田野也同样普通；在里面走一走一定会有这样的感觉。
在去欣赏田野尽头野蔷薇的路上，我背对着山谷，似乎感觉到身后有什么东西，远远地在向我招手。有那么一阵子，我真的感觉到了这种东西，但一会儿这种感觉又消失了，于是我继续朝野蔷薇走去。然后这种感觉又来了，我转过身去，山谷的景色还是老样子，因为没有日光而显得平淡无奇，并没有因为夜色而变得神秘。我的目光沿着左侧遥远的山脊移动，很快就发现了萨梯跳舞的田野。有一点我深信不疑：很多萨梯在那里翩翩起舞。景色还是从前的样子，遥远的田野也没有任何变化，高高的山丘顶部，四周笼罩着一丝神秘，中间则是一片平坦的绿色；可是，这种深信不疑的感觉越来越强，变得无可抗拒。只不过因为距离太远，分辨不出有什么东西在影影绰绰中移动；也是因为距离太远，也看不出有什么东西从树林中出来，可是我深信，那里就是舞场，潜伏在远方阴暗树林中的精灵们就在那里跳舞，这些精灵就是萨梯。随着夜幕的降临，一切变得越来越暗，直到看不清远处那片昏暗的田野，我便下山往家里走去。那天晚上以及之后的一整天，我始终坚信自己的发现，因此决定傍晚时分再去探个究竟。
萨梯跳舞的田野离我的房子有一段距离，因此我在日落之前就出发了。伴着凉风，我登上了远处的山丘，然后沿着一条狭窄的小径穿过一片西班牙板栗树和橡树组成的树林，来到一条柏油大路。
沿着这条路走了一小段，我仿佛与二十世纪擦肩而过——它的机械、它的人群和它的速度。有一阵子，我仿佛跋涉在时代的大潮中，可是很快就看到了大路另一侧的小径，看方向应该通往我要去的田野；我穿过大路，很快再次融入乡村的宁静，一种仿佛从来没有被时代破坏过的宁静。我来到环绕田野的树林。那是一片榛子树和橡树组成的树林，右侧是山茱萸，这些植物向左变得稀疏，一直延伸到树篱。越过树篱，那片田野就映入了眼帘。
前面，在田野的尽头，树林茂密而古老。右侧，如我前面所说，是橡树、榛子树和山茱萸，左侧是向下延伸至山谷的田野，我看到了老橡树的树梢。这是依偎在树林中的一片田园风光，尤其是和那条大路比起来，更是如此。可是，就在看到这片田野的那一刻，我意识到它并不神秘。几枝毛茛矗立在稀疏的干草间，远处长着雏菊，草丛间露出一块块褐色土地，干干的。毫无疑问，司空见惯的空气每天掠过这片田野。很难确定到底是什么散发着如此的魅力，与奇特的东西接触能看出某种神奇，但从毛茛和雏菊以及收成不佳的干草中当然不可能做到。
我的目光从田野转向山谷斜坡，掠过橡树的树梢，向前面看去，确定自己没有走错。如果我能看到而且只要看到长着野蔷薇的田野，那么这片田野和树木一定是我曾经一直寻找的。千真万确，我看到了那些明白无误的山丘，我就是从那里来的，又看到了山丘上的树林以及树林上方的田野。但有一会儿我又无法确定。那片田野看起来如此陌生，充满神秘色彩——不是因为阴影，毕竟太阳早就落山了，而是因为树篱下正在聚集的某种黑暗，在这片黑暗的中心，薄暮依然闪着微光——我没有很快认出它来。而且，就在我观察那片田野，通过许多标识辨认出我那片非常普通的田野时，这种神秘感越来越强，薄暮褪尽之前，那片田野显然笼罩在这种神秘之中，而这种神秘从来都与难以置信的东西密不可分。
那个地方实在太远，今晚去不了，我再次看了看身边的这片田野，想看一看是否有什么东西潜伏在它所拥有的全部神奇之中。没有，什么都没有，一切都消失了。这时，一个乡下男孩从树林里跳出来，穿过田野向我奔来。他看起来就像在自己家中一样，好像对周围的灌木和阴影如此熟悉。我怀着对自己幻想的最后一丝希望跟他打招呼，这时男孩竖起了耳朵。我问他，就像问是否还有公交车一样：“萨梯今晚在这里跳舞吗？”
“在这儿？不！”男孩回答得如此肯定，我知道自己一定弄错了。
我咕哝着说，原认为他们会在这里跳舞。
“不。”男孩一边说着，一边摇头，指着我要去的那片长着野蔷薇的田野，只见那里若明若暗，在日暮前呈现出灰暗的绿色。“他们今晚在那里跳舞。”
（彭萍 译）
