时间的花园 - THE GARDEN OF TIME by J.G. Ballard 1962

原文摘自：https://lithub.com/read-the-1962-short-story-that-inspired-this-years-met-gala-theme/

小说音频可点击：喜马拉雅第 21篇

THE GARDEN OF TIME by J.G. Ballard 1962

Towards evening, when the great shadow of the Palladian villa filled the terrace, Count Axel left his library and walked down the wide marble steps among the time flowers. A tall, imperious figure in a black velvet jacket, a gold tie-pin glinting below his George V beard, cane held stiffly in a white-gloved hand, he surveyed the exquisite crystal flowers without emotion, listening to the sounds of his wife’s harpsichord, as she played a Mozart rondo in the music room, echo and vibrate through the translucent petals.

The garden of the villa extended for some two hundred yards below the terrace, sloping down to a miniature lake spanned by a white bridge, a slender pavilion on the opposite bank. Axel rarely ventured as far as the lake; most of the time flowers grew in a small grove just below the terrace, sheltered by the high wall which encircled the estate. From the terrace he could see over the wall to the plain beyond, a continuous expanse of open ground that rolled in great swells to the horizon, where it rose slightly before finally dipping from sight. The plain surrounded the house on all sides, its drab emptiness emphasizing the seclusion and mellowed magnificence of the villa. Here, in the garden, the air seemed brighter, the sun warmer, while the plain was always dull and remote.

As was his custom before beginning his evening stroll, Count Axel looked out across the plain to the final rise, where the horizon was illuminated like a distant stage by the fading sun. As the Mozart chimed delicately around him, flowing from his wife’s graceful hands, he saw that the advance column of an enormous army was moving slowly over the horizon. At first glance, the long ranks seemed to be progressing in orderly lines, but on closer inspection, it was apparent that, like the obscured detail of a Goya landscape, the army was composed of a vast throng of people, men and women, interspersed with a few soldiers in ragged uniforms, pressing forward in a disorganized tide. Some laboured under heavy loads suspended from crude yokes around their necks, others struggled with cumbersome wooden carts, their hands wrenching at the wheel spokes, a few trudged on alone, but all moved on at the same pace, bowed backs illuminated in the fleeting sun. The advancing throng was almost too far away to be visible, but even as Axel watched, his expression aloof yet observant, it came perceptibly nearer, the vanguard of an immense rabble appearing from below the horizon. At last, as the daylight began to fade, the front edge of the throng reached the crest of the first swell below the horizon, and Axel turned from the terrace and walked down among the time flowers.

The flowers grew to a height of about six feet, their slender stems, like rods of glass, bearing a dozen leaves, the once transparent fronds frosted by the fossilized veins. At the peak of each stem was the time flower, the size of a goblet, the opaque outer petals enclosing the crystal heart. Their diamond brilliance contained a thousand faces, the crystal seeming to drain the air of its light and motion. As the flowers swayed slightly in the evening air, they glowed like flame-tipped spears.

Many of the stems no longer bore flowers, and Axel examined them all carefully, a note of hope now and then crossing his eyes as he searched for any further buds. Finally he selected a large flower on the stem nearest the wall, removed his gloves and with his strong fingers snapped it off.

As he carried the flower back on to the terrace, it began to sparkle and deliquesce, the light trapped within the core at last released. Gradually the crystal dissolved, only the outer petals remaining intact, and the air around Axel became bright and vivid, charged with slanting rays that flared away into the waning sunlight. Strange shifts momentarily transformed the evening, subtly altering its dimensions of time and space. The darkened portico of the house, its patina of age stripped away, loomed with a curious spectral whiteness as if suddenly remembered in a dream.

Raising his head, Axel peered over the wall again. Only the farthest rim of the horizon was lit by the sun, and the great throng, which before had stretched almost a quarter of the way across the plain, had now receded to the horizon, the entire concourse abruptly flung back in a reversal of time, and appeared to be stationary.

The flower in Axel’s hand had shrunk to the size of a glass thimble, the petals contracting around the vanishing core. A faint sparkle flickered from the centre and extinguished itself, and Axel felt the flower melt like an ice-cold bead of dew in his hand.

Dusk closed across the house, sweeping its long shadows over the plain, the horizon merging into the sky. The harpsichord was silent, and the time flowers, no longer reflecting its music, stood motionlessly, like an embalmed forest.

For a few minutes Axel looked down at them, counting the flowers which remained, then greeted his wife as she crossed the terrace, her brocade evening dress rustling over the ornamental tiles.

‘What a beautiful evening, Axel.’ She spoke feelingly, as if she were thanking her husband personally for the great ornate shadow across the lawn and the dark brilliant air. Her face was serene and intelligent, her hair, swept back behind her head into a jewelled clasp, touched with silver. She wore her dress low across her breast, revealing a long slender neck and high chin. Axel surveyed her with fond pride. He gave her his arm and together they walked down the steps into the garden.

‘One of the longest evenings this summer,’ Axel confirmed, adding: ‘I picked a perfect flower, my dear, a jewel. With luck it should last us for several days.’ A frown touched his brow, and he glanced involuntarily at the wall. ‘Each time now they seem to come nearer.’

His wife smiled at him encouragingly and held his arm more tightly.

Both of them knew that the time garden was dying.

Three evenings later, as he had estimated (though sooner than he secretly hoped), Count Axel plucked another flower from the time garden.

When he first looked over the wall the approaching rabble filled the distant half of the plain, stretching across the horizon in an unbroken mass. He thought he could hear the low, fragmentary sounds of voices carried across the empty air, a sullen murmur punctuated by cries and shouts, but quickly told himself that he had imagined them. Luckily, his wife was at the harpsichord, and the rich contrapuntal patterns of a Bach fugue cascaded lightly across the terrace, masking any other noises.

Between the house and the horizon the plain was divided into four huge swells, the crest of each one clearly visible in the slanting light. Axel had promised himself that he would never count them, but the number was too small to remain unobserved, particularly when it so obviously marked the progress of the advancing army. By now the forward line had passed the first crest and was well on its way to the second; the main bulk of the throng pressed behind it, hiding the crest and the even vaster concourse spreading from the horizon. Looking to left and right of the central body, Axel could see the apparently limitless extent of the army. What had seemed at first to be the central mass was no more than a minor advance guard, one of many similar arms reaching across the plain. The true centre had not yet emerged, but from the rate of extension Axel estimated that when it finally reached the plain it would completely cover every foot of ground.

Axel searched for any large vehicles or machines, but all was amorphous and uncoordinated as ever. There were no banners or flags, no mascots or pike-bearers. Heads bowed, the multitude pressed on, unaware of the sky.

Suddenly, just before Axel turned away, the forward edge of the throng appeared on top of the second crest, and swarmed down across the plain. What astounded Axel was the incredible distance it had covered while out of sight. The figures were now twice the size, each one clearly within sight.

Quickly, Axel stepped from the terrace, selected a time flower from the garden and tore it from the stem. As it released its compacted light, he returned to the terrace. When the flower had shrunk to a frozen pearl in his palm he looked out at the plain, with relief saw that the army had retreated to the horizon again.

Then he realized that the horizon was much nearer than previously, and that what he assumed to be the horizon was the first crest.

* * *

When he joined the Countess on their evening walk he told her nothing of this, but she could see behind his casual unconcern and did what she could to dispel his worry.

Walking down the steps, she pointed to the time garden. ‘What a wonderful display, Axel. There are so many flowers still.’

Axel nodded, smiling to himself at his wife’s attempt to reassure him. Her use of ‘still’ had revealed her own unconscious anticipation of the end. In fact a mere dozen flowers remained of the many hundred that had grown in the garden, and several of these were little more than buds– only three or four were fully grown. As they walked down to the lake, the Countess’s dress rustling across the cool turf, he tried to decide whether to pick the larger flowers first or leave them to the end. Strictly, it would be better to give the smaller flowers additional time to grow and mature, and this advantage would be lost if he retained the larger flowers to the end, as he wished to do, for the final repulse. However, he realized that it mattered little either way; the garden would soon die and the smaller flowers required far longer than he could give them to accumulate their compressed cores of time. During his entire lifetime he had failed to notice a single evidence of growth among the flowers. The larger blooms had always been mature, and none of the buds had shown the slightest development.

Crossing the lake, he and his wife looked down at their reflections in the still black water. Shielded by the pavilion on one side and the high garden wall on the other, the villa in the distance, Axel felt composed and secure, the plain with its encroaching multitude a nightmare from which he had safely awakened. He put one arm around his wife’s smooth waist and pressed her affectionately to his shoulder, realizing that he had not embraced her for several years, though their lives together had been timeless and he could remember as if yesterday when he first brought her to live in the villa.

‘Axel,’ his wife asked with sudden seriousness, ‘before the garden dies . . .may I pick the last flower?’

Understanding her request, he nodded slowly.

One by one over the succeeding evenings, he picked the remaining flowers, leaving a single small bud which grew just below the terrace for his wife. He took the flowers at random, refusing to count or ration them, plucking two or three of the smaller buds at the same time when necessary. The approaching horde had now reached the second and third crests, a vast concourse of labouring humanity that blotted out the horizon. From the terrace Axel could see clearly the shuffling, straining ranks moving down into the hollow towards the final crest, and occasionally the sounds of their voices carried across to him, interspersed with cries of anger and the cracking of whips. The wooden carts lurched from side to side on tilting wheels, their drivers struggling to control them. As far as Axel could tell, not a single member of the throng was aware of its overall direction. Rather, each one blindly moved forward across the ground directly below the heels of the person in front of him, and the only unity was that of the cumulative compass. Pointlessly, Axel hoped that the true centre, far below the horizon, might be moving in a different direction, and that gradually the multitude would alter course, swing away from the villa and recede from the plain like a turning tide.

On the last evening but one, as he plucked the time flower, the forward edge of the rabble had reached the third crest, and was swarming past it. While he waited for the Countess, Axel looked at the two flowers left, both small buds which would carry them back through only a few minutes of the next evening. The glass stems of the dead flowers reared up stiffly into the air, but the whole garden had lost its bloom.

Axel passed the next morning quietly in his library, sealing the rarer of his manuscripts into the glass-topped cases between the galleries. He walked slowly down the portrait corridor, polishing each of the pictures carefully, then tidied his desk and locked the door behind him. During the afternoon he busied himself in the drawing rooms, unobtrusively assisting his wife as she cleaned their ornaments and straightened the vases and busts.

By evening, as the sun fell behind the house, they were both tired and dusty, and neither had spoken to the other all day. When his wife moved towards the music-room, Axel called her back.

‘Tonight we’ll pick the flowers together, my dear,’ he said to her evenly. ‘One for each of us.’

He peered only briefly over the wall. They could hear, less than half a mile away, the great dull roar of the ragged army, the ring of iron and lash, pressing on towards the house.

Quickly, Axel plucked his flower, a bud no bigger than a sapphire. As it flickered softly, the tumult outside momentarily receded, then began to gather again.

Shutting his ears to the clamour, Axel looked around at the villa, counting the six columns in the portico, then gazed out across the lawn at the silver disc of the lake, its bowl reflecting the last evening light, and at the shadows moving between the tall trees, lengthening across the crisp turf. He lingered over the bridge where he and his wife had stood arm in arm for so many summers –

‘Axel!’

The tumult outside roared into the air, a thousand voices bellowed only twenty or thirty yards away. A stone flew over the wall and landed among the time flowers, snapping several of the brittle stems. The Countess ran towards him as a further barrage rattled along the wall. Then a heavy tile whirled through the air over their heads and crashed into one of the conservatory windows.

‘Axel!’ He put his arms around her, straightening his silk cravat when her shoulder brushed it between his lapels.

‘Quickly, my dear, the last flower!’ He led her down the steps and through the garden. Taking the stem between her jewelled fingers, she snapped it cleanly, then cradled it within her palms.

For a moment the tumult lessened slightly and Axel collected himself. In the vivid light sparkling from the flower he saw his wife’s white, frightened eyes. ‘Hold it as long as you can, my dear, until the last grain dies.’

Together they stood on the terrace, the Countess clasping the brilliant dying jewel, the air closing in upon them as the voices outside mounted again. The mob was battering at the heavy iron gates, and the whole villa shook with the impact.

While the final glimmer of light sped away, the Countess raised her palms to the air, as if releasing an invisible bird, then in a final access of courage put her hands in her husband’s, her smile as radiant as the vanished flower.

‘Oh, Axel!’ she cried.

Like a sword, the darkness swooped down across them.

Heaving and swearing, the outer edges of the mob reached the kneehigh remains of the wall enclosing the ruined estate, hauled their carts over it and along the dry ruts of what once had been an ornate drive. The ruin, formerly a spacious villa, barely interrupted the ceaseless tide of humanity. The lake was empty, fallen trees rotting at its bottom, an old bridge rusting into it. Weeds flourished among the long grass in the lawn, overrunning the ornamental pathways and carved stone screens.

Much of the terrace had crumbled, and the main section of the mob cut straight across the lawn, by-passing the gutted villa, but one or two of the more curious climbed up and searched among the shell. The doors had rotted from their hinges and the floors had fallen through. In the music-room an ancient harpsichord had been chopped into firewood, but a few keys still lay among the dust. All the books had been toppled from the shelves in the library, the canvases had been slashed, and gilt frames littered the floor.

As the main body of the mob reached the house, it began to cross the wall at all points along its length. Jostled together, the people stumbled into the dry lake, swarmed over the terrace and pressed through the house towards the open doors on the north side.

One area alone withstood the endless wave. Just below the terrace, between the wrecked balcony and the wall, was a dense, six-foot-high growth of heavy thorn-bushes. The barbed foliage formed an impenetrable mass, and the people passing stepped around it carefully, noticing the belladonna entwined among the branches. Most of them were too busy finding their footing among the upturned flagstones to look up into the centre of the thornbushes, where two stone statues stood side by side, gazing out over the grounds from their protected vantage point. The larger of the figures was the effigy of a bearded man in a high-collared jacket, a cane under one arm. Beside him was a woman in an elaborate full-skirted dress, her slim, serene face unmarked by the wind and rain. In her left hand she lightly clasped a single rose, the delicately formed petals so thin as to be almost transparent.

As the sun died away behind the house a single ray of light glanced through a shattered cornice and struck the rose, reflected off the whorl of petals on to the statues, lighting up the grey stone so that for a fleeting moment it was indistinguishable from the long-vanished flesh of the statues’ originals.

翻译 by kimi.ai

这段文字是一个充满想象力和深刻内涵的故事，讲述了一个名叫Axel的伯爵和他的妻子在一个别墅的花园中，通过采摘一种名为“时间之花”的奇异花朵来暂时逃避一个不断逼近的大军。这些花朵能够释放出压缩的光线，创造出一种时间倒流的错觉。然而，随着时间的流逝，花朵逐渐凋谢，大军的威胁也日益临近。以下是对这段文字的中文翻译：

---

随着傍晚的来临，当帕拉第奥式别墅的巨大阴影覆盖了露台，阿克塞尔伯爵离开了他的图书馆，沿着宽阔的大理石台阶走下，穿过了时光花丛。他身着黑色天鹅绒夹克，一个金色领带夹在他乔治五世式的胡须下方闪闪发光，手杖僵硬地握在戴着白色手套的手中，他面无表情地审视着那些精致的水晶花朵，听着他妻子在音乐室里弹奏莫扎特回旋曲的声音，回声和振动穿透了半透明的花瓣。

别墅的花园从露台向下延伸了大约两百码，倾斜至一个迷你湖泊，湖上横跨着一座白色小桥，对面岸边有一个纤细的亭子。阿克塞尔很少冒险走到湖边；大多数时光花生长在露台下方的一个小树林里，被围绕庄园的高墙所庇护。从露台上，他可以越过墙壁看到外面广阔的平原，一片连绵起伏的开阔地平线，那里在视线中微微升起，然后最终消失。平原从四面八方环绕着房子，其单调的空旷强调了别墅的隐秘和成熟的宏伟。在这里，花园里的空气似乎更明亮，阳光更温暖，而平原总是显得暗淡而遥远。

按照他开始晚间散步前的习惯，阿克塞尔伯爵望向平原的最后隆起处，地平线被落日像远处的舞台一样照亮。随着莫扎特的音乐在他周围精致地响起，从他妻子优雅的手中流出，他看到一列巨大的军队正缓慢地越过地平线移动。乍一看，长长的队伍似乎在有序地行进，但仔细观察后，很明显，就像戈雅风景画中模糊的细节一样，这支军队由一大群人组成，男女混杂，夹杂着一些穿着破旧制服的士兵，他们无序地向前推进。一些人在粗糙的轭下负重前行，其他人则努力推动着笨重的木制手推车，他们的手在车轮辐条上扭动，一些人独自跋涉，但所有人都以相同的速度前进，弓着的背在转瞬即逝的阳光下被照亮。前进的人群几乎太远而看不见，但就在阿克塞尔观察时，他的表情冷漠而观察入微，人群明显地靠近了，一个巨大的乌合之众的先锋从地平线下方出现。最后，随着日光开始消逝，人群的前沿到达了地平线下的第一个隆起处的顶部，阿克塞尔从露台转身，走下时光花丛中。

这些花朵长到大约六英尺高，它们纤细的茎干，像玻璃棒一样，承载着一打叶子，曾经透明的叶片被石化的脉络覆盖上了霜。每个茎干的顶部都是时光花，大小像一个高脚杯，不透明的外层花瓣包围着水晶般的心。它们的钻石般的光辉包含了千面，水晶似乎从空气中吸取了光线和运动。随着花朵在傍晚的空气中轻轻摇摆，它们像火焰尖端的长矛一样发光。

许多茎干不再开花，阿克塞尔仔细检查了它们，偶尔希望的神情掠过他的眼睛，当他寻找任何进一步的花蕾时。最后，他选择了离墙最近的茎干上的一朵大花，脱下手套，用他强壮的手指将其折断。

当他带着花朵回到露台时，它开始闪烁并溶解，核心中捕获的光线终于被释放。渐渐地，水晶溶解了，只剩下外层花瓣保持完整，阿克塞尔周围的空气变得明亮而生动，充满了斜射的光芒，这些光芒在逐渐减弱的阳光中燃烧。奇怪的变化短暂地改变了晚上，微妙地改变了时间和空间的维度。房子的门廊变暗了，岁月的痕迹被剥离，以一种奇怪的幽灵般的白色显现出来，仿佛突然在梦中被回忆起来。

阿克塞尔抬起头，再次越过墙壁望去。只有地平线的最远边缘被太阳照亮，而之前几乎延伸到平原四分之一宽度的巨大人群现在已经退回到地平线，整个人群突然被时间逆转，看起来静止不动。

阿克塞尔手中的花已经缩小到玻璃顶针的大小，花瓣围绕着消失的核心收缩。中心的微弱闪光熄灭了，阿克塞尔感觉到花朵像冰冷的露珠一样在他的手中融化。

黄昏笼罩着房子，将它的长影扫过平原，地平线与天空融为一体。大键琴沉默了，时光花不再反射它的音乐，静止不动，像一个被防腐的森林。

几分钟后，阿克塞尔低头看着它们，数着剩下的花朵，然后向穿过露台的妻子打招呼，她绣花的晚礼服在装饰瓷砖上沙沙作响。

“多么美丽的晚上，阿克塞尔。”她感慨地说，好像她亲自感谢丈夫为草坪上的华丽阴影和黑暗的明亮空气。她的脸宁静而聪明，她的头发被扫到头后部，用一个镶有宝石的夹子固定，带有银色。她低胸穿着晚礼服，露出了长长的纤细的脖子和高高的下巴。阿克塞尔带着自豪的心情审视着她。他向她伸出手臂，他们一起走下台阶进入花园。

“这是我今年夏天最长的晚上之一，”阿克塞尔确认道，补充说：“亲爱的，我摘了一朵完美的花，一颗宝石。运气好的话，它应该能持续几天。”

他的眉头皱了一下，不由自主地瞥了一眼墙壁。“每一次，他们似乎都更接近了。”

他的妻子鼓励地对他微笑，更紧地抓住了他的手臂。

他们俩都知道，时光花园正在死去。

三个晚上后，正如他估计的那样（尽管比他秘密希望的要早），阿克塞尔伯爵从时光花园中摘下了另一朵花。

当他第一次越过墙壁望去，逼近的暴民填满了远处的半个平原，横跨地平线，形成了一个不间断的群体。他认为他能听到远处传来的低沉、断断续续的声音，一种沉闷的低语被呼喊和尖叫声打断，但他很快告诉自己那是他的想象。幸运的是，他的妻子正在弹奏大键琴，巴赫赋格曲的丰富对位图案轻松地洒落在露台上，掩盖了其他所有声音。

在房子和地平线之间，平原被四个巨大的隆起分割，每个隆起的顶部在倾斜的光线中清晰可见。阿克塞尔曾向自己保证，他永远不会数它们，但这个数字太小，无法不被注意到，特别是当它如此明显地标志着前进军队的进展。到目前为止，前线已经过了第一个隆起，并且已经很好地向第二个隆起前进；人群的主体紧随其后，隐藏了隆起和从地平线延伸的更大队伍。看向中心主体的左右，阿克塞尔可以看到军队的明显无限的范围。最初看起来像是中心群体的东西，不过是一个小前锋，是许多类似的手臂之一，横跨平原。真正的中心还没有出现，但从扩张的速度来看，阿克塞尔估计，当它最终到达平原时，它将完全覆盖每一寸土地。

阿克塞尔寻找任何大型车辆或机器，但一切仍然无定形且不协调。没有旗帜或标志，没有吉祥物或长矛手。低着头，人群继续前进，没有意识到天空。

突然，就在阿克塞尔转身之前，人群的前沿出现在第二个隆起的顶部，并在平原上蜂拥而下。让阿克塞尔震惊的是，它在看不见的地方所覆盖的不可思议的距离。现在，这些人物的尺寸是之前的两倍，每个人都清晰可见。

很快，阿克塞尔从露台上走下来，从花园中选了一朵时光花，从茎干上撕了下来。当它释放出压缩的光线时，他回到了露台。当花朵在他的手掌中缩小到一颗冻结的珍珠时，他松了一口气，看到军队再次退回到地平线。

然后他意识到地平线比以前近得多，他所认为的地平线是第一个隆起。

当他们加入伯爵夫人的晚间散步时，他没有告诉她这些，但她能看出他漫不经心背后的担忧，并尽力驱散他的担忧。

走下台阶时，她指着时光花园说：“多么精彩的展示，阿克塞尔。还有那么多花朵。”

阿克塞尔点点头，对自己的妻子试图安慰他的行为微笑。她使用“still”一词揭示了她自己对结束的无意识预期。事实上，曾经在花园中生长的数百朵花中只剩下十几朵，其中一些只是花蕾——只有三四朵完全长成。当他们走向湖边时，伯爵夫人的礼服在凉爽的草地上沙沙作响，他试图决定是先摘大花还是留到最后。严格来说，让较小的花朵有更多的时间生长和成熟会更好，如果像他希望的那样，将较大的花留到最后，这个优势就会丧失，因为最后的击退。然而，他意识到无论如何都无关紧要；花园很快就会死去，较小的花朵需要的时间远远超过他能给予的时间来积累它们压缩的时间核心。在他的一生中，他没有注意到花朵中有任何生长的迹象。较大的花蕾总是成熟的，而且没有一个花蕾显示出任何发展的迹象。

穿过湖泊，他和他的妻子低头看着他们在静止的黑水中的倒影。一边被亭子遮蔽，另一边被高高的花园墙保护，远处的别墅，阿克塞尔似乎镇定和安全，平原上不断逼近的群众是一个他安全醒来的噩梦。他用一只胳膊搂住妻子光滑的腰，亲切地将她按在肩上，意识到他已经好几年没有拥抱过她了，尽管他们的生活是永恒的，他可以像昨天一样记得当他第一次带她来住在别墅里。

“阿克塞尔，”他的妻子突然严肃地问，“在花园死去之前……我可以摘最后一朵花吗？”

理解了她的请求，他慢慢地点了点头。

在接下来的晚上，他一个接一个地摘除了剩余的花朵，只留下了露台下方生长的一个单一的小芽，给他的妻子。他随机地采摘花朵，拒绝计数或配给，必要时同时摘下两三个较小的芽。逼近的暴民现在已经到达了第二个和第三个隆起，一个庞大的人类队伍遮蔽了地平线。从露台上，阿克塞尔可以清楚地看到，他们拖着脚步，紧张的行列移动到最终的隆起处，偶尔他们的声音传到他这里，夹杂着愤怒的呼喊和鞭子的爆裂声。木制手推车在倾斜的轮子上左右摇晃，驾驶员努力控制它们。据阿克塞尔所知，暴民中没有一个人意识到其整体方向。相反，每个人都盲目地向前移动，直接在前面人的脚跟下穿过地面，唯一的统一是累积指南针的统一。徒劳地，阿克塞尔希望真正的中心，远在地平线以下，可能正在朝不同的方向移动，暴民会逐渐改变路线，从别墅和平原上像退潮一样退去。

在倒数第二个晚上，当他摘下时光花时，前沿的暴民已经到达了第三个隆起，并正在它旁边蜂拥而过。当他等待伯爵夫人时，阿克塞尔看着剩下的两朵花，两朵小芽只会在下一个晚上为他们带回几分钟。死去的花朵的玻璃茎干僵硬地伸向空中，但整个花园已经失去了它的繁荣。

阿克塞尔在图书馆里安静地度过了下一个上午，将他更稀有的手稿密封在画廊之间的玻璃顶箱中。他慢慢地走过肖像走廊，仔细擦拭每一幅画，然后整理他的桌子，并在他身后锁上门。下午，他忙于客厅，不显眼地帮助他的妻子清洁他们的装饰品，整理花瓶和半身像。

到了晚上，当太阳落到房子后面时，他们都感到疲倦和尘土飞扬，而且他们整天都没有和对方说话。当他的妻子走向音乐室时，阿克塞尔叫她回来。

“今晚我们一起摘花，亲爱的，”他平静地对她说。“一人一朵。”

他只是短暂地越过墙壁望去。他们可以听到，不到半英里远，衣衫褴褛的军队的巨大沉闷轰鸣声，铁环和鞭子的声音，向房子推进。

很快，阿克塞尔摘下了他的花，一朵不比蓝宝石大的芽。当它柔和地闪烁时，外面的喧嚣暂时退去，然后又开始聚集。

阿克塞尔堵住了喧哗声，环顾别墅，数了数门廊上的六根柱子，然后凝视着草坪上的银色湖面，它的碗反射着最后一缕晚霞，以及在高大树木之间移动的影子，它们在新鲜的草地上延伸。

“阿克塞尔！”

外面的喧嚣声冲向空中，成千个声音在只有二三十码远的地方吼叫。一块石头飞过墙壁，落在时光花丛中，折断了几根脆弱的茎。当另一波攻击沿着墙壁发出声响时，伯爵夫人向他跑去。然后一块沉重的瓦片在空中旋转，穿过他们的头顶，撞碎了一个温室窗户。

“阿克塞尔！”他用双臂抱住她，当她的肩膀擦过他的翻领时，他整理了一下自己的丝绸领带。

“快，亲爱的，最后一朵花！”他带她走下台阶，穿过花园。她用戴着宝石的手指夹住茎干，干净利落地折断，然后将其捧在手掌中。

喧嚣声稍微减轻了一会儿，阿克塞尔振作起来。在花朵发出的明亮光芒中，他看到了妻子那双白色的、害怕的眼睛。“尽可能长时间地拿着它，亲爱的，直到最后一粒沙子死去。”

他们一起站在露台上，伯爵夫人紧握着垂死的闪亮宝石，周围的空气随着外面的声音再次上升而闭合。暴民正在猛烈地敲打沉重的铁门，整个别墅都因撞击而震动。

当最后的一丝光芒迅速消失时，伯爵夫人将手掌举向空中，仿佛释放了一只看不见的鸟，然后以最后的勇气将手放在丈夫的手中，她的微笑像消失的花朵一样灿烂。

“哦，阿克塞尔！”她喊道。

黑暗像剑一样降临在他们身上。

暴民的外围边缘到达了围绕废弃庄园的残垣断壁，将他们的手推车拖过它，沿着曾经是一条华丽的车道的干燥车辙前行。废墟，曾经是一个宽敞的别墅，几乎不打断了不断前进的人类潮流。湖泊是空的，底部腐烂的树木，一座旧桥生锈地陷入其中。杂草在草坪上的长草中茂盛，覆盖了装饰性的路径和雕刻的石屏。

大部分露台已经坍塌，主要的暴民群体直接穿过草坪，绕过了被洗劫一空的别墅，但有一两个更好奇的人爬上去，在壳体中搜寻。门已经从铰链上腐烂下来，地板已经塌陷。在音乐室里，一架古老的大键琴被劈成了柴火，但还有一些键躺在灰尘中。图书馆里所有的书都被从书架上推倒，画布被割破，镀金的框架散落在地板上。

当暴民的主体到达房子时，它开始沿着其长度的各个点越过墙壁。挤在一起的人们跌跌撞撞地走进干涸的湖泊，蜂拥过露台，穿过房子走向北面的敞开的门。

只有一个区域抵挡住了无尽的浪潮。就在露台下方，在被摧毁的阳台和墙壁之间，是一丛密集的、六英尺高的重荆棘丛。带刺的叶子形成了一个不可逾越的块状物，经过的人们小心翼翼地绕着它走，注意到了缠绕在树枝上的颠茄。大多数人太忙于在翻倒的铺路石中找到立足点，以至于没有抬头看向荆棘丛的中心，那里有两尊石像肩并肩站立，从他们受保护的有利位置俯瞰着地面。较大的雕像是一个穿着高领夹克、腋下夹着手杖的胡须男人的雕像。他旁边是一位穿着精致长裙的女子，她修长、宁静的脸上没有风和雨的痕迹。在她的左手中，她轻轻地握着一朵玫瑰，精致地形成的花瓣如此薄，几乎透明。

当太阳在房子后面消逝，一束光线透过破碎的飞檐，击中了玫瑰，反射在花瓣的漩涡上，照在雕像上，照亮了灰色的石头，以至于在短暂的一刹那，它与雕像原型的早已消失的肉体无法区分。

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这个故事充满了象征意义，时光花可能代表了时间、美丽和生命的脆弱性，而不断逼近的暴民则可能象征着不可避免的灾难或变化。伯爵和伯爵夫人的行为和反应揭示了人类面对未知威胁时的不同态度和情感。故事的结尾，石像和玫瑰的细节，增添了一种永恒和宁静的感觉，暗示了尽管时间流逝和世界变化，某些东西——比如爱情和记忆——可以超越时间本身。