Chapter 19 he tried to speak french

No, he hasn't adapted to the new environment at all.He was neither familiar with the various characteristics of life here, nor could he physically adapt to the weird atmosphere on the mountain.The peculiarities of life in a sanatorium cannot be familiarized in a few days, as he imagined himself (and he also told Joachim about this), and he cannot understand it even in three weeks—because of this adaptation. It was hard work for him, a big hard work.He seemed simply unwilling to adapt to it. The daily life here is carefully arranged and well-organized; if you are willing to adapt to the laws of life here, you can quickly follow up and get where you are.Over a week or more, however, some regular changes gradually appear in the schedule of life: first a new pattern appears, then a second, and the second often follows the repetition of the first. to show.Even individual phenomena in the events of everyday life Hans Castorp had to learn step by step.For some superficial things, he has to pay attention to observation, and for some novel things, he has to absorb them with the sensitive ability of young people.

Those short-necked, pot-bellied containers, for example, stood at the door of every ward in the hallway, and Hans had seen them the night he arrived at the nursing home.It holds oxygen in it.Hans asked him, and Joachim told him.It contained pure oxygen, and the cylinders cost six francs.This is a revival gas, used by dying patients, to add a breath and some strength to the dying life.The patient inhales the gas through a flexible tube.Behind the door of the sick room where the oxygen cylinders are placed, lie the dying patient, or as the consultant Behrens puts it, "the dying person".This is how Hans Castorp once met the consultant on the second floor.At that time, he was wearing a white coat with a blue face, and he walked slowly in the corridor, and they went upstairs together. "Hey, you indifferent bystander!" said Behrens. "What are you doing here? Are you going to win our favor by looking around like an inspection? It's an honor, an honor. Well, our summer has something to do with it, and it's not a bad season. To make it better , I paid a price too. Unfortunately, you are not going to spend the winter with us. I heard you only want to stay for eight weeks, right? Ah, three weeks? Come down, well, do what you want. It's a pity you don't spend the winter here, because only the nobles come," he joked in a bad manner. "The dignitaries from all over the world don't come here until winter in the highlands, and you've got to see them and you'll be educated. You'll laugh when you see these guys sledding up the snow. And those Ladies, goodness, ladies! I can tell you they are as colorful and adventurous as the birds of paradise. . . Oh, now I must go and see my dying patient," said he, "He lives in Ward No. 27. You know, he is in the terminal stage, and the center of his lung is rotten. Yesterday and today he inhaled five bags of oxygen for nothing, which is enough. At noon, he was afraid that he would die. Went to see his old ancestors. Well, my dear Mr. Reuter," he said as he entered, "shall we break the neck of another oxygen bottle? . . . " He closed the door, and his voice Disappears just behind the door.But when the door opened, Hans Castorp caught a glimpse of the silhouette at the back of the room, and he saw a sallow-faced young man, with his head resting on the pillow, a sparse beard on his chin, and his large eyes looking slowly. Turn to the door.

It was the first time in Hans Castorp's life that he saw a dying person, since neither his parents nor his grandfather died, so to speak, he was not present at the time.How majestic is the head of that young man with the slightly raised beard resting on the pillow! How expressive his surprisingly large eyes are slowly turning towards the door!At the same time Hans Castorp was still absorbed in reminiscing about the fleeting glance just now, and he couldn't help opening his eyes wide and rolling them slowly and meaningfully like the dying patient.He was just going on upstairs now, and with that look he was looking at a woman coming out of a door behind him, who met him at the foot of the stairs.He did not immediately recognize Madame Chauchat.Seeing Hans winking, she couldn't help smiling, then grabbed the braid hanging at the back of his head with her hand, and went downstairs quietly and softly past him, with her head tilted slightly forward.

In the first few days, he made almost no acquaintances, and it remained the same for a long time.He didn't like the way of life here.Hans Castorp is quiet by nature, he only feels that he is here as a guest, as the consultant Behrens said, he is an "indifferent spectator", Joachim chats with him as a companion, he basically I am satisfied.The nurse in the corridor naturally craned her neck to stare at them, and Joachim finally introduced her cousin to her; he had chatted with her several times before that.She hung the ribbons of her pince-nez over her ears, and spoke in an affective, almost sad tone.Just watch her carefully and you will see that her mind seems to be tormented by emptiness.It was very difficult to get rid of her again.Towards the end of the conversation, she would show signs of panic.As soon as the boys showed signs of turning away from her, she hastened to say something else, looked at them frequently, even smiled at them vainly, and clung to them, so that they would, out of pity, Just had to stay a little longer.She rambled on about her father, who was a jurist, and about a cousin of hers who was a physician, apparently in order to embellish herself and show that she came from a well-bred class.As for his adopted son, the son of a Coburg dollmaker, surnamed Rotbein, the young Fritz had recently developed an intestinal illness.The relatives can't stand this, gentlemen can easily imagine it.Especially people from a scholarly family, some of them have the delicate feelings of people in the upper class, how can they bear this blow.We kept him close... She went out recently—gentlemen should believe that—just to get herself some tooth powder, and came back to find the sick man sitting on the bed, drinking a strong, dark glass. Beer, and a salami, a piece of hard brown bread, and a cucumber!These delicious native products were all sent by his family, eating them would give him some strength.But the next day, his illness naturally intensified, and he was urging himself to die.But for him it meant only relief, and for her (her name was Sister Bertha, actually her name was Alfreda Schiltknecht) it didn't matter, because then She had to attend to other patients, who were in varying degrees more ill than he, either here on the hill or in other sanitariums.This was the prospect that opened up to her, and there was nothing else to hope for.

Yes, said Hans Castorp; it is indeed a difficult task in terms of your profession, but he thinks it is also very satisfactory. Indeed, she replied.It was a profession that satisfied her--if it was, it was a difficult task. Say hello to Mr. Lotbein for us, then—the cousins ​​wanted to get away after saying that. But she entangled them with clever words.It was sad to see her take such pains to hold on to the two young men, if only for a short while.In this way, they had to promise to accompany her for a while, otherwise it would be too cruel. "He's asleep," she said. "He doesn't need me right now. I'll just be out in the corridor for a few minutes..." And she began to reprimand Behrens, the consultant; For him, he really shouldn't.Dr. Krokowski was much better than him in that respect, and she thought he had a good heart.Then she talked about her father and cousin.She couldn't squeeze anything more out of her mind.She still wanted to keep the cousins ​​for a while, but this time it won't work.Seeing that they were going away, she raised her voice so suddenly that she was on the verge of screaming.They finally got rid of her and ran away.But the nurse still arched her body, and looked greedily at their backs with her protruding eyes, wishing to suck them back with those eyes.Then with a deep sigh she went back into the room to nurse her patient.

These days Hans Castorp knew only one pale woman in black, a Mexican woman nicknamed "The Two" whom he had seen the last time in the garden.And so it was: all he had heard from her was the sad stuff that befitted her nickname, but he had been prepared for it, and he was polite enough to ignore it afterwards.Cousins ​​met her at the gate of the nursing home.At this time they were taking their usual morning walk after breakfast.Wrapped in a black "cashmere" scarf, she was pacing restlessly with her legs bent.She has a big shriveled mouth, and a black veil covers her face. On the top of the veil, her gray hair is tied around her chin; under the black veil, her old face faintly radiates paleness. of light.Joachim, hatless as usual, bowed to her, and she returned the bow slowly, the wrinkles on her narrow forehead deepening as she looked at him.She saw an unfamiliar face, so she stopped and waited, and when the young couple approached, she nodded slightly.Evidently she thought it necessary to find out whether the stranger knew of her fate, and was willing to listen to her story.Joachim introduced her cousin to her.She held out her hand from under her shawl to the visitor, a yellow, bony, veined hand with many rings, and nodded, continuing to look at the stranger.Then she spoke:

"Sir, two guests," she said. "You know, it's substandard French here at Les. This Mexican woman doesn't speak French very well, and her pronunciation is out of order. She was going to say "Bosses."  …" "Je le sais, madame in French: I know, ma'am," Hans Castorp replied softly in French. “Et je le regrette beaucoup in French: I feel sorry for you..” Under her dark pupils, the flesh was loose, and the eye sockets were deep-set. Hans had never seen such large, dull eyes.There seemed to be a faint scent of dried flowers emanating from her body.Hans couldn't help feeling a warm and heavy feeling in his heart.

"Merci in French: Thank you.," she said in a guttural voice that befitted her withered appearance.The corners of her wide mouth drooped sullenly.Then she drew her hands back into her shawl, bowed her head, and began to walk again. Hans Castorp went on and said: "You see, I don't mind. I got along very well with her just now. I believe that I have a good way of dealing with such people. I was born to know how to deal with them. I wonder if you think so? I even think I get along better with melancholy people on the whole than with cheerful people, God knows why. Maybe it's because I was an orphan and lost my parents so early. If people are serious, sad, Even if someone dies, I don't care, and I don't know what to do-I have a sense of being in place, but when encountering a happy and lively scene, I feel unhappy and uninterested. I have been thinking recently: the women here Stupid, too terrified of 'death' and all things dying, too scared to even bring up the subject, and bring the last communion at dinner. Well, it's so boring. You love to see See what a coffin looks like? I'd love to see it. I think a coffin is a wonderful piece of furniture, even when it's empty; but once someone's lying in it, I think there's almost something solemn about it. Funerals are very instructive. Sex—I even think sometimes that if anyone wants some revelation, he has to go to a funeral instead of going to church. People are all dressed in prim black, with their hats off, and look up to the coffin, solemn and And pious, no one spouts such nasty nonsense as they usually do. I would love it if people were a little bit more prudish after all. Sometimes I ask myself if I should be a priest; The occupation is quite suitable for me... Well, there is nothing wrong with the French I just said?"

"That's right," said Joachim. "'Je le regrette beaucoup' is exactly right in French."