The general had a flourishing family. True, here it was no longer all roses, but instead there were many things on which his excellency's chief hopes and aims had long begun to be seriously and
heartily concentrated. And what aim in life is more important or sacred than a parental aim? What can one fasten upon if not the family? The general's family consisted of a wife and three grownup daughters. Long ago, while still a lieutenant, the general had married a girl nearly his own age, who had neither beauty nor education, and who brought him only fifty souls—which, true, served as the foundation of his further fortune. But the general never murmured later against his early marriage, never regarded it as the infatuation of an improvident youth, and respected his wife so much, and sometimes feared her so much, that he even loved her. The general's wife was from the princely family of the Myshkins, a family which, while not brilliant, was quite old, and she quite respected herself for her origins. One of the influential persons of that time, one of those patrons for whom, incidentally, patronage costs nothing, consented to take an interest in the young princess's marriage. He opened the gate for the young officer and gave him a starting push, though he did not need a push but only a glance— it would not have been wasted! With a few exceptions, the couple lived the whole time of their long jubilee in accord. While still young, the general's wife, as a born princess and the last of the line, and perhaps through her own personal qualities, was able to find some very highly placed patronesses. Later on, with her husband's increasing wealth and significance in the service, she even began to feel somewhat at home in this high circle.
During these last years all three of the general's daughters— Alexandra, Adelaida, and Aglaya—grew up and matured. True, the three were only Epanchins, but they were of princely origin through their mother, with no little dowry, with a father who might later claim a very high post, and, which was also quite important, all three were remarkably good-looking, including the eldest, Alexandra, who was already over twenty-five. The middle one was twenty-three, and the youngest, Aglaya, had just turned twenty. This youngest was even quite a beauty and was beginning to attract great attention in society. But that was still not alclass="underline" all three were distinguished by their cultivation, intelligence, and talent. It was known that they had a remarkable love for each other and stood up for each other. Mention was even made of some supposed sacrifices the elder two had made in favor of the common idol of the house— the youngest. In society they not only did not like putting themselves forward, but were even much too modest. No one could reproach them with haughtiness or presumption, and yet it was
known that they were proud and knew their own worth. The eldest was a musician, the middle one an excellent painter; but almost no one knew of that for many years and it was discovered only quite recently, and that by accident. In short, a great many laudable things were said about them. But there were also ill-wishers. With horror it was told how many books they had read. They were in no rush to get married; they did esteem a certain social circle, but not too highly. This was the more remarkable as everyone knew the tendency, character, aims, and wishes of their father.
It was already around eleven o'clock when the prince rang at the general's apartment. The general lived on the second floor and occupied lodgings which, though as modest as possible, were still proportionate to his significance. A liveried servant opened the door for the prince, and he had to spend a long time talking with this man, who from the start looked suspiciously at him and his bundle. Finally, to his repeated and precise statement that he was indeed Prince Myshkin and that he absolutely had to see the general on urgent business, the perplexed servant sent him to another small anteroom, just before the reception room by the office, and handed him over to another man, who was on duty in this anteroom in the mornings and announced visitors to the general. This other man wore a tailcoat, was over forty, and had a preoccupied physiognomy, and was the special office attendant and announcer to his excellency, owing to which he was conscious of his worth.
"Wait in the reception room, and leave your bundle here," he said, sitting down unhurriedly and importantly in his armchair and glancing with stern astonishment at the prince, who had settled down right next to him in a chair, his bundle in his hands.
"If I may," said the prince, "I'd rather wait here with you. What am I going to do in there by myself?"
"You oughtn't to stay in the anteroom, being a visitor, that is to say, a guest. Do you wish to see the general in person?"
The lackey obviously could not reconcile himself to the thought of admitting such a visitor, and decided to ask again.
"Yes, I have business . . ." the prince began.
"I am not asking you precisely what business—my business is simply to announce you. And without the secretary, as I said, I am not going to announce you."
The man's suspiciousness seemed to be increasing more and more; the prince was too far from fitting into the category of everyday visitors, and though the general had rather often, if not
daily, at a certain hour, to receive sometimes even the most varied sorts of visitors, especially on business, still, in spite of habit and his rather broad instructions, the valet was in great doubt; the secretary's mediation was necessary for the announcement.
"But are you really . . . from abroad?" he finally asked somehow involuntarily—and became confused; perhaps he had wanted to ask: "But are you really Prince Myshkin?"
"Yes, I just got off the train. It seems to me you wanted to ask if I'm really Prince Myshkin, but did not ask out of politeness."
"Hm . . ." the astonished lackey grunted.
"I assure you, I am not lying to you, and you won't have to answer for me. And as for why I've come looking like this and with this bundle, there's nothing surprising about it: my present circumstances are not very pretty."
"Hm. That's not what I'm afraid of, you see. It's my duty to announce you, and the secretary will come out, unless you . . . But that's just it, that unless. You're not going to petition the general on account of your poverty, if I may be so bold?"
"Oh, no, you may be completely assured about that. I have other business."
"Forgive me, but I asked by the look of you. Wait for the secretary; the general is busy with the colonel right now, and afterwards comes the secretary . . . of the company."
"In that case, if I'll have a long wait, let me ask you: is there someplace where I can smoke here? I have a pipe and tobacco with me."
"Smo-o-oke?" The valet raised his eyes to him with scornful perplexity, as if still not believing his ears. "Smoke? No, you can't smoke here, and moreover you should be ashamed of having such thoughts. Hah . . . very odd, sir!"
"Oh, I wasn't asking about this room. I know. I'd have gone wherever you told me, because I've got the habit, and I haven't smoked for three hours now. However, as you please, and, you know, there's a saying: when in Rome . . ."
"Well, how am I going to announce the likes of you?" the valet muttered almost inadvertently. "First of all, you oughtn't to be here at all, but in the reception room, because you're in the line of a visitor, that is to say, a guest, and I'm answerable . . . What is it, do you plan on living with us or something?" he added, casting another sidelong glance at the prince's bundle, which obviously kept bothering him.
"No, I don't think so. Even if they invite me, I won't stay. I've come simply to get acquainted, that's all."
"How's that? To get acquainted?" the valet asked in surprise and with trebled suspiciousness. "How is it you said first that you were here on business?"