Chapter 1 — PART I

Chapter 1

Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one morning,
a train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the latter city at
full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with great
difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible to
distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the carriage windows.

Some of the passengers by this particular train were returning from abroad; but
the third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with insignificant
persons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at the different stations
nearer town. All of them seemed weary, and most of them had sleepy eyes and a
shivering expression, while their complexions generally appeared to have taken
on the colour of the fog outside.

When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages found
themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both were rather
poorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were evidently anxious to
start a conversation. If they had but known why, at this particular moment,
they were both remarkable persons, they would undoubtedly have wondered at the
strange chance which had set them down opposite to one another in a third-class
carriage of the Warsaw Railway Company.

One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with black
curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad and flat, and he
had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly compressed into an
impudent, ironical—it might almost be called a malicious—smile; but
his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned for a good deal of the
ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special feature of this physiognomy
was its death-like pallor, which gave to the whole man an indescribably
emaciated appearance in spite of his hard look, and at the same time a sort of
passionate and suffering expression which did not harmonize with his impudent,
sarcastic smile and keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur—or
rather astrachan—overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while his
neighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian November
night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a large cape to
it—the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter months in
Switzerland or North Italy—was by no means adapted to the long cold
journey through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg.

The wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, also of about twenty-six or
twenty-seven years of age, slightly above the middle height, very fair, with a
thin, pointed and very light coloured beard; his eyes were large and blue, and
had an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression which some people
affirm to be a peculiarity as well as evidence, of an epileptic subject. His
face was decidedly a pleasant one for all that; refined, but quite colourless,
except for the circumstance that at this moment it was blue with cold. He held
a bundle made up of an old faded silk handkerchief that apparently contained
all his travelling wardrobe, and wore thick shoes and gaiters, his whole
appearance being very un-Russian.

His black-haired neighbour inspected these peculiarities, having nothing better
to do, and at length remarked, with that rude enjoyment of the discomforts of
others which the common classes so often show:

“Cold?”

“Very,” said his neighbour, readily, “and this is a thaw,
too. Fancy if it had been a hard frost! I never thought it would be so cold in
the old country. I’ve grown quite out of the way of it.”

“What, been abroad, I suppose?”

“Yes, straight from Switzerland.”

“Wheugh! my goodness!” The black-haired young fellow whistled, and
then laughed.

The conversation proceeded. The readiness of the fair-haired young man in the
cloak to answer all his opposite neighbour’s questions was surprising. He
seemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence or inappropriateness in the
fact of such questions being put to him. Replying to them, he made known to the
inquirer that he certainly had been long absent from Russia, more than four
years; that he had been sent abroad for his health; that he had suffered from
some strange nervous malady—a kind of epilepsy, with convulsive spasms.
His interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and more than
ever, when to the question, “whether he had been cured?” the
patient replied:

“No, they did not cure me.”

“Hey! that’s it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we
believe in those fellows, here!” remarked the black-haired individual,
sarcastically.

“Gospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!” exclaimed another passenger, a
shabbily dressed man of about forty, who looked like a clerk, and possessed a
red nose and a very blotchy face. “Gospel truth! All they do is to get
hold of our good Russian money free, gratis, and for nothing.”

“Oh, but you’re quite wrong in my particular instance,” said
the Swiss patient, quietly. “Of course I can’t argue the matter,
because I know only my own case; but my doctor gave me money—and he had
very little—to pay my journey back, besides having kept me at his own
expense, while there, for nearly two years.”

“Why? Was there no one else to pay for you?” asked the black-haired
one.

“No—Mr. Pavlicheff, who had been supporting me there, died a couple
of years ago. I wrote to Mrs. General Epanchin at the time (she is a distant
relative of mine), but she did not answer my letter. And so eventually I came
back.”

“And where have you come to?”

“That is—where am I going to stay? I—I really don’t
quite know yet, I—”

Both the listeners laughed again.

“I suppose your whole set-up is in that bundle, then?” asked the
first.

“I bet anything it is!” exclaimed the red-nosed passenger, with
extreme satisfaction, “and that he has precious little in the luggage
van!—though of course poverty is no crime—we must remember
that!”

It appeared that it was indeed as they had surmised. The young fellow hastened
to admit the fact with wonderful readiness.

“Your bundle has some importance, however,” continued the clerk,
when they had laughed their fill (it was observable that the subject of their
mirth joined in the laughter when he saw them laughing); “for though I
dare say it is not stuffed full of friedrichs d’or and louis
d’or—judge from your costume and gaiters—still—if you
can add to your possessions such a valuable property as a relation like Mrs.
General Epanchin, then your bundle becomes a significant object at once. That
is, of course, if you really are a relative of Mrs. Epanchin’s, and have
not made a little error through—well, absence of mind, which is very
common to human beings; or, say—through a too luxuriant fancy?”

“Oh, you are right again,” said the fair-haired traveller,
“for I really am almost wrong when I say she and I are related.
She is hardly a relation at all; so little, in fact, that I was not in the
least surprised to have no answer to my letter. I expected as much.”

almost

“H’m! you spent your postage for nothing, then. H’m! you are
candid, however—and that is commendable. H’m! Mrs.
Epanchin—oh yes! a most eminent person. I know her. As for Mr.
Pavlicheff, who supported you in Switzerland, I know him too—at least, if
it was Nicolai Andreevitch of that name? A fine fellow he was—and had a
property of four thousand souls in his day.”

“Yes, Nicolai Andreevitch—that was his name,” and the young
fellow looked earnestly and with curiosity at the all-knowing gentleman with
the red nose.

This sort of character is met with pretty frequently in a certain class. They
are people who know everyone—that is, they know where a man is employed,
what his salary is, whom he knows, whom he married, what money his wife had,
who are his cousins, and second cousins, etc., etc. These men generally have
about a hundred pounds a year to live on, and they spend their whole time and
talents in the amassing of this style of knowledge, which they reduce—or
raise—to the standard of a science.

During the latter part of the conversation the black-haired young man had
become very impatient. He stared out of the window, and fidgeted, and evidently
longed for the end of the journey. He was very absent; he would appear to
listen—and heard nothing; and he would laugh of a sudden, evidently with
no idea of what he was laughing about.

“Excuse me,” said the red-nosed man to the young fellow with the
bundle, rather suddenly; “whom have I the honour to be talking to?”

“Prince Lef Nicolaievitch Muishkin,” replied the latter, with
perfect readiness.

“Prince Muishkin? Lef Nicolaievitch? H’m! I don’t know,
I’m sure! I may say I have never heard of such a person,” said the
clerk, thoughtfully. “At least, the name, I admit, is historical.
Karamsin must mention the family name, of course, in his history—but as
an individual—one never hears of any Prince Muishkin nowadays.”

“Of course not,” replied the prince; “there are none, except
myself. I believe I am the last and only one. As to my forefathers, they have
always been a poor lot; my own father was a sublieutenant in the army. I
don’t know how Mrs. Epanchin comes into the Muishkin family, but she is
descended from the Princess Muishkin, and she, too, is the last of her
line.”

“And did you learn science and all that, with your professor over
there?” asked the black-haired passenger.

“Oh yes—I did learn a little, but—”

“I’ve never learned anything whatever,” said the other.

“Oh, but I learned very little, you know!” added the prince, as
though excusing himself. “They could not teach me very much on account of
my illness.”

“Do you know the Rogojins?” asked his questioner, abruptly.

“No, I don’t—not at all! I hardly know anyone in Russia. Why,
is that your name?”

“Yes, I am Rogojin, Parfen Rogojin.”

“Parfen Rogojin? dear me—then don’t you belong to those very
Rogojins, perhaps—” began the clerk, with a very perceptible
increase of civility in his tone.

“Yes—those very ones,” interrupted Rogojin, impatiently, and
with scant courtesy. I may remark that he had not once taken any notice of the
blotchy-faced passenger, and had hitherto addressed all his remarks direct to
the prince.

“Dear me—is it possible?” observed the clerk, while his face
assumed an expression of great deference and servility—if not of absolute
alarm: “what, a son of that very Semen Rogojin—hereditary
honourable citizen—who died a month or so ago and left two million and a
half of roubles?”

“And how do you know that he left two million and a half of
roubles?” asked Rogojin, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as to
look at the other. “However, it’s true enough that my father died a
month ago, and that here am I returning from Pskoff, a month after, with hardly
a boot to my foot. They’ve treated me like a dog! I’ve been ill of
fever at Pskoff the whole time, and not a line, nor farthing of money, have I
received from my mother or my confounded brother!”

you

“And now you’ll have a million roubles, at least—goodness
gracious me!” exclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.

“Five weeks since, I was just like yourself,” continued Rogojin,
addressing the prince, “with nothing but a bundle and the clothes I wore.
I ran away from my father and came to Pskoff to my aunt’s house, where I
caved in at once with fever, and he went and died while I was away. All honour
to my respected father’s memory—but he uncommonly nearly killed me,
all the same. Give you my word, prince, if I hadn’t cut and run then,
when I did, he’d have murdered me like a dog.”

“I suppose you angered him somehow?” asked the prince, looking at
the millionaire with considerable curiosity. But though there may have been
something remarkable in the fact that this man was heir to millions of roubles
there was something about him which surprised and interested the prince more
than that. Rogojin, too, seemed to have taken up the conversation with unusual
alacrity it appeared that he was still in a considerable state of excitement,
if not absolutely feverish, and was in real need of someone to talk to for the
mere sake of talking, as safety-valve to his agitation.

As for his red-nosed neighbour, the latter—since the information as to
the identity of Rogojin—hung over him, seemed to be living on the honey
of his words and in the breath of his nostrils, catching at every syllable as
though it were a pearl of great price.

“Oh, yes; I angered him—I certainly did anger him,” replied
Rogojin. “But what puts me out so is my brother. Of course my mother
couldn’t do anything—she’s too old—and whatever brother
Senka says is law for her! But why couldn’t he let me know? He sent a
telegram, they say. What’s the good of a telegram? It frightened my aunt
so that she sent it back to the office unopened, and there it’s been ever
since! It’s only thanks to Konief that I heard at all; he wrote me all
about it. He says my brother cut off the gold tassels from my father’s
coffin, at night ‘because they’re worth a lot of money!’ says
he. Why, I can get him sent off to Siberia for that alone, if I like;
it’s sacrilege. Here, you—scarecrow!” he added, addressing
the clerk at his side, “is it sacrilege or not, by law?”

“Sacrilege, certainly—certainly sacrilege,” said the latter.

“And it’s Siberia for sacrilege, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly so; Siberia, of course!”

“They will think that I’m still ill,” continued Rogojin to
the prince, “but I sloped off quietly, seedy as I was, took the train and
came away. Aha, brother Senka, you’ll have to open your gates and let me
in, my boy! I know he told tales about me to my father—I know that well
enough but I certainly did rile my father about Nastasia Philipovna
that’s very sure, and that was my own doing.”

“Nastasia Philipovna?” said the clerk, as though trying to think
out something.

“Come, you know nothing about her,” said Rogojin,
impatiently.

her

“And supposing I do know something?” observed the other,
triumphantly.

“Bosh! there are plenty of Nastasia Philipovnas. And what an impertinent
beast you are!” he added angrily. “I thought some creature like you
would hang on to me as soon as I got hold of my money.”

“Oh, but I do know, as it happens,” said the clerk in an
aggravating manner. “Lebedeff knows all about her. You are pleased to
reproach me, your excellency, but what if I prove that I am right after all?
Nastasia Philipovna’s family name is Barashkoff—I know, you
see—and she is a very well known lady, indeed, and comes of a good
family, too. She is connected with one Totski, Afanasy Ivanovitch, a man of
considerable property, a director of companies, and so on, and a great friend
of General Epanchin, who is interested in the same matters as he is.”

“My eyes!” said Rogojin, really surprised at last. “The devil
take the fellow, how does he know that?”

“Why, he knows everything—Lebedeff knows everything! I was a month
or two with Lihachof after his father died, your excellency, and while he was
knocking about—he’s in the debtor’s prison now—I was
with him, and he couldn’t do a thing without Lebedeff; and I got to know
Nastasia Philipovna and several people at that time.”

“Nastasia Philipovna? Why, you don’t mean to say that she and
Lihachof—” cried Rogojin, turning quite pale.

“No, no, no, no, no! Nothing of the sort, I assure you!” said
Lebedeff, hastily. “Oh dear no, not for the world! Totski’s the
only man with any chance there. Oh, no! He takes her to his box at the opera at
the French theatre of an evening, and the officers and people all look at her
and say, ‘By Jove, there’s the famous Nastasia Philipovna!’
but no one ever gets any further than that, for there is nothing more to
say.”

“Yes, it’s quite true,” said Rogojin, frowning gloomily;
“so Zaleshoff told me. I was walking about the Nefsky one fine day,
prince, in my father’s old coat, when she suddenly came out of a shop and
stepped into her carriage. I swear I was all of a blaze at once. Then I met
Zaleshoff—looking like a hair-dresser’s assistant, got up as fine
as I don’t know who, while I looked like a tinker. ‘Don’t
flatter yourself, my boy,’ said he; ‘she’s not for such as
you; she’s a princess, she is, and her name is Nastasia Philipovna
Barashkoff, and she lives with Totski, who wishes to get rid of her because
he’s growing rather old—fifty-five or so—and wants to marry a
certain beauty, the loveliest woman in all Petersburg.’ And then he told
me that I could see Nastasia Philipovna at the opera-house that evening, if I
liked, and described which was her box. Well, I’d like to see my father
allowing any of us to go to the theatre; he’d sooner have killed us, any
day. However, I went for an hour or so and saw Nastasia Philipovna, and I never
slept a wink all night after. Next morning my father happened to give me two
government loan bonds to sell, worth nearly five thousand roubles each.
‘Sell them,’ said he, ‘and then take seven thousand five
hundred roubles to the office, give them to the cashier, and bring me back the
rest of the ten thousand, without looking in anywhere on the way; look sharp, I
shall be waiting for you.’ Well, I sold the bonds, but I didn’t
take the seven thousand roubles to the office; I went straight to the English
shop and chose a pair of earrings, with a diamond the size of a nut in each.
They cost four hundred roubles more than I had, so I gave my name, and they
trusted me. With the earrings I went at once to Zaleshoff’s. ‘Come
on!’ I said, ‘come on to Nastasia Philipovna’s,’ and
off we went without more ado. I tell you I hadn’t a notion of what was
about me or before me or below my feet all the way; I saw nothing whatever. We
went straight into her drawing-room, and then she came out to us.

“I didn’t say right out who I was, but Zaleshoff said: ‘From
Parfen Rogojin, in memory of his first meeting with you yesterday; be so kind
as to accept these!’

“She opened the parcel, looked at the earrings, and laughed.

“‘Thank your friend Mr. Rogojin for his kind attention,’ says
she, and bowed and went off. Why didn’t I die there on the spot? The
worst of it all was, though, that the beast Zaleshoff got all the credit of it!
I was short and abominably dressed, and stood and stared in her face and never
said a word, because I was shy, like an ass! And there was he all in the
fashion, pomaded and dressed out, with a smart tie on, bowing and scraping; and
I bet anything she took him for me all the while!

“‘Look here now,’ I said, when we came out, ‘none of
your interference here after this—do you understand?’ He laughed:
‘And how are you going to settle up with your father?’ says he. I
thought I might as well jump into the Neva at once without going home first;
but it struck me that I wouldn’t, after all, and I went home feeling like
one of the damned.”

“My goodness!” shivered the clerk. “And his father,” he
added, for the prince’s instruction, “and his father would have
given a man a ticket to the other world for ten roubles any day—not to
speak of ten thousand!”

The prince observed Rogojin with great curiosity; he seemed paler than ever at
this moment.

“What do you know about it?” cried the latter. “Well, my
father learned the whole story at once, and Zaleshoff blabbed it all over the
town besides. So he took me upstairs and locked me up, and swore at me for an
hour. ‘This is only a foretaste,’ says he; ‘wait a bit till
night comes, and I’ll come back and talk to you again.’

“Well, what do you think? The old fellow went straight off to Nastasia
Philipovna, touched the floor with his forehead, and began blubbering and
beseeching her on his knees to give him back the diamonds. So after awhile she
brought the box and flew out at him. ‘There,’ she says, ‘take
your earrings, you wretched old miser; although they are ten times dearer than
their value to me now that I know what it must have cost Parfen to get them!
Give Parfen my compliments,’ she says, ‘and thank him very
much!’ Well, I meanwhile had borrowed twenty-five roubles from a friend,
and off I went to Pskoff to my aunt’s. The old woman there lectured me so
that I left the house and went on a drinking tour round the public-houses of
the place. I was in a high fever when I got to Pskoff, and by nightfall I was
lying delirious in the streets somewhere or other!”

“Oho! we’ll make Nastasia Philipovna sing another song now!”
giggled Lebedeff, rubbing his hands with glee. “Hey, my boy, we’ll
get her some proper earrings now! We’ll get her such earrings
that—”

“Look here,” cried Rogojin, seizing him fiercely by the arm,
“look here, if you so much as name Nastasia Philipovna again, I’ll
tan your hide as sure as you sit there!”

“Aha! do—by all means! if you tan my hide you won’t turn me
away from your society. You’ll bind me to you, with your lash, for ever.
Ha, ha! here we are at the station, though.”

Sure enough, the train was just steaming in as he spoke.

Though Rogojin had declared that he left Pskoff secretly, a large collection of
friends had assembled to greet him, and did so with profuse waving of hats and
shouting.

“Why, there’s Zaleshoff here, too!” he muttered, gazing at
the scene with a sort of triumphant but unpleasant smile. Then he suddenly
turned to the prince: “Prince, I don’t know why I have taken a
fancy to you; perhaps because I met you just when I did. But no, it can’t
be that, for I met this fellow” (nodding at Lebedeff) “too, and I
have not taken a fancy to him by any means. Come to see me, prince; we’ll
take off those gaiters of yours and dress you up in a smart fur coat, the best
we can buy. You shall have a dress coat, best quality, white waistcoat,
anything you like, and your pocket shall be full of money. Come, and you shall
go with me to Nastasia Philipovna’s. Now then will you come or no?”

“Accept, accept, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch” said Lebedef solemnly;
“don’t let it slip! Accept, quick!”

Prince Muishkin rose and stretched out his hand courteously, while he replied
with some cordiality:

“I will come with the greatest pleasure, and thank you very much for
taking a fancy to me. I dare say I may even come today if I have time, for I
tell you frankly that I like you very much too. I liked you especially when you
told us about the diamond earrings; but I liked you before that as well, though
you have such a dark-clouded sort of face. Thanks very much for the offer of
clothes and a fur coat; I certainly shall require both clothes and coat very
soon. As for money, I have hardly a copeck about me at this moment.”

“You shall have lots of money; by the evening I shall have plenty; so
come along!”

“That’s true enough, he’ll have lots before evening!”
put in Lebedeff.

“But, look here, are you a great hand with the ladies? Let’s know
that first?” asked Rogojin.

“Oh no, oh no!” said the prince; “I couldn’t, you
know—my illness—I hardly ever saw a soul.”

“H’m! well—here, you fellow—you can come along with me
now if you like!” cried Rogojin to Lebedeff, and so they all left the
carriage.

Lebedeff had his desire. He went off with the noisy group of Rogojin’s
friends towards the Voznesensky, while the prince’s route lay towards the
Litaynaya. It was damp and wet. The prince asked his way of passers-by, and
finding that he was a couple of miles or so from his destination, he determined
to take a droshky.

General Epanchin lived in his own house near the Litaynaya. Besides this large
residence—five-sixths of which was let in flats and lodgings—the
general was owner of another enormous house in the Sadovaya bringing in even
more rent than the first. Besides these houses he had a delightful little
estate just out of town, and some sort of factory in another part of the city.
General Epanchin, as everyone knew, had a good deal to do with certain
government monopolies; he was also a voice, and an important one, in many rich
public companies of various descriptions; in fact, he enjoyed the reputation of
being a well-to-do man of busy habits, many ties, and affluent means. He had
made himself indispensable in several quarters, amongst others in his
department of the government; and yet it was a known fact that Fedor Ivanovitch
Epanchin was a man of no education whatever, and had absolutely risen from the
ranks.

This last fact could, of course, reflect nothing but credit upon the general;
and yet, though unquestionably a sagacious man, he had his own little
weaknesses—very excusable ones,—one of which was a dislike to any
allusion to the above circumstance. He was undoubtedly clever. For instance, he
made a point of never asserting himself when he would gain more by keeping in
the background; and in consequence many exalted personages valued him
principally for his humility and simplicity, and because “he knew his
place.” And yet if these good people could only have had a peep into the
mind of this excellent fellow who “knew his place” so well! The
fact is that, in spite of his knowledge of the world and his really remarkable
abilities, he always liked to appear to be carrying out other people’s
ideas rather than his own. And also, his luck seldom failed him, even at cards,
for which he had a passion that he did not attempt to conceal. He played for
high stakes, and moved, altogether, in very varied society.

As to age, General Epanchin was in the very prime of life; that is, about
fifty-five years of age,—the flowering time of existence, when real
enjoyment of life begins. His healthy appearance, good colour, sound, though
discoloured teeth, sturdy figure, preoccupied air during business hours, and
jolly good humour during his game at cards in the evening, all bore witness to
his success in life, and combined to make existence a bed of roses to his
excellency. The general was lord of a flourishing family, consisting of his
wife and three grown-up daughters. He had married young, while still a
lieutenant, his wife being a girl of about his own age, who possessed neither
beauty nor education, and who brought him no more than fifty souls of landed
property, which little estate served, however, as a nest-egg for far more
important accumulations. The general never regretted his early marriage, or
regarded it as a foolish youthful escapade; and he so respected and feared his
wife that he was very near loving her. Mrs. Epanchin came of the princely stock
of Muishkin, which if not a brilliant, was, at all events, a decidedly ancient
family; and she was extremely proud of her descent.

With a few exceptions, the worthy couple had lived through their long union
very happily. While still young the wife had been able to make important
friends among the aristocracy, partly by virtue of her family descent, and
partly by her own exertions; while, in after life, thanks to their wealth and
to the position of her husband in the service, she took her place among the
higher circles as by right.

During these last few years all three of the general’s
daughters—Alexandra, Adelaida, and Aglaya—had grown up and matured.
Of course they were only Epanchins, but their mother’s family was noble;
they might expect considerable fortunes; their father had hopes of attaining to
very high rank indeed in his country’s service—all of which was
satisfactory. All three of the girls were decidedly pretty, even the eldest,
Alexandra, who was just twenty-five years old. The middle daughter was now
twenty-three, while the youngest, Aglaya, was twenty. This youngest girl was
absolutely a beauty, and had begun of late to attract considerable attention in
society. But this was not all, for every one of the three was clever, well
educated, and accomplished.

It was a matter of general knowledge that the three girls were very fond of one
another, and supported each other in every way; it was even said that the two
elder ones had made certain sacrifices for the sake of the idol of the
household, Aglaya. In society they not only disliked asserting themselves, but
were actually retiring. Certainly no one could blame them for being too
arrogant or haughty, and yet everybody was well aware that they were proud and
quite understood their own value. The eldest was musical, while the second was
a clever artist, which fact she had concealed until lately. In a word, the
world spoke well of the girls; but they were not without their enemies, and
occasionally people talked with horror of the number of books they had read.

They were in no hurry to marry. They liked good society, but were not too keen
about it. All this was the more remarkable, because everyone was well aware of
the hopes and aims of their parents.

It was about eleven o’clock in the forenoon when the prince rang the bell
at General Epanchin’s door. The general lived on the first floor or flat
of the house, as modest a lodging as his position permitted. A liveried servant
opened the door, and the prince was obliged to enter into long explanations
with this gentleman, who, from the first glance, looked at him and his bundle
with grave suspicion. At last, however, on the repeated positive assurance that
he really was Prince Muishkin, and must absolutely see the general on business,
the bewildered domestic showed him into a little ante-chamber leading to a
waiting-room that adjoined the general’s study, there handing him over to
another servant, whose duty it was to be in this ante-chamber all the morning,
and announce visitors to the general. This second individual wore a dress coat,
and was some forty years of age; he was the general’s special study
servant, and well aware of his own importance.

“Wait in the next room, please; and leave your bundle here,” said
the door-keeper, as he sat down comfortably in his own easy-chair in the
ante-chamber. He looked at the prince in severe surprise as the latter settled
himself in another chair alongside, with his bundle on his knees.

“If you don’t mind, I would rather sit here with you,” said
the prince; “I should prefer it to sitting in there.”

“Oh, but you can’t stay here. You are a visitor—a guest, so
to speak. Is it the general himself you wish to see?”

The man evidently could not take in the idea of such a shabby-looking visitor,
and had decided to ask once more.

“Yes—I have business—” began the prince.

“I do not ask you what your business may be, all I have to do is to
announce you; and unless the secretary comes in here I cannot do that.”

The man’s suspicions seemed to increase more and more. The prince was too
unlike the usual run of daily visitors; and although the general certainly did
receive, on business, all sorts and conditions of men, yet in spite of this
fact the servant felt great doubts on the subject of this particular visitor.
The presence of the secretary as an intermediary was, he judged, essential in
this case.

“Surely you—are from abroad?” he inquired at last, in a
confused sort of way. He had begun his sentence intending to say, “Surely
you are not Prince Muishkin, are you?”

“Yes, straight from the train! Did not you intend to say, ‘Surely
you are not Prince Muishkin?’ just now, but refrained out of
politeness?”

“H’m!” grunted the astonished servant.

“I assure you I am not deceiving you; you shall not have to answer for
me. As to my being dressed like this, and carrying a bundle, there’s
nothing surprising in that—the fact is, my circumstances are not
particularly rosy at this moment.”

“H’m!—no, I’m not afraid of that, you see; I have to
announce you, that’s all. The secretary will be out directly—that
is, unless you—yes, that’s the rub—unless you—come, you
must allow me to ask you—you’ve not come to beg, have you?”

“Oh dear no, you can be perfectly easy on that score. I have quite
another matter on hand.”

“You must excuse my asking, you know. Your appearance led me to
think—but just wait for the secretary; the general is busy now, but the
secretary is sure to come out.”

“Oh—well, look here, if I have some time to wait, would you mind
telling me, is there any place about where I could have a smoke? I have my pipe
and tobacco with me.”

“Smoke?” said the man, in shocked but disdainful surprise,
blinking his eyes at the prince as though he could not believe his senses.
“No, sir, you cannot smoke here, and I wonder you are not ashamed of the
very suggestion. Ha, ha! a cool idea that, I declare!”

Smoke?

“Oh, I didn’t mean in this room! I know I can’t smoke here,
of course. I’d adjourn to some other room, wherever you like to show me
to. You see, I’m used to smoking a good deal, and now I haven’t had
a puff for three hours; however, just as you like.”

“Now how on earth am I to announce a man like that?” muttered the
servant. “In the first place, you’ve no right in here at all; you
ought to be in the waiting-room, because you’re a sort of visitor—a
guest, in fact—and I shall catch it for this. Look here, do you intend to
take up you abode with us?” he added, glancing once more at the
prince’s bundle, which evidently gave him no peace.

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I should stay even if
they were to invite me. I’ve simply come to make their acquaintance, and
nothing more.”

“Make their acquaintance?” asked the man, in amazement, and with
redoubled suspicion. “Then why did you say you had business with the
general?”

“Oh well, very little business. There is one little matter—some
advice I am going to ask him for; but my principal object is simply to
introduce myself, because I am Prince Muishkin, and Madame Epanchin is the last
of her branch of the house, and besides herself and me there are no other
Muishkins left.”