The Brothers Karamazov
Meanwhile Ivan and Grigory had raised the old man
and seated him in an arm-chair. His face was covered with
blood, but he was conscious and listened greedily to Dmi-
tri’s cries. He was still fancying that Grushenka really was
somewhere in the house. Dmitri looked at him with hatred
as he went out.
‘I don’t repent shedding your blood!’ he cried. ‘Beware,
old man, beware of your dream, for I have my dream, too. I
curse you, and disown you altogether.’
He ran out of the room.
‘She’s here. She must be here. Smerdyakov! Smerdyakov!’
the old man wheezed, scarcely audibly, beckoning to him
with his finger.
‘No, she’s not here, you old lunatic!’ Ivan shouted at him
angrily. ‘Here, he’s fainting? Water! A towel! Make haste,
Smerdyakov!’
Smerdyakov ran for water. At last they got the old man
undressed, and put him to bed. They wrapped a wet tow-
el round his head. Exhausted by the brandy, by his violent
emotion, and the blows he had received, he shut his eyes
and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Ivan
and Alyosha went back to the drawing-room. Smerdyakov
removed the fragments of the broken vase, while Grigory
stood by the table looking gloomily at the floor.
‘Shouldn’t you put a wet bandage on your head and go
to bed, too?’ Alyosha said to him. ‘We’ll look after him. My
brother gave you a terrible blow — on the head.’
‘He’s insulted me!’ Grigory articulated gloomily and dis-
tinctly.