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Updated: May 26, 2025
Rafael approached the brawlers, and by the dim lantern light recognized Cupido the barber a sarcastic fellow, with curly side-whiskers and an aquiline nose, who took great pleasure in poking fun at the barbarous, unshakable faith of the illiterate peasants. Brull knew the barber very well. The man was one of his childhood favorites.
His interest in a marriage connection with the Brull family counselled prudence. He, too, hoped that it would all blow over, prove to be the blind infatuation of a young man. Feeling himself a father, more or less, to the boy, he thought of giving Rafael just a bit of advice when he came upon him in the street one day. But he desisted after a word or two.
So Rafael, after having the purpose of this demonstration explained to him by the most ardent of the leaders, gave a magnificent gesture of consent: "Granted; have San Bernat brought out!" With a thunder of applause and vivas for young Brull, the black avalanche headed rumbling for the church.
We can rely on Brull." The Brull dynasty had been bossing the district for thirty years, with ever-increasing power. The founder of this sovereign house had been Rafael's grandfather, the shrewd don Jaime, who had established the family fortune by fifty years of slow exploitation of ignorance and poverty.
But she said such things in a very low voice and with a certain fear, for those days were bad ones for the House of Brull. Rafael remembered how gloomy his father had been about that time, hardly even leaving the patio. Had it not been for the respect his hairy claws and his frowning eye-brows inspired, the rabble would have eaten him alive.
He knew the bad state in which the great man had left his affairs upon his death; and more than once he had given money to doña Bernarda outright, proud that she should do him the honor of appealing to him in her straits. But in his eyes, the House of Brull, poor or rich, was always the House of Brull, the cradle of a dynasty whose authority no power could shake. He had money.
Rafael Brull finally realized that national opinion was present on the floor, among his fellow members, also, but like a mummy in a sarcophagus: bound hand and foot in rhetoric and conventional utterance, spiced, embalmed with proprieties that made any outburst of sincerity, any explosion of real feeling, evidence of "bad taste!" In reality everything was going well with the Ship of State.
Never did a Prince of Wales grow up amid the respect and the adulation heaped upon little Brull. At school, the children regarded him as a superior being who had condescended to come down among them for his education. You are destined to great things."
But his son, the boy on whom he had grounded his fondest hopes the redeemer destined to raise the House of Brull to its loftiest glory the future "personage" in Madrid, the fondled heir-apparent, who had found his pathway already cleared for him at birth was throwing all his father's labors through the window, the way you toss overboard something it has cost you nothing to earn!
All day long city councilors would go trotting back and forth from the City Hall to the Brull patio. The few enemies don Ramón had in the Council meddlers, doña Bernarda called them idiots who swallowed everything in print provided it were against the King and religion attacked the cacique persistently, censuring everything he did. Don Ramón's henchmen would tremble with impotent rage.
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