Storia do Mogor 265.20.2

265.20.2

At that time there was in the city of Goa an old friend of mine, a French merchant, named Clodio Menolhao. He had a dispute with a shoemaker, a native of the country, over the price of a pair of shoes. The shoemaker was called a shameless cheat, but said nothing at the time, and went away. Clodio had spoken thus without imagining what would happen to him. Two days had passed when, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, the merchant shut up business and went off to get his breakfast. Passing down a narrow street, all of a sudden he beheld the shoemaker holding a small pot in his hand, with him one of his comrades holding a loaded blunderbuss. The shoemaker inquired whether he preferred a shot from the blunderbuss or a potful of excrement. Clodio found himself in a scrape, and thought it best, since he did not want to lose his life, to respond most humbly that he liked better to get a potful of filth than a shot from the blunderbuss. Abusing him right and left, the shoemaker threw the contents of the pot over him, and he, hastening his steps so as not to be seen, came into my house smelling most vilely, and in a great rage told me the story. I consoled him by saying that it was better to wash a live body than a dead one.