Chapter 149
Once a man bought a black-a-moor and assumed that the color of the slave’s skin was due to the neglect of his former master. No sooner did he bring him home than he procured all kinds of scouring utensils, scrubbing brushes, soaps, and sandpaper and set to work with his servants to wash him white again. For hours they drenched and rubbed him, but it was in vain. His skin remained as black as ever, while the poor wretch almost died from the cold he caught from all their scrubbing and washing.
The nature’s ink is indelible; only the foolish try to change it with cosmetics.
