olor; every
sensation was instantly expressed by the vivacity of her eyes; her easy
motions displayed the graces of a small but elegant figure; and
either love or adulation might proclaim, that painting and poetry were
incapable of delineating the matchless excellence of her form. But
this form was degraded by the facility with which it was exposed to the
public eye, and prostituted to licentious desire. Her venal charms were
abandoned to a promiscuous crowd of citizens and strangers of every
rank, and of every profession: the fortunate lover who had been promised
a night of enjoyment, was often driven from her bed by a stronger or
more wealthy favorite; and when she passed through the streets, her
presence was avoided by all who wished to escape either the scandal or
the temptation. The satirical historian has not blushed to describe the
naked scenes which Theodora was not ashamed to exhibit in the theatre.
After exhausting the arts of sensual pleasure, she most ungratefully
murmured against the parsimony of Nature; but her murmurs, her
pleasures, and her arts, must be veiled in the obscurity of a learned
language. After reigning for some time, the delight and contempt of the
capital, she condescended to accompany Ecebolus, a native of Tyre, who
had obtained the government of the African Pentapolis. But this
union was frail and transient; Ecebolus soon rejected an expensive or
faithless concubine; she was reduced at Alexandria to extreme distress;
and in her laborious return to Constantinople, every city of the East
admired and enjoyed the fair Cyprian, whose merit appeared to justify
her descent from the peculiar island of Venus. The vague commerce of
Theodora, and the most detestable precautions, preserved her from the
danger which she feared; yet once, and once only, she became a mother.
The infant was saved and educated in Arabia, by his father, who imparted
to him on his death-bed, that he was the son of an empress. Filled with
ambitious hopes, the unsuspecting youth immediately hastened to the
palace of Constantinople, and was admitted to the presence of his
mother. As he was never more seen, even after the decease of Theodora,
she deserves the foul imputation of extinguishing with his life a secret
so offensive to her Imperial virtue.

In the most abject state of her fortune, and reputation, some vision,
either of sleep or of fancy, had whispered to Theodora the pleasing
assurance that she was destined to become