.
He took a wife: and in what manner she was born and bred, and, wedded to
this man, tore up the Roman Empire by the very roots, I shall now
relate.
Acacius was the keeper of wild beasts used in the amphitheater in
Constantinople; he belonged to the Green faction and was nicknamed the
Bearkeeper. This man, during the rule of Anastasius, fell sick and died,
leaving three daughters named Comito, Theodora and Anastasia: of whom
the eldest was not yet seven years old. His widow took a second husband,
who with her undertook to keep up Acacius's family and profession. But
Asterius, the dancing master of the Greens, on being bribed by another '
removed this office from them and assigned it to the man who gave him
the money. For the dancing masters had the power of distributing such
positions as they wished.
When this woman saw the populace assembled in the amphitheater, she
placed laurel wreaths on her daughters' heads and in their hands, and
sent them out to sit on the ground in the attitude of suppliants. The
Greens eyed this mute appeal with indifference; but the Blues were moved
to bestow on the children an equal office, since their own
animal-keeper had just died.
When these children reached the age of girlhood, their mother put them
on the local stage, for they were fair to look upon; she sent them
forth, however, not all at the same time, but as each one seemed to her
to have reached a suitable age. Comito, indeed, had already become one
of the leading hetaerae [high class prostitutes] of the day.
Theodora, the second sister, dressed in a little tunic with sleeves,
like a slave girl, waited on Comito and used to follow her about
carrying on her shoulders the bench on which her favored sister was wont
to sit at public gatherings. Now Theodora was still too young to know
the normal relation of man with maid, but consented to the unnatural
violence of villainous slaves who, following their masters to the
theater, employed their leisure in this infamous manner. And for some
time in a brothel she suffered such misuse.
But as soon as she arrived at the age of youth, and was now ready for
the world, her mother put her on the stage. Forthwith, she became a
courtesan, and such as the ancient Greeks used to call a common one, at
that: for she was not a flute or harp player, nor was she even trained
to dance, but only gave her youth to anyone she met, in utter
abandonment. Her general favors included, of course, the actors in the
theater; and in their productions she took part in the low comedy
scenes. For she was very funny and a good mimic, and immediately became
popular in this art. There was no shame in the girl, and no one ever saw
her dismayed: no role was too scandalous for her to, accept without a
blush.
She was the kind of comedienne who delights the audience by letting
herself be cuffed and slapped on the cheeks, and makes them guffaw by
raising her skirts to reveal to the spectators those feminine secrets
here and there which custom veils from the eyes of the opposite sex.
With pretended laziness she mocked her lovers, and coquettishly adopting
ever new ways of embracing, was able to keep in a constant turmoil the
hearts of the sophisticated. And she did not wait to be asked by anyone
she met, but on the contrary, with inviting jests and a comic flaunting
of her skirts herself tempted all men who passed by, especially those
who were adolescent.
On the field of pleasure she was never defeated. Often she would go
picnicking with ten young men or more, in the flower of their strength
and virility, and dallied with them all, the whole night through. When
they wearied of the sport, she would approach their servants, perhaps
thirty in number, and fight a duel with each of these; and even thus
found no allayment of her craving. Once, visiting the house of an
illustrious gentleman, they say she mounted the projecting corner of her
dining couch, pulled up the front of her dress, without a blush, and
thus carelessly showed her wantonness. And though she flung wide three
gates to the ambassadors of Cupid, she lamented that nature had not
similarly unlocked the straits of her bosom, that she might there have
contrived a further welcome to his emissaries.
Frequently, she conceived but as she employed every artifice
immediately, a miscarriage was straightway effected. Often, even in the
theater, in the sight of all the people, she removed her costume and
stood nude in their midst, except for a girdle about the groin: not that
she was abashed at revealing that, too, to the audience, but because
there was a law against appearing altogether naked on the stage, without
at least this much of a fig-leaf. Covered thus with a ribbon, she would
sink down to the stage floor and recline on her back. Slaves to whom
the duty was entrusted would then scatter grains of barley from above
into the calyx of this passion flower, whence geese, trained for the
purpose, would next pick the grains one by one with their bills and eat.
When she rose, it was not with a blush, but she seemed rather to glory
in the performance. For she was not only impudent herself, but
endeavored to make everybody else as audacious. Often when she was alone
with other actors she would undress in their midst and arch her back
provocatively, advertising like a peacock both to those who had
experience of her and to those who had not yet had that privilege her
trained suppleness.
So perverse was her wantonness that she should have hid not only the
customary part of her person, as other women do, but her face as well.
Thus those who were intimate with her were straightway recognized from
that very fact to be perverts, and any more respectable man who chanced
upon her in the Forum avoided her and withdrew in haste, lest the hem of
his mantle, touching such a creature, might be thought to share in her
pollution. For to those who saw her, especially at dawn, she was a bird
of ill omen. And toward her fellow actresses she was as savage as a
scorpion: for she was very malicious.
Later, she followed Hecebolus, a Tyrian who had been made governor of
Pentapolis, serving him in the basest of ways; but finally she quarreled
with him and was sent summarily away. Consequently, she found herself
destitute of the means of life, which she proceeded to earn by
prostitution, as she had done before this adventure. She came thus to
Alexandria, and then traversing all the East, worked her way to
Constantinople; in every city plying a trade (which it is safer, I
fancy, in the sight of God not to name too clearly) as if the Devil were
determined there be no land on earth that should not know the sins of
Theodora.
Thus was this woman born and bred, and her name was a byword beyond that of other common wenches on the tongues of all men.
But when she came back to Constantinople, Justinian fell violently in
love with her. At first he kept her only as a mistress, though he raised
her to patrician rank. Through him Theodora was able immediately to
acquire an unholy power and exceedingly great riches. she seemed to him
the sweetest thing in the world, and like all lovers, he desired to
please his charmer with every possible favor and requite her with all
his wealth. The extravagance added fuel to the flames of passion. With
her now to help spend his money he plundered the people more than ever,
not only in the capital, but throughout the Roman Empire. As both of
them had for a long time been of the Blue party, they gave this faction
almost complete control of the affairs of state. It was long afterward
that the worst of this evil was checked in the following manner.
Justinian had been ill for several days, and during this illness was in
such peril of his life that it was even said he had died; and the Blues,
who had been committing such crimes as I have mentioned, went so far as
to kill Hypatius, a gentleman of no mean importance, in broad daylight
in the Church of St. Sophia. The cry of horror at this crime came to the
Emperor's ears, and everyone about him seized the opportunity of
pointing out the enormity of what was going on in Justinian's absence
from public affairs; and they enumerated from the beginning how many
crimes had been committed. The Emperor then ordered the Prefect of the
city to punish these offenses. This man was one Theodotus, nicknamed the
Pumpkin. He made a thorough investigation and was able to apprehend
many of the guilty and sentence them to death, though many others were
not found out, and escaped. They were destined to perish later, together
with the Roman Empire.
Justinian, unexpectedly restored to health, straightway undertook to put
Theodotus to death as a poisoner and a magician. But since he had no
proof on which to condemn the man, he tortured friends of his until they
were compelled to say the words that would wrongfully ruin him. When
everyone else stood to one side and only in silence lamented the plot
against Theodotus, one man, Proclus the Quaestor, dared to say openly
that the man was innocent of the charge against him, and in no way
merited death. Thanks to him, Theodotus was permitted by the Emperor to
be exiled to Jerusalem. But learning there that men were being sent to
do away with him, he hid himself in the church for the rest of his life
until he died. And this was the fate of Theodotus.
But after this, the Blues became the most prudent of men. For they
ventured no longer to continue their offenses, even though they might
have transgressed more fearlessly than before. And the proof of this is,
that when a few of them later showed such courage, no punishment at all
befell them. For those who had the power to punish, always gave these
gangsters time to escape, tacitly encouraging the rest to trample upon
the laws.
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