she was flying from Rome as from a pernicious place, where children were begotten, and where she had nearly spoiled her beautiful figure, her celebrated perfections, lines of the body, curves of the back, delicious breasts, and Serpentine charms which placed her as much above the other women of Christendom as the Holy Father was above all other Christians.  But all her lovers knew that with the assistance of eleven doctors of Padua, seven master surgeons of Pavia, and five surgeons come from all parts, who assisted at her confinement, she was preserved from all injury.  Some go so far as to say that she gained therein superfineness and whiteness of skin.  A famous man, of the school of Salerno, wrote a book on the subject, to show the value of a confinement for the freshness, health, preservation, and beauty of women.  In this very learned book it was clearly proved to readers that that which was beautiful to see in Imperia, was that which it was permissible for lovers alone to behold; a rare case then, for she did not disarrange her attire for the petty German princes whom she called her margraves, burgraves, electors, and dukes, just as a captain ranks his soldiers.

Everyone knows that when she was eighteen years of age, the lovely Theodora, to atone for her mother’s gay life, wished to retire into the bosom of the Church.  With this idea she placed herself in the hands of a cardinal, in order that he might instruct her in the duties of the devout.  This wicked shepherd found the lamb so magnificently beautiful that he attempted to debauch her.  Theodora instantly stabbed herself with a stiletto, in order not to be contaminated by the evil-minded priest.  This adventure, which was consigned to the history of the period, made a great commotion in Rome, and was deplored by everyone, so much was the daughter of Imperia beloved.

Then this noble courtesan, much afflicted, returned to Rome, there to weep for her poor daughter.  She set out in the thirty-ninth year of her age, which was, according to some authors, the summer of her magnificent beauty, because then she had obtained the acme of perfection, like ripe fruit.  Sorrow made her haughty and hard with those who spoke to her of love, in order to dry her tears.  The pope himself visited her in her palace, and gave her certain words of admonition.  But she refused to be comforted, saying that she would henceforth devote herself to God, because she had never yet been satisfied by any man, although she had ardently desired it; and all of them, even a little priest, whom she had adored like a saint’s shrine, had deceived her.  God, she was sure, would not do so.