on which was reared a lighthouse four hundred feet in height and justly numbered among the seven wonders of the world.  Altogether, Alexandria was a city of wealth, of beauty, of stirring life, of excitement, and of pleasure.  Ferrero has aptly likened it to Paris—­not so much the Paris of to-day as the Paris of forty years ago, when the Second Empire flourished in all its splendor as the home of joy and strange delights.

Over the country of which Alexandria was the capital Cleopatra came to reign at seventeen.  Following the odd custom which the Greek dynasty of the Ptolemies had inherited from their Egyptian predecessors, she was betrothed to her own brother.  He, however, was a mere child of less than twelve, and was under the control of evil counselors, who, in his name, gained control of the capital and drove Cleopatra into exile.  Until then she had been a mere girl; but now the spirit of a woman who was wronged blazed up in her and called out all her latent powers.  Hastening to Syria, she gathered about herself an army and led it against her foes.

But meanwhile Julius Caesar, the greatest man of ancient times, had arrived at Alexandria backed by an army of his veterans.  Against him no resistance would avail.  Then came a brief moment during which the Egyptian king and the Egyptian queen each strove to win the favor of the Roman imperator.  The king and his advisers had many arts, and so had Cleopatra.  One thing, however, she possessed which struck the balance in her favor, and this was a woman’s fascination.

According to the story, Caesar was unwilling to receive her.  There came into his presence, as he sat in the palace, a group of slaves bearing a long roll of matting, bound carefully and seeming to contain some precious work of art.  The slaves made signs that they were bearing a gift to Caesar.  The master of Egypt bade them unwrap the gift that he might see it.  They did so, and out of the wrapping came Cleopatra—­a radiant vision, appealing, irresistible.  Next morning it became known everywhere that Cleopatra had remained in Caesar’s quarters through the night and that her enemies were now his enemies.  In desperation they rushed upon his legions, casting aside all pretense of amity.  There ensued a fierce contest, but the revolt was quenched in blood.

This was a crucial moment in Cleopatra’s life.  She had sacrificed all that a woman has to give; but she had not done so from any love of pleasure or from wantonness.  She was queen of Egypt, and she had redeemed her kingdom and kept it by her sacrifice.  One should not condemn her too severely.  In a sense, her act was one of heroism like that of Judith in the tent of Holofernes.  But beyond all question it changed her character.  It taught her the secret of her own great power.  Henceforth she was no longer a mere girl, nor a woman of the ordinary type.  Her contact with so great a mind as Caesar’s quickened her intellect.  Her knowledge that, by the charms of sense, she had mastered even him transformed her into a strange and wonderful creature.  She learned to study the weaknesses of men, to play on their emotions, to appeal to every subtle taste and fancy.  In her were blended mental power and that illusive, indefinable gift which is called charm.