past forty; she was twenty-five.

Plutarch tells us that Fulvia, the wife of Antony, an earnest and
excellent woman, had tried to discipline him. The result was that,
instead of bringing him over to her way of thinking, she had separated
him from her.

Cleopatra ruled the man by entwining her spirit with his--mixing the
very fibers of their being--fastening her soul to his with hoops of
steel. She became a necessity to him--a part and parcel of the fabric of
his life. Together they attended to all the affairs of State. They were
one in all the games and sports. The exuberant animal spirits of Antony
occasionally found vent in roaming the streets of Alexandria at dead of
night, rushing into houses and pulling people out of bed, and then
absconding before they were well awake. In these nocturnal pranks,
Cleopatra often attended him, dressed like a boy. Once they both got
well pummeled, and deservedly, but they stood the drubbing rather than
reveal their identity.

The story of their fishing together, and Antony making all the catch has
been often told. He had a skilful diver go down every now and then and
place a fish on his hook. Finally, when he grew beautifully boastful, as
successful fishermen are apt to do, Cleopatra had her diver go down and
attach a large Newfoundland salt codfish to his hook, which when pulled
up before the company turned the laugh, and in the guise of jest taught
the man a useful lesson. Antony should have known better than to try to
deceive a woman like that--other men have tried it before and since.

But all this horseplay was not to the higher taste of Cleopatra--with
Caesar, she would never have done it.

It is the man who gives the key to conduct in marriage, not the woman;
the partnership is successful only as a woman conforms her life to his.
If she can joyfully mingle her life with his, destiny smiles in
benediction and they become necessary to each other. If she grudgingly
gives, conforming outwardly, with mental reservations, she droops, and
spirit flagellates the body until it sickens, dies. If she holds out
firmly upon principle, intent on preserving her individuality, the man,
if small, sickens and dies; if great he finds companionship elsewhere,
and leaves her to develop her individuality alone--which she never does.
One of three things happens to her: she dies, lapses into nullity, or
finds a mate whose nature is sufficiently like her own that they can
blend.

Cleopatra was