Polished Wit--Men of Letter and Politics

IIf "Cleopatra's Private Diary" had preceded Erskine's "The Private Life of Helen of Troy" and his "Galahad" it might have at least merited such adjectives as original, novel, and daring. Inasmuch as Henry Thomas presents to a satiated public this typically twentieth century literary cocktail in the very center of the storm of applause still acclaiming the Erskine novels, he has committed nothing than une gaucherie. Before the reader has sipped at "Cleopatra's Diary" he has recalled the merits and defects of "Galahad" and adopted a standard of critical comparison which the latest exploit of ancient and medieval virtues and vices cannot begin to approach. For Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, sorceress of the Nile, is as distinctive because of her wickedness as Galahad is because of his virture. Erskine shoved Galahad from his pedestral and shook the temple of his shrine to its very foundation. Thomas knocked Cleopatra from an equal height and a sickening thud is the result. Erskine maintains the integrity and complexity of his character, and the reader is impressed even if he is disillusioned and mortified. Thomas makes the serpentine Cleopatra a naughty high school girl magnifying her most minute sins into heinous debauchery Anyone having entertained admiration for Shakespeare's Cleopatra whose person "beggar'd all description" will put aside "Cleopatra's Private Diary," the appetite cloyed, the effect being similar to that obtained by eating cheap chocolates.

Satire is the aim of the novel, but satire is never quite so sophisticated and lewd as the puerile effusions of the flapperish Cleopatra whose acquaintance we make in perusing the "Diary." She boldly describes her appearance in Rome as the public mistress of Caesar and forthwith begins to criticize Rome, Caesar, and every one else except Antony and a few other of the Roman jeunesse doree whose appetites for wine and illicit love are as strong as hers. Her philosophy is Hedonistic; she proclaims herself a sensualist and not satisfied with the fast pace of the Romans she attempts to outdistance them. It is very plain that the author has carefully studied all of the vices of ancient Rome and is attempting to shock the reader by revealing them through the veil of satire. Seldom does he impress, amuse, or delight, but he always succeeds in disgusting the reader. Cleopatra in the passionate embrace of Antony, Cleopatra in the passionate embrace of Antony, Cleopatra stroking the "smooth dark, velvety skin" of her black African eunuch, Cinnabar, with her bear foot. Cleopatra drinking herself under the table at a Roman revel repeatedly gives one the impression that it is not a queen of Egypt writing of her experiences in Rome, but a first person description of a scenario. There is an abundance of tinsel, clap-trap, and blowing of tin horns. Cleopatra becomes a burlesque queen without a vestige of her Nilotic lure and intellectuality.

In turn, Julius Caesar, Virgil, Antony, Cicero and Brutus become the subject of Cleopatra's unconventional commentaries and after each one has been sufficiently cheapened and demoralized beyond recognition the author turns to Roman stupidity, brutality and licentiousness which he riotously portrays without causing the reader to blnk an eyelash. His obstreperous satire becomes annoying when it is detected as so obviously blatant and artificial. It might be justifiable to sweep all of the heroism away from the character of Caesar, but there should be a motive for such an action. Satire without an objective is innate.

There is a depraved note throughout the volume. Cleopatra writes, "let not my enemies, therefore, condemn me too readily. Perhaps, they, too, if their sense of the futility of life were as keen as mine, would seek forgetfulness in a like orgy of pleasures. My conduct is nothing more than a gesture of angry defiance flung into the face of the gods. I can never forgive them for making me mortal while reserving immortality for themselves. If they can look down upon me and laugh at my helplessness, I will show them that I, too, can laugh at myself. For together with my mortality, they have also given me a sense of humor. Otherwise I should have gone mad." Having read this and similar passages, the reader also is pleased that he has a sense of humor, for many are the possibilities of his going mad while reading the volume.

Cleopatra discusses everything from Greek philosophy to Tennessee evolution, and always she manages to insinuate the worst. Only at intervals does she make some mater-of-fact statement which catches the reader's fancy and conveys more truth then all of her long dissertations. For example, she says: "At the slave bazaar I also purchased a negro porter and a Greek philosopher. I paid five thousand sesterces for both of them --a most exorbitant price."

Beyond its incongruity and spiciness, however. "Cleopatra's Private Diary" is totally lacking in either originality of sustaining vigor. It is truly une gaucherie.