In All Dignity

THE TALE OF GENJI, PART IV--BLUE TROUSERS--Lady Murasaki, translated by Arthur Waley--Houghton Mifflin ($3.50).

The Story. Through three volumes of well-bred indiscretions Prince Genji proved himself master of the delectable art of making love. In the fourth, with old age creeping on, he proves himself master of the art of being betrayed. Kashiwagi, Prince Genji's friend, cuckolds him with his girl-bride, Nyosan. In the fury of discovery Genji plans glorious revenge. But his usual dignity, mellowed by age, prevents him from hasty action, and allows of reconsideration. For it has occurred to him that in his youth he had seduced a concubine of the old Emperor, his own father, and though the old man must have known perfectly well what was going on, he had pretended not to see. Taking counsel from this time-honored precedent, Genji blandly ignored the conscience-smitten Kashiwagi, and soon actually pitied his terror-stricken young Nyosan.

He was more interested anyway in the heroine of his youth, his older wife, Murasaki* of the versatile wit and mature charm. "Coming from the presence of younger women, such as Nyosan, Genji always expected that Murasaki would appear to him inevitably (and he was willing to make allowance for it) a little bit jaded, a trifle seared and worn. . . . But as a matter of fact it was just these younger women who failed to provide any element of surprise, whereas Murasaki was continually astounding him . . . her clothes scented with the subtlest and most delicious perfumes. . . ."

When at last she died Genji mourned her with elaborate ceremonies (blue trousers were part of the mourning costume), and decided upon monastic retirement. If indeed he took pleasure some months later in the liveliness of one Chujo No Kimi's features, the red and yellow of her trousers, the sombre purple of her robe, it was but the lifetime habit of chivalry in the presence of beauty.

The Significance. With the appearance of each volume of The Tale of Genji critics burst into frenzies of enthusiastic comparison: "Fielding's Tom Jones with music by Debussy" . . . "as if Proust had rewritten The Arabian Nights" . . . "Don Quixote with a dash of Jane Austen" . . . fortunately the ancient Japanese document is no such mongrel monstrosity as all of this. But the reviewers' floundering tributes indicate something of its variegated appeal. In limpid prose The Tale combines curiously modern social satire with great charm of narrative. Translator Waley has done service to literature in salvaging to the Occident this masterpiece of the Orient written circa 1002 A. D.

The Author. A lady at the glittering Japanese court of the 11th Century, Murasaki Shikibu was a shrewd observer of life in the capital. Up to her time fiction had taken the form of short fairy tales and allegories; her 4,000-page novel was a distinct innovation, the first attempt at realism. Some say she was called Murasaki after the heroine of her famous tale; others (among them Amy Lowell) say that the Mikado whose favorite she was wrote her a poem: "When the purple grass (Murasaki) is in full color one can scarcely perceive the other plants in the field."

The Translator. The translator who can be accurate and yet idiomatic is both craftsman and artist. Such a one is Scott Moncrieff, translator of difficult Marcel Proust. And such a one is Arthur Waley, translator of exquisite Chinese poetry and of the monumental Japanese novel by Lady Murasaki. Translator Waley learned both Japanese and the still more difficult Chinese from native teachers in London. He has never been east of Suez, and yet he is a recognized authority on literature and art of the Far East. By profession Assistant in the Oriental Section of the British Museum Print Room, his favorite diversion is the poetry of Chinese Po Chui.

* Not the author.