of her music-lessons…. You would find every one in that quarter most affable and forthcoming…. Do promise me to try!’ ‘If you wish it,’ was all she said; but in a voice which indicated that she really meant to obey.
It was already becoming dark when he arrived at the Lady of Akashi’s rooms. Through an open door a sudden puff of wind carried straight towards him from her daïs a blend of perfumes as exquisite as it was unfamiliar. But where was the Lady herself? For a while he scanned the room in vain. He noticed a writing-case, and near it a great litter of books and papers. On a long flat cushion bordered with Chinese brocade from Lo-yang lay a handsome zithern; while in a brazier which, even in the dim light, he could see to be an object of value and importance, there burned some of that incense which is known as ‘The Courtier’s Favourite.’ This was the scent which pervaded the whole room and, blending with a strong odour of musk, created the delicious perfume which Genji had noticed when he first turned into the corridor. Coming close enough to examine the papers which lay scattered about the daïs, he saw that though there were many experiments in different styles, some of them quite interesting, there were no efforts towards the more extravagant and pretentious forms of cursive. Her child’s letter of thanks for the toy bird and tree had already arrived, and it was evident that, in her delight, she had just been copying out a number of classic poems appropriate to such an occasion. But among these was written a poem of her own: ‘Oh joy untold! The nightingale that, lured by the spring flowers, to distant woods was gone, now to its valley nest again repairs.’ She had also copied out the old poems: ‘I waited for thy song’ and ‘Because my house is where the plum-tree blooms,’ and many other snatches and fragments such
