Read it through once

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 as were likely to run in the head of one to whom a sudden consolation had come. He took up the papers one by one, sometimes smiling, yet ashamed of himself for doing so. Then he wetted the pen and was just about to write a message of his own, when the Lady of Akashi suddenly appeared from a back room. Despite the splendours by which she was now surrounded she still maintained a certain deference of manner and anxiety to please which marked her as belonging to a different class. Yet there was something about the way her very dark hair stood out against the white of her dress, hanging rather flat against it, that strangely attracted him. It was New Year’s night. He could not very well absent himself from his own apartments, for there were visitors coming and Murasaki was expecting him....