CHAPTER V MURASAKI

drew all sorts of pictures for her to put into her copy-book, showing them to her one by one as he did so. She thought them the loveliest set of pictures she had ever seen. Then he wrote part of the Musashi-no poem.⁷⁵ She was delighted by the way it was written in bold ink-strokes on a background stained with purple. In a smaller hand was the poem: ‘Though the parent-root⁷⁶ I cannot see, yet tenderly I love its off-shoot,⁷⁷—the dewy plant that grows upon Musashi Moor.’ ‘Come’ said Genji while she was admiring it, ‘you must write something too.’ ‘I cannot write properly yet’ she answered, looking up at him with a witchery so wholly unconscious that Genji laughed. ‘Even if you cannot write properly it will never do for us to let you off altogether. Let me give you a lesson.’ With many timid glances towards him she began to write. Even the childish manner in which she grasped the brush gave him a thrill of delight which he was at a loss to explain. ‘Oh, I have spoiled it’ she suddenly cried out and blushing hid from him what she had written. But he forced her to let him see it and found the poem: ‘I do not know what put Musashi into your head and am very puzzled. What plant is it that you say is a relative of mine?’ It was written in a large childish hand which was indeed very undeveloped, but was nevertheless full of promise. It showed a strong resemblance to the late nun’s writing. He felt certain that if she were given up-to-date copy-books she would soon write very nicely.