Brief update: Over the last few months, several readers approached me who were informed by others about my revised 3-volume set Swordsmiths of Japan (see here) but couldn’t find it on Amazon. Well, the set is not available there because Lulu does not offer a distribution of this kind of format and layout (i.e. hardcover and 8.25″ x 10.75″)  on Amazon. Only smaller hardcovers make it over there. Of course I was referring to Lulu where the set is perfectly find and orderable but then I was told “Amazon or it did not happen” ;) So I add a poll to this post to see if there are more who want a somewhat cheaper paperback version to be orderable from Amazon. Depending on the feedback, I will provide a new, additional edition or not. Thanks for your time!

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Yes, fall is already fully underway and before some of you experience the first hints of winter, I want to introduce a kozuka that I found quite wonderful a while ago and that I came across (in a book of course) the other day when looking for something different. It was rainy that day but temperatures and humidity were and are still quite high here in coastal North Carolina (see spooky accompanying pics), at least compared to the fall I was used to in Austria, and this, whilst in an autumnal mood anyway, inspired me to write a little bit around this kozuka. First of all, it is a work of the great master Gotô Ichijô (後藤一乗, 1791-1876) and is signed “Gotô Hokkyô Ichijô + kaô” (後藤法橋一乗). It is of shibuichi and not only the motif but also the color scheme is as much fall as it gets. The ground plate shows three maple leaves which are inlaid in suaka and gold hira-zôgan with the gourd carved out in takabori and decorated with gold and silver iroe. Please note that also the butt of the kozuka was accentuated with gold. The arrangement is excellent as just two maple leaves, which, being placed under the gourd, occupy felt the entire lower area of the kozuka, suggesting so a rural, forrest scene where the entire ground is covered with maple leaves. And the one atop, noticeably apart from the base, seems as if it is just falling down from a tree. But as the motif and color scheme of this kozuka works pretty much by itself as a “seasonal trigger object” for fall, there is more to it as the motif is actually also an allusion to a certain subject. When you have maple leaves combined with a gourd, you are certainly hinted at the Legend of Momiji (Momoji Densetsu, 紅葉伝説) which was later worked by Kanze Nobumitsu (観世信光, 1450-1516) into a Nô play with the title Momijigari (紅葉狩) (later it was also converted into a Kabuki play of the same name).

Picture 1: kozuka by Gotô Ichijô

First about the legend. It tells of a couple from Aizu that remains childless for so long and that is finally desperate enough to pray to Tenma (天魔), a quite evil demon. As we know, praying to such a powerful evil force that might be comparable to “our” Satan in this context of old legends, is never a good thing but first everything looks fine as the couple is blessed in the seventh year of Jôhei (承平, 937) with a beautiful daughter which they name Kureha (呉葉). Growing up, Kureha turns out to be not only beautiful but also highly intelligent and capable of witchcraft. When she was against her will promised to the son of a local wealthy farmer, she created a doppelganger of herself who married the boy. But after leaving happily for some time, the false Kureha suddenly vanished into thin air and so also the real Kureha and her parents decided to leave and ended up in Kyôto where he changed her name to Momiji (紅葉). Smart as she was, she quickly absorbed aristocratic culture and eventually ended up becoming Minamoto no Tsunemoto’s (源経基, ?-961) concubine. She got pregnant, much to the dislike of Tsunemoto’s main wife who also got ill at the same time. So a high priest from Mt. Hiei ws consulted who told them that the illness goes back to a curse of Momiji and so Tsunemoto banished here to remote Togakushi (戸隠) in Shinano province. In fall of Tenryaku ten (天暦, 956) however, Momiji ended up in the village of Kinasa (鬼無里), back then named Minase (水無瀬), where she gave birth to a son. She took one of his father’s characters and named him Tsunewakamaru (経若丸). Momiji was held in high esteem by the local community as she not only brought them near the culture of Kyôto but also cured their illnesses, taught their boys reading and writing and arithmetic, and their daughters sewing. However, trying to copy everyday Kyôto life in rural Shinano province – the townsmen even made a small imperial palace-style mansion for her – made her miss the capital even more and so she eventually snapped. With Mt. Togakushi as a base, Momiji started to gather a band of robbers around her which raided neighboring villages every night, stealing money for her plan to return to Kyôto. Things were pretty bad and the story of the “Demoness of Togakushi” eventually reached the capital from where Emperor Reizei (冷泉天皇, 950-1011) sent Taira no Koremochi (平維茂) to deal with this problem. But as Momiji was capable of witchcraft, Koremochi couldn’t defeat here so he visited the Kitamuki-Kannon (北向観音) temple in nearby Bessho-Onsen (別所温泉) and prayed to Kannon. Well, Kannon heard his prayers and gave Koremochi via an appearing old priest a, quote, gôma no tsurugi (降魔の剣), a “Concquering the Devil Sword.” (Incidentally, in some versions of this legend this sword is the famous Kogarasu-maru.) With this sword, Koremochi was able to kill her and lo and behold, it was in fall, fall of the second year of Anna (安和, 969). This was also the reason why the local community renamed their village from Minase to Kinasa which means literally “no devil village.”

Picture 2: Taira no Koremochi defeating Momiji.

So far the legend, of which of course several different versions are going round, introducing slightly different locations and protagonists, for example that it was not Taira no Koremochi who killed the demoness but Minamoto no Mitsunaka (源満仲, 912-997), using his sword Onikiri (鬼切). Now Kanze Nobumitsu worked this legend into a Nô play, and his adaption is very exciting as it kind of starts quite innocently and reveals more and more what this is all about as the play goes on. Nobumitsu namely begins the drama with a noble woman and her retinues who went into the mountains to enjoy the maple leaves, a tradition that was and is also referred to as momojigari (lit. “maple leaves hunting,” or rather “going to view autumn foliage”). Then by chance, Taira no Koremochi, who is deer hunting with his men, comes across the women. First he tries to not get involved too much but they convince him to join their momijigari picnic in the course of which Koremochi gets drunk (thus the gourd on the kozuka) and falls asleep. Then comes the interlude that explains for the first time what this is all about. Whilst Koremochi sleeps and dreams, the deity Takeuchi (武内) appears (in Koremochi’s dream) and reveals – whilst rushing to the mountain, Mt. Togakushi – that the hero was not just for deer hunt in the area but was actually sent there by the Emperor to subjugate a local demoness, the noble woman. Takeuchi also says that the Great Bodhisattva Hachiman gave him the sacred order to help Koremochi, i.e. Nobumitsu deviates from the legend and replaces the Goddess of Mercy with the God of War, and just before Koremochi wakes up, Takeuchi places the divine sword he had been given by Hachiman for Koremochi in front of the latter. Of course Koremochi grasps the sword and eventually kills the demoness after a fierce eight.

But let me also introduce another, indirectly related kozuka in this context. It is a work by the late Edo-period Mito kinkô artist Uchikoshi Hirotoshi (打越弘寿). It depicts on the front three men sitting under a tree, having fun, and heating up sake by burning maple leaves they have picked up. And on the back side, a Chinese poem is engraved which goes:

林間煖酒焼紅葉 
石上題詩拂緑苔

Línjian nûanjîu shao-hóngxíe 
Shí-shàng tí shi fú lùtái.

In the forrest, warming sake by burning maples leaves; 
Sweeping green moss from the stone to sit and compose poems.

Picture 3: kozuka signed cursive script “Ichijôsai Hirotoshi + kaô” (一乗斎弘寿)

The poem is by the Chinese poent and Tang Dynasty government official Bái Lètian (白楽天, Jap. Haku Rakuten, 772-846) who, as governor of three provinces, often made poems about his career, and as he was exiled and pardoned, many of them are very sentimental, an approach that of course perfectly matched the mood of aristocratic Kyôto at the time his poems made it over to Japan in the Heian period. And I said “indirectly related” because in one scene of Kanze Nobumitsu’s play Momijigari, when the two groups were enjoying the sake, the noble woman makes a reference to this very poem of Bái Lètian. And staying with sentimentality for a little, maples leaves and the custom of momijigari has this peculiar sentiment that goes along with so many traditional Japanese things that deeply root in Heian culture. The viewing of the very beautiful but quickly falling cherry blossoms in spring reminds one of the ephemeral nature of life for example, and by viewing gorgeous red maples leaves, one is at the same time made aware of the fact that with this coloring of the foliage, the time of abundance is definitely over and winter and all its hardships are approaching. It is this cruel certainty of facing the definite and irrevocable end of something that determines the peculiar feeling, not just that seasons are about to pass. In other words, there is absolutely no whatsoever hope that cherries might blossom for some more months or that summer comes back after leaves had turned that red…

So again, we have here a beautiful sword fitting that perfectly works just by itself as nice fall motif but if you dig deeper into the subject and get more and more versed in Japanese culture, so many things pop up when viewing a kozuka like this, e.g. old legends, Nô adaptions of these old legends, artistocratic Heian culture sentiments, allusions, references, hidden meanings, symbolisms, and so on and so forth. As mentioned in several of my older, related posts, it is highly recommended not to stop at just saying: “Well, this is a nice fall-themed kozuka.”

A little over two years ago I wrote this article about Mondo no Shô Masakiyo (主水正正清) and Ippei Yasuyo (一平安代), their role in the famous sword forging contest held by the eighth Tokugawa-shôgun Yoshimune (徳川吉宗, 1684-1751), and the uniqueness of their honorary titles and added a little later a follow-up article on one of the other winners of this contest, Nobukuni Shigekane (信国重包). In the latter article, I was already talking about the support Shigekane received by orders from high-ranking persons but this time I want to examine this “support program” in view of Masakiyo and Yasuyo. Stumbling block was that I actually came across the relative unknown terms by which these “support blades” are referred to as, namely either as kinmei-uchi (鈞命打・欽命打) or as taimei-uchi (台命打). Both kinmei and taimei mean “order from the emperor, the Imperial family, from an aristocrat, or from the shôgun,” and uchi being in this case the prefix for “sword” or “make.” As seen in the follow-up article on Shigekane, the blade introduced there is signed with the supplement taimei, i.e. it was directly ordered by the shôgun, by Yoshimune to be precise.

Let me begin with Masakiyo. The blade shown in picture 1 has a nagasa of 76.6 cm, a sori of 1.2 cm, and is signed “[aoi-mon] Mondo no Shô Fujiwara Masahiro” (主水正藤原正清) and “Haruka ni kinmei o hôjite Sasshu ni oite kore o tsukuru, Kyôhô kinoe tatsudoshi” (遥奉鈞命扵薩刕作之・享保甲辰年, “made in the year of the dragon of the Kyôhô era [1724] on orders of the shôgun in distant Sastuma province”). Remember, the contest has taken place three years earlier in 1721. The extant original sayagaki tells us that the blade had been polished and presented to the shôgun on the third day of the tenth month of that year. It remained in Tokugawa possession until WWII. Please note that this katana is signed tachi-mei, that means the smith switched out of respect for the high-ranking customer to the ura side of the tang. That means, the name of the swordsmith should not come first but be found on the back side of a blade’s tang. Well, this was no strict rule but nevertheless a common practice throughout all times. So these blades must not be classified as tachi even if they are signed in tachi-mei and also the NBTHK clearly states “katana” on all papers concerning these kinmei-uchi. Also the wakizashi of Shigekane introduced in my above mentioned article is signed tachi-mei. However, there are also post-contest blades with aoi-mon extant which are signed in katana-mei and I thus think for the time being that only those made for the highest-ranking customers, i.e. the “true” kinmei-uchi or taimei-uchi, were signed tachi-mei.

Picture 1: kinmei-uchi by Masakiyo

So following these observations, i.e. katana being signed in tachi-mei and bearing an aoi crest (what identifies them as post-contest works), it is safe to assume that also the blade shown in picture 2 is a kinmei-uchi. This one has a nagasa of 77.1 cm, a deep sori of 3.2 cm, and is signed “[aoi-mon] Miyahar Mondo no Shô Fujiwara Ason Masahiro” (宮原主水正藤原朝臣正清) and “Kyôhô kyûnen nigatsu” (享保九年二月, “second month Kyôhô nine [1724]”), that means it was made in the very same year as the previous blade. Very interesting is that this blade was, together with the Ippei Yasuyo introduced next, presented by the then Satsuma lord, Shimazu Tsugutoyo (島津継豊, 1702-1760) to the court noble and kanpaku regent Konoe Iehisa (近衛家久, 1687-1737). Let me go a little into detail and explain how Tsugutoyo and Iehisa were related. Iehisa was married twice, his first wife Kamehime (亀姫) was a daughter of Tsugutoyo’s grandfather Tsunataka (島津綱貴, 1650-1704), and his second wife Mangimi (満君, not sure about this reading) was a daughter of Tsugutoyo’s father Yoshitaka (島津吉貴, 1675-1747). In other words, Mangimi was Tsugutoyo’s aunt and Konoe Iehisa his uncle. Iehisa’s two daughters Takagimi (好君) and Tsûshi (通子) in turn were married to Tokugawa Munechika (徳川宗睦, 1733-1800) and Tokugawa Munetake (徳川宗武, 1716-1771) who were the 9^th head of the Owari-Tokugawa and the founder of the Tayasu-Tokugawa lineage respectively. And Shimazu Tsugutoyo’s second wife Takehime (竹姫) was an adoptive daughter of shôgun Tsunayoshi. This was how the feudal alliances worked, i.e. everyone tried, by marrying their sons and daughters and by adopting, to get as closely tied to the house of Tokugawa as possible.

Picture 2: kinmei-uchi by Masakiyo

Now to Ippei Yasuyo. The blade shown in picture 3 is the one that was presented together with the Masakiyo from picture 2 to Konoe Iehisa. It has a nagasa of 75.35 cm, a sori of 2.6 cm, and is signed “[aoi-mon] Tamaki Shume no Kami Fujiwara Ason Ippei Yasuyo” (玉置主馬首藤原朝臣一平安代) and “Kyôhô kyûnen Sasshû Kiire-gun ni oite kore o saku” (享保九年於薩刕給黎郡作之, “made in Kyôhô nine [1724] in the Kiire district of Satsuma province”). Incidentally, there are written records extant which tell us that Iehisa really enjoyed Yasuyo’s blades and presented him with hakugin (白銀, ellipsoid silver coins worth 3 bu wrapped in paper and used as a gift) and calligraphies joint written and signed by court nobles. This all speaks volumes for the impact and success (although limited in time) Tokugawa Yoshimune had – unhappy with the general decline in the quality of blades at his time – with his project that peaked in the 1721 sword forging contest. Before that time higher ranking daimyô and persons from the vicinity of the shôgun were usually sticking to kotô blades of renowned masters when it comes to sword gifts and gifts-in-return. This all went back to a century old practice of circulating swordsmith rankings and the well-established origami valuation practice of the Hon’ami, i.e. kotô sword gifts were a pretty common and transparent thing. But now newly made swords, shinsakutô, by smiths far from the capital and without having fancy lineages were considered worthy enough to be chosen as sword gift for the highest ranking persons! And for Shimazu Tsugutoyo, who succeeded as fifth Satsuma daimyô in the very year the contest took place, it was a stroke of luck being the employer of two winners of this contest.

Picture 3: kinmei-uchi by Yasuyo

The next blade (picture 4) is quasi the twin of the Masakiyo shown in picture 1. It signed the very same way “Haruka ni kinmei o hôjite Sasshu ni oite kore o tsukuru, Kyôhô kinoe tatsudoshi” (遥奉鈞命扵薩刕作之・享保甲辰年, “made in the year of the dragon of the Kyôhô era [1724] on orders of the shôgun in distant Sastuma province”) and was presented to the shôgun on the very same day, i.e. on the third day of the tenth month of 1724. It has a nagasa of 76.0 cm, a sori of 1.5 cm, and is signed tachi-mei “[aoi-mon] Shume no Kami Ippei Fujiwara Yasuyo” (主馬首一平藤原安代).

Picture 4: kinmei-uchi by Yasuyo

And the blade shown in picture 5 has to be seen as sibling of the Nobukuni Shigekane utsushi as it was also made on-site in Edo, although the month before. It is thus signed the same way “Uyauyashiku taimei o uketamawari Tôbu ni itari kore o saku, Toki Kyôhô roku kanoto-ushidoshi nigatsu” (恭奉台命至于東武作之・旹享保六辛丑年二月, “made in the second month of Kyôhô six [1721], year of the ox, in Tôbu [= Edo] by respectfully following the shôgun´s order”).

Picture 5: taimei-uchi by Yasuyo

A katana-mei signed blade by Yasuyo with a nagasa of 76.5 cm and a sori of 1.6 cm that is not dated and just signed “[aoi-mon] Shume no Kami Ippei Yasuyo” (主馬首一平安代) is shown in picture 6. Please note that it also comes without any additional mei supplements like “Fujiwara” or “Ason.” The old sayagaki of the blade says that it was once presented by Shimazu Tsugutoyo on the twelfth day of the third month Kyôhô seven (1722) to shôgun Yoshimune. The original wording on the saya is “Matsudaira Ôsumi no Kami tatematsuru” (松平大隅守上, “presented [to the house of Tokugawa] by Matsudaira Ôsumi no Kami”). Ôsumi no Kami was the honorary title of Tsugutoyo and Yoshimune granted him the use of the Tokugawa-related clan name Matsudaira.

Picture 6: Shume no Kami Ippei Yasuyo

Well, the kinmei-uchi program continued for the rest of the lives of the two smiths. Masakiyo died on the sixth day of the sixth month Kyôhô 15 (1730) at the age of 61 and Yasuyo on the 28^th day of the eleventh month Kyôhô 13 (1728) at the relative young age of 49. The blade show in picture 7 is dated with the eight month Kyôhô 13, that means Masakiyo made it two years before he died. Again, it is signed in tachi-mei what suggests that we are facing a kinmei-uchi, although it is unknown to whom it was presented. FYI: Works of Masakiyo are rarer in general than those of Yasuyo and that applies the more to dated works but there is a blade extant that is dated second month Kyôhô 15, i.e. made just four months before his death. And Yasuyo’s kinmei-uchi of picture 8 is dated lucky day of the third month Kyôhô twelve, so it was made the year before his death. There are later dated blades of Yasuyo extant, for example from the second and eighth months of Kyôhô 13, so made just nine and three months before his death, but they are signed katana-mei and thus I think they do not classify as kinmei-uchi. So maybe the two blades shown below are the latest ones going round that were made in the course of the shogunal support program.

Picture 7: kinmei-uchi by Msakiyo

Picture 8: kinmei-uchi by Yasuyo

Initially I had planned a Thanksgiving eBook Super Sale but then I thought it might be way better to schedule it earlier as some of you are going to attend the DAI TOKEN ICHI the very weekend before. For those who want  to look up stuff on their phones or tablets spot on at the fair, some of my eBooks might be very handy and thus the earlier sale. And yes, it is again one of my Super Sales with ALL eBooks 50% off! There will be no other eBook sale then later this year so if you were already thinking about getting the one or other digital copy of my books for Christmas, this is the right time! Offer will be on until Thanksgiving though.

So please check out my Lulu site here to grab the sales.

Thank you for your attention and have a great time at and around the DTI (jealous)! :)

The Awataguchi main line was continued by Norikuni’s eldest son Kuniyoshi (国吉) of whom no first name is handed down, although we know that he bore the honorary title Sahyôe no Jô (左兵衛尉). Just to let you know, the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen says that he was born in Genkyû one (元久, 1204) and that he died in Bun’ei four (文永, 1267) at the age of 64. Traditionally he is dated around Hôji (宝治, 1247-1249) and contradicting the anyway suspicious year of death forwarded by the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen, there are old oshigata collections extant that show blades dated for example Kenji four (建治, 1278) and Kôan six (弘安, 1283) and ten (1287). Following the latter data means that with Kuniyoshi, we have reached the closing years of the mid-Kamakura period. Fortunately, there are relative many works of this Awataguchi smith extant and these works comprise all kind of blades like tachi, uchigatana, ken, tantô, and larger dimensioned sunnobi-style tantô. So we have a pretty good overview of his artistic repertoire, although it must be said that long swords are rarest when it comes to quantities in the extant oeuvre of Kuniyoshi. Let me work through Kuniyoshi’s workmanship step by step, beginning with long swords and coming via the “others” to his tantô.

There are only two zaimei tachi of Kuniyoshi extant whose signatures are bulletproof. Then there is a group of three signed blades where the signature is off a little, although these mei are thought to be most likely authentic and within the range of natural changes of a smith but which are nevertheless labelled as “need further study.” In other words, the NBTHK is very very careful in this respect and does not lean an inch out of the window when it comes to big names like Awataguchi Kuniyoshi. And then there are more than a dozen of jûyô and more than a dozen of tokubetsu-jûyo tachi known which are unsigned but which are attributed to Kuniyoshi. So let’s focus on the signed specimen to define how he interpreted his long swords. One of the two bulletproof zaimei tachi (see picture 1) is tokubetsu-jûyô and it is very special because it is completely ubu. The blade has an elegant tachi-sugata with a deep koshizori with funbari but does no longer taper that much like earlier Kamakura blades and ends in a straightforward chû-kissaki, i.e. nothing like ko or slightly elongated ko-kissaki, as it was typical for preceding periods, but chû. It shows a very dense ko-itame with a little nagare, plenty of ji-nie, fine chikei, and a nie-utsuri and the steel is clear and looks “wet.” The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha-chô that comes with a little undulating notare and that is mixed with a few ko-gunome, ko-chôji, and ko-midare, ashi, some kinsuji, and a conspicuous, discontinuous nijûba that appears almost over the entire blade (sparing just the base). The nioiguchi is wide and bright. The bôshi is sugu with prominent nijûba and almost runs out as yakitsume. The tang is as mentioned ubu, has a kurijiri, kiri-yasurime, and two mekugi-ana.

Picture 1: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 75.5 cm, sori 2.4 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

The signed jûyô-bunkazai (see picture 2) was shortened up to the signature but retains its elegant sugata that is again not that much tapering and ends in a chû-kissaki. The interpretation of the jiba is very similar to the tokubetsu-jûyô and we see the same prominent and discontinuous nijûba that focuses on the upper part of the blade and that continues into the bôshi, here even a hint more pronounced. Incidentally, this feature has already been pointed out in pre-Edo period sword publications.

Picture 2: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 72.3 cm, sori 2.4 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

The mei of these two blades also mark so to speak the both extremes of Kuniyoshi’s spectrum of signature variations, that means the one on the tokubetsu-jûyô is the finest and largest, and the one on the jûyô-bunkazai the thickest and most compact mei. Picture 3 shows these two signatures compared to those which are as mentioned labelled as “need further study.” [Sidenote: The way these signatures are actually addressed in NBTHK papers is “to mei ga aru” (と銘がある) but this supplement deserves an extra and an explanation goes beyond the scope of the kantei series.] Again, we are talking here just about long swords. Signed tantô and ken are plenty and will be addressed later.

Picture 3: mei of the tokubetsu-jûyô left, of the jûyô-bunkazai right, and below those which “need further study”

To demonstrate what discrepancies we are facing with the “to mei ga aru” works, or rather to demonstrate the lack of discrepancies, I want to introduce in picture 4 one such blade, the one whose mei is shown in picture 3 on the bottom left. It even passed tokubetsu-jûyô, that means if the mei (and workmanship) was that off, it would not have received jûyô (or even hozon) in the first place. In other words, if the mei was judged as gimei (or way too off), the blade would not have passed any paper and be returned to the owner who might then be left with the decision having the signature removed and submitting it again (most likely then it would actually receive a paper on Awataguchi, or even on Awataguchi Kuniyoshi). So these to mei ga aru signatures can make it up to the tokubetsu-jûyô rank without problem and the supplement in question has to be understood as “precaution” on the part of the NBTHK. Take a look at the blade in picture 4 and judge yourself. It is a slender tachi with a deep koshizori and a chû-kissaki, showing a very dense ko-itame mixed with some mokume and nagare that features plenty of ji-nie, chikei, a hint of jifu, and a faint nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden chû-suguha-chô mixed with ko-chôji, ko-gunome, plenty of ashi and yô, fine sunagashi, kinsuji, and the very same prominent discontinuous nijûba that also runs into the bôshi. The nioiguchi is wide and bright and the bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri. The condition of this blade is outstanding. It was once owned by the statesman Ôkubo Ichiô (大久保一翁, 1818-1888) and went then into the possession of the Iwasaki family (岩崎).

Picture 4: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 70.9 cm, sori 2.1 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Now to Kuniyoshi’s “other” blades. There are about seven ken of him known of which I want to introduce the most famous one, the jûyô-bunkazai ken. I have “only” pictures of five of these blades in my database but I dare to say that the majority of them is identically interpreted. They are all slender, in ryô-shinogi-zukuri, show a thin hi along the rather high shinogi (a groove that is referred to as shinogi-hi by the way), and their tips are not that stubby (that means they don’t have a pronounced fukura). The majority has a nagasa between 21.0 and 25 cm (although there is an overlong jûyô-bijutsuhin ken with a nagasa of 84.8 cm), that means Kuniyoshi’s ken are mostly small and graceful and have a nakago that is relative long in relation to the blade length. Their jigane is about identical to that of the tachi, i.e. highest quality nashiji, and the hamon is a suguha-chô in ko-nie-deki with kinsuji and sunagashi and some ken feature a few hotsure and others a little mixed-in notare (the jûô-bunkazai for example). We also see nijûba, also not that prominent as on long swords, and at one ken, the nijûba just appears in the bôshi, meeting at the shinogi ridge (see picture 6). The jûyô-bunkazai ken is signed with a fine chisel whereas one jûyô-bijutsuhin ken bears a thickly chiselled mei, that means we can’t make out any rule when it comes to ken signatures (for example that all of them are signed the same way and would therefore go back to the same phase in his career).

Picture 5: jûyô-bunkazai, ken, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 24.2 cm, motohaba 2.3 cm, ryô-shinogi-zukuri

Picture 6: jûyô, ken, mumei “Den Awataguchi Kuniyoshi” (伝粟田口国吉), nagasa 23.8 cm, motohaba 1.9 cm, ryô-shinogi-zukuri

Next “special case” is the famous jûyô-bunkazai and meibutsu Nakigitsune (鳴狐, lit. “howling fox”) from the former possessions of the Akimoto family (秋元) which ruled the Tatebayashi fief (館林藩) in Kôzuke province. Here we are facing a long uchigatana (the jûyô-bunkazai designation says “katana”) in hira-zukuri and although this is the only one of its kind, i.e. by a famous smith from that time (Kamakura), it has some Heian-period predecessors. Please note that the blade shows a bôhi which is engraved very close to the mune, a characteristic feature that is typical for the Awataguchi School. However, the diagonal end just above the habaki is unique to Kuniyoshi and also found on some of his tantô. By the way, Tanobe sensei sees the Awataguchi Hisakuni tantô shown in picture 6 here from its overall impression as “miniature version” of the Nakigitsune. The jiba of the Nakigitsune follows that of Kuniyoshi’s tachi and on this blade too we see prominent nijûba. But the suguha is pretty wide and we see some ko-gunome and ko-notare along the fukura. Please check out hi-res pictures of this blade here.

Picture 7: jûyô-bunkazai, uchigatana, mei “Sahyôe no Jô Fujiwara Kuniyoshi” (左兵衛尉藤原国吉), nagasa 54.0 cm, sori 1.6 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

Tantô make the majority of Awataguchi Kuniyoshi’s extant oeuvre. There is one jûyô-bunkazai, a couple of jûyô-bijutsujin, and more than a dozen jûyô/tokubetsu-jûyô tantô, and the majority of these tantô is signed (all but one in niji-mei, the one “exception” is signed “Saemon no Jô Kuniyoshi”). When we take a look at all these tantô we learn that he interpreted them in a great variety of shapes. There are such with a standard, a mid-sized and elegant Kamakura-period sugata, smaller and wider tantô that tend to a hôchô-sugata, long and thin tantô, and long and wide tantô that come in a sunnobi-sugata. His tantô show a little uchizori or no sori at all and can come with an iori or a mitsu-mune. Also we see several kinds of grooves like gomabashi, katana-hi, katana-hi with tsurebi, combination of suken on the one and koshibi on the other side, combination of katana-hi with bonji on the hira-ji towards the base, bonji and suken as relief in a katana-hi, and futasuji-hi on both sides. As mentioned, the hi are engraved in Awataguchi-manner quite close to the mune and some end in Kuniyoshi’s peculiar diagonal manner. And before I introduce some of his tantô I briefly want to address Kuniyoshi’s standing within his school. Some see him as best tantô smith of all times whereas this attribute is mostly associated with his successor Yoshimitsu. Others say he was the best when it comes to a gentle and dignified suguha whilst Honma sensei ranks him second in his school in terms of skill, only surpassed by Hisakuni. Well, works of these Awataguchi masters are all outstanding and the quality is so close that such rankings are more of a subjective nature and not really something to fight about.

Picture 8 shows the jûyô-bunkazai tantô of Kuniyoshi. It is wide and with a nagasa of 22.9 cm rather compact, what gives the piece a hôchô, i.e. “kitchen knife” sugata. It shows a dense ko-itame that is mixed with some ô-hada in places, fine ji-nie, and a hint of jifu-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden chû-suguha that is mixed with ko-ashi, yô, and a little ko-gunome at the very base. The nioiguchi is bright and rather tight and the bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri. Please note that this blade does not show nijûba. Both sides feature a katana-hi that is, again, arranged pretty close to the mune, and we can also see traces of a tsurebi. The tang is ubu, has a kirijiri, kiri-yasurime, and is signed in niji-mei. Incidentally, this blade was once a heirloom of the Asano family (浅野), the daimyô of the Hiroshima fief of Aki province.

Picture 8: jûyô-bunkazai, tantô, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 22.9 cm, uchizori, motohaba 2.4 cm, hira-zukuri, iori-munne

In picture 9 we see a tantô of Kuniyoshi that features prominent nijûba, also in the typical manner what means interrupted and a hint more emphasized in the bôshi. This is, or rather was Kuniyoshi’s largest known tantô, was because it is a little machiokuri. It measures now 29.1 cm but was originally 30.9 cm in nagasa. So this tantô comes in sunnobi-sugata and somehow foreshadows the later Nanbokuchô interpretations. The jigane is a very dense ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and appears altogether as nashiji-hada. We see a little mixed-in jifu and a prominent nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden chû-suguha-chô mixe with a little notare and, as mentioned, nijûba. The nioiguchi is bright and the bôshi is sugu with a kind of ô-maru-style kaeri. Both sides bear a katana-hi with tsurebi. The tang is machiokuri, has a kurijiri, kiri-yasurime, and shows a thickly chiselled niji-mei.

Picture 9: tokubetsu-jûyô, tantô, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 29.1 cm, only very little uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

And last but not least I want to introduce another tantô of Kuniyoshi, a jûyô-bijutsuhin, that shows the diagonal ending of his hi that I have mentioned several times. This tantô – which was an heirloom of the Aoyama family (青山), the daimyô of the Sasayama fief (篠山藩) of Tanba province by the way – is with a nagasa of just 20.4 cm pretty short and tends with the wide mihaba to a hôchô-sugata. The jigane is a dense ko-itame with plenty of fine ji-nie and nie-utsuri and the hamon is a chû-suguha in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with ko-ashi and yô and that thins somewhat down towards the fukura. Please note the ko-ashi at the base which make the hamon there tend a little bit to ko-gunome. This feature anticipates a typical characteritic of Kuniyoshi’s successor Yoshimitsu (which will be addressed in detail in the next chapter) and that is why I am introducing this tantô here. Also we see nijûba, although here just at the base, and some hakikake along the relative wide ko-maru-kaeri.

Picture 10: jûyô-bijutsuhin, tantô, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 20.4 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

And to get a feel for the brilliance, the outstanding and breath-taking quality of the Awataguchi steel, I would highly recommend checking the photo gallery at the very bottom of Darcy’s site here!

I will end the DTI/Thanksgiving eBook Super Sale by this Wednesday. So if you want to grab some copies as long as they are 50% off, you have two days left to do so. Please note that Lulu doesn’t offer any voucher codes for eBooks, i.e. makes no sense to wait for one, and the next one done by my humble self manually will be the Easter Sale next year. Thus either now or in five months :)

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/nihontobooks

We arrive at Yoshimitsu (吉光) who is, depending on tradition, seen as student or as son of Kuniyoshi (国吉), his fourth son precisely, taking into consideration his first name Tôshirô (藤四郎) (i.e. the suffix shirô refers to a fourth son). The meikan either date him around Kôan (弘安, 1278-1288) or Shôô (正応, 1288-1293) but there are no date signatures of Yoshimitsu known. We have learned in the last chapter that from Kuniyoshi, blades dated Kenji four (建治, 1278) and Kôan six (弘安, 1283) and ten (1287) are known so both Kôan and Shôô seem perfectly fine for Yoshimitsu, regardless of if he was Kuniyoshi’s son or his student. The Kotô Meizukushi Taizen by the way quotes Yoshimitsu with Kangi one (寛喜, 1229) as year of birth and Shôô four (正応, 1291) as year of death. Before we continue, let me introduce all the (non-Kuniyoshi son) theories that were forwarded over time regarding Yoshimitsu’s background. Some say he was actually the fourth son of Norikuni (則国) and that’s where the first name Tôshirô comes from. Following this approach, he would have been Kuniyoshi’s younger brother, what does not exclude that he rather studied under his older brother than under his father. If we follow the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen, then Yoshimitsu was nine years old when Norikuni died, what would be an explanation for the aforementioned constellation. Incidentally, Kuniyoshi was 24 when Norikuni died but again, the data of the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen is highly doubtful and I don’t want to base too many theories on just that source. All I want to do here is to point out possible scenarios. Others see Yoshimitsu as son of Kuniyasu, others as son of Shintôgo Kunimitsu, and others again as great-grandson of Hisakuni.

Anyway, I want to introduce an interesting theory that follows the Kuniyoshi student-approach and that is connected to a highlight of Yoshimitsu, and that is his signature style. This theory says that Yoshimitsu came originally from Echizen province where he lived in the vicinity of the Shiisaki-jinja (椎前神社・志比前神社, present-day city of Tsuruga, Fukui Prefecture). Now Tsuruga is not that far away from the old capital, i.e. about 100 km following the Hokurikudô, and the Hokurikudô was a much frequented route as in Heian and early Kamakura times, Tsuruga had been (apart from Hakata on Kyûshû) the main hub for trade with Song China. The theory also says that he studied calligraphy of the Guzei’in-ryû (弘誓院流) in the capital, a style of shodô that has been established by court noble Kujô Noriie (九条教家, 1194-1255). Taking that into consideration, it is likely that Yoshimitsu has belonged to a rather high-ranking local Tsuruga family and that he moved in higher circles when visiting Kyôto. So maybe he came for something else but had a fondness for swords and was thus introduced to the then most renowned lineage of swordsmiths, the Awataguchi, where he started to study with master Kuniyoshi. I mean, we are talking here about the most prestigious masters of that time who only took orders from the wealthiest clientele, so following the Echizen approach, it is unlikely that for example a peasant boy packed his backback, marched down to Kyôto, and knocked at the door of Kuniyoshi to become his apprentice. Stories like that are more like Edo-era romanticism. As mentioned, this is just one of the numerous theories on the background of Yoshimitsu but reason why I deal with it that persistently is his signature style of which experts agree that the elegant style is not a coincidende and that he must had a decent knowledge of the aesthetics of calligraphy. In other words, Yoshimitsu’s signatures are not just of the “elegant because of the archaic, antique feel” category, like the mei of Heian and early Kamakura-era smiths for example, but are well thought out with all elements like curves of strokes and distance of radicals in perfect harmony.

When it comes to Yoshimitsu’s signatures, we basically distinguish between two groups: A more “stiff” and “angular” one that is executed with a somewhat thicker chisel, and a “looser” and more “roundish” one for which a thinner chisel was used. The former features a smaller lower kuchi (口) radical of the character for Yoshi (吉) and is therefore also referred to as koguchi-mei (小口銘), and the latter, with the noticeably larger kuchi radical, as ôguchi-mei (大口銘) respectively. It is assumed that the ôguchi group goes back to his late years. Tanobe sensei introduces a third group which is somewhere in between these two and that mixes certain elements from each group, i.e. that goes back to a transitional time if you want, which he personally thinks of being the most elegant one. Picture 1 below shows one exemplary mei for each group.

Picture 1, from left to right: koguchi-mei, intermediate, ôguchi-mei

When it comes to Yoshimitsu’s oeuvre, it is kind of similar to Kuniyoshi, that means, the majority are tantô, followed by a few others and hardly any long swords going round at all, with Yoshimitsu’s long sword body of evidence even weaker than that of Kuniyoshi. And due to the latter fact, I want to “quickly” get by that very limited non-tantô database before we come to the blades we can actually talk about in more detail. Throughout the entire feudal era and up to the 1980s, it was thought that only one long blade of Awataguchi Yoshimitsu exists, namely the meibutsu Ichigo-Hitofuri (一期一振), which was once worn by Toyotomi Hideyoshi. However, Hideyoshi had it shortened from 85.7 to 68.8 cm but ensured that the original signature of Yoshimitsu was set into the new tang as so-called gaku-mei (額銘). When Ôsaka fell in 1615, the blade suffered a fire damage and had to be rehardened by Echizen Yasutsugu. In other words, it is saiha and, apart from old oshigata, we can’t say much about the original interpretation of its yakiba. Pictures of the meibutsu and further info can be found on my Japanese Sword Legends site here and here. Speaking of oshigata, there is a special copy of the work Kôtoku Katana Ezu (光徳刀絵図) that dates to Bunroku three (文禄, 1594) and that shows the Ichigo-Hitofuri before it was shortened. Although the reproduction of the hamon is more or less subject to artistic freedom in such old oshigata collections, I nevertheless want to point out that the ha is obviously more flamboyant than it is the case at Yoshimitsu’s tantô. But this is not as odd as it seems as there is for example the meibutsu tantô Midare-Tôshirô (乱藤四郎) which shows, as the name suggests, a midareba. So Yoshimitsus did work in midareba.

Picture 2: Oshigata of the unshortened Ichigo-Hitofuri.

In our times, a zaimei wakizashi of Yoshimitsu was “discovered” which had been an heirloom of the Naruse family (成瀬), the daimyô of the Inuyama fief (犬山藩) of Owari province. The blade has a nagasa of 58.3 cm and as its bôhi with tsurebi go way down into the tang and as the signature is placed even below and towards the nakago-jiri, it looks at a glance as if the blade is suriage. But it is not, it is almost ubu (a tiny bit of the original nakago-jiri has been cut off) and was made that way, and with the mei on the omote side, everythong points towards the assumption that this blade was intended as uchigatana. The blade went jûyô in 1991 and was submitted to tokubetsu-jûyô the very next year, which it passed with flying colors of course. This uchigatana has with 2.0 cm quite a deep sori, a toriizori, and ends in a compact chû-kissaki. The jigane is a dense and finely forged itame with plenty of ji-nie and much chikei and the steel is clear and has a “wet” look. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha with a wide nioiguchi mixed with some ko-gunome, ashi, yô, a few sunagashi and kinsuji and shows from the mid blade section upwards some nijûba-style yubashiri. The bôshi is sugu with a little notare and displays a very brief ko-maru-kaeri. So the top quality forging with its abundance of sparkling chikei, the “wet” looking steel, and the classical interpretation in suguha with some nijûba and brightly shining ko-nie lives very much up to the reputation of the Awataguchi school.

Picture 3: tokubetsu-jûyô, uchigatana, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 58.3 cm, sori 2.0 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

There are also ken of Yoshimitsu extant, for example the one shown in picture 4 which is designated as kokuhô. It is pretty close to those of his master, or father, Kuniyoshi, i.e. interpreted in ryô-shinogi-zukuri with a central shinogi-hi and a high shinogi, although with a hint more fukura. The kitae is a dense ko-itame with some masame, fine ji-nie, and chikei, and the hamon is a suguha-chô in ko-nie-deki mixed with ko-chôji-ashi, a few sunagashi, and some nijûba on the ura side. The nioiguchi is rather tight and the bôshi shows hakikake. This ken is preserved in the Shirayamahime-jinja (白山比咩神社, Ishikawa Prefecture).

Picture 4: kokuhô, ken, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 22.9 cm, motohaba 2.2 cm

And before we go over to the tantô, let me introduce one more of these “other” blades of Yoshimitsu, the meibutsu Honemabi-Tôshirô (骨喰藤四郎, lit. “bone-gnawing Tôshirô”), which is a mumei naginata-naoshi that is designated as jûyô-bunkazai, despite the fact that it is saiha (retempered by the 3^rd gen. Yasutsugu after the Great Meireki Fire). In old oshigata collections we see a slanting ko-midare/chôji mix at the base which turns into a calm suguha-chô with ko-ashi. The blade shows prominent horimono of a kurikara and Fudô-Myôô with atop a bonji in a hitsu recess. On the basis of the tang it is speculated that the blade had been mumei from the beginning, that means, even if the naginata – it was once a smaller-sized ko-naginata – was shortened to wakizashi/uchigatana length, the signature would have been at a higher position anyway and would not have been affected by the shortening. The attribution to Awataguchi Yoshimitsu goes back to the Hon’ami family and the jûyô-bunkazai designation – which says “Den” Awataguchi Yoshimitsu by the way – reflects more the historical value and provenance of the blade, which is as mentioned shortened, unsigned, and saiha.

Picture 5: jûyô-bunkazai, naginata-naoshi, mumei “Den Awataguchi Yoshimitsu” (伝粟田口吉光), meibutsu Honebami-Tôshirô, nagasa 58.8 cm, sori 1.4 cm, preserved in the Toyokuni-jinja (豊国神社, Kyôto)

Now to Yoshimitsu’s tantô. Many experts see him as best tantô smiths of all times, standing on top of the winners’ rostrum with Shintôgo Kunimitsu. On top of that, he is counted with Masamune and Gô Yoshihiro to the so-called sansaku (三作), a term that was coined in the Edo period and which means about “Best Three Smiths of All Times.” With 16 listed blade, he also ranks, from a quantitative point of view, number three in the Kyôhô Meibutsu Chô, only “beaten” by Masamune with 39, and Sadamune with 19 blades. Incidentally, 18 blades of him are found in the yakemi section of the Kyôhô Meibutsu Chô. As comparison, the publication lists the same number of yakemi by Masamune and eleven of Gô Yoshihiro. When we get a quick overview of Yoshimitsu’s tantô, we learn that things are not that much different than with Kuniyoshi. That is, he made tantô in a great variety of shapes, e.g. standard ones, smaller and wider hôchô-style blades, long and thin, and long and wide tantô which feature a sunnobi-sugata. Also the way grooves are added is very similar to Kuniyoshi and when we remember that Kuniyoshi worked up to Kôan (弘安, 1278-1288) and Yoshimitsu is traditionally dated around Kôan and the subsequent Shôô era (正応, 1288-1293), we realize that this dating is – despite of the fact that as mentioned no date signatures of Yoshimitsu are extant – quite senstive. In other words, the interpretation of extant works corroberates that Yoshimitsu’s active period has been pretty close to that of Kuniyoshi what allows us to speculate that he indeed might has been his younger brother rather than his son as for a son, we would expect a hint later nengô like for example Einin (永仁, 1293-1299) or Shôan (正安, 1299-1302), which in turn means leaving late Kamakura and entering the final years of this period. Anyway, regardless of the sugata of tantô, we see characteristic features that appear on the majority of blades from that category and which can be described as follows: Small connected gunome elements or at least gunome-ashi at the yakidashi which make that area look like small strung together beans. Sometimes also an approach or even a solid koshiba might be seen. Nijûba or nijûba-like yubashiri appear parallel to the habuchi, but not as obvious and not all over the blade it is the case at Kuniyoshi. The ha often gets somewhat wider, and/or thins a little out before it enters the bôshi. This feature can be pretty obvious and appear as a true bend, or might just as a bend by a slightly thinnig or slightly widening ha at the point where the bôshi starts. In addition, the nie are much more emphasized in the bôshi and appear there often as if they “spill” in a frayed manner into the ji, a feature that is referred to as nie no kui-sagari (沸の喰い下がり). Please note that there is some confusion with the term okina no hige (翁の髭, lit. “beard of an old man”). This term too refers to increasing nie in the bôshi but is reserved for Shintôgo Kunimitsu. Basic difference is that okina no hige are super fine kinsuji within the ha that remind – due to the fact that they follow the underlying hada which tends at Shintôgo somewhat to nagare in that area – of the long beard of an old man. They might reach into the ji too in certain cases but focus as mentioned more on the ha whereas at Awataguchi Yoshimitsu, the nie-hataraki take much more place in the ji than in the ha. So before we continue, let me summarize the characteristic feature of Yoshimitsu in picture 6 below.

Picture 6: Characteristic features of Awataguchi Yoshimitsu’s workmanship.

In the following I would like to introduce some representative tantô of Yoshimitsu (going from small to large) and, if you have time, I recommend going back one chapter, comparing them to the works of Kuniyoshi. You will see the similarities. First a blade that is designated as jûyô-bijutsuhin and that is one of the smallest tantô known by Yoshimitsu. It has a nagasa of 21.5 cm, uchizori, and because of its proportions, everything points towards late Kamakura. It shows a fine and uniformly forged ko-itame which shows ji-nie. The hamon is a hoso-suguha with some ko-gunome at the base and narrows a little towards the monouchi before it gets again wider in the bôshi. In addition, we see faint nijûba and nie that get stronger in the bôshi and appear there as nie no kui-sagari. So we have pretty obviously all characteristic features of this smith present on this blade.

Picture 7: jûyô-bijutsuhin, tantô, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 21.5 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

Next a blade that is a little uncommon, namely in the way that it is a yoroidôshi-style tantô, featuring a moto-kasane of 1.05 cm. Accordingly, the tantô got the nickname Atsushi-Tôshirô (厚藤四郎, lit. “The Thick Tôshirô,” sometimes also read Atsu-Tôshirô). The blade is designated as kokuhô and shows a somewhat standing-out itame with plenty of ji-nie and much chikei. The ko-nie-laden hamon starts with some ko-notare and gunome at the base and turns then into a suguha which is mixed with some kinsuji and with plenty of ashi an yô. The bôshi has a ko-maru-kaeri and shows hakikake.

Picture 8: kokuhô, tantô, meibutsu Atsushi-Tôshirô, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 21.8 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, preserved in the Tôkyô National Museum

As mentioned, Yoshimitsu also made some wide and stout hôchô-style blades like the one shown in picture 9 which bears the nickname Hôchô-Tôshirô (包丁藤四郎) accordingly. Please note that there is another meibutsu with that name but which was damaged by fire during the Great Meireki Fire of 1657. The one introduced here is designated as jûyô-bijutsuhin, shows a very dense and beautifully forged ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie, and also displays a slanting bô-utsuri at where the hamon starts and a nie-utsuri all over the blade. A faint nie-utsuri is also seen on the tantô shown in picture 7. The hamon of the Hôchô-Tôshirô is a ko-nie-laden chû-suguha-chô with a bright and clear nioiguchi and is mixed with ko-gunome, some ko-notare, ko-ashi, and yô. The bôshi features a somewhat “tied-up” ko-maru-kaeri. The blade shows a pretty conspicuous amount of midare and please note the hi which is in Awataguchi-typical manner engraved close to the mune (although here with traces of a thin tsurebi that went all around the groove).

Picture 9: jûyô-bijutsuhin, tantô, meibutsu Hôchô-Tôshirô, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 21.8 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, preserved in the Tokugawa Museum

Picture 10 shows another wide blade that tends to hôchô. It was a heirloom of the Tachibana family (立花), the daimyô of the Yanagawa fief (柳川藩) of Chikugo proince, and is today designated as kokuhô. The blade is as mentioned wide, has a nagasa of 23.1 cm, and shows a dense and beautifully forged ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie, rather thick chikei, and a straight nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden chû-suguha that features a bright nioiguchi, a few ko-ashi, and some connected ko-gunome at the base (more prominent on the omote side). The bôshi appears as sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri and brief hakikake and again, we see a hi that is engraved extremely close to the mune.

Picture 10: kokuhô, tantô, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 23.1 cm, a little uchizori, hira-zukuri, iori-mune, privately owned (Fukuoka Prefecture)

And last but not least, I want to introduce one of Yoshimitsu’s most famous (some say his best) and largest tantô, the meibutsu Hirano-Tôshirô (平野藤四郎). It has a nagasa of 30.1 cm, a rather wide mihaba of 2.8 cm, and also quite a thick kasane of 0.8 cm. It shows a very dense ko-itame with a hint of masame towards the mune and plenty of fine ji-nie. The hamon is a suguha in ko-nie-deki that starts with some connected ko-gunome and that is mixed with shallow notare, a little gunome-midare, ko-ashi and yô. Both nioiguchi and ha are bright and clear and the bôshi is a shallow notare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeri.

Picture 11: gyobutsu, tantô, meibutsu Hirano-Tôshirô, mei “Yoshimitsu” (吉光), nagasa 30.1 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

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To round this chapter off, let me address some essential kantei points. As we find ourselves in the late Kamakura period, we are dealing with the finest, most elegant, and qualitative best tantô ever made and are facing the greatest tantô smiths of all times, which were Awataguchi Kuniyoshi, Awataguchi Yoshimitsu, Shintôgo Kunimitsu, and Rai Kunitoshi. All of them made tantô with various sugata, so it is difficult to jump to a conclusion right away based on the shape alone. But what we can say is that tantô of Shintôgo Kunimitsu and Rai Kunitoshi show by trend a little thinner kasane as they were active later and approached Nanbokuchô. But if present, hi are a good hint because if they are noticeably close to the mune, it is very likely that you have an Awataguchi work. When it comes to the jiba, the blades of Shintôgo feature more chikei and kinsuji and are overall more nie-laden than those of Yoshimitsu. In other words, his jigane is stronger and with Shintôgo Kunimitsu, we can feel a moving away from Kyô and towards the soon to be established Sôshû tradition. At Rai Kunitoshi in turn, the nie are somewhat more calm, that means, the emphasis on nie goes in ascending order: Rai Kunitoshi → Awataguchi Yoshimitsu → Shintôgo Kunimitsu. I have already mentioned that Yoshimitsu’s tantô are quite similar to those of Kuniyoshi, with the difference that Kuniyoshi’s ko-itame is a hint denser and a hint more uniform and appears a hint more often as “straightforward” nashiji-hada. Apart from that, there is much more nijûba and the nie would not increase in the bôshi. And when you see prominent ko-gunome at the base or some kind of koshiba, it is safe to go for Yoshimitsu, supposing that you have narrowed down a bid to Kuniyoshi and Yoshimitsu. As indicated in the last chapter, there are some tantô of Kuniyoshi which too show an approach of this feature at the base but it was Yoshimitsu who so to speak applied it “fully”.

With this post I will close the chapter on Awataguchi and after introducing some works of the more or less “also ran” smiths of the school who have not been introduced so far, I want to add some concluding thoughts on why the school did not make it into Nanbokuchô times.

Let me begin with Tôbei Kunimitsu (藤兵衛国光), the younger brother of Awataguchi Kuniyoshi (国吉) who bore the honorary title Sahyôe no Jô (左兵衛尉). There is some confusion about his active period as the meikan date him traditionally around Kenchô (建長, 1249-1256) but there is a ken extant signed “Sahyôe no Jô Fujiwara Kunimitsu” (左兵衛尉藤原国光) which is dated Shôwa ten (正和, 1321). Please note that the mekugi-ana of this ken goes right trough the year and that the very area of the tang shows considerable corrosion and so some interpret the date as Shôwa one (1312) (see picture 1). Apart from that, there are allegedly also works going round which are dated with the Einin era (永仁, 1293-1299) and then there is the jûyô tantô that was discovered in recent years which is dated Kôan eleven (弘安, 1288) (see picture 4). So either Kunimitsu enjoyed a really long life, or there was a second generation, whereby also the theory was forwarded that Kunimitsu was not the son of Norikuni but of Kuniyoshi. Interestingly, the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen – which lists him next to Kuniyoshi but with no reference of being his brother or a student of Norikuni – says that he was born in Jôgen one (承元, 1207) and died in Kangen two (寛元, 1244) at the young age of 36. Kunimitsu is listed in this source with the first name Tarô (太郎) and with the rank of a shinshi (進士), a person that passed certain tests of the Imperial school of civil servants during the ritsuryô era. However, most meikan date this Shinshi Tarô Kunimitsu to the Kenmu era (建武, 1334-1338). So we don’t know for sure how many Kunimitsu have been active within the Awataguchi school and what their exact relations were within the lineage. Maybe Tôbei Kunimitsu was Norikuni’s second son but had his own son, maybe the Tarô Kunimitsu, trained by his older brother Kuniyoshi. Or Tôbei Kunimitsu was indeed Kuniyoshi’s son and was followed by a second generation of the same name, maybe the Tarô Kunimitsu. But we will probably never know…

Picture 1: ken, mei “Sahyôe no Jô Fujiwara Kunimitsu” “Shôwa jû/gannen jûnigatsu hi (+ 2 bonji),” nagasa 20.3 cm, ko-itame with masame and ji-nie, suguha-chô with some ko-notare and plenty of nijûba

As for Awataguchi Kunimitsu’s extant works, there are two tachi which are famous, a jûyô-bunkazai that is preserved in the Yôrô-ji (養老寺, Gifu Prefecture), and a jûyô-bunkazai that is owned by the Kurokawa Institute of Ancient Cultures. Both blades are slender, elegant, show a relative shallow sori, traces of funbari (both blades are surage), a rather wide shinogi-ji, and a ko-kissaki that tends towards chû and a hint towards ikubi, a feature that was popular in mid-Kamakura times. Also the interpretation of the jiba is very similar. We see a densely forged ko-itame with fine ji-nie and a nie-utsuri, a ko-nie-laden hoso-suguha with a rather wide nioiguchi, and a ko-maru-bôshi with a relative wide kaeri. The former, i.e. the Yôrô-ji tachi shows a few ashi and seems to be a little more nie-emphasized as there are some chikei and kinsuji. The interpretation places the two blades perfectly into the principal stylistic approach of the Awataguchi school.

Picture 2: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Kunimitsu” (国光), nagasa 73.2 cm, sori 1.3 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, horimono of a suken towards the base of the omote side, preserved in the Yôrô-ji

Picture 3: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Kunimitsu” (国光), nagasa 80.3 cm, sori 1.9 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, owned by the Kurokawa Institute of Ancient Cultures

Picture 4 below shows the aforementioned tantô of Kunimitsu. It is quite graceful and has lost some substance – leaving only traces of the once engraved suken on the omote and the gomabashi on the ura side – but with the jiba very well preserved. The kitae is a ko-itame with masame-nagare that features plenty of ji-nie and fine chikei and the steel is extra bright and clear. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha with a little notare that is mixed with a little ko-gunome on the ura side. The nioiguchi is wide and the suge-bôshi shows a wide ko-maru-kaeri. Based on this work, it seems as if Awataguchi Kunimitsu’s tantô are a little more nie-emphasized than his tachi. Please check out Darcy’s site here for some excellent pictures of the blade and the steel.

Picture 4: jûyô, tantô, mei “Kôan jûichinen – gogatsu ichinichi Kunimitsu” (弘安十一年・五月一日国光, “a day of the fifth month Kôan eleven [1288]”), nagasa 21.7 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, iori-mune

Now there were some theories forwarded in the past that Awataguchi Kunimitsu and Shintôgo Kunimitsu were the same smith but these are dismissed today as their signature style differs significantly (note the left inner part of the character for “Kuni” and the upper part of the character for “mitsu”) (see picture 5). Well, the theory of course suggests itself as Shintôgo has his roots in the Awataguchi school but apart from the signature, the blades of Awataguchi Kunimitsu just don’t show enough chikei and kinsuji to pass for Shintôgo (the steel is different too) and they belong within the Awataguchi school to the least nie emphasized blades at all. So if you add up all kantei points for Awataguchi Kunimitsu, you arrive at: Slender tachi-sugata with a rather shallow sori and a somewhat wider shinogi-ji in combination with a nashiji or nashiji-like hada, a noticeably narrow suguha-based hamon, and a bôshi with a relative wide kaeri (see tantô in picture 4). Again, the jiba does not feature much nie what gives the blades a more unobtrusive overall appearance.

Picture 5: Awataguchi Kunimitsu left, Shintôgo Kunimitsu right

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There are a few blades extant by Kunisada (国定), a student of Awataguchi Kuniyoshi’s student Kuninobu (国延), but as he moved later to Ayabe (綾部) in Tanba, I want to introduce him when we arrive at this province. The same applies to Kagenaga (景長), the son of Awataguchi Yoshimasa (吉正) who in turn had studied under Tôshirô Yoshimitsu, who founded the Inaba-Kokaji (因幡小鍛冶) lineage. So we will talk about him in the course of when we learn about what was going on in Inaba province. However, last but not least I want to introduce Awataguchi Kagehisa (景久) as there is a single tantô of him known (see picture 6). In other words, there are virtually zero blades of all the other Awataguchi smiths extant who are quoted in the genealogy but who were not the famous masters of the school. So Kagehisa is said to have been the student of Tôshirô Yoshimitsu and he is traditionally dated around Kôan (1278-1288) or Shôan (正安, 1299-1302). The tantô in question is in hira-zukuri, small and elegant, and has a hardly tapering tang that tends to furisode. The kitae is a very fine ko-itame with a little nagare, plenty of ji-nie, and a little chikei. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden ko-midare mixed with ko-notare at the base, gunome-ashi, fine sunagashi, some kinsuji, and nijûba in the upper half. The bôshi is midare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeri with hakikake. The blade features a very bright nioiguchi and Satô Kanzan speaks of it “as might be excepted, of high quality.” In short, it fits into the legacy of the Awataguchi school and the tradition that Kagehisa had learned from an outstanding mastersmith. Also backing the tradition is the noticeable tendency towards midare in the ha and towards furisode in the nakago. The latter shows kiri-yasurime and a small and quite finely chiselled niji-mei.

Picture 6: jûyô, tantô, mei “Kagehisa” (景久), nagasa 22.6 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, iori-mune

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It is difficult to say how or if at all the Awataguchi main line was carried on after Yoshimitsu. Incidentally, if we count Kuniie (国家) as first generation Awataguchi, Yoshimitsu would have been the fifth generation main line. The school itself had existed for about a century at the time of Yoshimitsu. Well, before I come up with some attempts at explanation, I want to introduce what the historic sources say about what was going on after Yoshimitsu. In the earliest extant sword publication, the Kanchi’in Bon Mei Zukushi, there isn’t any mention at all in this respect and Yoshimitsu is even listed in line with Kuniyoshi and Kunimitsu. Therein the main line goes Kuniie → Kunitomo → Norikuni → Kuniyoshi, period. Yoshimitsu is seen as contemporary or, if you want, as younger brother of Kuniyoshi. In the Kokon Mei Zukushi, Yoshimitsu is succeeded by Nobumitsu (延光) who again has four smiths under him, Masamitsu (正光), Yoshimasa (吉正), Yoriie (頼家), and Kunisumi/Kunizumi (国純), although it is not mentioned who his official successor was or if one of them succeeded him as head of the Awataguchi school at all. Tsuneishi introduces in his Awataguchi genealogy two students of Yoshimitsu, namely Yoshikuni (吉国) and the aforementioned Kagehisa (景久). And the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen lists Masamitsu, Yoshimasa, Nobumitsu, and Kunichika (国近) below of Yoshimitsu.

Let us focus on the tradition of handing over one character to the next generation for a little. When we look at the Awataguchi genealogy we learn that in many cases, the first character of the master’s name was used as second character of the successor’s name, e.g. KUNItomo → NoriKUNI → KUNIyoshi → YoshiMITSU or AriKUNI → KUNIhisa. So in the case of Yoshimitsu, we would expect some name like MITSUxxx. Interestingly, the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen says that Masamitsu also signed with Mitsumasa. A Yoshimitsu student with the name Mitsumasa is not found in the meikan but when we look at the Masamitsu we come across Daruma Masamitsu who is said to have been the son of Daruma Shigemitsu (重光). Well, both Masamitsu and Shigemitsu are dated around Eitoku (永徳, 1381-1384) but lo and behold, there exists the tradition for Shigemitsu that he was the son of Awataguchi Yoshimitsu. But we must be careful. Genealogies were pimped or doctored later on exactly that way, that is, having a smith working in Yamashiro province who shares the same character as a famous master smith tempts the compiler to create this very connection in the first place. So basing a theory just on limited genealogic data can mean falling right into the trap of the compiler. In other words, when you start from a certain smith and go downwards you might just follow what was actually created by a compiler by going backwards.

How about the branches of the other masters of the school? Not many students are recorded for any of them, except for Yoshimitsu’s predecessor Kuniyoshi and for Kunitsuna, the youngest of the earlier Six Awataguchi Brothers. As mentioned, one branch that had emerged under master Kuniyoshi relocated to Tanba province and flourished there throughout the Nanbokuchô period (also by being joined from a branch of the lineage of Yoshimitsu’s student Masamitsu which had moved to Tanba too). And the school of Kunitsuna brought forth Shintôgo Kunimitsu who was one of the founders of the Sôshû tradition as Kunitsuna himself had moved to Kamakura on bequest of the bakufu.

The downfall or rather discontinuance of the Awataguchi School is most likely linked to the fact that the Kyôto-based and highly prestigious lineage was mainly producing for a clientele that came from local aristocracy and highest circles. So by the time of Yoshimitsu, i.e. late Kamakura, the school was facing a Kyôto of an aristocratic class that had reached a point at which its political obsolescence, that came along with the establishment of the Kamakura-bakufu in 1185, had been pretty much noticeable. Of course, Kyôto was still undisputed center when it comes to refined culture, connection to the Chinese mainland, and sanctioning of courtly titles, and traffic between the imperial capital and Kamakura was heavy. Another severe impact on the ability of the Kyôto aristocracy to put anything into practice came with the two invasion attempts of the Mongols which tooks place in 1274 and 1281. We all know that “favourable” weather conditions played an important role in the defeat of the invading fleet but as the bakufu was responsible for national defence, it took large parts of the “victory” on it’s own account. In other words, the Shogunate in Kamakura was so to speak capable of not only defending but also of being in charge of the country. Accordingly, the local Kyôto smiths were about losing a great amount of business and much more promising was what was going on in Kamakura and the newly established Sôshû tradition of sword making. But on the other hand, another Kyôto-based school, Rai, was just about to flourish (and became as successful as it gets). So there was surely a demand left. Anyway, what we can see is that from late Kamakura onwards, a significant shift from noble to martial took place and maybe the Rai School was just more capable of responding to this request. Well, there are still many things in the dark when it comes to the early Kyôto schools. Maybe there were other, i.e. local and/or genealogic factors involved than mere the factors supply and demand and rise of the warrior class. For example, we are still not able to fully connect the dots and draw the connections between Sanjô, Gojô, Ayanokôji, Awataguchi, and Rai. I mean, overlapping workmanships give us a pretty good good hunch about that they must have been somehow connected. But we don’t know for sure which schools’ founder was trained by whom and so on. And with this, I want to close the chapter Awataguchi and move – with a short stopover at Aburanokôji (油小路) – over to the Rai School.

With a focus on Sôtatsu, Kôetsu, and Myôju

When I was in DC over the Thanksgiving weekend, it goes without saying that I visited the ongoing Sôtatsu: Making Waves exhibition at the Freer and Sackler Galleries. Outstanding works of art from a time in Japanese history which I like very much, especially as my favorite tsuba maker and one of my most favorite Japanese artists were active then, Umetada Myôju (埋忠明寿) and Hon’ami Kôetsu (本阿弥光悦). Back home, I was once again going through some of my earlier drafts to remember how they all, i.e. Sôtatsu, Kôetsu, and Myôju were connected and whilst I was bringing together and restructured half-finished articles, I thought I better post the result on my site rather than leaving it, again, hidden somewhere on my HD. In this sense, I would like to proceed by introducing each of the artists for himself and working out their relation at the end of each corresponding section. But first of all, I would like to introduce an artwork from the exhibition which impressed me the most, and which is not even by Sôtatsu himself (it is from his studio).

It has the brief title Trees and is a pair of six-panel folding screens that depicts a variety of evergreen trees lined up across a gold-foil ground, to quote from the catalog. One of the screens is filled with trees whilst of the other more than half is left empty, leaving just the golden ground as decorative element. The trees are interpreted in a very realistic manner and even if the emphasis is on presenting the widest variety of evergreens, they go so perfectly together as if you are standing in front of a forest that naturally grew that way. You just have to see it in person, that means from the distance it was meant to be appreciated, namely in a dimly lit room with the gold acting as intensifier for each and every light source and being so to speak a true successor of the grandeur of the Momoyama era (the screens are dated to the Kan’ei era [1624-1644] by the way). That means, the decorative effect is kept but the realistic interpretation already goes in a different direction, away from the bold interpretations of the Momoyama era. For a better understanding of the art, and of paintings of the Momoyama era in particular, you must not only focus on what was going on at that time but you also have to look back. In the Kamakura period, painting had been very much influenced (and commissioned) by the clergy, or had been narrative, but the China-orientation of the Ashikaga-bakufu during the Muromachi period created a boom in secular paintings depicting just landscapes, the four seasons, trees or flowers for example, all of that primarily drawn from trigger words of Chinese legends. In the course of this development, painters eventually started to go “fully secular” towards the end of the Muromachi period. For example, screens with not just legendary Chinese but with concrete Japanese sites appeared that were made for not more and not less than admiring domestic beauties of nature. Of course, the effect of many of these paintings was intensified with the help of Japanese sentiments, i.e. a solitary pine on a rock was not just a beautiful pine but alluded to loneliness. You get the picture. This impressionistic approach runs like a continuous thread through all of Japan’s high art anyway, first by formulated scenes from the classics, later merely by allusions.

Then the chaos of the Sengoku era was ended by Nobunaga and his successor Hideyoshi and a phase of prosperity and extraordinary amount of construction took place. That means, when Nobunaga finally ended all the mess that was going on due to the power vacuum left by a weakening to virtually non-existing Ashikaga-bakufu (and local hegemons getting stronger and stronger, trying to come into power) and Hideyoshi continuing his policies, people, especially in Kyôto, felt that this might be peace after all. I mean, Hideyoshi’s campaigns to unify the country were still going on until 1590 but that concerned first and foremost the more remote regions like Kyûshû and Kantô. At the same time, the mentioned local hegemons constructed enormous castles and residences to underline their status, capability and wealth, and this is especially true for Hideyoshi and his projects in and around Kyôto. In addition, Nobunaga and Hideyoshi have sponsored renovations and reconstructions of countless palace and religious facilities to get as an exchange court titles and lands. And all this lead to a unprecedented number of patrons who were more diverse than ever before. Now not only the bakufu employed artists like that of the Kanô and Tosa Schools were thriving but independent artists were able to get a foot in the door and that more or less just on the basis of their talent (and the ability to sell oneself of course).

Chinese Lions, Kanô Eitoku, Imperial Household Collection, Late 1580s

Landscape with the Sun and Moon, jûyô-bunkazai, unknown artist, mid-16th century, Kongôji (Ôsaka Prefecture)

It has to be mentioned that the course was basically dictated. That is, all the golden screens and paintings with their prima facie easy-to-grasp ornamentation were born to a certain extent out of the need to create artworks that are visually perceptible and appreciable from a certain distance for the ever growing rooms and halls. One of the greatest trendsetters was, of course, an established, prestigious painter from one of the main lines, Kanô Eitoku (狩野永徳, 1543-1590), who had the honor of working directly for Nobunaga and Hideyoshi. But even Eitoku, see picture above, referred to extant interpretations like for example to the early Muromachi period Landscape with the Sun and Moon screens from the Ôsaka Kongô-ji that already introduces some gold (see bottom picture above, and don’t compare the two screens directly, just their aesthetical concept). So as indicated, the ornamental path was kind of laid out, i.e. the Momoyama artists did not start to paint in that ornate way out of the blue, but it was the unique background of peaceful and thriving Momoyama-era Kyôto that created such a highly fascinating momentum in Japanese art history. And this does not only apply to paintings but also two sword fittings. One of the first (and probably the most famous) of the new and independent, that means non-bakufu employed painters, was Hasegawa Tôhaku (長谷川等伯, 1539-1610). Tôhaku was a professional painter from Noto province who moved to Kyôto to study under the Kanô School and when his contemporary Eitoku died in 1590, he found himself as official painter for Hideyoshi. His most representative “Momoyama Kanô-style” work is shown below. Well, many many books have been written on each of these artists and aspects and I tried to break down the background of the Momoyama era (visual) art world as much as possible for the introduction to this humble article.

Maple, kokuhô, Hasegawa Tôhaku, 1592/93, Chishaku’in (Kyôto)

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Tawaraya Sôtatsu

And with this we arrive at Tawaraya Sôtatsu. Surprisingly little is known on the person Sôtatsu for an artist of his influence (three of his works are designated as kokuhô for example). First of all, we don’t know when he was born and when he died but as his son and successor Sôsetsu (宗雪) was granted with the honorary Buddhist title of Hokkyô in Kan’ei 19 (1642), a title that had been granted before to his father, it is assumed that Sôtatsu had either died shortly before or retired and died shortly later as Sôsetsu moved for good to Kanazawa the following year. The first time Sôtatsu appears in written history is when he was repairing famous late Heian sutra scrolls for Fukushima Masanori (福島正則, 1561-1624) in Keichô seven (1602). Masanori was at that time the daimyô of the Hiroshima fief of Aki province and the scrolls, that were preserved in the local Itsukushima-jinja, so to speak under his jurisdiction. So Masanori paid for the repair work but did not go to Kyôto himself to pick a fan painter (more on that soon) to work on “his” treasured scrolls. It was the Kanô school painter Kaihô Yûshô (海北友松, 1533-1615) and favorite of Hideyoshi and Emperor Go-Yôzei (後陽成天皇, 1571-1617) who had travelled to the Itsukushima-jinja in 1598 to study the famous scrolls. So it was him who “convinced” Masanori to have them repaired and it is safe to assume that it was him too who suggested a capable artist to go with for this project. Anyway, we know that Sôtatsu ran the Tawaraya (俵屋) at that time, a painting shop that – unlike the large, bakufu and court serving Kanô studio – focused on ready-made objects. The Tawaraya, Sôtatsu’s family name was Nonomura (野々村) by the way, was first and foremost a fan shop but also sold smaller art objects like hanging scrolls and poetry sheets. Back then, quite an importance was attached to fans. They were a fashion accessory that not only demonstrated style but to a certain extent also social status and the very mood at that day. They were also perfect gifts as their decorations often bear subtle messages, transported through visual quotations from classical literature, narratives of war, and romance, to use again words from the catalog to the Sôtatsu exhibition. With the Tawaraya’s customer base in mind, i.e. the local machishû (町衆), the Kyôto upper class to put it simply, it is understandable that artistic objectives were set very high. I mean, these customers were well-versed in art and the classics and to not hold up to ridicule among their circles, they were only going for the best of the best. We don’t know much about the ventures of Sôtatsu in the first two decade of the 17th century but we do know from records that at the latest by Genna two (1616), Emperor Go-Mizunoo (後水尾天皇, 1596-1680) was aware of the work produced by the Tawaraya. Also we know that Sôtatsu had became a very close friend of courtier, poet, and painter Karasumaru Mitsuhiro (烏丸光広, 1579-1638) by then and it is assumed that it was Mitsuhiro who provided all the good connections. It is unclear when Sôtatsu had fully arrived in court circles but usually the Genna era (1614-1625) is quoted in this respect. In 1630, he received the aforementioned honorary title of Hokkyô, a great and unusual honor for an “outsider” artist like him and by then, he had virtually became a court painter, carrying out commissions for the highest of the highest clientele.

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Hon’ami Kôetsu

Kôetsu (see picture above) was born in Eiroku one (1558) into the prestigious Hon’ami family of sword appraisers and sword polishers to the bakufu. The Hon’ami lineage into which Kôetsu was born, the Kôji (光二) lineage, was primarily working for the wealthy Kaga Maeda family, receiving impressive 200 koku per year. Kôetsu however, the second generation of the relative young Kôji lineage, did not focus that much on swords but turned out to be an allround artist and besides calligraphy, he was a passionate potter, a lacquer artist, publicist, and follower of the tea ceremony, mastering each of these arts entirely. By the way, it is assumed that he had passed on all his professional sword obligations to his adopted son-in-law Kôsa (光瑳, 1574-1637) who succeeded as third generation Kôji-Hon’ami. When it comes to painting, there is the theory that Kôetsu has been a student of the aforementioned Kaihô Yûshô and that it was the latter who introduced him to Sôtatsu. Like it is the case with Sôtatsu, Kôetsu’s exact connections remain to a certain part unknown but what we do know is that he was independent by nature, and a versatile genius with an unfailing sense of taste. So whilst Kôetsu was strengthening his cultural and business relations in Kyôto in the decade after Sekigahara, Ieyas was about wiping out the remaining important members and abiders of the Toyotomi clan. And when he finally did so by capturing Ôsaka Castle in 1615, he offered Kôetsu an official position in the bakufu for 300 koku per year, 100 koku more than the Maeda were paying him. But Kôetsu declined with thanks as he avoided going to Edo by all means as the new and hardly developed capital was then totally uninteresting for an artist like him. As “compensation,” Ieyasu granted him a plot of land, Tagamanine (鷹峯), located on the northern outskirts of Kyôto and on the northeastern slopes of Mt. Daimonji (about 5 miles from present-day Kyôto Station). Well, there are now two approaches to explain this gift: One says that it was really a gift of Ieyasu, the lands of yielded later decent 176 koku per year and had tax exempt status. But the other one says it was more like an exile to keep Kôetsu out of Kyôto politics because Ieyasu did not fully trust him. One of Kôetsu’s close friends namely, tea master and warrior Furuta Oribe (古田織部, 1544-1615), had just been forced to commit seppuku because of his alleged loyalty to the Toyotomi so everyone with whatsoever ties to this family was treated by Ieyasu with suspicion. Anyway, Kôetsu turned Takagamine into an artist community with a relative strong religious touch, housing more than 200 residents and also agricultural fields. Incidentally, the records differ on the size of Takagamine and either list 30 or 25 ha for the entire plot. Invited to live there and provided with a house were for example Kôetsu’s paper and brush makers, makie artists, members of his own family and of the Hon’ami main line, and the wealthy draper Ogata Sôhaku (尾形宗伯, 1570-1637) who had excellent relations to the Imperial family and who also was Kôetsu’s nephew. Sôhaku’s father Dôhaku (道伯) was married to Kôetsu’s older sister and his grandson Kôrin (光琳, 1658-1716) went down in history as name giver of the Rinpa School (琳派) of painting. Sôtatsu’s collaboration basically took place before the establishment of Takagamine but some of the last joint artworks date 1615 or shortly after. Recent studies strongly suggest that both artists must have worked simulatenously in a session or at least very closely together on these artworks, the famous scrolls with the gold and silver paintings (by Sôtatsu) and poems (by Kôetsu). (I have used one of them, the Crane Scroll, which is pre-1615 by the way, as cover for my book on the Hon’ami family.) Incidentally, we find on the map of the allocations of the houses in Takagamine the name of the weaver Hasuike Tsuneari (蓮池常有) of whom some assume that he was somehow related to Sôtatsu. Reason for this assumption is that Sôsetsu’s successor of the Tawaraya, Sôsetsu (相説), was from the Kitagawa family (喜多川) and the Kitagawa were a branch of the Hasuike.

Takagamine as seen in the Miyako Meisho Ezu (都名所絵図, 1780)

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Umetada Myôju

Myôju was born in the same year as Kôetsu, Eiroku one (1558), and his family too was working on a hereditary basis for the bakufu. The Umetada were not only swordsmiths but also made certain sword fittings and were also responsible for arranging koshirae. That means, the Umetada received the blade from the smith, or in the case of an old blade from the customer, and the tsuba and the other sword fittings from the tsuba and sword fittings maker respectively, for instance from other prestigious bakufu-employed lineage like the Gotô (as far as sword fittings like mitokoromono are concerned). In a next step, the Umetada first equipped the blade with a new habaki as the habaki has to be tailor-made to the blade and as a proper saya can not be made before the blade has a tailor-made habaki. The tsuba was adjusted to the blade either by punches around, or by inserting soft-metal pieces on top and bottom of the nakago-ana. The wood and lacquer work and the hilt wrapping and so on was commissioned to family members or sub-contracting craftsmen and the Umetada family had, depending on the specification of the customer, more or less artistic freedom in arranging the koshirae. And then there were two important task which connected the Umetada to the Hon’ami family. One was the shortening of blades, and the other one was to inlay (in gold or silver) the attribution of a sword the Hon’ami had forwarded them on its tang. We know from records that the Umetada family also dealt with swords, or bought up “hidden treasures” to submit them to the Hon’ami for authentication and attribution – the kinzôgan-mei carried out in the own workshop of course – to sell them later for five times the purchase price for example. So the two families were pretty closely linked. But back to Myôju. We don’t know for sure when and how he came in touch with Kôetsu but we can try to guess what was going on. Myôju started his career as a swordsmith and the earliest extant dated swords are from Keichô two (1597), from a time when he signed with “Muneyoshi” (宗吉). He was already 40 years old at that time. Also we learn from a signed sword by one of his master students, Hizen Tadayoshi (肥前忠吉), that when Tadayoshi came to Kyôto to learn from the Umetada in Keichô one (1596), still Myôju’s father Myôkin (明欽) was the head of the family. The name change to “Myôju” took place two years later, in Keichô three (1598), and it is assumed that this was the time when he took over the forge. But then something odd happens, that is, a gap of almost ten years from which no swords are known. The next known dated blade after the Keichô three one is from Keichô twelve (1607). I mean, there was Sekigahara going on just two years after his succession as Umetada head and there was thus surely a need for newly made swords. Well, it is possible that he was forced to produce in masses for a certain time and to deliver the majority of these blades unsigned as it was customary for fulfillments of bakufu orders. But after everything had calmed down, we are still facing a gap of at least five or six years and this phase of “unproductiveness” seems rather odd for a master swordsmith like him. Now we know that he handed over the management of the Umetada forge and workshop to his younger brother Jusai (寿斎) some time during the Keichô era (1596-1615) and everything points towards that he did so to have more time to cultivate his contacts with the then Kyôto art world. At this point it has to be mentioned that there are outstanding tsuba extant by Myôju that really take up the unique style of the Momoyama era (see picture below) and thus we may assume that he gave up the forge right after Sekigahara to focus for several years on developing a very special kind of tsuba. It has to be mentioned that Myôju was also a great engraver (horimono-shi) and that he trained several craftsmen in this art who turned out to become masters themselves. In other words, Myôju was well versed in working with steel and soft metal, in performing gold inlays, and he knew how to guide a chisel.

tsuba with oak motif, jûyô-bunkazai, mei “Umetada Myôju,” Momoyama era, brass with a slightly raised shakudô hira-zôgan ornamentation and ko-sukashi, owned by the Hôeidô Corporation

Now how does Myôju go in line with Takagamine? Well, Kôetsu and Myôju knew each other pretty well, that is from their related jobs and from the fact that they both lived in Kyôto and moved in the local machishû circles. And by the way, the Hon’ami residence was just across the Horikawa-dôri from the Nishijin district where the Umetada workshop was located, i.e. just a stone’s throw away. It is unclear if Myôju made all of his Momoyama-style tsuba in the “ten year break” from sword forging or if he made them at the side until the end of his career. The year after the break, i.e. 1608, must have been a busy one as far as sword forging is concerned as about one third of all known dated blade goes back to that year. Also we know that his training of horimono-shi concentrated on the later years of the Genna era (1615-1624). Apart from that, he never gave up sword forging because there exists a blade, a ken, that was made just two months before his death, which was in Kan’ei eight (1631) by the way (Kôetsu died six years later in Kan’ei 14, 1637).

A very interesting entry is found on an extant map of Takagamine that mentions all the house owners of the community. Therein we find a certain “Umetada Dô’an” (埋忠道安) who lived in the town house directly opposite from the residence of Kôetsu (see detail below). Now the name Dô’an does not appear in any of the Umetada genealogies but experts assume that it is either an otherwise unknown pseudonym of Myôju or that a very close family member of Myôju lived in that house. The former approach, i.e. Dô’an being a pseudonym of Myôju, is explained by the religious orientation of Takagamine. We know that Kôetsu was a faithful Nichiren (Hokke) follower and that he also acted as a spiritual leader of the artist community. At that time, “Dô” (道) was a popular character to form one’s Hokke name from and it is possible that Dô’an was the lay name of Myôju that he used in Takagamine after Kôetsu had “convinced” him to follow the religious orientation of the community when residing in Takagamine.

Detail of the Takagamine map: (1) Residence of Kôetsu, (2) townhouse of Dô’an, please note that the name is quoted as “Mumetada Dô’an” (むめたゝ道安).

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What an exciting time the Momoyama era was for the Japanese art world! I want to deal with Takagamine in more detail at some time in the future and apart from that, I want to dedicate Umetada Myôju one day a book within my series that focuses on certain artists, i.e. in the style of my publications on Kanô Natsuo and Masamune.

Strictly speaking, Aburanokôji does not refer to a school in the proper meaning of the word but to a loose group of swordsmiths which was active somewhere along Kyôto’s Aburanokôji street. This street runs in a north-south direction and parallel (and pretty close) to the Horikawa-dôri that passes Nijô Castle to the east. Satô Kanzan mentions that the group was working near the Ayanokôji School and when we take a look at the map of Kyôto we learn that the Aburanokôji crosses the west-east running Ayanokôji street somewhere halfway between Nijô Castle and the Nishi Honganji. The meikan associate the Aburanokôji smiths with the Awataguchi School but the workmanship and other genealogical considerations suggest that they were rather linked to the Ayanokôji School, thus my brief detour into geographical details.

Well, when we look into the meikan, only a handful of Aburanokôji smiths can be found, so this group was pretty minor. And when we take a look at these few smiths we learn that half of them are dated into the late Kamakura period, to be precise around Shôô (正応, 1288-1293), and the other half into the early to mid Nanbokuchô period, i.e. around Kenmu (建武, 1334-1338) and Enbun (延文, 1356-1361). And not really a connection is drawn between these “sub groups.” Anyway, one clue on the affiliation of this group is offered by the Kokon Mei Zukushi which introduces the smith Tadaie (忠家) in the Ayanokôji genealogy, namely as son of Ayanokôji Sadaie (定家) and as being active around Enbun. The meikan list Sadaie as son of the famous Ayanokôji Sadatoshi and mostly date him around Kagen (嘉元, 1303-1306). The Kokon Mei Zukushi says that he was active around Shôô (正応, 1288-1293) and Einin (永仁, 1293-1299), so not that far away from Kagen. Enbun seems a bit too far from Kagen (or even Einin) for Tadaie being the son of Sadaie but when we look again at the actual genealogy of the Kokon Mei Zukushi, we learn that a “daughter” is slid-in between Sadaie and Tadaie. This most likely means that Sadaie did not have a son but adopted his grandson as heir. And with this in mind the about 50~60 years of difference between Sadaie and Tadaie don’t sound that bad anymore.

Now there is a tantô extant which is signed “Aburanokôji Tadaie tsukuru” (油小路忠家造) and dated “Enbun sannen chûshun no hi” (延文三年仲春日, “a day in the second month Enbun three [1358]”) (see picture 1). This tantô is the only blade known by Tadaie and is not only a very precious reference piece for this smith but also for the entire group as it actually bears the name Aburanokôji in the mei and as it is dated. Experts assume that the Tadaie who is listed at the end of the Kokon Mei Zukushi’s Ayanokôji genealogy refers to the maker of this tantô, Aburanokôji Tadaie, and this assumption is not solely based on the identical name and the identical nengô (i.e. both genealogy and tantô say Enbun) but also on similarities in workmanship. That is, although this tantô comes in a pretty obvious Enbun-Jôji-sugata, i.e. in a sugata we won’t associate with the classical Ayanokôji School at a glance, both jigane and hamon are basically following the Ayanokôji forging tradition. The kitae is a stanting-out itame with nagare and masame towards the ha and ji-nie as well as some shirake appear. The hamon is a hoso-suguha in ko-nie-deki and the bôshi features a short ko-maru-kaeri. The omote side shows a katana-hi with below a suken as relief and accompanied by a soebi, and the ura side a shôbu-hi. Incidentally, this blade was once a heirloom of the Tsuchiya family (土屋), the daimyô of the Tsuchiura fief (土浦藩) of Hitachi province. Later on it was owned by the Shizuoka Prefecture industrialist Yabe Toshio (矢部利雄, 1905-1996) who had a pretty impressive collection (e.g. he also owned the famous yari Tonbogiri).

Picture 1: tantô, mei “Aburanokôji Tadaie tsukuru – Enbun sannen chûshun no hi,” nagasa 28.4 cm, sori 0.3 cm, hira-zukuri, iori-mune

Apart from that tantô, we know, or rather knew, a jûyô-bunkazai tachi signed “Tadayoshi” (忠吉) that is attributed to Aburanokôji Tadayoshi (see picture 2) Incidentally, there was obviously a third character below “Tadayoshi” but which is lost due to corrosion. So the blade was originally most likely either signed “Tadayoshi saku” or “Tadayoshi tsukuru.” The tachi was owned by the Suwa-taisha (諏訪大社, Nagano Prefecture) but was unfortunately stolen and its whereabouts are unknown. It has a koshizori that bends down towards the tip, a ko-kissaki, and shows a standing-out itame with some nagare, ji-nie, and a midare-utsuri. The hamon is a suguha-based chôji in nie-deki that is mixed with kawazu no ko-chôji and kinsuji. The elements of the ha are rather smallish and densely arranged and the nioiguchi is subdued. The bôshi features a ko-maru-kaeri but almost tends to a kuzure-like ichimai. The tang is suriage and has kiri-yasurime. So like the tantô introduced above, the workmanship of this tachi does not link to Awataguchi at all, as the meikan suggest for the affiliation of these two smiths. By the way, it is said that Tadayoshi, who is dated around Kenmu, was the father of Tadaie. If this is true and we want to bring that in line with the genealogy of the Kokon Mei Zukushi, Tadayoshi must have been married to Ayanokôji Sadaie’s daughter.

Picture 2: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Tadayoshi” (忠吉), nagasa 74.3 cm, sori 2.4 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Well, what about the other Aburanokôji smiths who appear in the meikan? There was an Aritada (有忠) who is dated to the Jôji era (貞治, 1362-1368) who was most likely linked to Tadayoshi and Tadaie. Apart from that, we find a Tadatsugu (忠次) and a Sadakage (定景) who are both dated around Shôô (正応, 1288-1293). The use of the characters “Tada” and “Sada” do suggest a connection to Ayanokôji (e.g. Sadatoshi, Sadayoshi, Sadaie) on the one, and to the later Aburanokôji group (e.g. Tadaie, Tadayoshi, Aritada) on the other hand. But due to the lack of extant works and records, I have to end this brief chapter here and with the next part we arrive at a very successful Yamashiro school, namely at Rai.

Now we are entering another of the great old Yamashiro traditions, that is Rai. I have summarized most of the traditions concerning the alleged school’s founder Kuniyoshi (国吉) a while ago here, for example that he was from Korea and became naturalized in Japan and that the school’s name Rai goes actually back to that context. Just one more note here, Honma points out that all the early Kyôto schools are either referred to as by and/or signed with the name of their production site, i.e. Sanjô, Gojô, Awataguchi, Ayanokôji. Only the Rai smiths used their family name what, according to Honma, somehow distinguishes them from the other local schools and what might suggest that they did not emerge from any of them. So we end up again at the immigration approach. Incidentally, the first smith who actually signed with the character for “Rai” was Kunitoshi but who was active towards the end of the Kamakura period. When we just stick to the facts then all we can say is that the Rai school emerged in the mid-Kamakura period and is stylistically most likely linked to the Awataguchi school, which had been the dominating Kyôto school of sword making at that time. Apart from that, experts see today Kuniyuki (国行) as founder of the school but that just on the basis of the fact that the earliest Rai works available go back to his hand. He was the son of the aforementioned Kuniyoshi who remains on paper the ancestor of the school. None of his blades have survived but there is a single puzzling blade going round – once owned by the sword polisher Hirai Matsuba (平井松葉), who was the younger brother of Hon’ami Nisshû – that might be his work (see picture 1). Honma says, apart from that the deki is excellent, that the overall workmanship in suguha in ko-nie-deki mixed with ko-midare is clearly Kyô and about contemporary to Awataguchi Kuniyoshi but the mei is completely different from that of the Awataguchi master and that the mei can’t be brought in line with any of the other known Kuniyoshi smiths of that time, e.g. from Yamato. So Rai seems most likely but as even the old oshigata collections leave out Kuniyoshi, we just don’t have enough data to say for sure that the mei is that of Rai Kuniyoshi or not. Well, one of the very few oshigata of Rai Kuniyoshi can be found in the Kokon Mei Zukushi (see picture 2). It is a tantô with a furisode-style nakago and a slightly undulating suguha but the mei is not a definite match with the mei of the tachi in question, although it has to be mentioned that the signatures of early oshigata collections were captured with a certain artistic freedom (i.e. they were copied with the brush and not rubbed like we do it today).

Picture 1: tachi, mei “Kuniyoshi” (国吉), nagasa 71.8 cm

Picture 2: Rai Kuniyoshi as seen in the Kokon Mei Zukushi

Satô in turn introduces this tachi as being a work of the Rai ancestor and describes its workmanship as showing a sugata with an iori-mune, a koshizori, and a compact ko-kissaki with a slightly standing-out kitae in itame mixed with nagare, a hamon in suguha-chô that has a rather subdued nioiguchi and that is mixed with ko-midare and a few chôji and kinsuji, and a bôshi with a relative widely running-back ko-maru-kaeri. He also says that there is another tachi with an ubu-nakago of Rai Kuniyoshi extant but which is yakinaoshi. The oshigata shown in picture 1 also strongly suggests the existence of a prominent utsuri (maybe one of those antique looking utsuri with antai that is also seen on some blades of Awataguchi Kuniyasu and Ayanokôji Sadatoshi) and the tapering, strongly curved tang and the slender interpretation with the ko-kissaki speak for a blade that dates early Kamakura or to the transition from early to mid-Kamakura at the latest. Before we go over to Kuniyuki, I want to quote Tanobe on this matter as he says that the blade shown in picture 1 looks in terms of sugata and jiba surely older than Kuniyuki but even upon closer examination, he can not attribute the mei with reasonable certainty to Rai Kuniyoshi. But that is just how it goes, i.e. even if many indicators point towards Rai Kuniyoshi, we are talking about a single blade here with no other references to compare with whatsoever.

GenealogyRai

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Thus we arrive at Kuniyuki (国行). He is traditionally dated somewhere between Jôgen (承元, 1207-1211) and Shôgen (正元, 1259-1260), but the former seems a bit early. That is because we know a blade by his alleged son Kunitoshi that is dated Shôwa four (正和, 1315) and that is signed with the additional information “made at the age of 75.” So Kunitoshi was born in 1241 and it is rather unlikely that Kuniyuki had the prime of his life 30 years earlier, i.e. in Jôgen. So something around Shôgen seems more fitting. By the way, the Kotô Meizukushi Taizen says that Kuniyuki died in Einin five (永仁, 1297) at the age of 79. So if we believe in this statement for a little, then he was 22 years old when Kuniyoshi was born. Anyway, the Shôgen era brings us right to an important aspect when talking about Kuniyuki, and that is that even if he was the actual founder of a school, we are, as mentioned, already in the mid-Kamakura period. So we are facing a different body of evidence than we did with the founding smiths of the Awataguchi school. These smiths were namely active from the end of the Heian to the very beginning of the Kamakura period, i.e. at least two generations earlier. In other words, the somewhat later active period makes a big difference when it comes to the pure number of extant works. But not only that, Kuniyuki entered the then sword world in a quite impressive manner because we are talking about more than two dozen blades that are jûyô-bunkazai or jûyô-bijutsuhin (one of them is kokuhô), more than 80 that are jûyô, and 17 that are tokubetsu-jûyô! So regardless of his scholastic background, he became without a doubt one of the greatest masters working in Kyôto at that time. Apart from that, his active time around the mid-Kamakura period also marks a noticeable shift from classical and elegant to powerful, and that applies both to sugata (e.g. ikubi-kissaki) and jiba. Accordingly, we have early works of Kuniyuki which are more unobtrusive and later works which are more magnificent and I want to introduce them in a chronological order. Incidentally, there are far more magnificent than classical blades of Kuniyuki extant.

The first two blades I introduce kind of connect to the aforementioned blade that is signed “Kuniyoshi” and to some of the Yamashiro/Kyôto masters who have been active a little earlier than Kuniyuki, e.g. Awataguchi Kuniyasu and Kunikiyo and Ayanokôji Sadatoshi. Blade number one shown in picture 3 is long, ubu, and of a slender and very elegant tachi-sugata but the (deep) toriizori (i.e. not koshi that bends down towards the tip) and the not that much tapering mihaba tell us that it is a mid and not an early Kamakura work. The kitae is a ko-itame mixed with mokume and nagare that shows plenty of fine ji-nie, much chikei, some jifu, and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden chû-suguha-chô that is mixed with ko-midare, ko-chôji, some angular elements, ashi, yô, uchinoke, fine hotsure, sunagashi, and kinsuji. The nioiguchi is rather wide and the bôshi is a shallow notare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeri with some fine hakikake. Please pay attention to the small crescent-shaped uchinoke that appear here and there right atop of the habuchi. These so-called karimata are often seen on works of the three above mentioned smiths, i.e. Kuniyasu, Kunikiyo, and Sadatoshi, and are one the one hand an important characteristic feature of Rai Kuniyuki, and on the other hand a strong stylistic indicator that connects him as indicated to the earlier masters.

Picture 3: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), nagasa 82.7 cm, sori 3.0 cm, motohaba 2.8 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

The blade shown in picture 4 too shows a very elegant and slender ubu tachi-sugata with a prominent kijimono-style nakago. The kitae of the “wet-looking” steel is a ko-itame mixed with some ô-hada and nagare that features plenty of fine ji-nie, fine chikei, and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a mix if ko-chôji ko-gunome and ko-midare that shows some ko-gunome and ko-notare along the upper half and that comes with plenty of ashi and yô, small and punctual yubashiri along the yakigashira, nijûba in the monouchi area, fine kinsuji and sunagashi, and plenty of ha-nie all over the blade. The nioiguchi is bright and clear and the ha gets somewhat thinner towards the base and along the upper half. The bôshi is sugu with much hakikake and the kaeri is so small that it almost appears as yakitsume. Again, please take a look at what is going on parallel and above to the habuchi and compare that with the blades introduced here and here.

Picture 4: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), nagasa 76.6 cm, sori 2.7 cm, motohaba 2.75 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Next a blade (see picture 5) that shows one of his other characteristic interpretations, and that is a suguha-chô with a large amount of smallish and densely arranged chôji which are accompanied by an abundance of ashi, yô, and karimata. Please note that none of the chôji protrudes prominently and that the ha is as mentioned perfectly suguha-based, i.e. overall straight with not much ups and downs (what distinguishes him from Ayanokôji Sadatoshi as he applied more ups and downs along the ha and apart from that, his bôshi usually shows prominent hakikake). This interpretation, also due to the fact that some jifu appears, might remind of Ko-Bizen at a glance but the sugata would be different as Ko-Bizen blades usually come with a koshizori that bends down towards the tip and also karimata are not associated with Ko-Bizen. And the bôshi is a hint to wide for Ko-Bizen. This blade of Rai Kuniyuki by the way was once a heirloom of the Ogasawara family (小笠原), the daimyô of Buzen´s Kokura fief (小倉藩).

Picture 5: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), nagasa 74.5 cm, sori 3.0 cm, motohaba 2.5 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Another of the very typical interpretations of Kuniyuki is seen in picture 6. This is his only work that is designated as a kokuhô and the blade is regarded as one of his greatest masterworks. The bôhi runs as kaki-nagashi into the tang and there is a mekugi-ana at the tip of the tang but this ana is a so-called shinobi-ana and the nakago is indeed completely ubu (also proven by the sankozuka-ken that is carved as relief in the hi which is exactly where it was intended to be, i.e. not half-way in the tang). The blade has a wide mihaba, does not taper much, has a relative thick kasane, a toriizori, and a stately chû-kissaki. The kitae is somewhat standing-out but dense ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie, some ô-hada along the haki-omote side, and a midare-utsuri. The hamon is a wide and ko-nie-laden suguha-chô that tends a little to notare along the monouchi and towards the yokote and that is mixed with ko-chôji, ko-midare, many ashi and yô, karimata, and at this blade, we see something that should become a characteristic feature of his school, and that is muneyaki. The bôshi tends to notare-komi and has an ô-midare-kaeri with hakikake and the nie are a hint more emphasized in the bôshi than in the rest of the ha. The blade was once a heirloom of the Matsudair family (松平), the daimyô of Harima´s Akashi fief (明石藩), and is thus also nicknamed Akashi-Kuniyuki (明石国行). Today it is owned by the NBTHK.

Picture 6: kokuhô, tachi, mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), nagasa 76.6 cm cm, sori 3.0 cm, motohaba 2.95 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Picture 7 shows one more stylistic approach of Kuniyuki and that is an almost pure suguha or a suguha-chô which is mixed with fewer elements and/or shows some shallow notare over its length. The blade is designated as a jûyô-bijutsuhin and has its mei preserved via orikaeshi. The tachi is rather wide, does not taper much, shows a toriizori, and ends in a stately chû-kissaki. The ha is mixed with some ashi and plenty of yô all over the blade and most of the mixed-in ko-midare focus on the very base, that means, right after the koshi the ha appears almost as pure suguha. Interesting here is that we see prominent nijûba before the yokote and throughout the sugu-bôshi, which runs back with a neat ko-maru-kaeri (or almost a chû-maru-kaeri on the haki-omote side). The nijûba are insofar very interesting as they connect him on the one hand to Awataguchi Kuniyoshi (see here), and on the other hand as this element was taken by his son-in-law’s son Kunimura (国村) to Higo where it was continued by the local Rai offshoot, the Enju school. But Enju works would show some masame along the hada and a shirake-utsuri.

Picture 7: jûyô-bijutsuhin, tachi, orikaeshi-mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), nagasa 69.7 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Now to another noteworthy aspect in Rai Kuniyuki’s oeuvre, and that is that there are apart from a couple specimen hardly any tantô extant by him. This is insofar interesting as his contemporary Awataguchi Kuniyoshi was a great tantô master and produced quite some and so did their successors Yoshimitsu and Rai Kunitoshi respectively. There are also no tantô of Ayanokôji Sadatoshi known and neither are much of pre-Awataguchi Kuniyoshi smiths (with the exception of Hisakuni). So with this and the aforementioned stylistic proximity to Sadatoshi in mind, it is conceivable that Kuniyuki has been active just a hint earlier than Awataguchi Kuniyoshi (who is dated around Kenchô [1249-1256]). But this is very speculative as it is quite possible that he made a decent number of tantô but which just did not survive. Anyway, I want to introduce one of these extremely rare Kuniyuki tantô, a blade that makes one think of Nanbokuchô or beginning Muromachi at a glance. It has a sunnobi-nagasa of 30.7 cm, a sori of 0.2 cm, and is in hira-zukuri with a mitsu-mune and a wide mihaba of 2.8 cm. The kitae is a dense itame that is mixed with some ô-hada in places and that shows jifu and plenty of ji-nie. The steel is clear and the hamon is a ko-nie-laden ko-notare with a wide nioiguchi that is mixed with gunome, ashi, yô, shimaba, kinsuji, fine sunagashi, and yubashiri. The bôshi is midare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeru with a few hakikake and kinsuji. Both sides bear a katana-hi with tsurebi and the tang is ubu. So this entire interpretation (sugata and jiba with much midare) seems to anticipate the style of Rai Kunimitsu and Kunitsugu, i.e. even skipping his son Kunitoshi. The blade was once a heirloom of the Shimazu family (島津), the daimyô of the Kagoshima fief, and was given to them by shôgun Tsunayoshi on the occasion of the marriage his adopted daughter Takehime (竹姫, 1705-1772) to Shimazu Tsugutoyo (島津継豊, 1702-1760) in Kyôhô 14 (1729).

Picture 8: tokubetsu-jûyô, tantô (modern classification is wakizashi), mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), measurements see text

Apart from that, there are a few stout kodachi and, what seems to be, uchigatana of Kuniyuki extant. Picture 9 shows such an uchigatana (it is according to the modern classification a katana) and signed so, i.e. in katana-mei, and was thus worn edge up. The blade is wide and stout, ends in an ikubi-style chû-kissaki, and features unlike his tachi a koshizori. The kitae is overall rather standing out and covered with ji-nie and appears on the omote side as itame, and on the ura side along the lower half as itame-masame and on the upper half as ko-itame mixed with mokume. There is a vivid midare-utsuri and the hamon is a notare-chô in ko-nie-deki with a wide nioiguchi and is mixed with chôji, gunome, and many ashi and yô. The bôshi is midare-komi with a somewhat “tied up” looking kaeri. On both sides we see a wide bôhi with soebi and the tang is a little suriage. So with the relative flamboyant interpretation with midare-utsuri we might think of Bizen for a moment but there are just too many nie for a Bizen work of that time, i.e. of the mid-Kamakura period.

Picture 9: jûyô, uchigatana, mei “Kuniyuki” (国行), nagasa 61.25 cm, sori 1.6 cm, motohaba 3.05 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Last but not least I want to recommend taking a look at the pictures at Darcy’s site here to get an impression of the steel and the almost “supernatural” forging quality we are talking about here. And I want to close by quoting Darcy that “this kind of sword is what shows us that the Kamakura period was truly the golden age of sword making.”

There is a short report in the December 2015 issue of the Tôken Bijutsu that I read with great interest and that I wanted to work into a smaller article on my site. The report in question is about an early Edo period sword fitting workshop that was discovered during construction work for a new apartment building in the Yanagimachi (柳町) neighborhood which is located a little to the southwest of downtown Nara. Well, as so often, a lot of things are going on and I had to put that article idea aside but the other day, Ford Hallam put a link to a short YouTube video on Facebook that briefly shows some of the discovered items that were on display at a small local special exhibition on the find.  The video by Sankei News is neither long nor very detailed but you can see the items much better than in the black and white Tôken Bijutsu article and with this, I thought I better introduce that issue on my site too as next to nothing is known about such cast workshops.

First of all, the finds. Discovered were about 800 items and fragments related to tsuba casting and about 600 of such for menuki, the majority being kikka-sukashi models for tsuba and dragons for menuki. Also found were more than 200 spherical melting pots, some with handles, some with three legs, and fragments of copper and zinc were confirmed on some of them, the “ingredients” you need for making brass (shinchû, 真鍮). The Tôken Bijutsu report says that so far, it was thought that brass was not produced in Japan until the latter half of the 17th century (up to that time it was imported) and that this find, which is dated to the first half of the 17th century, obviously predates that assumed starting point of local brass production. According to the report, the Yanagimachi area where the workshop was found was not settled in the Keichô era (1596-1615) but we have records that at the latest by Kan’ei eight (1631), 21 so-called yakuya (役家) resided there. Yakuya were families who held land tenure on the basis of socage. It seems that not much is found in period records and the first historic document that goes more into detail is the Nara Zarashi (奈良曝) topography/local history of the town published in Jôkyô four (1687). Therein we read that at that time, 14 swordsmiths, 14 saya lacquer artists, and 17 sword polishers were living and working in Nara. And for Yanagimachi we find listed a swordsmith named Kichibei (吉兵衛), a saya lacquer artist named Kansuke (勘介), and a polisher named Kiya Gohei (木屋五兵衛), the latter most likely coming from the renowned Kiya family of sword polishers whose main line had been working (like the Hon’ami and the Takeya) for the bakufu. The source does not mention any sword fittings makers but the find of the cast workshop combined with the listed names and professions strongly suggests that a thriving sword manufacture community had existed in Nara during the early Edo period. The fact that only the first and not the smith name of the swordsmith (i.e. the alias with which he signed) is quoted might not mean anything but it could suggest, again with the cast workshop in mind, that he was one of the many below-of-the-radar smiths and this in turn brings me to another point that made we wonder whilst thinking about the discovery. Incidentally, when I checked the meikan to see which smiths worked at that time in Nara, I could not find any smith with the first name Kichibei/Yoshibei but again, this does not necessarily mean much as the first names of the lesser known smiths were often not recorded and fell into oblivion. And almost all Nara-based smith of that time, i.e. Kanbun and Enpô, were from the Monju School, i.e. the Sue-Tegai lineage that made it into the Edo period.

What made me wonder were the circumstances of the emergence of such small local sword manufactures who obviously did not produce “daimyô level” swords, or not even mid-level bushi swords. Well, smaller or larger sword manufactures under the jurisdiction of local feudal lords had always existed as not every fief or region was receiving from the large sword centers like Osafune or Seki of course and as the equipment of the own men had to be ensured no matter what. And also safe to assume is that the fittings of the tens of thousands of mass produced swords that were exported to Ming China (more details here) were equipped with the cheapest kind of fittings. I am not talking about special presentation and special order swords as they were surely of at least decent make. As mentioned in the linked article, contemporary records say that most of the export swords were made in Nara and Bizen but we are talking here about the early 1500s at the latest and with the ongoing Sengoku era and all what took place during the reigns of Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, it is not unusual that many of the Nara-based manufactures had simply disappeared from the face of earth by a century later. So why were some of these relative cheaply producing workshops reemerging during the early Edo period and were still working when the general demand for swords was declining?

I think that this issue is linked to the then changes within the bushi class. So even if the demand for newly made swords surely declined from the end of the 17th century onwards, we are facing with the early 17th centuries’ continuous expansion and formulation of the Tokugawa-bakufu a certain change in the wearing of swords. It was the time when for the first time a “uniform” for all samurai was introduced and all things office-related – i.e. garments, hairstyle, swords – were dictated by the bakufu. Now each member of the bushi class from a certain rank upwards was required to wear the daishô pair of swords when on duty and rules were even stricter when operating in Edo (see also here). I don’t want to go too much into detail here about what sword form developed from what sword but as everybody knows, by the beginning of the Edo period, a samurai was wearing the typical daishô pair consisting of a katana and a wakizashi mounted in more or less matching koshirae. But before that time, i.e. pre-Momoyama and Sengoku, the uchigatana or katateuchi, the forerunner of the katana, worn by the lower ranking warriors and ashigaru was nothing more than a weapon and so to speak furnished in the minimum requirement to be used.

I want to cite the special case of the Sai’en-dô (西円堂) at this point to demonstrate what I mean. This side temple of the Hôryû-ji in Nara is a rare stroke of luck for the studies on Muromachi-period swords and mountings as it stored until recent times hundreds of weapons (see picture above) offered to it, or rather to the healing Buddha Yakushi-Nyorai (薬師如来) to which the temple is dedicated. At some of the swords the tsuba or other fittings were removed again later to reuse them on other swords but still many “intact” specimen have survived. The picture below shows what I meant with “minimum requirement,” that is, many of these basic uchigatana had no decorative elements whatsoever. They had a fuchi and kashira that held the hilt together, a kurigata for tying it with a cord to the obi, a kaerizuno so that the sword doesn’t slip out of the obi, and a rudimentary hilt wrapping. Some were equipped with a kozuka (most of the kozuka are missing so only the slots in the saya remain) and many did not even have a tsuba, i.e. were mounted in aikuchi style, and as many did not feature any menuki. As mentioned, these specimen show the very basic mounting that is necessary to make a sword use and wearable.

Such utilitarian swords basically disappeared with the disarming of the civilian population started by Nobunaga and finished by Hideyoshi, the so-called katanagari (刀狩り, “sword hunt”), and the subsequent regulations issued by the Tokugawa-bakufu. Whilst Nobunaga and Hideyoshi first of all sought to ensure with the katanagari that no one could take the country by force, Ieyasu’s rules were more about making sure that only the bushi class had nationwide the monopoly on violence, with the sword pair as easy-to-grasp symbol of being legally allowed to use physical force. From now on, it was unthinkable for even a lower ranking samurai to wear some kind of cobbled together uchigatana, no, you were required to wear a decent daishô when doing duty. Of course there were also semi-bushi class persons who ranked even lower and not every simple rural duty required a full daishô and as mentioned in an earlier article, there was no “sword police” going round that checked if every coutryside samurai had a sword with a proper tsukamaki for example and no plaintiff, no judge. So it was pretty much like if you are a soldier today doing duty on some desert base with just you and your guys all year long. Nobody complains if you show up in the morning with your shirt open. But the fun stops as soon as the base has a certain size or when you have to show up at another base. You don’t want to embarrass yourself or worse, your superior. Back to the early Edo period. Now every sword and short sword that was worn when on duty had to be equipped with a proper tsuba, tsukamaki, fuchigashira, and menuki. (Again, I am not talking about special cases, koshigatana with unwrapped hilts, swords in private collections etc. I am referring to the majority of swords.) Now comes some numbers game. It is estimated that the samurai class made up about 10% of the Japanese population. In the early Edo period, Japan had a population of about 12,000,000 to 18,000,000 and about steady 30,000,000 from Genroku (1688-1704) to the end of the Edo period. So if we start with 12,000,000, about 2,500,000 swords (daishô, thus times two the 10%) have been worn at any given day in the early, and about 6,000,000 swords throughout the later Edo period. Well, tsuba and sword fittings were of course reused and handed down in the peaceful Edo period but still, there must had been a production line for the cheaper swords and therefore it is in my opinion only logical to accept that there were many more of such cast workshops like the one discovered in Nara. I also think that the majority of these relative cheap fittings just did not survive or was melted down for casting metal fittings. Thus we are hardly talking about them today.

These are my initial thoughts on the matter for the time being and maybe some more sites are discovered in the future as it is hard to develop a proper theory on just that one find. Last but not least, some more pictures can be found in the Sankei article here. And thank you Ford for pointing out that video.

The successor of Kuniyuki was Kunitoshi (国俊) and when it comes to Kunitoshi, the first thing to address is the centuries old question if there were one or two generations. Now seeing this question from a chronological point of view, we learn that the earliest sword books, that are those which were compiled up the the mid-Muromachi period, list a single Kunitoshi and that this changed from the very end of the Muromachi through the Momoyama up to the beginning Edo period when two Kunitoshi smiths were introduced. And this approach of dealing with two smiths dominated until the 1970s when experts started to go more and more back to the view that there was actually just one Kunitoshi. But let me explain why it went that way. First of all, Kunitoshi enjoyed a very long life and was active for more than fifty years. We know date signatures from Kôan one (弘安, 1279) to Gen’ô three (元応, 1321) and there is one very famous blade extant which is dated Shôwa four (正和, 1315) and added with the supplement “made at the age of 75.” Thus we can calculate his year of birth as Ninji one (仁治, 1240) and although we don’t know when he died, we know that he made the Gen’ô three blade when he was 82 years old, or rather that he was still head of the school at that time because certain works from those late years were actually made by his sons or students (I will address this point later). So let’s assume that he died some time in the early 1320s for the time being. Second, it is only natural that his style changed over time, one the one hand just because of the fact that he was active for more than half a century, but on the other hand also because a certain stylistic change took place all over the country during his time.

Now the oldest sword publication, the often quoted Kanchi’in Bon Mei Zukushi from 1423 that bases on data collected up to the year 1316, lists only one Kunitoshi. Interestingly, it inserts on one occasion (there are two Rai genealogies in the book) a certain Kuninaga (国永) between Rai Kuniyuki and Kunitoshi but anyway, the manuscript for the book was written on the spot, i.e. in Kyôto, and at a time when Kunitoshi was still alive and head of the Rai school. Experts are not sure where to put this Kuninaga but some say he might have well been a Rai smith but who died young and acted thus only for a very brief period of time as head of the school and therefore he was later removed again from the genealogy. The other very old source, the Ki’ami Hon Mei Zukushi from 1381, also lists just one Kunitoshi and so does the Nô’ami Hon Mei Zukushi from 1483. But then come the Genki Gannen Tôken Mekiki Sho from 1570, the Keichô era (1596-1615) Keifun Ki, and first of all the influental Kokon Mei Zukushi, which was published in 1661 but goes back to data gathered up to 1611, which introduce “all of a sudden” two Kunitoshi. However, this is not surprising. It was the time when sword studies experienced a boom and a lot was written back then (and from the early Edo period onwards also actually published in larger print runs). But think about the limited data situation of those days. You have blades signed Kunitoshi with earlier dates which are all of one style and then you have blades signed Rai Kunitoshi with noticeably later date signatures which are all of a significantly different style. Of course you assume they were two smiths and that a shift of generations must had taken place at some point in time. And this approach was subsequently refined by introducing the nickname Niji Kunitoshi (二字国俊) for the former, as he signed in niji-mei, and Rai Kunitoshi (来国俊) for the latter, as he signed with the prefix Rai, and by the end of the 18th century, you get a construct like the Kotô Mei Zukushi Taizen which says the following: Niji Kunitoshi was the son of Kuniyuki and was born in Niji one (1240) and died in Kôei three (康永, 1344) at the very great age of 105 (according to the Japanese way of counting years). And Rai Kunitoshi was the son of Niji Kunitoshi. He was born Shôan one (正安, 1299), lived in Yamato province, signed from Kenmu one (建武, 1334) onwards with the prefix Rai, and died in Ryakuô two (暦応, 1339) at the young age of 41. With this as a basis, the complicated theory emerged that Niji Kunitoshi actually started his career by signing with “Rai Kunitoshi” and that it was his son who initially signed just with Kunitoshi. But then the son left for Yamato where he established his own branch of the school and where he too signed with “Rai Kunitoshi.” He died young and his father outlived him for some years, signing with “Rai Kunitoshi” throughout his entire career.

Anyway, this is and was seen as a nice anecdote and never made it much into mainstream discussions on the Rai Kunitoshi subject but I wanted to introduce it here for the sake of completeness and to underline how far things can go when an initially honest approach is fed here and there with tiny pieces of hearsay over time. But the Niji Kunitoshi and Rai Kunitoshi theory prevailed for a long time and even Honma sensei saw them first as two smiths, e.g. at the time when he wrote his Nihon Kotô Shi (the first edition was published in 1958 and is based on a thesis he wrote in 1952). He changed his view later and assumed that there was indeed only one Kunitoshi and also Tanobe sensei is of that opinion. This change in scholarship goes back to the fact that by that time, data and references were much easier accessible. That means, experts were and are no longer to restricted to some old manuscripts which were kept secret and only handed down within the own family and to a very limited stock of available Kunitoshi blades. Now you can bring all sources together and you are not only able to check hundreds of Kunitoshi blades for themselves but compare them with hundreds of blades of contemporary smiths and get a much clearer picture of what was going on back then. To sum that all up, Kuniyuki had a successor, Kunitoshi, who decided at a certain point in his career to sign his blades with the prefix Rai, the name of his family and school. Maybe he did so after his father had retired or died and the earliest dated work known that bears the prefix Rai is from the second year of Shôô (正応, 1289). He was already in his late 40s at that time what explains that he had enough time to sign in niji-mei like his father did. Thus the large quantity of extant niji-mei signed blades.

Let’s move on to the workmanship of Kunitoshi and although I go with the one smith theory, I will stay with the nicknames Niji Kunitoshi and Rai Kunitoshi, but that in a pure stylistic context, i.e. I will use terms like “Niji Kunitoshi phase” or “Rai Kunitoshi phase.” When we look at Kunitoshi’s entire body of work, we learn that he started continuing the style of his father Kuniyuki, turned that style into even more magnificent interpretations with a flamboyant hamon and an impressive tachi-sugata with ikubi-kissaki, and that he later changed towards more unobtrusive tachi with a suguha-based hamon and an elegant, slender sugata with chû or ko-kissaki. As indicated earlier, this specific stylistic change from magnificent and flamboyant to calm and slender can be seen at other contemporary smith and best example is Osafune Nagamitsu (長光) who can be seen as Kunitoshi’s “Bizen twin brother.” Both were the greatest masters of their region, both were working at exactly the same (dated works from Kunitoshi range from 1279 to 1321 and from Nagamitsu from 1274 to 1320), both were highly productive, and both were starting from where a previously dominating lineage had ceased to exist, i.e. Ichimonji in case of Nagamitsu and Awataguchi in case of Kunitoshi, with their fathers (Mitsutada [光忠] and Kuniyuki respectively) doing the first step. And as far as their skill and productivity is concerned, both are well represented among the Agency for Cultural Affairs designations: 17 for Kunitoshi (4 kokuhô and 13 jûyô-bunkazai), and 34 for Nagamitsu (6 kokuhô and 28 jûyô-bunkazai). And more than 200 blades of Kunitoshi are jûyô and about 30 passed tokubetsu-jûyô (not separating Niji Kunitoshi from Rai Kunitoshi). In comparison, about 150 blades of Nagamitsu are jûyô and a little over 20 are tokubetsu-jûyô.

*

Niji Kunitoshi Phase

Going more or less chronologically from here, I first want to introduce some works where he so to speak picked up where his father Kuniyuki left. The tachi seen in picture 1 is designated as a jûyô-bunkazai and shows the magnificent and kind of stout sugata that was prevailing at that time, featuring a wide mihaba, no noticeable taper, a deep toriizori, and a compact ikubi-kissaki. The kitae is a ko-itame that tends to stand out a little and that shows plenty of ji-nie and a faint nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ô-chôji-chô in ko-nie-deki mixed with kawazu no ko-chôji, gunome, and many ashi and yô. The ha tends to slant along the upper half and the nioiguchi is rather subdued. The bôshi is a widely hardened midare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeri. Both sides feature a bôhi that runs with kaki-nagashi into the tang with on the haki-omote side a suken and a soebi over the rest of the length, engraved below of the shinogi. The ura side shows a koshibi with a kind of gem element and after that the same soebi. The tang is ubu, tapers only a little to a ha-agari kurijiri, shows kiri-yasurime, and a shinobi no ana at the tip. The ha is flamboyant and not that nie-laden and as the nie-utsuri tends to midare-utsuri in places, one might think of a Fukuoka-Ichimonji work at a glance. But although lesser in quantity and size, there is too much ko-nie and ha-nie for a Fukuoka-Ichimonji work and having a faint nie-utsuri with a little midare would be also be odd as we would expect to see a striking midare-utsuri all over on a Fukuoka-Ichimonji blade.

Picture 1: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Kunitoshi” (国俊), nagasa 75.6 cm, sori 2.4 cm, motohaba 3.2 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, preserved in the Tôkyô National Museum

Next is the only dated blade known from Kunitoshi’s Nidai phase (see picture 2). This tachi is signed “Kunitoshi” and dated “Kôan gannen jûnigatsu hi” (弘安元年十二月日, “a day in the twelfth month Kôan one [1278]”). It has a wide mihaba, an ikubi-kissaki, and is a little shortened but keeps its magnificent sugata. The kitae is a ko-itame with ji-nie, nie-utsuri, and some jifu in places and the hamon is a ko-nie-laden chôji-gunome mixed with plenty of ashi and yô and some tobiyaki which even tend a little to nijûba in places. The elements of the ha tend to slant all over the blade and the boshi is midare-komi with yakitsume, i.e. it does not really have a kaeri.

Picture 2: tachi, mei “Kunitoshi” (国俊), date see text above, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, nagasa 77.9 cm, sori 2.3 cm, the blade is preserved in the Tôkyô National Museum and does not bear any designation of the Agency for Cultural Affairs

Picture 3 shows the meibutsu Torikai-Kunitoshi (鳥養国俊) which was once owned by late Muromachi period calligrapher Torikai Sôkei (鳥飼宗慶, please note that his family name is written with a different kanji for kai than the meibutsu) and ended up via a stopover at Hosokawa Yûsai (細川幽斎, 1534-1610) and his son Tadaoki (細川忠興, 1563-1646) as a heirloom of the Owari-Tokugawa branch. The blade is a kodachi and is today designated as a jûyô-bijutsuhin. It is truly stout and wide, measuring 60.3 cm in nagasa, but kind of elegant at the same time as it has a relative deep toriizori of 2.4 cm. We see funbari and an ikubi-kissaki and the kitae is a dense ko-itame with ji-nie and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a wide and chôji-based midareba mixed with some gunome and which does not show much ups and downs. There are plenty of hataraki like ashi and yô and the entire yakiba is quite nie-loaden. The nioiguchi is bright, clear, and tight and the hamon gets wider along the monouchi and turns there into a hiro-suguha-chô. The bôshi is midare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeri and almost tends to ichimai and along the upper half of the blade we see connected muneyaki. The deki and the condition are outstanding and the Torikai is considered to be one of the best work from Kunitoshi’s Niji phase. There are only very few kodachi of him from this time extant but as mentioned in the last part, already his father Kuniyuki made some and so he too continued to take orders in this direction. The overall interpretation with the flamboyant hamon reminds of his “Bizen twin” Nagamitsu but there is too much ji-nie and a nie-utsuri present what speaks against Nagamitsu. And the bôshi is also different as Nagamitsu mostly hardened a so-called sansaku-bôshi.

Picture 3: jûyô-bijutsuhin, meibutsu Torikai-Kunitoshi, kodachi, mei “Kunitoshi” (国俊), nagasa 60.3 cm, sori 2.4 cm, motohaba 3.03 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, preserved in the Tokugawa Museum

Now to a blade from Kunitoshi’s somewhat later  Niji phase that kind of anticipates the style of his upcoming Rai phase. The blade is still wide and magnificent but the kissaki is no longer straightforward ikubi and becomes chû and we see a hint more taper. The kitae is a dense ko-itame mixed with mokume and shows plenty of ji-nie and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a calm suguha-chô, or hiro-suguha-chô if you want, in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with ko-ashi, slanting Kyô-saka-ashi (on the omote side), yô, some yubashiri-based nijûba, and much muneyaki. The nioiguchi is rather tight, bright and clear, and the bôshi continues as wide suguha with a ko-maru-kaeri and a hint of hakikake. This tachi can be difficult to kantei at a glance but if you have internalized this and the upcoming chapter, you should be able to see that it can only be a late work of Kunitoshi’s Niji phase because the sugata is still to magnificent for the Rai phase and the jiba is “too advanced” for Kuniyuki. Well, Rai Kunimitsu would be a good guess too as early works of Kunimitsu are often very close to Rai Kunitoshi but there are just not enough nie-hataraki for Kunimitsu and we would also expect an approach of gunome in his ha. Anyway, this is the style that so to speak served as a blueprint for the Rai School itself from here on and for its offshoots Ryôkai and Enju. Incidentally, the blade was once a heirloom of the Owari-Tokugawa family and comes with an origami of Hon’ami Kôchû from Hôei five (1708) evaulating it with 100 gold pieces.

Picture 4: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Kuni…” (国…), nagasa 77.0 cm, sori 2.6 cm, motohaba 3.0 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

But it must not be overlooked that Kunitoshi also went even more classical in his late Niji phase, for example as seen as in picture 5. This tachi is of an elegant sugata with a normal mihaba, a deep toriizori, and a chû-kissaki. The kitae is a dense ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie, fine chikei, and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden hoso-suguha with a little ko-gunome at the machi and faint nijûba accompanying the ha here and there along the ura side. The nioiguchi is rather tight and the bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri. This blade too is difficult to kantei and could perfectly pass as Rai Kunitoshi. That means, this and the previous blade are precious references for us to realize that the late Niji and early or subsequent Rai phase are indeed very much overlapping.

Picture 5: jûyô, tachi, mei “Kunitoshi” (国俊), nagasa 75.2 cm, sori 2.6 cm, motohaba 2.8 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

How about tantô from Kunitoshi’s Niji phase? There is actually only one tantô known, and that is the meibutsu Aizen-Kunitoshi (愛染国俊) which is signed in niji-mei (see picture 6). To my knowledge, all mumei tantô that are attributed to Kunitoshi are explicitly attributed to Rai Kunitoshi, i.e. to his Rai phase. And from his Rai phase on, tantô increase significantly in number. His father Kuniyuki made hardly any tantô and we can only guess why that was the case. My theory, as stated in the previous chapter, is that Kuniyuki was just active a little to early for the great “Kyôto tantô boom” that started with his colleague Awataguchi Kuniyoshi and that was then continued by Kuniyoshi’s successor Yoshimitsu. So I think that Kunitoshi jumped only later onto that fine tantô bandwagon, i.e. when he was already in his Rai phase. Back to the Aizen-Kunitoshi. The blade got its nickname from the kebori carving of the deity Aizen Myôô on its tang and right above the niji-mei. It was once owned by Hideyoshi and came via a stopover at the Tokugawa family into the possession of the Maeda which owned it until the Shôwa era. The blade has a wide mihaba and follows in terms of sugata very much the sunnobi-style tantô of Kuniyuki introduced in the previous chapter (picture 8), although it is a little shorter. It show a dense ko-itame with fine ji-nie and a nie-utsuri and a “wet” looking steel and the entire kitae is described as nashiji in the old text to the jûyô-bunkazai classification. The hamon is a notare-gunome-chô in ko-nie-deki that is mixed ko-midare, togariba, plenty of ko-ashi, and some tobiyaki and yubashiri. The bôshi is notare-komi to midare-komi with a rather pointed but irregular kaeri. On the omote side we see a suken and on the ura side a hatana-hi with a shorter soebi.

Picture 6: jûyô-bunkazai, tantô, meibutsu Aizen-Kunitoshi, mei “Kunitoshi” (国俊), nagasa 28.75 cm, sori 0.24 cm, motohaba 2.7 cm, hira-zukuri, iori-mune, owned by Brast Sheave Co., Ltd., Ôsaka

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Now that should do it for today because I want to dedicate Kunitoshi’s Rai Kunitoshi phase a chapter of its own so that we don’t have one mega post and too much info at once. So stay tuned.

We continue with Kunitoshi by entering his Rai phase.

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Rai Kunitoshi Phase

As mentioned in the first part, Kunitoshi decided at a certain point in time to sign with the prefix “Rai.” I wrote that this might have been connected to his father’s death, i.e. in 1297 according to the Kotô Mei Zukushi Taizen, but I was going through known date signatures again and learned that there are actually two earlier ones known that are already signed with “Rai,” that is a tantô dated Shôô two (正応, 1289) and a tachi dated Shôô three (1290). So maybe this was the time Kuniyuki retired and handed over the forge to him or Kuniyuki actually did not die in 1297, as stated in the anyway partially doubtful Kotô Mei Zukushi Taizen, but in 1289. Anyway, I have edited the first part in this respect to make it work by itself and without the second part. So let’s start with the overlapping phase when Kunitoshi started to leave behind his magnificent tachi and started to follow the then trend to again somewhat more elegant blades with a more unobtrusive hamon. I am saying “started to” on purpose because we have to be careful. The aforementioned tachi dated Shôô three (1290) (see picture 7) is already pretty unobtrusive in terms of its hamon and also shows a noticeably more elegant sugata. It is very similar to the late Niji blade shown in picture of of the last part and was made only twelve years after the magnificent and flamboyant dated work from 1278 (picture 2 in the last part). In short, he made such unobtrusive blades early on in his Rai phase and apart from that, he went back once in a while to a more flamboyant jiba in his latest years, although combining that deki with an elegant and slender sugata (more on this later). So it is not black and white and just styles A and B with a little transitional period. It is complicated, I know.

Picture 7: jûyô-bijutsuhin, tachi, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊) – “Shôô sannen sangatsu hi” (正応三年三月日, “a day in the third month Shôô three [1290]”), nagasa 79.4 cm

The kodachi shown in picture 8 is dated to his early Rai phase and is as you can see pretty flamboyant. It has a somewhat narrow mihaba, a koshizori, shows funbari, and ends in a ko-kissaki. The kitae is a dense ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and nie-utsuri and the hamon is, as mentioned, a flamboyant mix of chôji, ko-chôji, and ko-gunome in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with ashi, yô, fine kinsuji, and sunagashi. The nioiguchi is rather tight and despite of showing some prominent chôji elements with large yakigashira at the base, the ha itself doesn’t feature that many ups and downs. The bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri and shows some hakikake.

Picture 8: jûyô, kodachi, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊), nagasa 59.8 cm, sori 1.6 cm, motohaba 2.7 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

The mei of the kodachi shows characteristic features that dates it to the early Rai phase and which I will introduce at the end of this chapter. It is interesting that there seems to be a lack of dated works from his 60s and that they increase again in number from Shôwa two (正和, 1313) onwards, i.e. when he was 73 years old (or 74 if you follow the Japanese way of counting years). So let me finally introduce the famous blade that he signed with the supplement “at the age of 75” (see picture 9). It is designated as a jûyô-bunkazai and signed in kakukudashi manner “Rai Kunitoshi Shôwa yonnen jûgatsu nijûsannichi ?? sai nanajûgo” (来国俊正和二二年 十月廿三日◯◯歳七十五, “Rai Kunitoshi, 23rd day of the tenth month Shôwa four [1315], ??, at the age of 75”). It has a normal to slender and tapering mihaba, a deep toriizori with funbari, and ends in a chû-kissaki. The kitae is a dense ko-itame with ji-nie, a nie-utsuri, and some Rai-hada. The hamon is a straightforward chû-suguha in ko-nie-deki with a rather tight and very bright nioiguchi that only features a few hataraki like ashi and yô. The bôshi is sugu and shows a long running back ko-maru-kaeri.

Picture 9: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei see text above, nagasa 78.2 cm, sori 2.1 cm, preserved in the Tokugawa Museum

Now I want to introduce a blade (see picture 10) that so to speak displays a style which is most representative for Rai Kunitoshi, or that comes to mind first when thinking of this smith. It is a jûyô-bunkazai tachi dated “Gen’ô gannen hachigatsu hi” (元応元年八月日, “a day in the eighth month Gen’ô one [1319]”), once again in kakikudashi manner. It has an elegant sugata with a toriizori, a little funbari, and a chû-kissaki. The kitae is a dense ko-itame that stands a little out in places and the hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha-chô that becomes a little wider along the monouchi and that undulates a little towards the base. The ha is mixed with ko-chôji, ko-gunome, sunagashi, muneyaki, and ashi which slant here and there. The nioiguchi is rather subdued and the bôshi is sugu with a long running back ko-maru-kaeri. As indicated, the interpretation in suguha-chô with ashi slanting towards the tang, muneyaki, and a kaeri that runs back in a long fashion is typical for Kunitoshi and the Rai School in general. As he was already 79 years old at the time this blade was made, it is assumed that we are facing here a daimei, most likely of Kunimitsu.

Picture 10: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊), date see text above, nagasa 74.1 cm, sori 2.3 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

The latest known date signature of Kunitoshi is from Genkô one (元享, 1321) and is found on the tachi shown in picture 11. He was already 81 years old at that time, therefore it is verly likely that this blade too was made by one of his students, probably Kunimitsu again. It is the work that I meant earlier with him returning once in a while to a more flamboyant jiba, but combined with a very elegant tachi-sugata. The blade is slender, tapers noticeably, has a toriizori, and a smallish ko-kissaki. The kitae is a very fine ko-itame with ji-nie, fine chikei, some jifu and antai, and a midare-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha-chô that is mixed with chôji, ko-chôji, ko-gunome, muneyaki, densely arranged ashi and yô, and fine kinsuji and sunagashi. The midare elements and the ashi slant in places (i.e. appear as Kyô-saka-ashi), the nioiguchi is bright, and the bôshi is sugu with a wide ko-maru-kaeri. This is once more a blade that is difficult to kantei. The sugata is highly elegant and might remind of late Heian and early Kamakura at a glance and with the midare-utsuri and the outstanding quality, one might think of Ko-Bizen masters like Masatsune (正恒) or Tomonari (友成). But their sugata would be different as they made blades with a pronounced koshizori that bends down towards the tip. The jigane says Rai and the ha Kuniyuki but the sugata is the important again why it can’t be him. He too did make such classical sugata with a smaller kissaki but usually in combination with a classical jiba. His more flamboyant jiba is usually found on more magnificent tachi that anticipate the strong mid-Kamakura sugata of Kunitoshi’s Niji phase. Apart from that, we would expect to see some karimata here and there on a Kuniyuki blade. Key here to nail it down to Rai Kunitoshi is the utsuri that appears as midare but with darker antai areas, a peculiarity that is sometimes seen at Kunitoshi in his later phase and at Ryôkai. But at Ryôkai, we would see some masame and shirake and his ha is a hint more subdued.

Picture 11: jûyô-bijutsuhin, tachi, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊), date see text above, nagasa 74.25 cm, sori 2.45 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, the blade was once a heirloom of the Uesugi family

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Now to Rai Kunitoshi’s tantô. Like his senior Awataguchi colleagues Kuniyoshi and Yoshimitsu, he did not focus on one single tantô style and made blades with the very wide range of roughly 18 to 30 cm, although the majority lying somewhere between 21 and 24 cm. And he was also open for different blade geometries as he made apart from the standard hira-zukuri also shôbu and kanmuri-otoshi-zukuri tantô. So let me introduce a few representative works, beginning with the kokuhô that is owned by the Atsuta-jingû and that is thus also referred to as “Atsuta Rai Kunitoshi” (熱田来国俊). The blade is dated “Shôwa gonen jûichigatsu hi” (正和五年十一月日, “a day in the eleventh month Shôwa five [1316]”) and is with a motohaba of 2.5 cm pretty wide for its nagasa of 25.1 cm. It shows an uchizori and a kitae in dense ko-itame with fine ji-nie. Interesting here, the nie-utsuri is joined by a thick bô-utsuri that appears parallel to the ha. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha that is mixed with ko-ashi, ko-gunome, and a kuichigai-ba along the fukura that turns into a kind of nijûba. The nioiguchi is wide, bright, and clear and the bôshi features a ko-maru-kaeri which is noticeably longer on the omote than on the ura side and which Tanobe sensei describes as “Fuji shape.” He explains that this shape, which resembles a stylized Mt. Fuji, is a characteristic feature of Rai Kunitoshi and also seen on some tachi and that its “mountain peak” appearance is the result of a wide and long turnback that makes the kaeri look a little symmetrical. Both sides of this tantô show a katana-hi with a suken below which end at the same height in kakudome.

Picture 12: kokuhô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊), date see text above, nagasa 25.1 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

Next the longest tantô known of Kunitoshi which I once had the chance to study hands on at a northern branch meeting of the NBTHK in Japan. The blade is dated “Einin gonen nigatsu hi” (永仁五年二月日, “a day in the second month Eining five [1297]”) and has a nagasa of 29.7 cm. It has the same motohaba of 2.5 cm as the Atsuta-jingû blade and looks thus with its overlength more narrow. It shows a little uchizori towards the kissaki and a thick kasane, two elements that tell us right away that it is, despite of its length, most likely not a Nanbokuchô work. The kitae is a very dense ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a suguha in ko-nie-deki that starts with a little indentation and that is mixed with a little ko-gunome and uchinoke along the center of the blade that makes the area tend to nijûba. The nioiguchi is bright and clear, the ha gets a little wider along the fukura, shows nijûba there too, and turns back in “Fuji shape,” i.e. with a ko-maru-kaeri whose turn back is wide and makes the kaeri look like the peak of a mountain. Like at the Atsuta-jingû blade, we have a katana-hi on both sides but this time with a thin koshibi on the omote, and a suken on the ura side. Due to the low position of the mei and the grooves running as kaki-nagashi into the tang, the nakago looks like suriage at a glance but it is ubu. I remember very well voting for Awataguchi Kuniyoshi at the kantei because of the nijûba but was of course not unhappy to see a ubu dated and signed tokubetsu-jûyô Rai Kunitoshi when the hilts were taken off. ;)

Picture 13: tokubetsu-jûyô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊), date see text above, nagasa 29.7 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

The last tantô I want to introduce is a kokuhô and this blade is truly classical, also with its curved furisode-style nakago. It has a normal mihaba and nagasa, uchizori, and a relative thick kasane, so everything speaks for Kamakura. The kitae is a fine ko-itame with a little masame and displays ji-nie. The hamon is a chû-suguha in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with ko-ashi and some kinsuji along the monouchi. The nioiguchi is rather tight and the bôshi is sugu with a wide ko-maru-kaeri which results again in the aforementioned “Fuji shape,” this time the symmetrical slopes are pretty clear, especially on the omote side of the blade. The omote side bears gomabashi and the ura side a koshibi as horimono. When you go back to the Awataguchi chapters you will see that the grooves are a little farther away from the mune than for example at Kuniyoshi or Yoshimitsu. This, sometimes rather felt than measureable, distance from the mune is a characteristic feature that distinguishes Rai from Awataguchi tantô.

Picture 14: kokuhô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunitoshi” (来国俊), nagasa 24.5 cm, uchizori, motohaba 2.14 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, owned by the Kurokawa Institute of Acient Cultures

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At the end of the chapter on Kunitoshi, I want to address the changes in his signatures but with a focus on the basic changes. During his Niji phase, he signed the three inner left short strokes of the character for “Kuni” pushed up to the upper left corner. He kept that when he started to sign with the prefix Rai but gradually stretched them out and distributed them evenly over the height of the character. Apart from that, the outer box of the character fof “Kuni” got more angular and a little smaller over time and the ending strokes/sweeps of the character for “toshi” were given up in his advanced Rai phase. Another important feature of Kunitoshi’s mei is that he executed the upper part of the character for “Rai” as just three parallel horizontal strokes. The angle of the inner left short three strokes of the character for “Kuni” changes during the Shôwa era, that means they are now no longer slanting from bottom left to top right but from top right to bottom left. But at post-Shôwa mei, i.e. from Bunpô, Gen’ô, and Genkô, the previous variant is seen again.

Picture 15, from left to right: Niji Kunitoshi dated Kôan one (1278), Torikai Kunitoshi, early Rai Kunitoshi, Rai Kunitoshi dated Bunpô two (1318), dated Shôwa five (1316), dated Gen’ô one (1319)

Comparative studies of Rai signatures allow us certain conclusions about daimei. First of all, it seems as if the daimei artists producing for Kunitoshi in his latest years took over the master’s way of signing the name of the school, Rai, and combined that with their own variant for “Kuni.” For example, Rai Kunitsugu signed the inner left short three strokes just like seen on the Kunitoshi works from the Shôwa era, i.e. slanting from top left to bottom right. Therefore it is assumed that all Kunitoshi blades signed that way go back to the hand of Kunitugu (see picture 16 left). Rai Kunimitsu in turn signed the three strokes in a quite steep manner, similar to what we see on Gen’ô and Genkô dated blades. Thus it is said that all these blades go back to the hand of Kunimitsu (see picture 16 right).

Picture 16: Left Rai Kunitsugu, right Rai Kunimitsu, with each their supposed Kunitoshi daimei to the right

The other day I was looking for a certain Higo-tsuba in my references and so to speak “rediscovered” a work of the 5th Hayashi generation Matahei that is owned by a friend of mine (see picture 1) and that raises some questions. Not the work itself (its papered and published by the way) but the artist, the fifth generation Hayashi, who changed his craftsman name at least four times and who bore the honorary title Iga no Kami (伊賀守). So each of these points in question is not necessarily special by itself but coming together in the very case of this artist is what raises these questions. To tell you right away, I don’t have definite answers but I think that in this case the truth is somewhere to be found in the historical context. So let me first explain what caught my attention and then elaborate on the artist’s historical context.

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Picture 1: iron sukashi-tsuba with bamboo design, mei “Iga no Kami Shigeyuki saku – Bunka jûninen yayoi kichijitsu” (伊賀守重之作・文化十二年弥生吉日, “on a lucky day of the third month Bunka twelve [1815]”)

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We are talking about Hayashi Matahei (林又平), the 5th generation of the renowned lineage if tsuba artists, who used as a craftsman the names Katsuie (勝家), Shigehisa (重久), Shigeyuki (重之), and probably also Minamoto Yasuyuki (源保之). Katsuie was his early mei and we learn this from a tsuba which is signed: “Hayashi godaime Katsuie jûnana ni te kore o saku – Tenmei rokunen nigatsu gejun kore o shiageru” (林五代目勝家十七ニ而作之・天明六年二月下旬仕上之, “made by Katsuie, the fifth generation of the Hayashi family, at the age of 17, finished in the last third of the second month Tenmei six [1786]”). Then there exists a tsuba dated with the third day of the tenth month Kansei one (寛政, 1789) which is signed “Shigehisa,” so Shigehisa was the name he used next, followed by “Shigeyuki” (重之) which we find on tsuba with date signatures from the Bunka era (文化, 1804-1818). As for the name “Minamoto (no) Yasuyuki” (源保之), there is to my knowledge no work extant that is actually signed that way and all sources are unanimously hesitant, saying that “it is said that he also used the name Minamoto (no) Yasuyuki.” By the way, Itô suggests that Matahei signed with two more names, Shigeharu (重春) and Shigefusa (重房), the latter probably as a daimei for his father.

As indicated, numerous name changes were quite common for Japanese tsuba and kinkô artists and and was mostly linked to an important even in the artist’s life, for example finishing an apprenticeship, entering another master-student relationship, succeeding as head of a family and so on. So what was going on in Matahei’s life? He was born in Meiwa seven (明和, 1770) to the then 26 years old fourth Hayashi generation Heizô (平蔵), craftsman name Shigetsugu (重次). Heizô died in Tenmei four (1784) at the young age of 41 (according to the Japanese way of counting years). Matahei was only 14 years old at that time and his grandfather Tôhachi (藤八, 1723-1791), the third Hayashi generation, was still alive and only 60. Tôhachi was a great and much sought after artist and is equaled in certain aspects with the famous Hayashi founder Matashichi (又七, 1613-1699). As Tôhachi was still alive when his son Heizô died and as Heizô is counted as fourth head of the school, we can confirm that the former had retired for some reason, i.e. the succession of Heizô was not initiated by Tôhachi’s death. Maybe he became ill at that time and maybe his son turned out to be sickly because we know that their employer, the Hosokawa family, ordered in An’ei seven (安永, 1778) Tôhachi to accept the then 24 years old Kamiyoshi Juhei (神吉寿平, 1754-1820) as a student and that he should be initiated into all family secrets of the Hayashi. Incidentally, Heizô was ten years older than Juhei but Itô quotes Juhei’s year of birth from the Higo Kinkô Roku as being Meiwa three (明和, 1766) which would mean that he entered his Hayashi apprenticeship at the age of twelve. Either way, Heizô died only six years after Juhei had started to train with his father what supports the suspicion that he was ill. Please note that I am using the Western way of counting years here and from now on, i.e. all these ages might differ by one when referring to Japanese sources. In short, the Hosokawa saw their cherished Hayashi family of tsuba makers in danger of discontinuation and intervened by arranging that Juhei from the Kamiyoshi family of tsuba makers should be groomed for being the successor, not of the lineage but of its art.

Now back to Matahei. So after the early death of his father, he found himself training under his grandfather and with the decision being made that his fellow student Kamiyoshi Juhei will take over the family’s main or higher end production line. As mentioned above, he was either 16 or four years younger than his direct competitor. We know from historic records that Kamiyoshi Juhei received in Tenmei six (1786) a stipend for the support of three persons what suggests that he had already finished his apprenticeship with Hayashi Tôhachi at that time. Matahei had inherited the salary of the Hayashi family, which was 15 koku plus a stipend for the support of five persons. 1786 is also the year Matahei made the above mentioned tsuba that is signed with Katsuie and at the latest three years later, he changed his name to Shigehisa. So my assumption for the time being is that, a.) Matahei signed for a couple of years with Katsuie, b.) that it was in Tenmei six (1786) when grandfather Tôhachi finally retired, making Kamiyoshi Juhei and independent artist (receiving the stipend) and c.), making Matahei, finally at age, the head of the family whereupon he shortly later changed his name to Shigehisa, eventually adopting the character for Shige that was used on a hereditary basis for the craftsman names of the Hayashi masters.

But then something happened. He received the honorary title of Iga no Kami, changed his name again, from Shigehisa to Shigeyuki (in my opinion most likely in connection with that honor), and switched on top of that to another counting of generations what is another piece in that puzzle. As seen above, he signed his early works straightforward as him being the fifth generation after the grandmaster Matashichi. But then all of a sudden he started to sign with “tenth generation” (there are several tsuba signed that way extant, for example the one of my friend shown above dated 1815 and another one dated 1807). Itô is not sure about that counting and assumes that he started from the ancestor of the family, the late Muromachi and Momoyama era gunsmith Hayashi Kazue (林数枝), but that he must have included some other Hayashi masters because even when we start counting with Kazue, Matahei would be the eighth head. So not sure how he arrived at him being the tenth generation. And what about his honorary title? Provincial governors’ titles like no Kami, no Suke, and no Daijô were in general rare for tsuba and kinkô artist. This means, when we deduct honorary title-bearing swordsmiths who also made tsuba, the renowned Myôchin lineage of armorers, and the Yoshioka Inaba no Suke School, only a little more than a handful of artists remain who had this honor, most famous example the Kyôto kinkô master Ichinomiya Nagatsune (一宮長常, 1721-1787) who bore the titles of Echizen no Daijô and Echizen no Kami. In other words, granting the title of (Iga) no Kami to a tsuba maker was not only rare, it was very very rare.

As mentioned, Matahei’s tsuba signed that way date concentrate on the Bunka era, i.e. on the time from his mid 30s to his mid 40s. From his late 20s to his early to mid 30s he had used the name Shigehisa, so a lot was going on back then. He died in the eleventh month of Bunsei six (1823) at the age of 54 by the way, only eight years after he made the shown bamboo sukashi-tsuba dated 1815.

My preliminary theory is that by the Bunka era, the Hosokawa realized that Matahei turned out to be an apt successor of the Hayashi School of tsuba makers and maybe, whilst leaving the higher end of the Hayashi-tsuba production line with the Kamiyoshi family, they somehow tried to push him or bring him again into the focus by having arranged that he receives a high honorary title such as Iga no Kami. Or maybe this honorary title was kind of a compensation for acklowledging that he was a worthy successor of the Hayashi lineage but leaving everything as it was, i.e. the Hayashi tradition at the disposal of the Kamiyoshi family? This is in my opinion supported by the fact that the Kamiyoshi family started to flourish greatly after Juhei whilst Matahei’s Hayashi successors were rather “also ran” (by the way, Matahei’s successor Matahachi [又八] died in 1840 and his successor Tôshichi [藤七] in 1874 and I haven’t seen any works of them; so if someone has pictures of their works, they would be greatly welcomed).

As indicated at the very beginning, I want to present some more of the historical context, so to speak as a starting point and reference for those who take it from here and find out more about the life of Hayashi Matahei. It was sixth Kumamoto daimô and seventh Higo Hosokawa head Shigetaka (細川重賢, 1721-1785) who had it arranged that Juhei should inherit the secrets of the Hayashi family. Incidentally, the Kamiyoshi had been serving the Hosokawa since the early Edo period but we don’t know what profession the early generations had. Itô suggests that as they are listed amongst gunsmiths and swordsmiths, they must had been involved in the arms and armor production and Fukushi states that they were armorers or made the metal ornaments of armors. It was not until Juhei that tsuba making came into play. He namely learned the craft of tsuba making from Zenshichi (善七) who was from the Tôyama lineage of tsuba artists, Juhei’s cousin (his father had married Juhei’s aunt), and a student of the second generation Nishigaki Kanshirô. Hosokawa Shigetaka was a great man who passed one of the few successful Edo period financial reforms at local fief level. He also established a fief school, the Jishûkan (時習館), and a medical school, the Saishunkan (再春館). Well, his financial reform was critizised because being so radical but of course they were radical, they had to be, and they eventually worked by the early 1760s when the financial status of the Kumamoto fief had greatly improved in comparison to what he had inherited from his predecessor Munetaka (細川宗孝, 1716-1747).

Hosokawa Shigekata

The man who must had arranged Hayashi Matahei’s honorary title Iga no Kami was Shigekata’s adopted grandson Narishige (細川斉茲, 1755-1835). Narishige was adopted by Shigekata’s son Harutoshi (細川治年, 1758-1787) who ruled the Kumamoto fief for merely two years. Well, Harutoshi did not have an easy job. Natural disasters struck Higo province just the year after his father had died and the resulting exploding rice prices caused an uprising. He was just in his 20s and died young, aged 30, making his adopted brother-in-law Narishige age 33 lord of Kumamoto. Well, Narishige’s 1792 silver price changes and financial reform were a failure and even caused a riot in 1802 and the burning down of the Edo Hosokawa mansion left another big hole in the fief’s pocket. Not directly related to the case of Matahei, I still want to talk a little bit about the subsequent financial situation of the Kumamoto fief as it might serve as a reference for the one or other.

So when Narishige retired in 1810, the fief was taken over by his third son Naritatsu (細川斉樹, 1797-1826), well, taken over merely on the paper as he was only 13/14 years old at that time. Now Naritatsu was able to save 100,000 koku but he too died young, aged 30. He was succeeded by his adopted son Narimori (細川斉護, 1804-1860) who was acually his nephew. It is recorded that at his time, the Kumamoto fief had amassed a debt of 800,000 koku and was on the edge of bankruptcy. The situation even worsened when the bakufu insisted on obilgatory duties of providing defense for Amakusa and Sagami Bay againt the US and British ships. This almost split Kumamoto into two factions and as his successor Yoshikuni (細川韶邦, 1835-1876) was critizised as being half-hearted and passive, Kumamoto would have probably faced its end, as many other fiefs at that time, if it was not for Emperor Meiji to end the feudal system. Incidentally, Yoshikuni was briefly succeeded, as governor of Kumamoto, by his adopted heir Morihisa (細川護久, 1839-1893), who was by the way the son of Narimori. And Marquis Hoskokawa Moritatsu (細川護立, 1883-1970), the first president of the NBTHK, was the fourth son of Morihisa. Last but not least, the famous Eisei Bunko Museum, the museum that preserves so many of the famous and important art objects passed down in the Hosokawa family, was founded by Moritatsu and turned into a public museum by his son, titular Marquis Morisada (細川護貞, 1912-2005), Executive Secretary to the Prime Minister. His son Morihiro (細川護煕, 1938- ) was Prime Minister of Japan and is present-day board chairman of the Eisei Bunko Museum.

Rai Kunitoshi was succeeded by his son Kunimitsu (国光) who took over an already very much flourishing Rai School. Well, as so often when talking about such relative early smiths, there are several traditions extant, like that he was actually the younger brother, grandson, or mere a student of Kunitoshi but the widely accepted one is that he was straightforward his son. As for his active period, we know date signatures from Karyaku one (嘉暦, 1326) to Kan’ô two (観応, 1351) and the Kôsei Kotô Meikan introduces a dated blade from Shôwa two (正和, 1313). However, we can assume that he was mostly engaged assisting his father at that time, as daimei works from the first two decades of the 14th century show. Rai genealogies, historic documents, and certain blades (and signatures, more on this later) furthermore suggest that there was a second generation Kunimitsu, but we can’t say for sure when the shift of generations took place. The Kotô Meizukushi Taizen says that the first generation Kunimitsu was born in Bun’ei one (文永, 1264) and died Shôkyô four (正慶, 1335) at the age of 72 but odd here is that the Shôkyô era only counted brief two years. Maybe the author mixed up the then partially overlapping and double counting of nengô eras of the Nanbokuchô era. Anyway, the source also says that the second generation was active around Kôei (康永, 1342-1345) and this approach is also followed by several experts, e.g. Satô Kanzan. Tanobe sensei in turn thinks that the differences in workmanship and signature style of the later works dated with Jôwa (貞和, 1345-1350) and Kan´ô (観応, 1350-1352) might just go back to the advanced age of the master, i.e. that there was maybe just one generation Kunimitsu. But when we take into consideration that his greatest masterworks are dated somewhere around Karyaku (嘉暦, 1326-1329) and Gentoku (元徳, 1329-1331) and assume on the basis of that he had achieved full artistic maturity at that time, it really seems as if the blades made 20~25 years later go back to the hand of a successor. So, to recap: I think that Kunimitsu took over the Rai School pretty soon after the third year of Gen’ô (元応, 1321) as this is the last known dated blade of his father who was then already 82 years old. In case he was the biological son of Kunitoshi, he was already a fully trained master smith at the height of his career at the time he became the newly appointed head of the forge (remember, Kunitoshi was born in 1240). Thus he was able to continue without interruption to satisfy the exquisite customer base of Kunitoshi, therefore the masterwork output right after his succession. In other words, there was no “experimental” post-succession phase which gradually leads to artistic maturity, no, Kunimitsu took the reins being already an undisputed Rai grandmaster. He also ranks about equal to his father Kunitoshi when it comes to designations by the Agency of Cultural Affairs and the NBTHK, 26 in terms of the former (3 kokuhô and 23 jûyô-bunkazai), and slightly over 200 (about 180 jûyô and more than 20 tokubetsu-jûyô) in terms of the latter category.

Now to Kunimitsu’s workmanship, beginning again with long swords. Kunimitsu did make some classical and slender tachi with a ko or rather a smallish chû-kissaki but the majority shows a more or less elongated chû-kissaki and a mihaba that does not taper that much and as stated in some of the previous posts of this kantei series, I am a sugata guy and this is for me a key element in distinguishing him from Kunitoshi. In short, his tachi are just overall more magnificent and wide and give us some idea of what is coming, and that is the heyday Nanbokuchô trend to overall larger blades. No wonder, was most of his career taking place in the Nanbokuchô period anyway (i.e. Rai Kunimitsu was active from the very end of the Kamakura to the beginning of the mid-Nanbokuchô period). However, it is interesting to see that his signed blades are by trend from the more classical and elegant camp but this again is insofar actually not that odd as the wider and more magnificent blades were all of a longer nagasa too and got therefore shortened (and lost their mei).

Let me start with some of the signed works, with the most representative ones the two tachi that are designated as kokuhô (the third kokuhô is a tantô and will be introduced later). One is completely ubu and is dated in kakikudashi manner, a feature that is also seen at his father Kunitoshi, with “Karyaku ninen nigatsu hi” (嘉暦二年二月日, “a day in the second month Karyaku two [1327]”). The blade (see picture 1) has a normal mihaba, a deep toriizori with funbari, and a straightforward chû-kissaki, i.e. it maintains with the deep curvature and the noticeable taper still a certain elegance. The kitae is a very fine ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and the hamon is a ko-nie-laden hiro-suguha-chô that is mixed all over with ko-chôji, ko-gunome, plenty of ashi and connected yô, and some kinsuji. The nioiguchi is rather tight and the bôshi is a widely hardened sugu with a hint of notare and a ko-maru-kaeri. A bôhi is engraved on both sides that ends in kakudome at the machi. This is by the way the only known dated long sword of Rai Kunimitsu.

Picture 1: kokuhô, tachi, mei “Rai Kunimitsu – Karyaku ninen nigatsu hi” (来国光  嘉暦二年二月日), nagasa 78.8 cm, sori 3.6 cm, motohaba 3.6 cm, sakihaba 1.9 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, preserved in the Tôkyô National Museum

The other signed kokuhô is seen in picture 2 and this one is suriage. This was once a very long blade as its shortened nagasa is still 80.6 cm! It shows a deep toriizori and a chû-kissaki and as it does not taper that much like the previous blade, it looks overall more magnificent and stout, i.e. with the chû-kissaki almost a little bit like ikubi at a glance. The kitae is a very dense ko-itame mixed with some masame and plenty of ji-nie. This blade and the previous one do not show any areas of weak or so-called Rai-hada. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha-chô mixed with ko-midare, ko-chôji, ko-gunome, plenty of ashi (mix of ko, chôji, and gunome-ashi), and yô. Please note that the hamon of this blade is sometimes described as hiro-suguha but it is in my opinion not that wide to pass as hiro. The bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri and this time, the bôhi ends due to the shortening in marudome in the tang. Again, please remember that this blade had once a nagasa of over 90 cm! Some more info on it can be found on my “sister site” here.

Picture 2: kokuhô, tachi, mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 80.6 cm, sori 3.3 cm, motohaba 3.0 cm, sakihaba 2.2 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, preserved in the Kyûshû National Museum

As you can see in the oshigata to blade 1, the hamon is truly interpreted as suguha-chô, i.e. running straight but mixed with an abundance of ko-chôji and ko-gunome or rather with chôji-ashi and gunome-ashi for most of the time. But Rai Kunimitsu also worked in pure suguha, or to be more precise, in a somewhat undulating suguha, i.e. not in a perfectly straight suguha as for example seen on a Hizen blade. The blade shown in picture 3 is a good example for this field of his repertoire and I picked it not only because I had the opportunity to study it hands on but because it it shows two important characteristic features of Rai Kunimitsu, and that is isolated sections of njûba and brief kuichiga-ba. And not to forget, it also shows a feature that distinguishes him from Rai Kunitoshi, namely that his ha comes with a somewhat tighter and more “defined/precise” habuchi. The blade has a magnificent and wide sugata that so to speak anticipates the later grandeur from the heyday of the Nanbokuchô era and the kitae is this time a somewhat standing-out itame that is mixed with mokume and that is not as tightly forged as at the two kokuhô. It also shows plenty of ji-nie and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is as mentioned a suguha in ko-nie-deki that tends overall a little to notare and is mixed with ko-ashi and some nijûba towards the yokote. The bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri and kuichigai-ba and both sides bear the so to speak “obligatory” Rai Kunimitsu bôhi that runs due to the ô-suriage as kaki-tôshi through the tang. Incidentally, the blade was once a heirloom of the Owari-Tokugawa family and Hon’ami Kôchû issued (in Genroku three, 1690) an origami for it, giving it a value of 500 kan.

Picture 3: tokubetsu-jûyô, katana, mumei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 73.6 cm, sori 1.6 cm, motohaba 3.1 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Let’s talk about another typical interpretation from the oeuvre of Rai Kunimitsu, demonstrated via the katana shown in picture 4. This time the hamon is still a ko-nie-laden suguha-chô but which mixed with shallow but conspicuous notare waves. Apart from that, it is mixed with ko-gunome, ko-chôji, plenty of ashi and yô, muneyaki, and with some fine kinsuji and sunagashi. And with the appearance of hotsure, uchinoke, nijûba, and yubashiri and with the sugu-bôshi that shows hakikake and that runs out as yakitsume, we can even grasp a hint of Yamato. But the steel is different from Yamato and appears as very dense, fine, and beautifully forged ko-itame with ji-nie that truly speaks for Kyô.

Picture 4: jûyô, katana, mumei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 71.8 cm, sori 2.6 cm, motohaba 2.85 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Before we continue with Rai Kunimitsu’s tantô, let me first repeat his three basic long sword styles and second, address the sensitive point of Rai-hada. One of his basic styles is the suguha-chô that is mixed with ko-chôji and ko-gunome or rather with chôji-ashi or gunome-ashi (picture 5 a). The other basic style is an almost pure suguha with just some ashi or slanting Kyô-saka-ashi and a little nijûba and/or kuichigaiba (picture 5 b). And the third one is an undulating suguha that shows horizontal, layered, “yamatoesque” hataraki (that remind if you want a little bit of Rai Kuniyuki) (picture 5 c).

Picture 5.

As for Rai-hada, this is a feature which I would typically place with Rai Kunimitsu right away, or in other words, it is seen at Kunitoshi sometimes but hardly at all at Kunitsugu what means if you can make out Rai-hada on a blade that you can nail down as Rai main line work (i.e. obviously no Rai offshoot like Ryôkai or Enju) somewhere from the very end of the Kamakura to the early Nanbokuchô, I would recommend going for Kunimitsu right away. Now those weaker areas of Rai-hada usually appear for long swords somewhere from the monouchi to the yokoto, and for tantô often right where the grooves end, i.e. again more in the upper area. And apart from that we can say that this feature is generally more often seen on tantô than on tachi (at least as far as Rai Kunitoshi is concerned).

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This brings us to Rai Kunimitsu’s tantô where we see again a wide variety of interpretations, for example classical ones in standard size, wider ones, wider and longer ones in sunnobi-style, and even a couple in kanmuri-otoshi-zukuri, with the majority showing either a katana-hi or some other kind of horimono like gomabashi or suken (or both, i.e. gomabashi on one, and a suken on the other side). This means, we can not name one specific tantô style for Rai Kunimitsu. First I want to introduce the third kokuhô of Kunimitsu (see picture 6), and that is the meibutsu Uraku Rai Kunimitsu (有楽来国光), named after the fact that it had once been owned by Sen no Rikyû’s master tea student Oda Urakusai Nagamasu (織田有楽斎長益, 1547-1622). More info here. The blade is with a nagasa of 27.7 cm rather on the long side and is wide and thick but maintains an uchizori, i.e. the thickness of the kasane and the presence of uchizori as well as the nagasa being just not long enough tells us that we have still not arrived yet in the heyday of the Nanbokuchô period. Incidentally, the blade is dated around Karyaku (1326-1329). The kitae is a fine ko-itame with chikei and plenty of ji-nie and we also seem some Rai-hada here and there. The hamon is a wide and nie-laden notare mixed with gunome and ashi and comes with a wide and very bright and clear nioiguchi. The bôshi is a prominent midare-komi with a rather pointed and long running-back kaeri. The entire bôshi is quite nie-laden and tends with its kuzure to kaen. The blade is vigorous and powerful and as the mihaba is wider than usual and the hamon shows much midare, the blade can be mixed up with a work of Rai Kunitsugu at a glance but the wild bôshi shows the hand of Kunimitsu. That is, Kunitsugu did often harden a vivid midareba but it usually runs into a relative calm bôshi in notare with a ko-maru-kaeri whereas at Kunimitsu the bôshi is mostly emphasized.

Picture 6: kokuhô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 27.7 cm, uchizori, motohaba 2.7 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, the blade is owned by the NBTHK

Picture 7 shows one of the two Kunimitsu tantô that are interpreted in kanmuri-otoshi-zukuri. It is designated as a jûyô-bunkazai and is also a meibutsu, namely the Ikeda Rai Kunimitsu (池田来国光) as it was once owned by Ikeda Sanzaemon Terumasa (池田三左衛門輝政, 1564-1613). The blade is rather wide, muzori, and shows again a thick kasane. The kitae is a dense and very uniformly forged ko-itame with ji-nie that does not show any weak areas of Rai-hada and apart from that, we see the Rai-typical nie-utsuri which focuses on the fukura/monouchi area. The hamon is a nie-laden shallow notare that is mixed with ko-gunome, ashi, yô, and kinsuji and the bôshi is slightly undulating, widely hardened, shows hakikake, and runs back in a long manner.

Picture 7: jûyô-bunkazai, tantô, mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 26.3 cm, muzori, motohaba 2.5 cm, kanmuri-otoshi-zukuri, mitsu-mune

Now these two tantô have shown pretty much midare so let me introduce next an interpretation in suguha. The blade shown in picture 8 comes in a sunnobi-sugata, i.e. it is long and wide, but still does not show any sori and features a relative thick kasane. The kitae is a densely forged ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie, much fine chikei, and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a slightly undulating, ko-nie-laden suguha that is mixed with ko-ashi, fine kinsuji and sunagashi, and along the monouchi with some nijûba. The nioiguchi is bright and clear and the bôshi appears as slightly widening sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri. Now the nijûba elements might make one think of Awataguchi Kuniyoshi or Yoshimitsu but at the former, the nijûba would be much more prominent and appear in longer connected sections, and from the latter, we would expect that the ha gets thinner along the fukura. In addition, we would expect some connected ko-gunome and more nie-hataraki in the bôshi on a Yoshimitsu tantô but apart from that, the horimono are anyway too far from the mune for an Awataguchi work.

Picture 8: jûyô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 29.15 cm, muzori, motohaba 2.8 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, this blade was once presented by shôgun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi (徳川綱吉, 1646-1709) to Iechiyo (家千代, 1707), the second son of his adopted son Ienobu (徳川家宣, 1662-1712) who had died at the age of only two months .

As mentioned, Kunimitsu also made some classical tantô, for example the jûyô-bunkazai seen in picture 9. This blade has a so-called standard nagasa (jôsun) of 24.5 cm, uchizori, and is with the curved furisode-style nakago pretty conservative. It shows a fine ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and a nie-utsuri and the hamon is a very bright and clear chû-suguha in ko-nie-deki that features a rather tight nioiguchi and a ko-maru bôshi with a long kaeri. The work is elegant and noble and reminds of his father Rai Kunitoshi.

Picture 9: jûyô-bunkazai, tantô, mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 24.5 cm, uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, the blade was once owned by the Akimoto (秋元) family, the daimyô of the Tatebayashi fief

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What about that 2nd generation Rai Kunimitsu? As indicated at the very beginning of this chapter, it is possible that the shift of generations took place somewhere around Kôei (康永, 1342-1345). When it comes to distinguishing features, many sources take the quality route, i.e. they say that late Rai Kunimitsu blades which are somewhat inferior in overall quality and which show a more smallish and thinly chiseled signature might be works of the second generation. That quality aspect is defined by a hamon that lacks both hataraki and that tight nioiguchi that is typical for Rai Kunimitsu and a kitae where the ko-itame stands more out and is mixed with some nagare and masame and which shows a hint of shirake rather than a nie-utsuri. Also possible supplements in the mei like “Yamashiro no Kuni-jû” (山城国住) or “Sahyôe no Jô” (左兵衛尉) are said to be associated with the second generation.

I want to introduce two blades which bear the latest known date signature of Rai Kunimitsu. Both are tantô and the first one is signed “Rai Kunimitsu – Kan’ô ninen rokugatsu” (来国光・観応二年六月, “sixth month of the second year of Kan’ô [1351]”) (see picture 10). It has a nagasa of 25.9 cm, is rather wide, has only a hint of sori, and features a thick kasane. Please note that this tantô has an iori-mune, what is uncommon as Rai Kunimitsu usually made tantô with a mitsu-mune. The kitae is a densely forged ko-itame that is mixed with some itame here and there and that shows ji-nie, fine chikei, and a faint nie-utsuri. The hamon is a bright and clear chû-suguha in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with some ashi, yô, and fine sunagashi. The bôshi is sugu with a little notare and turns back (on the omote) with a somewhat “awkward” ko-maru-kaeri (the ura shows a normal ko-maru-kaeri) but which is seen sometimes at tantô of Rai Kunimitsu. When introduced by the NBTHK in their kantei series, there was no mention of a second generation having a hand in this one and although not labelling it explicitly “Nidai” in the jûyô paper, we find the remark it “might be a work o the second generation when we follow the traditional classification via date signatures.”

Picture 10: jûyô, tantô, mei see above, nagasa 25.9 cm, a little sori, motohaba 2.6 cm, hira-zukuri, iori-mune

The second one (see picture 11) is signed “Rai Kunimitsu – Kan’ô ninen rokugatsu jûsannichi” (来国光・観応二年六月十三日, “13th day of the sixth month Kan’ô two [1351]”). The sugata and tang finish are about identical to the previous work and this one is labelled by the NBTHK as “Nidai” in their jûyô paper. The blade is a little longer but features a rather thin kasane (and again a mitsu-mune), and the hamon is not suguha but notare-chô mixed with gunome, ashi, yô, and sunagashi. It is a little suriage so that only the upper part of the character for “mitsu” is left and interesting here is that the date signature is chiselled in two rows.

Picture 11: jûyô, tantô, mei see above, nagasa 28.2 cm, sori 0.2 cm, motohaba 2.7 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

Then there is this tantô shown in picture 12 which is dated “Jôwa sannen rokugatsu ichinichi” (貞和三年六月一日, “first day of the sixth month Jôwa three [1347]”) and which is introduced by Satô Kanzan as “early work of the second generation.” It is with a nagasa of 24.8 cm somewhat smaller and has an overall rather classical sugata. The kitae is an itame-nagare with many weak areas and shirake and the hamon is a suguha in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with some shallow notare and sunagashi. The nioiguchi is bright and clear and the bôshi is sugu with a standard ko-maru-kaeri.

Picture 12: tantô, mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), date see text above, nagasa 24.8 cm, a hint of uchizori, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune

And last but not least one of the very few long swords that I was able to find which might well be a work of the second generation. It is a tachi bearing an orikaeshi-mei that was once an ôdachi measuring somewhere around 90 cm. It was shortened to 71.4 cm, has a rather wide mihaba, despite the suriage a relative deep sori, and an elongated chû-kissaki. The kitae is a standing-out itame mixed with some nagare and ji-nie appears. The hamon is a shallow ko-notare in ko-nie-deki that is mixed with ko-midare, gunome, ko-chôji, plenty of ko-ashi, sunagashi and kinsuji. The bôshi is a shallow notare-komi with a very brief ko-maru-kaeri and features nijûba. So probably the distinct midareba in combination with the somewhat inferior kitae and the smallish mei are the most important features for attributing this blade to the second generation.

Picture 13: jûyô, katana, orikaeshi-mei “Rai Kunimitsu” (来国光), nagasa 71.4 cm, sori 2.25 cm, motohaba 3.1 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

After Kunimitsu we arrive right away at Rai Kunitsugu (来国次) who is listed, amongst others, as son-in-law of Rai Kunitoshi or as older cousin of Rai Kunimitsu (well, bearing in mind the then family system and situation of adoptions an so on, it is quite possible that actually both is true). As mentioned in the chapter on Rai Kunitoshi, Kunitsugu made some daimei for the master and we can assume that he also supported his cousin when the latter succeeded as head of the school. Interesting is that Kunitsugu deviated noticeably from the traditional Rai style and we can only speculate if he did so on his own initiative, finding himself in a situation where it didn’t make much sense for him – either in terms of artistic demands he placed on himself or order situation – to make exactly the same blades as his cousin, or if the school, i.e. the newly appointed Kunimitsu, made the conscious decision that Kunitsugu better meets the customer requests concerning the then very much thriving Sôshû tradition whilst Kunimitsu as head covers more the traditional Rai style. Anyway, dated works of Rai Kunitsugu are very rare and we only know a few from between Karyaku (嘉暦, 1326-1329) and Shôkyô (正慶, 1332-1334) but we can safely say that he was active at the same time as Rai Kunimitsu, and that is from the very end of the Kamakura to the early Nanbokuchô period.

The Kotô Meizukushi Taizen says that Kunitsugu was born in Hôji one (宝治, 1247) and died in Shôchû one (正中, 1324) at the age of 78. It further says that he went in Bun’ei eleven (文永, 1274) at the age of 28 to Kamakura where he became a student of Masamune and that he returned in Kengen one (乾元, 1302), aged 56, to Kyôto. Well, there are now basically two theories about that: One says that it is quite possible that he indeed visited Kamakura to learn so to speak at ground zero the technical approach of the just established Sôshû tradition, and the other suggests that it was rather unlikely for a Kyôto smith of his time to travel that far just to undergo a training under a certain master and that the stylistic peculiarities in Kunitsugu’s blades go merely back to an all local adjustment to the now so much in fashion Sôshû tradition. Consequently, there exists the nickname “Kamakura-Rai” for Kunitsugu and this term is ambiguous enough not to dismiss it, i.e. it can be understood as a reference to him visiting Kamakura, or just as a reference to his Sôshû-influenced workmanship. Just the same case as Bizen Sukezane being called “Kamakura-Ichimonji.” Please note that the term “Sôshû tradition” is a rather recent one and that in earlier times, a reference to this style or approach of sword forging was usually made by its birthplace or major production site Kamakura, thus “Kamakura-Rai” and “Kamakura-Ichimonji” and not “Sôshû-Rai” or “Sôshû-Ichimonji” respectively. Before we continue with Rai Kunitsugu’s workmanship, it is also interesting to note that when talking about Kunitsugu, it is always said that he did not make many tachi and that he focused more on tantô and ko-wakizashi. But when we check out his body of work, we learn that the number of extant signed long swords is actually pretty equal to that of extant signed short swords and that there are actually quite a few ô-suriage mumei long swords going round that are attributed to him. For example, five blades of him bear designations by the Agency of Cultural Affairs, 1 kokuhô and 4 jûyô-bunkazai, of which two are short, and three are long swords. And way more than half of the about 50 jûyô of Kunitsugu are long swords too. So I have a hunch that the old saying that tachi of Rai Kunitsugu are so much rarer than tantô needs to be rethought. In any case, what we learn when we take a look at his body of work is that he focused much more on longer and wider tantô (or ko-wakizashi) than Kunimitsu did, even if he was senior to him. That means, this peculiarity can not be explained by him being active later than Rai Kunimitsu and thus approaching more the heyday of the Nanbokuchô period. Maybe this has to be seen in the above mentioned Sôshû context too, i.e. him adjusting much more to the latest fashions than Kunimitsu.

*

Now to his works. First one of his tachi that is designated as a jûyô-bunkazai (see picture 1). It is completely ubu and has an impressive nagasa of 82.0 cm and shows the sugata from the late Kamakura period, i.e. it is wide, has some funbari, tapers, but not that much, has a moderate sori, and ends in a chû-kissaki. The kitae is a rather standing-out itame with plenty of ji-nie and some chikei and ô-hada. The hamon is a nie-laden gunome-chô mixed with ko-midare and a few sunagashi. The nioiguchi is wide and the bôshi is sugu and runs out as yakitsume. The overall interpretation is rather classical for Rai Kunitsugu and blades like this or such which are hardened in suguha-chô are often placed in his early period, i.e. showing the remaining influence of his master Kunitoshi.

Picture 1: jûyô-bunkazai, tachi, mei “Rai Kunitsugu” (来国次), nagasa 82.0 cm, sori 2.5 cm, motohaba 3.1 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, the blade was once a heirloom of the Kaga Maeda family

Another one of these supposedly early works is seen in picture 2. It is an ubu tokubetsu-jûyô tachi that is more on the elegant side and sticks much more to the traditional Rai style than his later interpretations. The kitae is truly Rai and appears as a dense and finely forged ko-itame that is mixed with some jifu, a few ô-hada areas here and there, and that features plenty of ji-nie, fine chikei, and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden suguha-chô mixed with shallow notare, ko-gunome, ko-chôji, ashi, yô, fine kinsuji and sunagashi, muneyaki (towards the base), and nijûba along the monouchi. The bôshi is a thin sugu with a very brief ko-maru-kaeri. The ha is as a whole close to Rai Kunitoshi and I this would be a very tricky kantei blade.

Picture 2: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Rai Kunitsugu” (来国次), nagasa 74.1 cm, sori 3.2 cm, motohaba 2.9 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

Although not as prominent as seen via his short swords, Rai Kunitsugu also had the Sôshû approach “slip” into his tachi. The blade seen in picture 3 is such an example. The tachi is suriage and although it keeps a relative deep sori, it is due to the lack of distinct taper and the compact, almost ikubi-style chû-kissaki of an overall rather stout sugata. The kitae is a somewhat standing-out itame mixed with mokume and shows ji-nie and a little jifu, and the hamon is a nie-laden mix of ko-notare and ko-gunome that features a noticeable amount of ups and downs, a bright nioiguchi, and an abundance of hataraki like ashi, yô, sunagashi, kinsuji, yubashiri, prominent muneyaki, and some tobiyaki. The bôshi is midare-komi with a ko-maru-kaeri that shows some hakikake and that connects with the muneyaki. The nie are pretty strong in ji and ha and the interpretation truly lives up to his nickname Kamakura-Rai.

Picture 3: tokubetsu-jûyô, tachi, mei “Rai Kunitsugu” (来国次), nagasa 69.7 cm, sori 2.5 cm, motohaba 2.85 cm, shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune

As just indicated, the Sôshû influence is more obvious at Rai Kunitsugu’s tantô and I want to introduce first his one and only kokuhô and his most famous work in general (see picture 4). The tantô in question would actually come under the classification of a wakizashi today as it has a nagasa of 32.7 cm. So you can either name it sunnobi-tantô or hira-zukuri ko-wakizashi to transport that it is overlong and not one of those standard-sized (jôsun) tantô of the Kamakura period. It has a wide mihaba and might thus look like an Enbun-Jôji work at a glance but the kasane is too thick and the sori is, although there is sori present, too shallow for a blade from that time. Or in other words, at a blade in Enbun-Jôji-sugata, the sori would be much more noticeable. The kitae is a dense ko-itame with ji-nie and much chikei and here we have just arrived at a feature that distinguishes Kunitsugu from Kunimitsu and Kunitoshi, and that is the presence of chikei. So if you can make out chikei on a Rai blade, you better go for Kunitsugu. Apart from that, weaker Rai-hada areas are very rare for Kunitsugu but as the exception proves the rule, a hint of Rai-hada is actually present on that kokuhô. The hamon of this tantô or rather sunnobi-tantô is a very nie-laden ko-notare-chô mixed with gunome, nijûba, yubashiri, plenty of ashi and yô, and some kinsuji and sunagashi. The nioiguchi is wide, bright, and clear and the bôshi is a notare-komi with a somewhat pointed ko-maru-kaeri and some nijûba and kuichigai-ba along the monouchi. The interpretation of the bôshi distinguishes him from Rai Kunimitsu. As mentioned in the previous part, Kunimitsu emphasized his bôshi in contrast to the rest of the hamon in case of a midareba. In other words, at those blades he hardened in midareba, Kunimitsu added a so to speak “extra touch” of midare and “wildness” to the bôshi whereas Kunitsugu lets his midareba calm more down in the bôshi. And this “calmness” in the bôshi also distinguishes Rai Kunitsugu from “real” Sôshû works as these often come with wild bôshi that tend to ichimai or ichimai with enclosed islands of unhardened areas in between. In addition, also his jigane distinguishes him from true Sôshû because in direct comparison you learn that his jigane (and his ha) is actually much more Rai than Kamakura. So if you have a Rai blade from the very end of the Kamakura and the early Nanbokuchô period where the hamon is noticeably midare and comes with much nie, it is safe to go for Kunitsugu.

Picture 4: kokuhô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunitsugu” (来国次), nagasa 32.7 cm, sori 0.1 cm, motohaba 3.3 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, the blade was once a heirloom of the Kishû-Tokugawa family

Another good example for him staying much more at Rai with the jigane and having, apart from chikei in cases as mentioned above, the Sôshû approach mostly affecting his ha is the tantô seen in picture 5. Darcy put it perfectly in one of the recent threads on NMB by saying that Rai Kunitsugu was Sôshû influenced but he did not make Sôshû swords. That means, some might be called hybrid at a max but in general these blades were not made from scratch by following the technical Sôshû approach of steel combination and treatment. So Rai Kunitsugu was basically sticking to the Yamashiro Rai approach of forging and had Sôshû influence his ha. The tantô seen in picture 5 is again wide and sunnobi, but with a nagasa of 27.4 cm not as long as the kokuhô. It has a thick kasane and only a hint of sori, so clearly no Enbun-Jôji-sugata here. The kitae is a dense and finely forged ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a relative widely hardened and ko-nie-laden shallow notare-chô mixed with some gunome, ashi, fine sunagashi, and nie-suji. The nioiguchi is wide, bright, and clear and the bôshi is sugu with a ko-maru-kaeri that tends a little bit to ô-maru on the omote side.

Picture 5: tokubetsu-jûyô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunitsugu” (来国次), nagasa 27.4 cm, only a hint of sori, motohaba 2.6 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, the blade was once a heirloom of the Ôkubo (大久保) family, the daimyô of the Odawara fief

Finally, I would like to mention that Kunitsugu sometimes also “went full Rai,” for example as seen as in picture 6. This blade has an about jôsun nagasa of 25.3 cm and a hint of uchizori and is thus, also with the curved furisode-style nakago, classical Kamakura. The kitae is an itame mixed with mokume and some nagare and shows plenty of ji-nie and although it features some chikei, the jigane is very much Rai-like, also due to the presence of a nie-utsuri. The hamon is a calm and ko-nie-laden suguha that is mixed with some ko-ashi, some fine hotsure, and a little kuichiga-ba on the ura side. The bôshi is sugu too and runs back in a ko-maru-kaeri with some hakikake. If you bear in mind this and similar tantô and also the tachi in suguha-chô that are extant by Rai Kunitsugu, it is not at all like day and night between him and Kunimitsu as some of the older sources suggest.

Picture 6: tokubetsu-jûyô, tantô, mei “Rai Kunitsugu” (来国次), nagasa 25.3 cm, hint of uchizori, mihaba 2.4 cm, hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, the blade was once a heirloom of the Uesugi (上杉) family

I have a kind of log book where I write down interesting things I come across along my various translating and research jobs which I want to study in depth at some point in the future. Mostly they sit there for a while as time is tight but sometimes I come across certain things on that list again but from another context and then I usually see this as an incentive to finally dig deeper into that matter. The following thoughts are such a case and it all started when I was trying to find out where exactly Kiyomaro lived when he had escaped to Hagi. Well, to tell you right away, his exact Hagi whereabouts are unknown but thought to have been in the Saikumachi (細工町), the craftsman’s district, located just about 1.2 km to the east of Hagi Castle (the area still bears that name today). Now this was forwarded by local NBTHK Yamaguchi branch member Kunihiro Kôsuke (國廣浩典) in Tôken Bijutsu 654 (July 2011) and in his article, he refers to a student Kiyomaro had whilst staying in Hagi, namely to a certain Toshikimi (俊卿), whose real name was Horiuchi Kanpei (堀内寛平). A quick search in my Swordsmiths of Japan revealed that I have not listed this smith, at least not under Toshikimi, but I list a Horiuchi Kanpei who was active in Nagato around Ansei (安政, 1854-1860) under the name Kiminao (卿直) (whom both Hawley and Stan list with the reading “Norinao”). So who was this man?

Now Kunihiro refers to Tôken Bijutsu 517 (February 2000) for a further reading on Toshikimi as his main focus is Kiyomaro. Digging out the issue in question I learn that Iida Toshihisa (飯田俊久) introduces two blades of Toshikimi and says that his name is not to be found in the meikan and that his origins are unclear. He also says that although quoted as Toshinori, his name was more likely read as either Toshiaki or Toshikimi. So with this in mind, Hawley and Stan’s listing of Kiminao, who was obviously the same smith, as Norinao is understandable. My listing as Kiminao goes back to the Tôshô Zenshû where he is listed in the section of smiths whose names beginn with Ki, thus Kiminao. Well, I am not sure where the Nori reading comes from as none of the dictionaries I consulted offer Nori as a possible name reading for the character (卿). They say either Aki or Kimi with the former being the more modern name reading. Therefore I stay with Kimi and Kiminao and Toshikimi for the time being. But I am convinced there must be a reference to the Nori reading somewhere out there because it surely doesn’t come from nowhere.

Iida sensei introduces two blades of Toshikimi, a tantô and a shôbu-zukuri wakizashi (see picture 1). The former is signed “Horiuchi Toshikimi saku” (堀内俊卿作) and the latter with his full name, “Horiuchi Kanpei Toshikimi saku” (堀内寛平俊卿作). Both are dated Tenpô 14 (天保, 1843), the tantô with the eighth month and the wakizashi with the second month of that year. This wakizashi from the second month of Tenpô 14 is the earliest known dated blade of Toshikimi and apart from that, there exists one more from Tenpô 15 (1844) which is signed with the supplement “Nagato no Kuni ni oite” (於長門国, “made in Nagato province”). This syntax suggests that we are facing here a so-called chûtsui-mei (駐槌銘), a signature marking a temporary workplace or place of residence. Also the Kiminao signature I list in my Swordsmiths of Japan is of that category and starts with “Chôyô ni oite” (於長陽), “Chôyô” being a different name for Nagato province. In other words, if Toshikimi was a permanent resident of Nagato, he would have just signed with something like “Nagato no Kuni Hagi-jû,” i.e. without ni oite (“at”). It is interesting that both Iida and Kunihiro don’t mention the Kiminao/Norinao signature variant of this smith and as the meikan list him under that name around Ansei, it suggests itself that he must have changed to this name later in life.

Picture 1: wakizashi, mei “Horiuchi Kanpei Toshikimi saku – Tenpô jûyonnen nigatsu hi” (堀内寛平俊卿作・天保十四年二月日), nagasa 40.9 cm, sori 1.0 cm, shôbu-zukuri, iori-mune

So how about his connection to Kiyomaro? Iida says that there are no historic records or any kind of entries extant that do definitely proof a master-student relationship of the two but both workmanship, tang finish, signature style, and local and chronological coincidence strongly suggest that Toshikimi had learned from Kiyomaro. It remains unclear where this relationship originated. We know that Kiyomaro arrived in winter of Tenpō five (1834) at Edo. He was then 21 years old and signed with the name Hidetoshi (秀寿) at that time. He changed it a few years later to Masayuki (正行) and left Edo under that name to arrive in Nagato somewhere in the first half of Tenpô 13 (1842). He left Nagato in the sixth month of Tenpô 15 (1844) but did return to Edo only via a stopover in Komoro in Shinano province. So far and very briefly the relevant years of Kiyomaro’s CV. And before we come back to Horiuchi Kanpei, I want to elaborate on the similarities in workmanship. The wakizashi from picture 1 shows a kitae in itame that is mixed towards the ha with nagare and that features plenty of ji-nie and much chikei. The hamon is a very nie-laden gunome mixed with chôji, ko-notare, and an abundance of kinsuji and sunagashi. The nioiguchi is wide and the bôshi is midare-komi with a relative wide ko-maru-kaeri. So we have here clearly the Sôshû-inspired workmanship of Kiyomaro he favored at that time (and emphasized later). Also the sharp sugata with the scarce fukura and the finish of the tang in sujikai-yasurime and a somewhat bulbous kurijiri matches with Kiyomaro. And so does the signature. Picture 2 shows the mei of the wakizashi next to that of a Kiyomaro katana which is dated Tenpô 13 (1842). As Iida points out, please note the striking similarity in how the characters for Tenpô (天保) and jû (十) executed, i.e. with the same curve of the lower right ending of the (人) radical of Ten, the entire (呆) radical of pô, and how the horizontal stroke of jû (一) extends to the right.

Picture 2: Signature comparison. Toshikimi left, Kiyomaro right.

Both Kunihiro and Iida assume that it is likely that Horiuchi accompanied Kiyomaro from Edo to Hagi and as hardly all of Toshikimi’s blades got tôrokushô papers from Yamaguchi Prefecture (i.e. former Nagato province), and as he is listed under Kiminao as a Nagato smith, it is most likely that he stayed there and did not return to Edo. Either he found an employer and/or a wife there and settled down, or he did want to accompany his master but not via a stopover in Komoro so he stayed and was maybe waiting in vain for Kiyomaro inviting him back to the capital. Because when Kiyomaro returned to Edo, he had to clean up the mess he left behind with fleeing from the Bukikô lottery (more details here) to Nagato. Another interesting thing in all of this is that all the master students Kiyomaro had were trained after his return to Edo. So if Toshikimi was a student of Kiyomaro, and everything points towards that, then he was probably his very first one? I mean, he was just about to turn 30 when he left Edo for Hagi in 1842. Maybe Toshikimi would have become more famous if he had showed up again at the new Edo forge of Kiyomaro in the late 1840s but life had chosen different for him.

Anyway, I tried to find out more about the origins of Horiuchi Kanpei by going through vassal registers, for example that of the Chôshû fief, but no success. It is interesting that the area between the aforementioned Saikumachi and Hagi Castle is named Horiuchi (堀内) what might suggest that Horiuchi Kanpei actually came from here at a glance. But I think that this is just a coincidence as this name means literally just “within the moat” and many castle towns had areas within the moat that were just named as that, i.e. Horiuchi. One Horiuchi family was originally from Kii province and after being at Sekigahara on the “wrong side,” they were reassigned to become retainers of Katô Kiyomasa and accompanied him to Kumamoto. Well, Kumamoto was taken from Kiyomasa and given to the Hosokawa shortly afterwards and the descendant of this Horiuchi family ended up as retainers of the Tsu fief (津藩) of Ise province. Another Horiuchi family served as retainers and later as karô elders of the Sôma family (相馬), the daimyô of the Nakamura fief (中村藩) of northern Mutsu province. And then there was the Horiuchi family of Omotesenke tea masters that originated in Kyôto and that served from the latter half of the 18th century the Takatsuki fief (高槻藩) of Settsu province as head of all tea-related affairs.

Well, I can’t really draw any connection between Kanpei and any of those Horiuchi families. The things above are just the result of a very first and brief research and this would be the point where you have to visit local libraries and go through possible local registers of vassals and fief-employed craftsmen. Also looking for registers of death of temples in and around Hagi would be an option but this all is like looking for a needle in a haystack. But maybe one day some other blade of Toshikimi or Kiminao pops up that gives us another hint about his life and career. But another thing that makes me wonder in this whole issue is the use of the character Kimi (卿). This is an extremely rare character for a swordsmith name and apart from Toshikimi/Kiminao, I could not really find any other smith using it. But it is not only extremely rare, it also comes with a pretty significant connotation, and that is its meaning of being a suffix that marks a high a official position held by a person of nobility or another very high ranking person. I mean, swordsmith names were to a certain degree arbitrary but the characters were usually also understood by their meaning. Thus there were no-go characters with negative meanings or negative connotations for example. And as Toshikimi stayed with that character when changing his name later, i.e. he dropped toshi and added nao, the character must have had a certain meaning to him, maybe he had received it from someone special. Well, I don’t know if Kiyomaro (the then Masayuki) had anything to do with that but I doubt it because in this case, we would expect something like Toshimasa (俊正) or Toshiyuki (俊行), i.e. using one character of the master’s name. Also the quality of the work and the overall “self-confidence” with which he chiseled his signature (see picture 3) makes me wonder if Horiuchi Kanpei was actually older than Kiyomaro?

Picture 3: Reference signature of the aforementioned tantô from Tenpô 14.

Also he must have had some money to be able to accompany Kiyomaro from Edo to Hagi (if we assume that it took place that way). Kiyomaro was very busy at that time due to the Bukikô project and money was surely coming in but his mentor Kubota Sugane kept him tight so that he wasn’t able to waste all the money on drinking. So it seems to me that Kiyomaro was not in the position to support a student and pay for both of them the whole trip down to Hagi. On the other hand, Kiyomaro made in Hagi some blades for important local royalists, so he had an income there. Maybe it was enough for both of them making a decent living in the capital of Nagato province. But when we take into consideration the rare use of the character Kimi with the nobility connotation, the assumption that Toshikimi was older than Kiyomaro, and the assumption that he had some money, it could be possible that Horiuchi Kanpei was from a higher ranking family who just forged swords as a hobby? But then again, his name should be recorded somewhere and easier to be tracked down. Anyway, the whole thing just doesn’t appear to me that Kanpei was a youngster who fled with his barely older master Edo and then deliberately stayed there by eking out a living as local swordsmith. But maybe it was just like that. I guess we will never know…

Dear Readers, I am leaving for Florence to attend the Katchu symposium at the Stibbert so if you read this, I am probably already on my plane. I am looking very much forward to this meeting, to all the interesting stuff and insights, and of course also to make some new friends :) Upon return, I will continue with the Kantei series by dealing with the Rai smiths in the vicinity of Kunitoshi, the Nakajima-Rai lineage, some of the more unknown Rai smiths, and will then arrive at the Ryokai lineage which goes into Nobukuni. Apart from that, I will start again an Easter eBook Sale in a little. In this sense, emails reponse might be slow and larger translations might have to wait until I am back in office, what will be on March 14th.

Oh, and before I leave. Something funny from a project that is about to be finished. It is one of those episodes that gives us a little understanding of how some of these Edo period masters worked:

Takahashi Kinai (高橋記内, ?-1696) was a tsuba artsist from Echizen Fukui. His first name was Gonbei (権兵衛) and it is recorded that he was skilled in carving the hard iron. It is said that he was openhearted and loved the sake and that he often had to stop working because of his episodes of heavy drinking. Once his daimyō wanted to have the roosters the fief bred depicted on a tsuba and placed an order with Gonbei, loaning him one so that he can study the bird in detail. Kinai let the rooster free in his house and watched it for several days whilst drinking. Well, he eventually ran out of sake doing so and short on money, he decided to sell the precious rooster to buy some more. The lord of the fief heard of this and bought the rooster back and decided that it should be better to lock up Kinai in his house so that the production of the ordered tsuba can finally move forward. Well, when Kinai was checked up on some days later, he was lying there completely drunk. They woke him up and he promised that he will deliver but being locked up in his house with every door and window shut, it is just too dark to make a tsuba he complained. So he asked for permission to open the windows half-way and also asked if he can have the rooster back for studying purposes. This was granted and Kinai eventually delivered a wonderful masterwork…

I aplogize for the rather long time of nothing going on here but first there was travelling, and then an important project needed attention. And with this, I want to give you a brief report on the first reason for my blog absence, and that was the international conference on Japanese armor, Japanese Legacy II, taking place in Florence from February 25 to 27. Well, those of you who were there know that it was great but I want to use this report to create interest in our activities and maybe the one or other either joins the armor association NKBKHK, and/or attends the next meeting in 2018.

As mentioned, the conference was held over three days and the entire afternoon of the first day, Thursday, was spent at the famous Museo Stibbert. For me, it was the first time there and of course I agree with those who have been there, namely that it is a very very fascinating place! Now this first afternoon was so to speak the “warm-up” for the conference and the opportunity to study certain selected objects hands on, like for example several fine armor masks and teppô from the collection of the museum. Also shown to us was a very special armor (picture 1, the one in the middle) of which Francesco Civita, the curator at the Stibbert, was just recently able to confirm with experts from Japan its former wearer. Just a note at this point: I am not going into great detail as first, I don’t want to anticipate or rather interfere with possible reports and treatises by the persons themselves, and second, to create as mentioned an interest and to motivate people to participate in upcoming events and hear and see everything on the spot.

Picture 1: The armor in question and the accompanying helmet.

The second day of the conference, Friday, was started right in the morning and after a short introduction to the organizing party, the Life Beyond Tourism, which did a great job in perfectly organizing the whole three-day event, so a big thank you at this point!, Mr. Civita continued from the day before and gave us a lecture on not only this very armor but on armors used in the Shimabara Rebellion in general. He was followed by Jan Petterson who was speaking about Japanese matchlocks, but embedded into a case study of the Uesugi clan, giving us a great insight into the ups and downs of their fief and how this all like the financial crises affected, or rather not affected, the fief-employed gunsmiths. Present via Skype was Piers Dowding (Mr. Bugyotsuji for those who are on the NMB) who was unfortunately not able to make it for reasons of health. Hope you are doing well Piers! Jan was joined by Ian Bottomley who worked out in detail certain stylistic and technical similarities of Japanese teppô in view of the previous distribution of matchlocks throughout the Asian mainland. The second day was packed and start of the afternoon lectures was made by Japanologist Bas Verberk, curator at the Wereldmuseum Rotterdam. He gave us an insight into one aspect of his PhD research, namely on the comparison of armor masks to their Noh counterparts. Again, not going into details here, also because Mr. Verberk’s doctoral thesis is yet not finished, but this much I can say, there is no denying that certain inspirations took place as armorers surely did not suddenly start to produce masks out of an absolute artistic vacuum. Bas Verberk was followed by collector Aymeric Antien, who gave us, assisted by his fellow collector Luc Taelman (both contributing, amongst others, to the publication Helmets of the Saotome School which I had the honor to provide with translations a few years ago) an overview of the evolution of the Japanese helmet, with a main focus on the time from the 16th to the 17th centuries. An important thing I learned with Aymeric’s lecture: With great helmets it is just like with masterly swords, i.e. it is not just the interpretation, it is first of all the quality of the workmanship that has to be recognized to make observations when talking about the greatest of the masters. Mr. Antien finished his lecture the next day, Friday, and was followed by the researcher Francesco Grazzi from the ISC Florence (picture 2) who introduced to us the results of his metallurgical studies done in a non-destructive way through neutron diffration. These were only the first of a planned row of studies and aim is, to identify the forging and hardening methods of Japanese swords via this non-destructive way. And the conference was completed by another lecture from Ian Bottomley (picture 4), that is on the evolution of armor in general, but he also referred to certain aspects addressed by his lecturing predecessors.

Picture 2: Lecture by Francesco Grazzi

Picture 3: Jo (left) and Luc (right) telling us what we gonna hear at the conference.

Picture 4: Ian Bottomley

Not mentioned so far was Jo Anseeuw, our man when it comes to non-Japanese members of the NKBKHK. Jo deserves special thanks as he managed it to open for Western collectors a window to the Japanese armor society, making it possible that we have now a pretty solid and substantial base of members outside of Japan! So in this sense, I apologize if I have overlooked someone who too was responsible for making this great experience of the Japanese Legacy II happen, I thank you to all of you gentlemen (and ladies), and I am really looking forward to our next meeting!

And last but not least, I am also very happy that I was finally able to meet, on Sunday, with Francesco Marinelli and Massimo Rossi from the INTK (and to talk about swords, or about one tantô in particular). Again thank you very much for your small gift (that I enjoyed with my friends later in Salzburg) Oh and yes, I am also glad that I had added a couple of extra days to spend, romantically, in Florence ;)