Oroshigane mentioned in signatures

Translating a signature the other day in which the swordsmith refers to a particular steel he used to make that very sword, I remembered that I had a halfway finished article on a related topic on my HD, and that is the use of oroshigane, or more precisely, on smiths explicitly mentioning in their mei the use of such.

First of all, I want to explain what oroshigane is, and many of the experienced collectors may already know that. Oroshigane is a steel that is produced or refined by the swordsmith himself, or such process, which is called oroshigane as well (the process is sometimes also referred to as jigane-oroshi). In a nutshell, oroshigane basically has two meanings: One is the smith just refining the tamahagane steel he has received from the tatara furnace and that he is going to use for certain parts of the blade, and the other is the smith making the steel for the sword himself, from scratch, i.e. he is making his own tamahagane for which he may use for example steel from old nails, old swords, old castle gate fittings, you name it. Note here: The very term oroshigane does not mean “steel making” per se. So when you read oroshigane in a signature, it means that the smiths wants to stress that he paid special attention to the steel he used for that blade. Several modern swordsmiths today for example go into great lengths (even combined with academic research on iron and steel) to produce their own steel, and proudly mention that in their signatures.

Now in earlier kotō times, going through the process of oroshigane was the norm, that is, a swordsmith had to refine the steel he received through his local supply chain. Today, the steel making process run by the NBTHK via their tatara in Shimane Prefecture is that optimized and sophisticated that the end product, the tamahagane, is basically ready for use by the swordsmiths, i.e. they only have to check and sort it on the basis of its carbon content (different parts of the blade require a steel with a different carbon content, but you already know that). The first time something like a centralized tamahagane production was achived was in the former half of the 16th century. Does that ring a bell? Yes, that came along with the mass production of swords in course of the ongoing wars, a time which went down in history as Sengoku period. Even the initiator of the shinshintō era of sword making, Suishinshi Masahide (水心子正秀, 1750-1828), noticed that and writes in his Tōken Jitsuyō Ron (刀剣実用論, Essay on the Practicality of Swords):

From around Tenbun (天分, 1532-1555) onwards, the steel produced by the centralized production centers could be used as is and this is when the process of oroshigane started to decline. It was then revived around Keichō (慶長, 1596-1615) by the Kyōto-based master Horikawa Kunihiro (堀川国広, 1531-1614) and was also frequently used by the Ōsaka swordsmith Tsuda Sukehiro (津田助広, 1637-1682) when he tried to recreate works of the Muromachi-period Mino smith Izumi no Kami Kanesada (和泉守兼定). However, the process of oroshigane fell again into oblivion from around Genroku (元禄, 1688-1704) onwards.

This entry is very interesting as it perfectly sums up and corraborates these certain parts in the history of Japanese sword making. That is, with the centralization of steel making and the mass production of swords, local characteristics in the jigane of blades start to blur and followed by a thorough but brief attempt to recreate old kotō masterworks during the Momoyama era, about one hundred years of peace brought forth by the Edo period left the majority of swordsmiths with not really an incentive to go the extra mile to painstakingly refine the already pretty much refined steels they received through their supply chain.


Picture 1: jūyō-tōken, katana, mei: “Tsuda Echizen no Kami Sukehiro – Enpō shichinen hachigatsu hi jigane oroshi o motte kore o tsukuru” (津田越前守助広・延宝七年八月日地鉄研造之), nagasa 65.2 cm, sori 1.6 cm

So far the background of oroshigane but I actually wanted to point out the different ways swordsmiths mentioned that process/steel in their signatures. First of all, and probably due to obvious reasons stated above, I have not yet come across a kotō blade that mentions oroshigane in the mei. Picture 1 shows a blade dated Enpō seven (延宝, 1679) where the aforementioned master Sukehiro states in the signature: “Jigane oroshi o motte kore o tsukuru” (地鉄研造之), “made by using (or applying the process of) oroshigane.” Sukehiro here uses the character (研) which does not read oroshi per se (it reads ken or migaku/togu/suru) but which was used by “borrowing” one of its meanings, which is “to refine,” what brings us again to refined steel.

At this point, you may ask yourself, what does the very term oroshigane actually mean. I mean, gane is clear, it means “steel”, but oroshi? In our case, the term oroshi is assumed to come from the term fuki-orosu (吹き下す) which means “blow down upon,” and was probably chosen because it resembles the way the smith blows air into the prepared steel/charcoal arrangement for the oroshigane process in his furnace. Strong and dangerous winds blowing down the slope of a mountain are referred to as oroshi as well, written with the character (颪), which has to be taken literally so to speak, i.e. “down” (下) and “wind” (風). Tsuda Sukenao (津田助直, 1639-1693/94?) for example, a student of Sukehiro, used that very character when referring to oroshigane (see picture 2).

Picture 2: jūyō-tōken, katana, mei: “Tsuda Ōmi no Kami Sukenao – Genroku ninen nigatsu hi jigane oroshi o motte kore o tsukuru” (津田近江守助直・元禄二歳二月日以地鉄颪作之, “made by Tsuda Ōmi no Kami Sukenao on a day in the second month of Genroku two (1689) by using oroshigane), nagasa 62.4 cm, sori 1.6 cm

Other possible variants of quoting oroshigane seen in period signatures and documents are (卸し鉄), (卸鉄), (卸鋼), (をろし鉄), and (おろし鉄), and I am sure there are some more, so if you come across one, please let me know. Another way to refer to the process of oroshigane can be seen at the example of the northern Ōshū-based swordsmith Kunitora (国虎, 1658-1718) who was studied with master Inoue Shinkai (井上真改, 1630-1682). In the signature of the blade shown in picture 3, he states “oroshi yutetsu o motte kore o tsukuru” (以颪湯鉄作之) which means “made by refining pig iron.” In other words, he refined, via the oroshigane process, the pig iron he had received. And there even exists a blade by Kunitora, see link here, where he states in the mei that he refined nanban-tetsu via the oroshigane process to make it.


Picture 3: jūyō-tōken, katana, mei: “[kikumon] Izumi no Kami Fujiwara Kunitora – Oroshi-yutetsu o motte kore o tsukuru” (「菊紋」和泉守藤原国虎・以颪湯鉄作之), nagasa 73.8 cm, sori 2.0 cm


Gotō Ichijō’s personal sword

Before we start, I want to apologize for my recent posts being more brief than usual. Those who follow my page know why and when things have calmed down, i.e. when I have settled in with my new job, and place, I will get back to more detailed and “substantial” articles.

Now this time I want to introduce the tantō that Gotō Ichijō (後藤一乗, 1791-1876) had received as a gift from the bakumatsu era master swordsmith Koyama Munetsugu (固山宗次, 1803-?) and which he owned for the rest of his life. So let’s portray the careers of these two artists.

Picture 1: tantō, mei: “Bizen no Suke Munetsugu kore o saku – Kōka sannen hachigatsu hi – Zō Ichijō Hokkyō” (備前介宗次作之・弘化三年八月日・贈一乗法橋) – “Made by Bizen no Suke Munetsugu on a day in the eighth month of Kōka three (1846) as a gift for Ichijō Hokkyō”; nagasa 31.2 cm, sori 0.2 cm, motohaba 2.7 cm, hira-zukuri, iori-mune

First of all, both Ichijō and Munetsugu were already renowned artists at the time the blade was made, which was in Kōka three (弘化, 1846), and very busy with fulfilling orders. That is, Ichijō was 56 and Munetsugu 44, following the Japanese way of counting. Let me begin with Koyama Munetsugu. Munetsugu started his career as smith for the Shirakawa fief (白河藩) of northern Mutsu province which was then ruled by the Hisamatsu-Matsudaira (久松松平) family. So far so good but in Bunsei six (文政, 1823), the bakufu decided that the Hisamatsu-Matsudaira needed to be transferred, and that is, to the Kuwana fief (桑名藩) of Ise province what basically cut their annual income by half. There are some theories why this happened but I don’t want to go into too much detail here and suffice to say, Munetsugu remained employed and was able to keep his job. However, he did not proceed to Kuwana right away but stayed for six more years in Shirakawa, i.e. his move down to Ise took place in Bunsei twelve (1829). Just two years later, he got the chance to go to Edo to work for the fief from its capital premises, which means that Munetsugu was now “where everything happened.” Well, there was a brief break from that as in Tenpō six (天保, 1835), Munetsugu worked for an unknow but short period of time for the Owari-Tokugawa family, i.e. directly from Owari province. We can only speculate why that employment did not continue (maybe it was a temporary contract in the first place) but the then Owari-Tokugawa head, Nariharu (徳川斉温, 1819-1839), tried to revive the economy of his fief but failed first badly as he was wasting so much money with his own ventures. In short, Nariharu eventually received a stern warning from his imperial tutor and obeyed so Munetsugu was probably laid off and that is why he returned to Edo and back into the employment of the Matsudaira.

Well, Munetsugu was just looking back at a very successful time in his career and one year before the blade introduced here was made, i.e. in Kōka two (1845), he had received the honorary title Bizen no Suke (備前介). In concrete terms, we are talking about the Tenpō era (天保, 1830-1844) and a large number of Munetsugu’s works and also of his greatest masterworks go back to that period. Or in other words, it was a few years in the Tenpō era when his career really took off. Incidentally, that was also the time when Munetsugu started his cooperation with the Yamada Asa’emon (山田浅右衛門) family of sword testers.

Picture 2: Gotō Ichijō

Back to Gotō Ichijō. The time the blade was made, the artist had been working for about two decades under his Ichijō name and that with holding the Buddhist priest rank of a hokkyō. He had received that rank after making in Bunsei seven (文政, 1824) the fittings for a tachi of Emperor Kōkaku (光格天皇, 1780-1817). When we look at Ichijō’s career through the lens of extant dated (and precisely datable) works, we recognize two small breaks, one from 1829 to 1832 and one from 1843 to 1846 (the year the very blade introduced here was made). As mentioned, this observation bases on dated/datable works so Ichijō may well have been very busy but did not finish works during these years, possibly working on too many projects at the same time. Also, the Gotō were going through kind of a difficult time right after 1845 as the bakufu discovered a major corruption scandal around one of them, Gotō San’emon Mitsumichi (後藤三右衛門光亨, 1796-1845), who was the 13th Gotō head of the bakufu mint and who was sentenced to death and decapitated in 1845 for his involvement. We don’t know if that incident affected Ichijō at all but it is surely not helpful if one of your relatives, and your family name, is – in that negative manner – all over the news.

This bring is right back to the blade. It is interesting to see that it was a gift as mentioned and we know that Munetsugu and Ichijō were working together on sword orders so this was not a one-time brief touching point of the career of these two artists. Also we know that Ichijō owned that sword until the end of his life, and wore it too (more on this shortly), so we may imply that it had a special meaning for him. So maybe this gift was Munetsugu saying “Hang in there!” and Ichijō was indeed going through difficult times. Or maybe it was all completely different and everything was perfectly fine and the blade was just a nice gesture on part of Munetsugu. Or, another theory, it marked the start of a successful cooperation and friendship.

Picture 3: koshigatana-koshirae with birch andfuemaki flute-style saya which is a work of master lacquer artist Hashiichi (橋市) who lived close to Ichijō, fittings en suite of polished oborogin with gold and silver hira-zōgan ornamentation (menuki and kozuka of shakudō with nanako ground)

In any case, Ichijō made his own fittings for the blade and the full koshirae can be seen in picture 3. The dashi-menuki on the unwrapped hilt depict pairs of 3-5-3 kiri crests for which the Gotō family became famous for, e.g. Tokujō (後藤徳乗, 1550-1631) designing it for Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and on the kozuka we see kuyō crests, i.e. the crest of the Gotō family of kinkō artists worn by them since at least the time of their ancestor Yūjō (後藤祐乗, 1440-1512) (see picture 4)

Picture 4: Gotō Yūjō

Now we don’t know if Ichijō made the fittings, and had the koshirae parts made, right when he got the blade from Munetsugu, if he mounted it a certain way for the time being and redid everything at a later point, or if he had just kept the blade in shirasaya for some time and then decided to have it mounted with his own fittings at one point in his life. What we do know for certain is that he was wearing the blade in this koshirae as there exists “photo evidence” for that (see picture 6). A hint on when he made the fittings (and had Munetsugu’s gift blade mounted) may be hidded in the fittings as kurigata, kashira, and kojiri bear the inscription sen-kannin (専堪忍) (see picture 5) which basically means “forbearance/patience.” So, we can speculate that Ichijō chose these characters after going through some kind of difficult times in the mid-1840s, and Munetsugu did indeed present him with this blade to cheer him up, or much later when he was looking back on a very successful career and chose “forbearance/patience” as motto of life. As mentioned, just speculations, but it is so enjoyable and rewarding to reflect on these things.

Picture 5: kurigatga, kashira, and kojiri

Picture 6: Portrait of Ichijō wearing the sword in question.

It is assumed that picture 6 was taken when Kyōto Prefectural Governor Hase Nobuatsu (長谷信篤, 1818-1902) entrusted Ichijō in Meiji six (明治, 1873), i.e. three years before his death, with a post at the Meiji Restoration’s Encouragement of Industry venture which turned into the concrete first Exhibition for the Industrial Promotion of the Country (kokunai-kangyō-hakurankai, 国内勧業博覧会) two years after Ichijō died (and where subsequently many of the famous kinkō artists of the Meiji era participated).

Alteration vs. Correction

I have written a couple of times about the issues of removing signatures from swords, for example here and here. Now in these two examples, the signature was removed due to lack of knowledge in the one case, and due to criminal activities in the other case. This time, I would like to introduce a blade where not its signature per se but a kinzōgan-mei attribution was removed, and that not because of ignorance but more as a correction, thus this title of this post.

The blade in question is a tachi that has been shortened to a katana and that was tested by the famous early Edo period sword tester Nakagawa Saheita (中川左平太, ?-1653), cutting with it with just one hand through a body (katate-dō, 片手胴). At the time the cutting test was performed, the blade was attributed to Rai Kunitsugu (来国次) and inlaid so in gold on the other side of the nakago. The blade is of quite an elegant shape, tapers noticeably, keeps despite of the ō-suriage a deep sori, and ends in a ko-kissaki, or a very compact chū-kissaki if you will. It shows a fine and densely forged ko-itame with plenty of ji-nie and a ko-nie-laden suguha-chō to slightly undulating notare with a wide nioiguchi that is mixed with ko-gunome, a few ko-midare elements, sunagashi, and small yubashiri. The bōshi is sugu and shows a ko-maru-kaeri and a bōhi is engraved on both sides which runs with kaki-nagashi into the tang.

Now Rai Kunitsugu is known as a Rai smith who incorporated more than his school colleagues the Sōshū tradition and so a blade like here with such a dense ko-itame and a calm suguha-chō is atypical for him. This was also recognized by the NBTHK when the blade passed jūyō in 1975 and the kinzōgan-mei attribution (not the cutting test and the information on the owner) was put in the certificate with reservation, i.e. as to kinzōgan-mei ga aru (と金象嵌銘がある). The state of the blade as it passed jūyō is shown below.

Picture 1: jūyō in 1975, nagasa 71.5 cm, sori 2.2 cm, motohaba 2.7 cm, sakihaba 1.7 cm, moto-kasane 0.6 cm, kissaki-nagasa 2.3 cm, nakago-nagasa 19.2 cm

Two years later, the blade passed tokubetsu-jūyō, and here comes the part which this brief article is about. As you all know, you just don’t submit a blade for tokubetsu-jūyō because you are in a good mood. There are high chances a blade may not pass and it also has to be assessed if such a submission makes sense from an economical point of view. In short, some blades are strong candidates whilst with others more or less barely passed jūyō and it is better to save the money/hassles/time to opt for tokubetsu-jūyō. So, you have to decide case by case.

Here at this sword, the owner and probably experts he asked for advice must have recognized its quality and its chances to pass but I guess no one was happy with the period attribution to Rai Kunitsugu. As mentioned, even the NBTHK had reservations when they had awarded it jūyō status two years before. So ultimately it was decided to have the kinzōgan-mei removed and submit again. I already told you that it passed tokubetsu-jūyō, and it did so with the attribution “Den Awataguchi Hisakuni” (伝粟田口久国). Well, quite nice result if you ask me (don’t get me wrong, a Rai Kunitsugu attribution is not bad either). The NBTHK justifies its attribution as follows: “The shallow suguha-chō with its strongly sparkling nie, the densely forged ko-itame, and the very clear steel reflect very well the typical characteristics of this school,” i.e. Awataguchi. The state of the blade as it passed tokubetsu-jūyō is shown below.

Picture 2

Last but not least some info on the previous owner of the sword who is mentioned in the kinzōgan-mei as: “Matsudaira Uemon no Suke Tadamasa kyō shoji” (松平右衛門佐忠政卿所持), “owned by Lord Matsudaira Uemon no Suke Tadamasa.” Tadamasa is better known under his name Kuroda Tadayuki (黒田忠之, 1602-1645) who was the second Kuroda daimyō of the Fukuoka fief (福岡藩) of Chikuzen province (see picture 3) and son and heir of the famous warlord and daimyō Kuroda Nagamasa (黒田長政, 1568-1623), fathered with his second wife who was an adoptive daughter of Tokugawa Ieyasu. Tadayuki participated in his first battle when he was just twelve years old (or 13 according to the Japanese way of counting), leading an army of about 10,000 men into the Ōsaka Winter Campaign in 1614. Tadayuki went to Ōsaka instead of his father as Ieyasu had made Nagamasa caretaker of Edo Castle at that time. To go into this battle, Nagamasa presented his son with the nanban-kabuto with golden fern maedate he had received from Ieyasu at Sekigahara.

Picture 3: Kuroda Tadayuki

When Tadayuki succeeded as head of the Kuroda in 1623, he received from Ieyasus’s successor Hidetada (徳川秀忠. 1579-1632) the character for tada (忠) and successively took the names Tadanaga (忠長), Tadamasa (忠政) (the name that is mentioned on the sword), and Tadayuki. Incidentally, up to that granting of the tada character, he went by the name Mantokumaru (万徳丸). After Ōsaka, he also fought in 1637 in the Shimabara Rebellion and died 1652 in Fukuoka Castle. Last but but not least, and kind of a coincidence considering the new attribution at tokubetsu-jūyu, Kuroda Tadayuki owned “another” Awataguchi blade. It is a tantō by Awataguchi Norikuni (粟田口則国) which is shown in picture 4 and which is today designated as a jūyō-bijutsuhin. He had once received it as a gift from the Tokugawa family, possible at the time he received the tada character.

Picture 4: jūyō-bijutsuhin, tantō, mei: Norikuni (則国), nagasa 24.8 cm

Mukansa/Ningen-Kokuhō List

Please note: Apart from swordsmiths, this list in work in progress and will be updated as soon as more detailed information is located. To the very left, the year the rank was granted is listed. The dates to the very right are the years of birth and death.

Swordsmiths (刀匠)

Mukansa (無鑑査)

1958 – Takahashi Sadatsugu (高橋貞次) – 1902-1968
1960 – Miyairi Akihira/Yukihira (宮入昭平・行平) – 1913-1977
1967 – Gassan Sadaichi (月山貞一) – 1907-1995
1967 – Sumitani Masamine (隅谷正峯) – 1921-1998
1970 – Imaizumi Toshimitsu (今泉俊光) – 1898-1995
1972 – Kawashima Tadayoshi (川島忠善) – 1927-1989
1973 – Amata Akitsugu (天田昭次) – 1927-2013
1973 – Ōsumi Toshihira (大隅俊平) – 1932-2009
1981 – Endō Mitsuoki (遠藤光起) – 1904-1997
1981 – Sakai Ikkansai Shigemasa (酒井一貫斎繁正) – 1905-1995
1981 – Yakuwa Yasutake (八鍬靖武) – 1909-1984
1981 – Hokke Saburō Nobufusa (法華三郎信房) – 1909-2000
1982 – Yoshihara Yoshindo (吉原義人) – 1943-
1982 – Yoshihara Kuniie (吉原国家) – 1945-
1982 – Gassan Sadatoshi (月山貞利) – 1946
1985 – Tanigawa Moriyoshi (谷川盛吉) – 1920-1990
1985 – Kanbayashi Tsunehira (上林恒平) – 1949-
1986 – Yamaguchi Kiyofusa (山口清房) – 1932-
1987 – Kawachi Kunihira (河内国平) – 1941-
1987 – Ōno Yoshimitsu (大野義光) – 1948-
1989 – Takahashi Tsuguhira (高橋次平) – 1927-1996
1990 – Sō Tsutomu (宗勉) – 1926-2015
1995 – Mikami Sadanao (三上貞直) – 1955-
1995 – Miyairi Norihiro (宮入法広) – 1956-
1996 – Enomoto Sadayoshi (榎本貞吉) – 1908-2000
1996 – Seto Yoshihiro (瀬戸吉広) – 1945-
1996 – Hiroki Hirokuni (広木弘邦) – 1948-2013
2000 – Miyairi Kozaemon Yukihira (宮入小左衛門行平) – 1957-
2000 – Ōkubo Kazuhira (大久保和平) – 1944-2003
2003 – Yoshihara Yoshikazu (吉原義一) – 1967-2018
2006 – Ogawa Kanekuni (尾川兼圀) – 1925-2012
2006 – Sō Masachika (宗昌親) – 1954-
2010 – Furukawa Kiyoyuki (古川清行) – 1948-
2010 – Ogawa Kanekuni (尾川兼国) – 1953-
2010 – Matsuda Tsuguyasu (松田次泰) – 1948-
2014 – Matsuba Kunimasa (松葉国正) – 1959-
2017 – Kubo Yoshihiro (久保善博) – 1965-

Ningen Kokuhō (人間国宝)

1955 – Takahashi Sadatsugu (高橋貞次) – 1902-1968
1963 – Miyairi Akihira/Yukihira (宮入昭平・行平) – 1913-1977
1971 – Gassan Sadaichi (月山貞一) – 1907-1995
1981 – Sumitani Masamine (隅谷正峯) – 1921-1998
1997 – Amata Akitsugu (天田昭次) – 1927-2013
1997 – Ōsumi Toshihira (大隅俊平) – 1932-2009

Teishitsu-gigei’in (帝室技芸員)

1906 – Miyamoto Kanenori (宮本包則) – 1830-1926
1906 – Gassan Sadakazu (月山貞一) – 1836-1918


Polishers (研師)

Mukansa (無鑑査)

? – Sugihara Hiroshi (杉原弘) – ?-
2003 – Mishina Kenji (三品謙次) – 1951-
? – Yanagawa Kiyotsugu (柳川清次) – ?-
? – Saitō Tsukasa (斎藤司) – 1953-
? – Abe Kazunori (阿部一紀) – 1954-?
2012 – Sugihara Sōto (杉原宗都) – 1967-

Ningen Kokuhō (人間国宝)

1975 – Hon’ami Nisshū (本阿弥日洲) – 1908-1996
1975 – Ono Kōkei (小野光敬) – 1913-1994
1996 – Fujishiro Matsuo (藤代松雄) – 1914-2004
1998 – Nagayama Kōkan (永山光幹) – 1920-2010
2014 – Hon’ami Kōshū (本阿弥光洲) – 1939-


Tsukamaki (柄巻)

Mukansa (無鑑査)

1997 – Mitani ‘Tsukashū’ Shūji (三谷「柄秀」修史) – 1935-
? – Sakairi ‘Tsukashin’ Masayuki (坂入「柄真」眞之) – 1947-
2003- Tōyama Yasuo (遠山康男) – 1946-


Tōshinbori (刀身彫)

Mukansa (無鑑査)

1997 – Yanagawa Senju (柳村仙寿) – 1945-


Chōkin / Kinkō / Shirogane

Mukansa (無鑑査)

? – Koyama ‘Jozan’ Yoshikazu (古山「如山」義和) – 1948-2017
? – Tamaoka Toshiyuki (玉岡俊行) – 1949-
1998 – Miyajima Hiroshi (宮島宏)
2009 – Naruki Issei (成木一成) – 1931-
? – Hagawa Yasuho (羽川安穂) – ?


Higo-zōgan/sukashi (肥後象嵌・透)

Ningen Kokuhō (人間国宝)

1965- Yonemitsu Mitsumasa (米光光正) – 1888-1980


Sayashi (鞘師)

Mukansa (無鑑査)

1983 – Takayama Kazuyuki (高山一之) – 1940-

Early sukashi motifs 1

A few weeks ago, I skimmed through a Japanese blog post and briefly had to halt at an expression, a kind of a tongue-twister, because I was sure I have read that somewhere before but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Now after clearing a few things off my desk, I checked my archive, and as it is quite well organized, I did indeed find the very expression, and this is the whole background for this article.

Now some of you may have wondered about what the symbolism of the openwork design (sukashi, 透かし) of some very early tsuba, e.g. Ko-Katchūshi (古甲冑師) or Ko-Tōshō (古刀匠) might be. Well, in books, also in my own books as well as in some of my articles, these plain motifs, appearing to depict things from everyday life, are usually described as reflecting the then mindset of samurai facing uncertain times, death on an everyday basis, and all of that filtered through period Zen-Buddhism etc., you get the idea.

This is still all correct and in this article, I just want to take a closer look at one, or rather two of these simple early openwork designs, like I tried to shed more light on another, a similar aspect five years ago here. As it initiated the whole article, I want to start with the sickle, Japanese kama (鎌), as an early openwork design. Now the sickle is often depicted on early tsuba in combination with the gorintō (五輪塔), the five-story Buddhist pagoda usually seen along temples and in cemeteries. In short, and leaving out Buddhist and other context that you can find here and here, the gorintō may be equated with a gravestone. So, such a gorintō on a tsuba is associated with death. Imagine a medieval knight having his armor decorated with gravestones. There is not much range of interpretation as this is a pretty straightforward symbolism, and this is how a gorintō was understood in medieval Japan.

Back to the sickle. When someone was killed by a sword or edged weapon, people made comments like: “Toki-koto rikama no gotoki” (説き(利き)こと利鎌のごとき), which, when you try to read it out loud and fast, is the tongue-twister I was talking about at the beginning of this article (and which I found again in the Tōsō Kodōgu Kōza, Volume 1, p. 39). The comment literally means “effective like a sharp sickle” and may be interpreted in a similar way as the Western proverb “live by the sword, die by the sword.” In other words, sickles next to a pagoda on a tsuba represent death and the way you are gonna die, i.e. from an edged weapon. Very fitting for a medieval samurai, isn’t it? However, there is of course some scope for interpretation. The sickle is also an agricultural symbol. For example, after a rice harvest, Japanese farmers sometimes put one of the sickles used into the tokonoma alcove, after it was purified, together with like red rice beans and/ormochi, as an offering to the God of Agriculture, a custom that is referred to as kama-iwai (鎌祝い), lit. “sickle celebration/prayer.” There is also some religious context here. For example, Hachiman (八幡) is said to have been an agricultural deity before he became the God of War, and in the case of the deity Suwa (諏訪), it was exactly the other way round. Thus, the sickle on a tsuba may also be interpreted as representing the “choice” of a farmer becoming a warrior and accepting so his ultimate fate, death, or as the prayer of a warrior to maybe escape war and death and eventually being able to lead a peaceful agricultural life on the countryside.

Let’s check out another early openwork design, the so-called kukurizaru (括り猿), also sometimes seen in combination with a gorintō as shown below. Kukurizaru means literally “tied up monkey,” i.a. a monkey who is restrained by binding his hands and feet together with a rope. Often, the term kukurizaru is just translated as “talisman” but there is more to it, of course. The kukurizaru symbolism has to be understood as a mirrored reference, that is, although the monkey being the animal that is closest to us humans, it will be an animal at the end of the day and even if we are human, you just have to push certain buttons and we will fall back to the realm of animals. So, the tied up monkey means that you should remember that you should try to be above of that and supposed to control your desires and your lust. In other words: Never be caught off guard or loose control. In combination with the gorintō, this symbol quasi acts as a reminder for medieval warriors: If you are cought off guard or loose control, you die!

The kukurizaru charm left, the sukashi design right.

In conclusiuon, I just wanted to write this brief article to provide some further information, scratching the surface a little for those who are asking themselves: “Why is there a sickle?” or “Kukurizaru is just a lucky charm so what?” That said, I very much want to extend that topic in the future and go a little deeper when time allows as it is also very interesting for me because after all, nothing was applied to tsuba or sword fittings, or swords in general, for no reason. In other words, you can kind of compare the Muromachi-period sukashi symbolism with “old school” sailor tattoos, that is, there was a limited set of designs, born from superstitions etc., that everyone then understood and that you could choose from. So when I come across another interesting context, I will continue from here.


Setouchi City Crowdfunding #1

Some of you might be aware of the plans of Setouchi City trying to raise finds through crowdfunding to but the famous meitō Sanchōmō (山鳥毛). I am not directly involved in the crowdfunding but was approached by the city in order to share the project among possible donors outside of Japan. If you have a couple of minutes, please take the survey below that helps the city of Setouchi to plan in more detail their upcoming crowdfunding (will be announced separately here). Thank you!





@swordtranslator goes to NY

In a month from now, I will be visiting researcher at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York for a full year, assisting the Arms and Armor Department with its vast collection of Japanese swords, fittings, and armor in terms of reorientation and future rotations of the items on display, although I can’t give any concrete info at this point in time. But I will keep you all updated. I am greatly honored by having this tremendous study opportunity and as this will be a full-time job, it comes with some changes of course.

First, things that remain unchanged. I will still accept translation inquiries in terms of certificates and texts as long as they are “straightforward,” that is, follow-up research and info will be very much limited. Also ongoing translations with the societies like NBTHK/AB-EB and JAS will continue without any change. Ongoing (book) projects will continue as well and will be finished accordingly and also articles will be published on my site on a regular basis.

So, basically the research part will have pretty much come to a halt for that year and I will also no longer be able to respond to inquiries about basic info and advice or tips. No more “can you take a quick look at this please” or “what do you think about that?” I don’t want to be mean and I am always very happy to give you my opinion on certain things, as most of you know, but there will just be no more time left at the end of the day for that. It already takes me a week or so sometimes to reply to an inquiry right now…

As the decision was made relatively late, I am still looking for a decent place to rent in NY for that year. So if any of my local friends has any tips in that regard, it would be very much appreciated!

That said, follow me here, via @swordtranslator on instagram or via facebook for updates and reports from the museum. Thank you all and a special thanks to all those who put in a good word for with the museum!

Sōei (宗栄) alias Usaku (右作)

Usually when it comes to details in a swordsmith’s career, we are dependent on written records which were either compiled by period sword scholars, by fief/government officials, or by the family/lineage of the swordsmith. As you can imagine, things get lost over the centuries and you can basically say what you like on paper. That is, on certain occasions, either the local administration or the bakufu required the craftsmen that it employed to provide them with a genealogy or a family history, for example in order to assess an employment status or a rank. Now when you are the head of a family of swordsmiths or tsuba makers and approached with this official task, you present your lineage of course from its best side.

So far, so good, but then there are works by artists extant on/via which they explicitly state that on this or that day a certain thing happened and that this thing was a game changer. In many cases, the discovery of such a work nixes written records, or at least sets them straight, e.g. a smith mentioning in the mei that he made a blade in year X and at the age of Y on the basis of which his year of birth can be calculated, not seldomly contradicing the year of birth that one of his descendants later wrote down for the bakufu. Or, scholars were just assuming when certain things happened until that one work popped up. The sword that I want to introduce here is auch a work.

Now we are talking about the Harima-based smith Sōei (宗栄), or to be precise, about the third generation of that lineage. To get that out of the way, his name is sometimes also read Munehide and that might have actually been the proper reading of his name as the Sōei lineage goes back to a group of smiths who shared the Mune (宗) character and who read it that way, i.e. Munenaga (宗長), Munetsugu (宗次), Muneshige (宗重), but more on this later. In short, Sōei has become the common reading for this smith, motstly to distinguish him from other Munehide smiths, like Chōgi (長義) is traditionally read Chōgi and not Nagayoshi, i.e. to set him apart from the other Nagayoshi smiths.

Before we come back to the third generation Sōei, some background on his lineage. It all started in the late 1500s when Akamatsu Masahide (赤松政秀, 1510-1570) was castellan of Tatsuno Castle (龍野城) in Harima province and needed some swordsmiths. So he hired master Munenaga (宗長) from Wakasa province whose ancestor was once a student of the second generation Nakajima-Rai Kuninaga (中島来国長). It appears that Munenaga took several smiths with him, maybe his students, or that Akamatsu Masahide hired more Wakasa smiths as we see a certain migration of Mune… smiths from Wakasa to Harima at that time. Be that as it may, the Sōei lineage goes back to that relocated Mune… group.

Fast forward to the early Edo period. The Akamatsu have been defeated and Harima province was split up into several fiefs after Sekigahara, with Himeji (姫路藩) being the most powerful one and being successively ruled by the Ikeda (池田), the Honda (本多), the Matsudaira (松平), and the Sakakibara (榊原). These relatively quickly changing rulers of Harima/Himeji might be a reason for why there are hardly any works of the first two generations Sōei extant, who are dated around Meireki (明暦, 1655-1658) and Kanbun (寛文, 1661-1673) respectively by the way. However, we know of worse situations and still plenty of swords being produced, so the issue of the circumstances of the first two Sōei generations needs further study.

Back to the third master, whose real name was Suzuki Gorō ́emon (鈴木五郎右衛門) and who was born in Kan ́ei eleven (寛永, 1634). It is said that his employment with the Matsudaira, the then daimyõ of Himeji, was confirmed when he was 15 years old, which would be Keian one (慶安, 1648) (according to the Japanese way of counting). The year after however, the fief was given to the Sakakibara who ruled in until 1667 when it was given back to the Matsudaira. The Matsudaira ruled Himeji again until 1682 and then the Honda took over. For a better overview, this was all the back and forth between those clans:

Ikeda (池田) (1600-1617) → Honda (本多) (1617-1639) → Okudaira-Matsudaira (奥平松平) (1639-1648) → Echizen-Matsudaira (越前松平) (1648-1649) → Sakakibara (榊原) (1649-1667) → Echizen-Matsudaira again (1667-1682) → Honda again (1682-1704) → Sakakibara again (1704-1741) → Echizen-Matsudaira one last time (1741-1749) → Sakai (酒井) (1749-1871)

The earliest extant dated work of the third generation Sōei is from Enpō one (延宝, 1673). It is signed as being made in Harima province and we find dated blades made in Harima until Tenna two (天和, 1682). A little later, he came to the attention of Ikeda Tsunamasa (池田綱政, 1638-1746), the daimyō of the Bizen Okayama fief (岡山藩), who hired Sōei to work for him locally. We know two dated blades made with a reference to Okayama in the mei, one from Jōkyō two (貞享, 1685) and one from Jōkyo three (1686). Apart from that, we know of a blade that is signed “Suzuki Sōei saku” and “made with nanban-tetsu in Ōsaka” but it is undated and so we don’t know when he made that trip Ōsaka and how long he stayed there.

Anyway, it was this relationship with Ikeda Tsunamasa which earned Sōei his later name, U or Usaku, and this name change goes back to the following anecdote: It was in Genroku five (元禄, 1692) when Tsunamasa asked Sōei to make a copy of a Samonji treasure sword (or several such copies, records vary in this respect) that the Ikeda owned. The copy turned out to be quite excellent and Tsunamasa was so pleased that he said: “This work is better than the Sa (左), so you may better call yourself U (右)!” This has to be understood in the context of period Japanese hierarchy, i.e. U (lit. “to the right”) ranks above Sa (lit. “to the left”). Sōei did so and signed henceforth with U in the following combinations:

  • U – Fujiwara Sōei (右 藤原宗栄)
  • Fujiwara Usaku (藤原右作)
  • Fujiwara U kore o saku (藤原右作是)
  • Ugorō Sōei (右五郎宗栄) (he also changed his first name from Gorō’emon to Ugorō)

And now we come to the blade that I want to introduce in this article. Up to its discovery (I think it was in 2013), it was unclear when Sōei took the U name but the very blade (see picture below) makes it clear, it was in Genroku seven (1694). The full signature reads:

Suzuki Sōei rokujūissai nite aratamete U to tsukusu (鈴木宗栄六拾一歳ニ而改右ト作ス) – “Suzuki Sōei at the age of 61 who is henceforth working under the name of U.”

Genroku shichi kinoe-inudoshi nigatsu hatsu-uma no hi renkan nijūdo kore o kitaeru (元禄七甲戌年二月初午ノ日錬貫廿度鍛之) – “Forged with twenty folds on the first day of the horse of the second month of Genroku seven (1694), year of the dog.”

Now the inscription does not explicitly say that this was the very day Sōei got that name change recommendation from Ikeda Tsunamasa but from experience I can say that such very detailed mei usually commemorate an important occasion. That is, it is in my opinion unlikely that the ancedote with the Samonji copy took place one or two years earlier and that “all of a sudden,” Sōei decided in 1694 that it is now time for a name change. In other words, I think the anecdote took place right before, most likely during the first month of that year and Sōei decided to wait for the auspicious day of the first day of the horse of the second month, a day which on which special prayers and shrine visits are taking place all over the country, to make this commemorative sword. Or at least it was finished and signed that day, forging obviously started earlier, so Sōei was working towards that auspicious date. Incidentally, it is unclear if the “forged with twenty folds” makes sense in metallurgical terms but it may not be interpreted literally, i.e. Sōei more or less stating here that the blade was forged with utmost care.

One interesting thing is that the blade is a rather long wakizashi, measuring 54.9 cm in its nagasa. This leaves room for speculation, like if Sōei actually made a daishō back then and only the shō has survived (was discovered) so far. There is another dated blade extant which Sōei made that very month. It is signed “U – Fujiwara Sōei” and just dated with “a day of the second month of Genroku seven, year of the dog.” This blade, like some others that are known, shows a certain practice/opportunity of Sōei, namely that he was able to work with the famous high-quality Chigusa (千種) steel made in Shisō (宍粟) in his home province of Harima. The very reference to this steel is usually signed by Sōei in the following way: “Banshū Shisō Chigusa eitetsu maru’ichi o motte renkan kore o kitaeru” (播州宍粟千種丸一以英鉄錬貫鍛是), which means “thoroughly forged by using solely exquisite Chigusa steel from Shisō in Harima province.”

As mentioned, we don’t know how long Sōei stayed in Bizen Okayama. The numerous works with a reference to Chigusa steel, e.g. one dated Genroku twelve (1699) don’t necessarily means that he was back home by then as Ikeda Tsunamasa could have arranged that the steel was brought from Harima to Okayama where Sōei processed it locally (via oroshigane). The earliest known dated blade that states it was made again in Harima is from Hōei one (宝永, 1704). The mei says “Ban’yō Tegarayama no fumoto ni oite” (於播陽手柄山麓), “made on the foot of Mt. Tegarayama in Harima province.” Now this blade is a special order blade, for a certain Yuguchi Sukeyori (湯口祐頼), and the syntax with ni oite (i.e. “at” and not “resident of”) differs from his earlier Harima-based mei where Sōei just signed with “Harima ni Kuni…” That is, he may have returned to Harima just on certain occasions and may have spent the rest of his life in Okayama? His successors however worked again in Himeji/Harima.

According to tradition, Sōei died on the 27th day of the second month of Hōei five (宝永, 1708). Taking the mei of the blade introduced here as a basis, he lived to the age of 75 (and not to the age of 99 as stated so in the Kokon Kaji Bikō). The latest known blade that bears his age in the mei is from Hōei three (1706), stating that he made it at the age of 73, what is a match. There is a blade form his successor extant which is signed “Yondai-me Sōei jūsan-sai kore o tsukuru” (四代目宗栄十三歳造之), “made by the fourth generation Sōei at the age of 13”). As far as I know, this blade is not dated and we don’t know when the fourth generation Sōei was born. Tsuneishi says that the fifth and sixth generations died shortly after another, that is in Meiwa four (明和, 1767) and Meiwa eight (1771) respectively. The sixth generation is usually dated around Kyōwa (享和, 1801-1804) and all three, i.e. the fourth, fifth, and sixth masters, signed with “Harima no Kuni…” (播磨国…), “Banshū-jū…” (播州住…) or “Ban’yō Himeji-shin…” (播陽姫路臣…, “retainer of Himeji in Harima province”). So as mentioned, we know that they all worked again in Himeji/Harima.

I hope this article gave you an interesting insight into the life of Sōei and I have a few more blades in my references that mark special occasions in the career of a swordsmith and which I would like to introduce in the future.

Altering tsuba signatures

If you are following me for a while, you may remember my article from a few years ago here about Muramasa signatures being altered after they have become “unpresentable” with the Tokugawa coming to power. Now in this brief article I would like to tell you that this was not only done to sword but also to tsuba signatures.

Before I want to introduce a tsuba signature altered that way, I must begin with the history of the artist who made the piece in question, Myōju (明寿), and that is, the Umetada (埋忠) family.

Now I want to keep it relatively simple here because on the one hand, the issue we are talking about is just about the name itself and not about anything the Umetada family “did wrong” or about someone having bad luck with Umetada works, and on the other hand, I want to write a book about Myōju with all the detailed info, just like my book on Kanō Natsuo.

So as always, we have several traditions about the name origins of the Umetada family. One just says that the Umetada were descendants of the famous swordsmith Sanjō Munechika (三条宗近) and that the name goes back to lands in Kyōto located to the northeast of the Imperial Palace of the same name, Umetada (梅多田), which were granted to the family. Another one says that during the reign of Emperor Ichijō (一条天皇, 980-1011, r. 986-1011), the Kawarasaki Pond (Kawarasaki no Ike, 河原崎ノ池) was filling up with dirt but instead of cleaning it out, the emperor just gave orders to have the pond filled up completely. This task was gratuitously taken over by the very family which thereupon assumed the name Umetada (埋忠) which means literally “to fill up (umeru) (something) free of charge (tada).” Another theory also refers to a filling-up-a-pond tradition, although much later, in the early Muromachi period during the reign of Emperor Shōkō (称光天皇, 1401-1428).

To return to our concrete subject, we have to fast forward to the early Edo period, to the time of the Kyōto shōgun deputy Itakura Suō no Kami Shigemune (板倉周防守重宗, 1586-1657). Shigemune was about to proceed to Edo and wanted to bring some nice gifts with him so he chose sukashi-tsuba made by the Umetada School but at that time, Edo warriors were taking everything literal and so he thought he better consult the Umetada family with what he thought would be an issue. That is, the characters Umetada (埋忠) mean literally interpreted “to bury (umeru, 埋める) (i.e. umeru does not only mean to fill up but also to bury something) loyalty (chū, 忠)” and so the family was changing the first character with the “harmless” homonymous ume (梅) which means “plum.”


Now Umetada Myōju died on the 18th day of the fifth month of Kan’ei eight (寛永, 1634) at the age of 74 and Itakura Shigemune was Kyōto shōgun deputy from 1620 to 1654, so it is assumed that the suggested name/character change took place some time after the famous Umetada grandmaster had passed away. The tsuba that I want to introduce here though is a work by Myōju and it was originally signed with “Umetada” (埋忠) on the right and with “Myōju” (明寿) on the left side of the nakago-ana. As you can see in the detail above, someone erased the first Ume (埋, “to bury”) character with chisel strokes or small hammer blows because he was superstitious and did not want to have the literal “to bury loyalty” context on his tsuba. Or, what I think is a more likely scenario, the then owner was picking this tsuba as a gift and maybe he knew that the person who was going to receive it was very sensitive regarding kanji context. In other words, if you are about to choose an important (return) gift in order to establish some kind of alliance or freshly pledged loyalty and the receiver is known to be a jerk when it comes to things like hidden messages in characters, you don’t necessarily want to give him something that says “to bury loyalty”…


Picture 1: jūyō-tōsōgu, tsuba, mei: “…tada Myōju” (◯忠明寿), kawari-mokkō-gata, brass, shakudō hira-zōgan, one hitsu-ana (plugged), uchikaeshi-mimi


KANTEI 4 – YAMASHIRO #38 – Daruma (達磨) School

The Daruma School is kind of living in the shadow when it comes to treatises on the Yamashiro tradition, but that is actually no surprise as this school was only active for a short period of time and as there are hardly any works of its smiths extant, all of them basically just revolving about its ancestor Shigemitsu (重光). So, we have to start, and pretty much also end with him.

There are several traditions and theories (some overlapping and possible side by side) about the background of Daruma Shigemitsu which I will list in the following:

  • He was a son of Awataguchi Yoshimitsu (粟田口吉光) but that can be ruled out as Yoshimitsu was active 100 years before Daruma Shigemitsu came along.
  • He came originally from the Satsuma-based Naminohira School but moved to the Ayanokōji district of Kyōto during the Bunna era (文和, 1352-1356) when he was 35 years old.
  • He was born in Yamato but was a descendant of Naminohira Masakuni (波平正国). As some of you know, Masakuni is said to have founded the Naminohira School after moving from Kyōto to Naminohira in Satsuma province. So, following this tradition, Daruma Shigemitsu must have been either a descendant of the Masakuni group that stayed in Kyōto and did not move down to Kyūshū, or of a later Naminohira Masakuni smith who moved back to the capital.
  • He came originally from the Yamato Tegai School but moved to the Ayanokōji district of Kyōto.
  • He signed first with Shigemitsu (重光), then with Masamune (正宗), and eventually entered priesthood whereupon he took the nyūdō-gō Daruma (達磨) and signed henceforth with this name.
  • He signed his Masamune name also with the characters (政宗).
  • He signed with Shigemitsu back in his days in Yamato but changed his name to Masamune when he moved to Kyōto.
  • He took the Daruma priest name because he had big staring eyes, making him look like Bodhidharma (Japanese Daruma). That is, people were already giving him the nickname Takashi/Takaji Daruma (たかし達磨) during his lifetime so he just used that nickname as his priest name. Incidentally, takashi/takaji means “smith who moved here from somewhere else,” what would basically support the tradition of him having moved to Kyōto from Naminohira or Yamato. In other words, his nickname translates as about “Daruma, the smith who is not from here.”
  • The name Daruma goes back to the “fact” that the smith moved to the Daruma neighborhood (Daruma-chō, 達磨町) of Kyōto which is located just to the south of the Imperial Palace. So, either he adopted the name of his new work place just like that or he picked his work place name when he entered priesthood. Fujishiro quotes a mei that would support that tradition, i.e.: “Jōshū Daruma-jūnin Shigemitsu” (城州達磨住人重光), “Shigemitsu, resident of Daruma in Yamashiro province.”
  • He also signed with the name Kunishige (国重) at some point in his career.
  • He was a student of Masamune or of Yukimitsu.
  • Shigemitsu was the early name of the famous Sōshū Masamune which was given to him by Kamakura-regent Hōjō Tokiyori. When Masamune moved towards the end of his career to Kyōto, he entered priesthood and stayed there under the name Daruma.

Well, that’s quite something to chew on, but what are the facts? The facts are that there are a few of what appears to be Nanbokuchō-period blades extant which are signed “Daruma”. So far, and apart from written statements, I was not able to find any Daruma blade that is actually signed Shigemitsu, e.g. the tantō that Honma refers to in his Nihon Kotō Shi as ek g dated with the Jōji (貞治, 1362-1368) era and differing noticeably from the Daruma signed works, also adding the comment “I cannot say that both of them were made by the same smith.” Also, it appears that no Masamune signed blade is known that is undoubtedly attributed to Daruma Shigemitsu.

Daruma Shigemitsu’s son Masamitsu (正光) is said to have been active around Eitoku (永徳, 1381-1384) in Ayanokōji. He too entered priesthood, in Eitoky three (永徳, 1383), and took the name Ryō’ami (了阿弥), and there is the theory that it was Masamitsu who signed with Masamune using the characters (政宗), i.e. not the ones (正宗) his father allegedly used. Satō writes that he has only seen one blade by this Masamitsu, a wakizashi in katakiriba-zukuri which is even more Mino-esque than the already somewhat Mino-esque works of Daruma Shigemitsu, but more on this in a little. The tang of this Masamitsu blade is shown in the Nihontō Kōza and in Fujishiro and for the sake of completeness, I want to post it below before we come back to Daruma Shigemitsu. Note: The tang of this blade was altered later in time, i.e. it is not how Masamitsu finished it.


Picture 1: Masamitsu mei

So, let me introduce a few Daruma works and add my own thoughts on this small school/group. First of all, it is said that Daruma Shigemitsu’s son and successor Masamitsu moved later in his career with his own son of the same name to Mino where he accepted several local students. This would explain the short Yamashiro-based life of the school, i.e. after only two (or one and a half) generations, the school had been relocated to another province.

The most famous Daruma work is the jūyō-bijutsuhin blade that is shown in picture 2. Now the Nihontō Kōza introduces it as a tantō but Honma refers to it as wakizashi and as I was not able to find its nagasa mentioned anywhere, I would say for the time being that it is probably a sunnobi-tantō/hira-zukuri ko-wakizashi. I was also unable to find a concrete description of the workmanship of this very blade so I give you my impressions that I get from that oshigata. The sugata speaks for heyday to late Nanbokuchō and the ha is pretty flamboyant, suggesting a considerable Sōshū influence. The arrangement of the gunome that feature sunagashi across their base, the limited tobiyaki seen here and there, and the widely hardened bōshi reminds me a little bit of an ambitious Kaneuji (兼氏) interpretation. With some good will I can also see a little bit of Nobukuni but the ha is for me a hint too wide and flamboyant for a Nobukuni work of that time, i.e. by one of the early Nanbokuchō generations. Hasebe would kind of fit better than Nobukuni in my opinion because there are some Kunishige (国重) and Kuninobu (国信) hira-zukuri tantō/ko-wakizashi which too show such a widely hardened bōshi with that pointy, rōzoku-like kaeri.

Picture 2: jūyō-bijutsuhin, mei: “Daruma” (達磨)

Anyway, lets move on to blade two (see picture 3) because it is a little bit like poking around in the dark with having only one oshigata and with knowing that oshigata can be quite misleading (see here, here, and here), e.g. there may be more tobiyaki and yubashiri that the person who drew it did not add, which would speak more for Hasebe etc. Blade number 2 is a hira-zukuri ko-wakizashi with a wide mihaba and a little sori. The kitae is a standing-out itame that is mixed with ō-itame and that features ji-nie. The hamon is a ko-nie-laden notare-chō that is mixed with gunome and the bōshi is midare-komi with a ko-maru-like kaeri. The omote side shows a suken and the ura side a koshibi with a shorter tsurebi. The tang is a little suriage, has a shallow kurijiri, katte-sagari yasurime, and four mekugi-ana of which one is plugged.

Picture 3: jūyō, wakizashi, mei: “Daruma” (達磨), hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, nagasa 32.3 cm, sori 0.1 cm

Picture 4 shows an unsigned hira-zukuri tantō that is attributed to Daruma. The blade is a little shorter than the previous one but is ubu. It has a wide mihaba, some sori, and is overall of a sunnobi-sugata. The kitae is a ko-itame that is mixed with itame and some jifu and features chikei and plenty of ji-nie. The hamon is a nie-laden and relatively uniform koshi no hiraita-gunome that is mixed with gently undulating notare and gunome-midare. The nie increase in quantity towards the tip and make the ha tend there to kuzure, featuring nijūba and yubashiri. The bōshi shows a ko-maru-kaeri that is smaller on the ura than on the omote side but the turnback is quite brief on both sides. As for the horimono, we see gomabashi on the omote and a suken on the ura. The tang is ubu, has a kurijiri, two mekugi-ana, and its yasurime are indiscernible. The NBTHK describes the blade as showing a nie-laden gunome to ō-gunome mix that differs from Nobukuni and Hasebe works and that shows some Sōshū influence.

Picture 4: jūyō, tantō, mumei: “Daruma” (達磨), hira-zukuri, mitsu-mune, nagasa 30.3 cm, sori 0.4 cm

Let me quote from Tsuneishi at this point:

Works are rare but there are some ambitious tantō extant which show a widely hardened Sōshū-like yakiba that somewhat resembles Nobukuni. Compared to Nobukuni however, the blades are a little bit smaller dimensioned and lack dignity, and are of overall somewhat inferior quality. The jihada is an itame with prominent masame and rather stands out. Be that as it may, the overall interpretation does speak for Nanbokuchō.

So, let me finish with a few thoughts on this school. I have to admit, I never had the chance to study a Daruma work hands on. I have no problem with accepting Daruma Shigemitsu being somehow connected to the then Nobukuni School and also jumping onto the Sōshū bandwagon that was going on all over the country at that time. Maybe there was a concrete reason for why his son moved to Mino, e.g. an explicit invitation by a local ruler to work for him over there and train local smiths, or the school was just overshadowed by the old-established major Kyōto lineages and so Masamitsu thought it is better to start something new elsewhere. This was all before the Ōnin War of 1467 that destroyed much of Kyōto so we are not facing here a situation where the Daruma smiths were forced to flee the capital.

Also, we have another “issue” here, and I am talking about the multiple names, famous names like Masamune and (Hasebe) Kunishige. There was namely the quite handy practice in the past to “invent” or to arbitrarily link certain smiths together in order to legitimize inferior works and straightforward or rather borderline gimei. That is, and to stay with the concrete example, if you come across a signed Masamune blade that just doesn’t match the quality of the famous Sōshū Masamune, and you don’t want to tell the owner that it is gimei, you can always say that although this is not the Masamune, it is still a legit Masamune, just a Daruma Masamune though (insert origami papering culture and monetary evaluation of blades at this point). Another example: There are blades by Sōshū Sadamune which just lack a little bit the quality that you would expect from a work by this smith and so these blades were attributed to Takagi Sadamune in the past. Sounds ok then, doesn’t it? I am just trying to make a point here so please don’t nail me down on the Sōshū/Takagi Sadamune issue that I used as an example. In short, if you are a member of the Hon’ami family being approached by someone famous with a gimei Hasebe Kunishige or Masamune and you don’t want to tell him the truth because you want to keep him happy, a happy returning customer, you can do the above-mentioned compromise thing by saying: “Well, this is not a Hasebe Kunishige but your blade is for sure authentic. It is just that it is a Daruma work from the time the smith still signed with his former Kunishige name.” This is also why in certain cases a magical second generation was invented, i.e. to have a basket for putting inferior works by a smith in.

Well, it is still possible that Daruma was indeed using all these names, i.e. Shigemitsu, Kunishige, and Masamune, but the fact that an obscure and roughly contemporary smith handily used all these famous names too certainly raises a red flag…