In the last Tôken Bijutsu, the May issue of 2016, Imoto Yûki (井本悠紀) introduces a gassaku, a joint work between Mishina Kaneyuki (三品金行) and the 11th generation Aizu-Kanesada (会津兼定), which is insofar very interesting as one side of the blade shows a kitae in itame mixed with mokume whilst the other side is in pure masame. Now some might wonder how to forge a blade so that one side has a completely different forging structure than the other one. But if you remember all the different blade constructions, it is actually pretty simple and I like to take this brief article of Imoto as an opportunity to elaborate a little on that and on the context of this gassaku.

Now first about the forging. We know several blades of Kanesada where he explicitly states on the tang that they are forged in hon-sanmai (本三枚), although he uses the term shin-sanmai (真三枚). For example, a katana that he made in Ansei four (安政, 1857) at the age of 20 which is featured in Toyama Noboru’s book on Kanesada that I had the honor to translate a couple of years ago (and which can be purchased here). And Imoto introduces a mei of Kanesada bearing that supplement which is dated Meiji 35 (明治, 1902) and which also comes with the information that he made it at the age of 66. As most of you know, the forging technique of hon-sanmai uses three different steels, two outer layers of kawagane, a shingane core, and an additional hagane at the cutting edge (see picture below). Usually the smith forges the two outer kawagane layers identically but from this gassaku we learn that one smith, Kaneyuki, forged the one layer whilst the other, Kanesada, forged the other one, by each of them sticking to their traditional technique (well, Kanesada also often worked in other kitae but masame was one of his trademarks). And the blade is also signed that way, i.e. Kaneyuki signing on the omote, the side which is in itame-mokume, and Kanesada on the ura, which is the one in masame. So either one of the two, and I assume it was Kaneyuki, took all the prepared steels, bundled them up (the process called tsukuri-komi [造り込み] or kumi-awase [組み合わせ]), and forged this bundle into a blade. The blade itself by the way is a hira-zukuri wakizashi with a nagasa of 39.4 cm, a sori of 0.7 cm, showing a nie-deki hamon where gunome sections are connected with notare and suguha-chô and which is mixed with togariba and plenty of kinsuji and sunagashi.

And as mentioned above, I want to elaborate on the context of this joint work a little. I have already stated in this article that Kanesada proceeded to Kyôto in the seventh month of Bunkyû three (文久, 1863) where he received five months later the honorary title Izumi no Kami (和泉守). The Mishina family was, as we know, so to speak in charge of handling the awarding of honorary titles with the court, expressed through their own special honorary title of Nihon Kaji Sôshô (日本鍛冶宗匠・日本鍛冶惣匠). Now we know from records that Kanesada worked in the tenth month of that year in the residence of Kaneyuki and it is assumed that such a stay belonged to the procedure of receiving a honorary title. In other words, the Mishina family probably wanted to see live the talent of the smith before forwarding any suggestions to the Imperial household. Usually, these stays are always described as “someone refining his craft in Kyôto” but most of the smiths doing so were already fully trained masters at the height of their career. This just as a side note.

Now Kaneyuki had studied with the 10th generation Iga no Kami Kinmichi (伊賀守金道) whom he later succeeded, under the name of Kinmichi, as 11th generation of that lineage. He himself had received his honorary title of Ômi no Kami (近江守) on the 20th day of the tenth month Bunkyû three (1863), i.e. at the very time Kanesada was staying in his house. Now we don’t know exactly when he succeeded as 11th generation Kinmichi (Fukunaga Suiken assumes it took place before Keiô two [慶応, 1866]) but what we do know is that the gassaku wakizashi is already signed with the additional honorary title Nihon Kaji Sôshô, which he had received from Kinmichi two months earlier, in the eighth month of Bunkyû three (1863). Also we know that Kanesada returned to Aizu in the second month of Keiô one (1865) what allows us to narrow down the production time of the undated gassaku wakizashi between the twelfth month of Bunkyû three (1863), the time Kanesada had received the title Izumi no Kami and by which the blade is signed, and the second month of Keiô one (1865) when Kanesada left Kyôto.

Last but not least I want to introduce another interesting anecdote in this context. In my above linked article on the last of the Kanesada, I mentioned that Kanesada witnessed the so-called “Hamaguri Gate Rebellion” (Hamaguri-gomon no hen, 蛤御門の変) which took place in 1864 and where royalists rebelled against the Tokugawa at the Hamaguri Gate of the Imperial Palace. Now in the course of this incident, the residence of the Mishina family caught fire and was seriously damaged (as were large parts of Kyôto, see picture below). After the rebellion was over, the Mishina family sent out letters to all their former students, who had scattered all over the country in the meanwhile by the way, not asking for but (by their choice of words) rather demanding a contribution to the reconstruction of their forge 😉

Looking something up the other day in the Kokon Mei Zukushi (古今銘尽), I also browsed through its fifth volume again, the one which introduces workmanships of different smiths. Doing so I remembered how the uncommon way many terms are written therein gave me quite a headache when I worked through this publication for the very first time. So in this sense, I thought that it might be of interest, for the kanji nerds out there so to speak, to present them here. The “list” is not very extensive and don’t worry, you don’t have to memorize them as they are no longer in use. Most of them are phonetic substitutes, whilst there are also some semantic substitutes. I point out the former via (PS) and the latter via (SS). Also, I am not talking about the use of old and unsimplified characters, an issue that I have addresses a while ago here. I am talking about the use of odd or rather very uncommon characters and/or substitutions. So in the brief list below, I will also add some explanations and as mentioned, this humble post is more for the kanji cracks.

bôhi (謀樋) – [棒樋] (PS): (謀) reads bô but means “plan, strategy”

funbari (釒本弘) – [踏張り] – This kanji (see pic below) is not found in any character set. It is composed of the metal radical left, and to the right of the character (本) on top of (弘). Thus the composition is kind of literal, i.e. “wide/broad” (弘) at the “base” (本), with the metal radical as its “sword-related classifier.”

gomabashi (護摩梯) – [護摩箸] (PS): (梯) reads hashi/bashi but means “ladder, stairs”

hada (膚) – [肌] (SS): actually means “skin/texture/grain” too but came out of use to refer to the jihada of a sword

jifu (地苻) – [地斑] (PS): (苻) reads fu but refers to a “kudzu-like plant”

kaeri (歸) – [返り] (PS): use of old variant of (帰)

kenuki (鑷) – [毛抜] – The opening in the tang of a kenukigata-tachi, i.e. (鑷) has the same meaning of “tweezers” but came out of use to refer to the kenukigata opening/interpretation.

kiriha/kiriba (刎齒) – [切刃] (PS): (刎) reads kiri but means “decapitate,” so still semantically related to kiri/kiru (切, “cut”). And (齒) reads ha but means “tooth.”

machi (関) – [区] (SS): (関) does not read machi but means what the machi are supposed to be, i.e. “barriers” between blade and tang

mune (𫒒) – [棟] (PS): (𫒒) reads mune and has to be taken literally, i.e. as “metal (金) hill (丘).” For example, the literal meaning of this term was also quoted with the charactes (刀背), i.e. “sword (刀) back (背)” whereas the two characters (刀背) were then again read as mune.

sujikai (直違) – [筋違] – Interesting case as we have here a coming together of several substitutes. First of all, the term sujikai originally referred to braces, i.e. slanting beams giving extra support between horizontal and/or vertical members of a timber frame, forming a X when mounted. Thus this term was initially written with suji (筋, “sinew, tendon,” or also something long and linear) and kai (交い, “alternate, cross”), referring to the X shape of the braces. But then this writing of the term (筋交い) was replaced by (筋違い), which reads suji-jikai in the strict sense, i.e. suji (筋) and chigai (違い, voiced jikai). Therefore we find this term, or the yasurime in question, sometimes quoted as suji-jikai. But even if replaced by (筋違い), the initial reading of sujikai of the characters (筋交い) was kept. In short, (筋違い) should also read sujikai but suji-jikai is not wrong of course. Back to the Kokon Mei Zukushi. Therein the term was so to speak “re-split-up” from suji-kai to su-jikai and the su (which should actually be suji [筋] and not just su) was replaced by the homophonic (直).

togariba (鋒刃) – [尖り刃] (PS): (鋒) reads togari, or rather tokari, but means “lance, pike, tip of sword.” So this is kind of literal too, i.e. something pointy (togaru, 尖る) like a tip or lance

yakiba (㓵) – [焼刃] – The etymological meaning of (㓵) is “sword” or “double-edged sword” but it also had the meaning of “edge of knife,” so that’s why it was used to represent the term yakiba.

yasuri (鈩) – [鑢] – This substitute is insofar interesting as it is the (simplified) variant (itaiji, 異体字) of the character (鑪) (note the different radical on the bottom left, i.e. 心 and 皿). In other words, (盧) gets replaced by (戸) and (慮) either by (呂) or (虑). So the character for yasuri (鑢) should actually be replaced by (鋁) and not by (鈩).

And below the two introductory pages in question of volume 5, just in case you want to do some deciphering yourself.

Today I want to review a recently published book, written by PhD Jon Andresen from American Art Swords. Title of the book is Analysis of the Iai Katana, published by Jon’s Androzo Publishing, and available via amazon. In his book, Jon approaches the katana, as mentioned in the blurp, analytically and his academic scientific background is very much reflected in this approach. Jon is also an iaidôka, a rokudan renshi to be specific, and thus he tackles the analysis of swords, and that is of iaitô and shinken as well, truly from the modern iaidô practitioner’s point of view.

The book is basically divided into three parts, i.e. bokutô, iaitô, and shinken. In the first part, Jon thoroughly analyses all aspects of the bokutô, with a main focus on the woods used, from traditional to modern Japanese sources to non-Japanese equivalents. And with thorough, I mean thorough, as this (I am speaking of ~ 50 pages) is the most comprehensive study on bokutô I have come across to this day. The second part is comparatively brief and addresses all basic and relevant points you have to know about iaitô whereas the third part on shinken is the main part of the book and comprises ~ 120 pages. In these 120 pages, Jon analyses and puts into relation measurements, weight, and bôhi grooves by using a dataset of 1,695 long swords from all periods. Through this analysis, you can see certain trends and relations of nagasa, kasane, weight, and presence or absence of bôhi, just to name a few factors, whereas the weight makes an important part of this analysis because as Jon says in the preface, to predict the weight of blades based on their nagasa was originally a major goal of this work.

This means, and borrowing from the preface, it was to be for the benefit of iaidô students who generally care about what swords weigh when information of the weight is usually omitted in descriptions on sites that sell swords. The book is rounded off by guidelines and tips on maintenance (and that applies to bokutô, iaitô, and shinken) and therefore I would recommend this publication to the serious iaidô aspirant who wants to get as much information as possible to make up his mind on the purchase of an as perfect as possible iaitô or shinken (in addition to what your sensei is recommending of course). In other words, studying Jon’s book gives you useful tips, and makes you aware of maybe never thought off aspects that you have to bear in mind when shopping for a sword that should fit you well and for a long time on your journey along the Way of Drawing the Sword. As indicated, the book places a firm focus and does not pretend to be anything else, thus do not expect to find in it any discussions on swordsmiths schools, workmanships, swords as collectibles, or iaidô techniques/kata and things like that . I just wanted to underline that because, from my personal experience as an author in this field, people often expect a “Swiss Army knife” approach.

Working on the German translation of parts of the current Tôken Bijutsu magazine I saw that Satô Kazunori (佐藤一典) points out a “habit” in the 24th part of his article series on Sendai swordsmiths that I would briefly like to introduce. The habit in question is a certain ligature, gôji (合字) in Japanese, that combines the characters Fuji (藤) and wara (原) to a single character that represents, obviously, the clan name Fujiwara. Now I don’t want to deal with the specific swordsmith, who is the Nidai Sôryûshi Tamateru (雙龍子玉英, 1820-1889) by the way, but suffice it to say that I first came across this habit years ago via his master Taikei Naotane (大慶直胤, 1778-1857). Naotane started rather early on in his career, i.e. around Bunsei (文政, 1818-1830) to drop the wara and sign the reference to the clan name Fujiwara just with Fuji (see my Shinshinto-Meikan, p. 135f). Later, i.e. around Tenpô (天保, 1830-1844), he signed Fujiwara as everyone else with two characters but changed towards the end of his career, i.e. around Kôka (弘化, 1844-1848) and Kaei (嘉永, 1848-1854) to the gôji ligature variant. So Tamateru obviously adopted this habit from his master.

Picture 1, from left to right: Naotane signing just with Fuji (dated Bunsei four, 1821), with Fujiwara (dated Tenpô eleven, 1840), and with the gôji (dated Kaei four, 1851)

When I say “came across via Naotane” above, I mean that I once wrongly read this gôji just as Fuji, i.e. I thought that he later returned to the habit of dropping the wara character again but was pointed out that he did add it by so to speak squeezing it into the the lower Fuji part (滕), that is squeezing it between the radicas (月) and (𣳾). So if you see a mei like the one in picture 1 right, you correctly read it (in this very case) as “Mino no Suke Fujiwara Naotane” and not “Mino no Suke Fuji Naotane.”

Picture 2: Naotane’s Fujiwara gôji (left) and how Tamateru signed it (right).

Explicit ligature was and is rather rare in Japan because when you combine two characters, you just get a new character and this is not regarded as ligature in the strict sense. However, there were some, but they mostly used for decorative or “underlining/emphasizing” purposes on temple inscriptions or talimans. Apart from that, and what we see sometimes today, Western units were adopted and made into gôji, for example (糎) for centimeter, Japanese senchi or senchimêtoru, composed from the characters (米) and (厘), and (粍) for millimeter, Japanese miri or mirimêtoru, composed from the characters (米) and (毛). In our field, you can come across such units gôji via certain papers, for example those issued by the Nihon Tôsôgu Kenkyû Kai and the Jûhô Tôken Kenkyû Kai (see picture below).

Picture 3: Details from a NTK and a JTK paper.

Dear Readers,

I just started, like last year, an Easter eBook Super Sale where ALL of my eBooks are reduced by 50%! This offer will be valid for a week so you have enough time to decide what you want. So fill up all your tablets (or PC´s) with all the important Nihonto and Tosogu reference material you need four your studies!

If you have any questions or can´t find the one or other book, don´t hesitate and contact me via my “markus.sesko@gmail.com”.

Thank you and a Happy Easter to everyone!

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

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 😉

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 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 deaths 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 either marks a high 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 he changed 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…

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.

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.