Japan: Its History, Arts, and Literature/Volume 7/Chapter 6
Chapter VI
SCULPTURE ON SWORD-FURNITURE
Of the three fields in which Japanese art may justly claim to have shown original genius, namely, the art of genre painting with its correlated achievements in chromo-xylography, the field of netsuke carving, and the field of sculpture as employed for the decoration of weapons of war, it is probably correct to say that the most remarkable work is found in the last.
There is a common belief that the decoration of arms and armour did not reach a high grade of excellence until the twelfth century of the Christian era. Japanese traditions, on the contrary, allege that the inlaying of armour with gold and silver began in the fourth century, but there is nothing to support the assertion. The armour found in dolmens shows no trace of inlaying, or of any elaborate ornamentation, and it may be said that the contents of these peculiar tombs, which represent the burial-places of Japanese chieftains and sovereigns down to, probably, the fifth century of the Christian era, did not give much promise of the extraordinary skill afterwards attained. Nevertheless it is certain that the sculptor must have occupied himself diligently with the decoration of armour long before the Gem-pei wars of the twelfth century, for a suit of mail worn by Yoshitsune, the hero of that time, which is preserved in a temple at Nara, exhibits features of considerable decorative beauty. It is a combination of plate and chain defence, and the chiselling of the helmet, breastplate, and brassarts indicates that Japan possessed, at that comparatively early era, workers in metal not unworthy to rank with the sculptor of the Siris Bronzes. Indeed Yoshitsune's armour forcibly recalls that celebrated relic of the school of Praxiteles, for just as the Grecian artist adorned the shoulder-pieces of the armour with repoussé pictures of a combat between an Amazon and a warrior, so on Yoshitsune's shoulder-pieces the Japanese craftsman affixed repousse representations of the Dog of Fo, and on the helmet, flying pheasants. These adjuncts, however, are a minor feature in the case of the Japanese suit of mail. The chief characteristic is a wealth of designs—peony sprays, the well-known combination of plum, bamboo, and pine, chrysanthemum scrolls, and birds—in high relief, à jour, and in low relief. The craftsman who could execute such work had not much room for improvement, and indeed it is not surprising to know that a family which through many generations gave Japan her greatest artists in iron—the Miyōchin family—was founded by an armourer, and had a celebrated representative in the second half of the twelfth century.
While, however, this fine work was lavished on the decoration of armour certainly from the twelfth century and probably from an earlier date, the adornment of the sword did not receive commensurate attention until the fifteenth century,—a curious fact from the point of view of mere incongruity, but doubly curious when it is remembered that whereas armour was worn only on special occasions, the sword had a perpetual place in the girdle, and possessed, moreover, a value which seems romantic until something is learned of its really wonderful capacities. The sword itself, not being an object of art, will not be discussed here, great as is the interest otherwise attaching to it. What has to be spoken of is sword-furniture. There it was that the Japanese worker in metals won his crown of skill. In the decoration that he lavished on the guard, the hilt, and other parts of the sword's mountings, he gave to the world peerless specimens of sculpture in metal and of metallurgic processes. There is nothing in the cognate work of any other nation that surpasses, perhaps nothing that equals, the masterpieces of Japan in this line. The scarabs of Etruria have been mentioned as in some degree parallel, just as the Tanagra statuettes have been classed with the netsuke. If it be permissible to place on the same artistic plane a terra-cotta figure cast in a mould and a carving in wood or ivory, then also it may not be extravagant to compare the pictures sculptured and painted—no other term can be justly used—on metal by decorators of Japanese swords to the intaglios of Etruscan gem-cutters. These are matters of taste not profitable to discuss, nor will any one who has had an opportunity of examining a really representative collection of Japanese sword-furniture experience the least difficulty in forming a final opinion. He will recognise that he is dealing with pictorial art applied to metal, and the longer he studies the subject the greater the charms it develops and the more numerous the surprises it affords. This eulogy is not intended to imply that there are to be found among articles of Japanese sword-furniture monumental specimens of decorative metal-work worthy to be classed with objects such as the silver altar of the Florence baptistery, the candelabrum of the Milan Cathedral, the mediæval rejas of Spanish churches, and many of the other magnificent achievements of European artists in metal. The two classes of work are not comparable. One might as well place in the same category the dancing maidens of the walls of Herculaneum and the most delicate miniature paintings on ivory. It has, indeed, been asserted that the extraordinary labour of mind and hand lavished by the Japanese artist upon objects the biggest of which can be enclosed within a circle three inches in diameter, justifies the criticism that he belonged to a nation great in little things and little in great things. But if the Japanese sculptor of sword-furniture is to be accused of moral smallness because he applied himself to the production of tiny ornaments, the same charge may be preferred against Benvenuto Cellini, since so much of his fame rests on his enamelled jewelry. Whatever quality of mind the fact indicates, it is indisputable that the Japanese artist or art-artisan is the most conscientious in the world. He loves to expend the finest and most patient effort upon the least conspicuous portions of the object he ornaments, partly because loyalty to his art dictates such a sacrifice of labour, and partly because he thus enters a kind of noble protest against any suspicion of decorative ostentation which the beauty and richness of his work might otherwise suggest. That habit of craftsmanship is well illustrated in sword-furniture. The delicacy of chiselling and infinitely careful finish betowed on every detail delight the connoisseur as much as they astonish him. Admirable as is the netsuke-carver's work, the art of the sword-ornamenter has greater range and freedom. That, indeed, is a necessary result of the well-recognised law that the more direct and complete the imitation effected by any art, the less the range and the number of the phenomena it can imitate. The netsuke being, for the most part, a sculpture in the round, the actions, expressions, and accessories represented by it must be limited by the principles of stability and simplicity that govern the "space-arts;" whereas, in the decoration of sword-furniture, the artist may introduce a much wider range of objects and a much greater complexity of actions. The student of these beautiful creations finds that Japanese sculptors have exercised to the full their proper latitude of motives and methods. The carver of sword-furniture did, in fact, make "pictures" in metal; that is to say, pictures within the limitations found applicable to all Japanese pictorial art, wherein such subtleties of appearance as are due to the incidence of light and shade find scarcely any place.
The Japanese samurai carried two swords in his girdle. They are spoken of collectively as dai-shō (long and small), and separately as katana (the long sword) and wakizashi (the companion sword, that is to say, the short sword). There were four other kinds of sword; namely, (1) the tachi (called also jintachi, or "war" tachi), a long curved blade carried by samurai of high rank; (2) the tsurugi, a straight, double-edged sword used in ancient times (the katana, the wakizashi, and the tachi were all one-edged); (3) the aikuchi, a dagger (without guard), used originally for stabbing or decapitating a prostrate foe, and subsequently worn by the samurai when the dai-shō were removed (as on entering a friend's house); and (4) the kaiken (lit. bosom sword), a dagger (without guard) worn by women.
The furniture of the sword,—that is to say, of the katana and the wakizashi,—commencing from the top of the hilt, consists of—
The kashira (tip)—a metal cap placed upon the top of the hilt (kashira literally means "head," and in this case is an abbreviation of tsuka-gashira, or the "head of the hilt").
The menuki (rivet)—a piece of metal placed under the frapping of the hilt to improve the grasp. The origin of the menuki will be explained presently. A menuki being placed on either side of the hilt, these ornaments always occur in pairs and have decoration en suite.
The fuchi—a metal ring encircling the hilt immediately above the guard. The ornamentation of the fuchi and that of the kashira is always en suite.
The tsuba—the guard.
The seppa—a small plate through which the haft of the sword passes before entering the guard.
The habaki—two flanges (forming a single piece), which grasp the sides of the blade immediately below the seppa. The seppa and the habaki never carry decorative designs of any kind, but are mentioned here for the sake of completeness.
The kozuka—a knife inserted in the scabbard of the "companion sword" (wakizashi). The tip of the knife's hilt lies opposite an opening in the guard through which it is drawn when required for use. It is generally supposed that the term kozuka applies to the hilt only of the knife or dagger, the whole being called the kogatana (little sword). But by kozuka the Japanese understand the knife attached to the scabbard of a sword, and by kogatana any knife, such as that used by a wood-carver, for example.
The kōgai—a skewer inserted in the scabbard of the "companion sword" (wakizashi), on the side opposite to the kozuka. The kōgai, like the kozuka, is drawn through an opening in the guard. It thus results that the guard of the "companion sword" has always two oval holes, whereas the guard of the katana is either without these holes, or has them filled with removable plates. The kogai served the samurai as a kind of hair-pin for fastening on his official cap (kammuri). In time of war it was put to a different use, being thrust into the head of a slain adversary for purposes of subsequent identification so that the victor might claim the honour due to his prowess. The kōgai sometimes takes the form of a pair of skewers.
The Kurigata—an oval knob fastened on one side of the scabbard, and having a hole through which the pendent cord (sage-o) is passed. The sage-o, which is always a strong braid of silk, is twisted round the scabbard like a sword-knot, but its chief use is to tie back the long sleeves of the surcoat during a fight. In the case of the curved sword (tachi), however, the sage-o served to fasten the scabbard to the girdle.
The soritsuno—a piece of metal fixed on the scabbard of the "companion sword" below the kurigata to prevent the scabbard from slipping (sori) in the girdle.
The kojiri—a metal cap sometimes placed on the end of the scabbard.
The furniture of the curved sword (tachi) has a different nomenclature from the above. Its various parts are as follows:—
Kabuto-gane (lit. helmet-metal)—the cap on the hilt, corresponding to the kashira of the ordinary sword.
Musubi-gane (lit. knot-metal)—a ring attached to the cap for the purpose of receiving a small knot.
Tsuka-ai (lit. hilt-companions)—corresponding to the menuki of the ordinary sword.
Ichi-no-asbi and ni-no-ashi (lit. the first foot and second foot)—two bands with rings encircling the scabbard to receive the sword-knot (sage-o).
Shiba-biki—the lowest ring on the scabbard.
Ishi-zuki—the "boot" of the scabbard.
In order to reach the standpoint from which the Japanese view these decorative objects, to learn how they were regarded by connoisseurs in the country of their manufacture, and to discover what aims the best artists proposed to themselves in chiselling them, it is desirable to translate the words of the author of the Soken Kishō, a critical writer whose treatment of the subject is full and appreciative:—
GENERAL REMARKS.
As a general rule it is not so difficult to judge the quality of the carving on a menuki, a kozuka, and so forth as to pronounce an accurate verdict on the quality of the sword-blade.
One must commence by studying the chisel-marks on the works of the thirteen successive generations of the Goto family—the iye-bori, as they are called—until one has acquired a thoroughly clear perception of the characteristics of each master's style. This must be done with such diligence that in the end the distinguishing features of each artist's work can be recognised at a glance. Thus equipped, the amateur will, of course, be in a position to discriminate between the iye-bori work and that of all other sculptors. It is not enough, however, to be able to identify the mannerisms of the chisels. The informing spirit of the work and its art quality must also be earnestly studied. This is the shortest and only route to become a competent connoisseur. For the sculpture of a genius, whether he belongs to the iye-bori or not, is invariably permeated by a lofty spirit, whereas that of the artisan, whatever be its technical beauty, lacks elevation of tone and is consequently quite inferior. When once the connoisseur's mind is furnished with an intelligent standard of refined loftiness, there will not be the least hesitation in detecting any low or vulgar features presented by a work.
The kozuka and kōgai[1] of the first Goto masters (iye-bori), as well as of the experts of early eras, invariably have the ground covered with fish-roe[2] (nanako) diaper—that is to say, very small granulations like the roe of a fish. It was formerly a point of etiquette not to wear, on occasions of ceremony, swords of which the kozuka and kōgai were without the fish-roe ground. Those having the ishime (stone-grain) ground or the ji-migakii (polished ground) were not considered suitable for such occasions. But among the works of the later iye-bori there are many that have not the nanako ground. It is to be observed that the fuchi and the kashira are not included in the rule.
Note.—The fuchi and the kashira do not properly belong to the class of sword "ornaments," being, in fact, essential parts of the mounting. They form with the seppa and the habaki inseparable elements of the mounted sword. The term nanako is derived from the resemblance that the microscopic granulations bear to fish-roe. In the language of old Japan, "fish" was called na, and this with the suffix ko (egg) made the compound na-no-ko, or nanako.
None of the early representatives of the Goto family (iye-bori) made a business of carving anything but kōzuka, me-nuki, and kōgai. Only from the time (1570—1631) of Tokujo, the fifth representative, did they occasionally sculpture fuchi, kashira, and tsuba. Specimens of their work in these latter lines are very rare, and should be correspondingly prized. In recent times it is occasionally found that a gold crest (coat of arms) originally chiselled on a kozuka or kōgai of old make has been detached and fixed on the fuchi and kashira, or on the fuchi alone, or on the tsuba; and in other cases gold-plated crests or incised designs have been newly attached to, or cut on, the original ground. Such objects are very rare, nor would devices of the kind have been employed by the masters except in compliance with orders that could not be disobeyed.
It is a saying of the philosopher Amamori Hōshiu that "in art there are four grades, the inferior (heta), the skilled (kosha), the expert (jozu), and the master (meijin)" and that "the same classification applies to the conduct of the gentleman." In such wise, also, may be distinguished the merits of carvers. Adopting that principle in compiling this work, I have divided the carvers of sword-furniture into three ranks. Natural talent combined with the skill acquired by long practice constitutes the "master," who stands at the highest point of his art. Next comes the "expert," concerning whom, however, a triple subdivision must be made: namely, the expert who ranks next to and immediately after the master; then the expert who, though originally of "inferior" ability, has nevertheless by zealous and patient effort developed the skill which ought to be the aim of every student; finally, the expert who by conceiving and executing some attractive novelty, obtains the passing plaudits of a curious public, but whose works ultimately lose their charm and stand revealed as unworthy of lasting admiration. All artists that do not rise to the rank of "master" or "expert" may be classed as "common." There are certainly gradations among these last, but the sum of the matter is that they belong to the "inferior" order and are persons of vulgar endowments. In every art the idea is first conceived, and the hand thereafter moves in obedience to the mind. The loftier the mind, the nobler the execution. An artist who produces inferior work should be ashamed rather than proud. The connoisseur of art objects must apply the same principle in forming his judgments. Nobility of mind, absolute impartiality, and entire disinterestedness are the three essentials of a sound critic.
The old-time carvers set out by learning from their masters how to handle the chisel, and when they had acquired skill in the technical processes, they made their own designs and sought to develop a special style. Thus, even those that did not rise to the level of "experts" often produced works showing skill, force, and graces of composition. So degenerate, on the contrary, are modern carvers that if they find an old work of fine quality, they carefully copy it by taking an impression. But their unskilled use of the chisel easily betrays them, for their execution is invariably prolix and awkward. None the less when, after long toil and much pain, they have succeeded in carving, polishing, and colouring, they fondly imagine themselves great artists, and with consummate silliness inscribe their names on these productions, pointing the finger of scorn at other sculptors. It is with the carver as with the painter. The good pictorial artist, after acquiring a thorough knowledge of the uses of the brush as taught by his master, copies many fine old pictures and studies them earnestly, so that, when he comes to paint independently, he has always before his mind's eye a model showing the inimitably exquisite points of the great chefs-d'œuvre of the past. But he never prostitutes his natural talent so far as to make slavish imitations. Thus every touch of his brush is eloquent of original talent, and the true critic cannot fail to detect the merits of his work. Very different is the practice of the "inferior" painter. His solicitude is almost entirely about the motive of his picture, scarcely at all about the brush-work. He is not versed even in the rudimentary art of using the "charred stick" (yaki-fude) to change the scale of a drawing, or to alter the shape of the figures. He prefers to make tracings of old pictures and to reproduce them with elaborate accuracy. There are not a few of these imitators, and the connoisseur, whether of painting or of sculpture, must needs be on his guard lest he deceive others as well as himself.
One naturally supposes that men like Jōi, Sōmin, Toshihisa, Yasuchika, and other masters, who, by giving birth to a glyptic style of their own, achieved world-wide fame, and whose doors were thronged by eager applicants for their productions, must have amassed much wealth. But it is impossible for a man to be great in art and mercenary at the same time. The common craftsman, as he bends over his task, is for ever estimating the wage it will bring. Thus the taint of covetousness is inevitably transferred to his work, constituting a feature which becomes more and more repellent as time goes by, and finally banishes the specimen to some degraded shop of a dealer in old metal. The true artist, though conscious that he toils for a living, has his recollection of the fact effaced by love for his work. At times he will lay aside his chisel for months if he finds that his heart is not in his work. When the inspiration arrives, however, he becomes so completely absorbed in his task that he cannot bear to lay it aside, day or night, until it is finished. There is vitality in the result: it is surpassingly good. But if the question of gain be considered, it is found that although the productions of the master fetch a high price, the profit to him is not as great as that accruing from inferior work quickly executed and cheaply sold. The poet Basho says, "Pity it is that the shira-uo (a tiny river-fish of silvery transparency and almost colourless) should have a price." A great artist is injured when the price of his work is discussed: it should be above price. Business men would do well to lay this precept to heart: "Only to accumulate gold and silver is to be their slave." The true aim should be to develop an extensive trade and to achieve a great career, just as the artist cherishes and strives for the reputation of his art rather than of himself.
The chefs-d'œuvre of the thirteen Goto masters as well as those of other celebrities are, for the most part, treasured as precious heirlooms in the families that possess them. They seldom come into the hands of the dealer. On the rare occasions, however, when one of these gems does pass into a merchant's keeping, some one is always charmed by it, and has a great mind to buy it, but cannot readily persuade himself to pay the price, and so asks the dealer to let him keep it for a time, during which he privately consults the opinions of other dealers as to the proper figure. That man's chief aim is to come into cheap possession of a great work, and happily he is almost always disappointed. He does an injustice to the work. The nobility that gives greatness to an artist's efforts, the quality that brings genuine success to the trader, the appreciation that enables us to acquire fine objects of virtu,—these things are inaccessible unless the mind be set upon a high ideal. Sometimes valuable masterpieces are found among specimens supposed to be common, and a fortunate discovery is called "unearthing a treasure" (horidashi). The discoverer boasts of it, but if he had true elevation of mind and refinement of taste, he would be above such pettiness. It is the luck of the mere trader.
MISCELLANEOUS REMARKS
Fugitive references to the fact that swords have been more or less ornamented from ancient times are found in old records, and it is said that some learned antiquarians claim to have information about the matter. But it is exceedingly difficult to ascertain the exact circumstances relating to the origin of the ornaments known under the general name kodōgu (small furniture). Doubtless they were suggested at the outset by some idea of utility. It is only possible to state here the views embodied in mediæval annals and entertained by scholars of modern times. In old families of artists and among persons that give professional instruction in polite accomplishments many opinions have been handed down traditionally. Sometimes these opinions are kept mysteriously secret, but of course they become known at last, and then too often they are found to be conflicting or to be based on some silly theories about the "Five Elements" of Chinese philosophy. Everything of that kind is excluded from this volume.
MENUKI (Rivet-nut)
The menuki was originally a species of "nut" into which were inserted the ends of the rivet (mekugi) used for attaching the haft of the sword to the hilt. Thus the menuki not only held the rivet in its place, but also covered its ends (vide the learned Hakuseki's treatise on arms and armour). But in later days the mekugi and the menuki became quite distinct. An old-time poet writes: "Whose son is he, girding on a sword with silver menuki, that walks the streets of Nara city?" from which it may be inferred that the tachi (curved sword) of the Nara epoch (eighth century) had sometimes silver ornaments. Again, in the Annals of the Kamakura Era, mention is made of an "ox-shaped menuki" but nothing is said of its material or of its maker. The menuki chiselled in high relief, as used in the present day, is supposed to have been first made by Goto Yūjō (1439-1512), but whether there were any such before his time is not known. Tradition affirms that before Yūjō's era there lived an artist called Ichikawa Hirosuke, who, working with three kinds of chisel only, originated the decorative sculpture of sword ornaments as it is now known. However that may be, the world certainly recognises Yūjō as the father of the art. Possibly the natural pride of the Goto family is in some degree responsible for this fact, but their pre-eminent achievements have silenced too close scrutiny into dates. It is beyond question, however, that so far as the menuki are concerned, the idea of giving to them various shapes according to the fancy of their owner was already in vogue during the time (1334—1573) of the Ashikaga Shōgun's sway in Kyōtō, and continued to be in fashion until the menuki became objects of artistic rivalry. Whether anything of the kind existed in China is not known.
KOZUKA (Dagger)
It is not certain when the kozuka first came to be carried in the scabbard of the companion sword (wakizashi). In the Taira Annals (Taihei-ki) there is a description of the assassination of Prince Otō by Fuchibe, chieftain of Iga (1335 A.D.): "Drawing the katana of the companion sword, he plunged it twice into the heart of the prince." The katana here mentioned seems to have been the present kozuka. . . . On the whole, it may be concluded that the custom of carrying the kozuka in the scabbard of the short-sword had its origin in the Ashikaga era (fourteenth century).
KŌGAI (Hairpin)
The word kogai is another way of pronouncing kamikaki (hair comb.) There is ample evidence to prove this, as well as to show that the kogai was actually used in old times for combing the hair. When helmets were worn, the hair naturally became dishevelled, and the kogai consequently became an essential of the warrior's equipment.
FUCHI KASHIRA (Ring and Tip)
There is no explanation of the custom which commonly groups these objects together and speaks of the fuchi-gashira as though they were necessarily associated. They are essential parts of the sword, and though now highly ornate, they cannot be properly classed as sword ornaments.
TSUBA (Guard)
This term is derived from the name of a kind of cotton-spinning spindle which had a ring fixed on it. The tsuba of course existed from a very ancient epoch. It is mentioned in annals compiled in the eighth century, and is often spoken of as neri-tsuba (wrought-iron guard). The sword of Takauji, preserved at Atago-san, has a guard of wrought iron, and in the Taira Annals (Taihei-ki) gold guards are referred to.
N.B. Sometimes a specimen which does not bear a name indicating that it belongs to the class of either iye-bōri (carvings of the principal Goto family) or dōmyo-bōri (carvings of the branch Goto families), but which is nevertheless of such fine workmanship as to suggest that it came from a master's chisel, is sent to the Goto family for inspection, and returned with a written statement, "found inferior on examination and not identified by us." The dealers call such specimens "rejects" (nagerareshi), and it is said that the Goto experts put a chisel mark—the gimmi-tagane—on all these pieces, so that they can be at once recognised if submitted again for examination, but where the mark is placed the family never divulges.
N.B. The double kōgai (wari-kōgai), which is usually decorated with carvings of a plum-tree and a brushwood fence, or of bamboo, flowers, and plants, generally goes by the name of tayukogai, because its reputed originator (Kahei) became a skilled singer and received the musical title tayu.
N.B. In the chiselling of the fish-roe ground (nanako) slight differences are observable between the works of the artists of Yedo, Kaga, Kyōto, Awa, and so on. A good judge of carving must be familiar with these differences, but it is useless to attempt any written description of them.
THE FOURTEEN GENERATIONS OF THE GOTO FAMILY
1. Yūjō—the founder of the family, true name Masaoki Shirobei—held the title of "Sado-no-kami" (lord of Sado). A native of Mino, he served in a military capacity under the Ashikaga chieftain, Yoshinori. Born in 1439, he died in 1512, at the age of seventy-three. Yūjō obtained many of his designs from the celebrated painter Kano Masanobu. He is regarded as the founder of the school of sword-decorators, and his works possess great value. He invented the style of chiselling called taka-bori (carving in high relief), and his work is almost supernaturally skilled. It may be compared to the "exquisite view of Gobi's snow-clad peak towering lofty in the sky" (from a Chinese poet), or to the weeping-willow in the Imperial garden as it waves in the soft breeze, or to the lovely lotus in the fairy lake washed by pearls of dew. So elevated is the tone, so delightfully chaste the character, of the carving that one cannot look at it without emotion. The traces of the chisel are at once bold and delicate, and every part of the work stands out vivid and almost divine. Yūjō may truly be called the "Saint of the Art."
2. Sōjō, true name of Takemitsu Shirobei, was the son of Yūjō. He received the art title Hōgen. Born 1486; died 1564. His work resembles that of his father so closely as to be almost indistinguishable. The carvings of the two masters may be compared to the iris and the sweet flag, distinct plants which nevertheless bear a strong likeness to each other in colour, fragrance, and even time of flowering.
3. Jōshin, true name Yoshihisa Shirobei, was the son of Sōjō. Born 1511; died 1562. The marks of the chisel are sharp; the relief very high and the depression deep. It is strong work. In making a menuki of shakudo or gold, he beat it into the desired form, and then added the plating in colours. This method was called uchidashi (repoussé), and the addition of the coloured metals without fracturing the ground was known as uttori. This style obtained much vogue in Jōshin's time, but is less fashionable now. The art of inlaying (zogan), as applied to sword ornaments, was also inaugurated by Joshin, and his productions are the most varied and peculiar of the iye-bori works. His work may be compared to a brave warrior who is not only a strong guardian but also a trusty councillor; for while it has boldness and strength, it has also something of delicacy and softness. He bore a different art-flower, but the same fruit as his predecessor.
4. Kwōjō, called also Mitsuiye, was born in 1 530, and died in 1620. He was a son of Joshin. His work resembles that of Yujō in style. It is noble and dignified, neither too strong nor too weak. The impression it conveys is that of resting under the green shadow of a patriarchal pine and looking out on a glow of cherry bloom. Or it may be compared to a noble lady standing beside the brushwood gate of a rustic dwelling.
5. Tokujō, called also Mitsutsugu, was the son of Kwōjō. Born 1549; died 1631. Hideyoshi, the Taikō, conferred an estate on him in the year 1580. His work has the characteristic of strong surface modelling, and many specimens are scarcely distinguishable from those of his father Kwōjō. Looking at his designs, one is reminded of white sails scattered near and far over the wide bosom of the sea when the brooding breath of spring softens their outlines. It was in Tokujō's time that the custom originated of issuing certificates of authenticity (orikami) with the works of the Goto family. One of his sons, Chōjō, became the founder of a branch of the family known as the "Shimo-Goto" (lower Goto).
6. Yeijō, called also Masamitsu, the son of Tokujō, was born in 1574 and died in 1617. His work combines the finished skill of both Kwōjō and Tokujō, and has, at the same time, a certain quality of richness, tenderness, and restfulness. One may find a comparison in the view of a little boy driving an ox to pasture on a verdant plain; or the carriage of a nobleman standing beside a rustic fence over which convolvulus blossoms cluster.
7. Kenjō, called also Masatsugu, was a son of Tokujō. He represented the family during the minority of his nephew Sokujō, and was promoted to the rank of Hokkyo. Born 1585; died 1663. His manner of using the chisel greatly resembled that of Kwōjō. One is reminded of a pine-tree and a bamboo covered with snow: they present a delightful contrast, but at heart retain the same changeless green. The fidelity and chastity of his work force them- selves into notice. During the Kwanyei era (1625-1643) his services were engaged by the feudal chief of Kaga, who gave him a pension of 150 koku of rice annually (about 1,500 yen), and he made it a custom thenceforth to live in Kaga every second year.
8. Sokujō, called also Mitsushige, was the son of Yeijō. Born 1603; died 1631. His style resembles that of Kenjō, and is characterised by directness, strength, and vigour. Connoisseurs are wont to class the works of Yūjō, Kōjō, and Kenjō as the "three chefs-d'œuvre" (sansaku), but specimens by Sokujō are exchangeable with those of Kenjō. There is a notion that something of the value attaching to Sokujō's works is due to their rarity, for as he died at the early age of twenty-eight, his productions were not numerous. But that is a mistake. He was a veritable genius, and to that fact alone is due the esteem in which his carvings are held. It is believed by good judges that had he lived longer and attained the mastery of technique which many years of effort can alone give, he would even have surpassed his ancestors, and a sympathetic perception of his latent capacities has something to do with the rank accorded to him by posterity. In the same way connoisseurs often class the works of Tsūjō (eleventh representative), Sokūjō, and Kwōjō as the three chefs-d'œuvre, declining to include the sculptures of Yūjō, whom they place in a rank by himself as a divine and matchless master. That is a point of delicacy.
9. Teijō, called also Mitsumasa, the son of Kenjō, was born in 1603, and died in 1673. He represented the family during the minority of his nephew Renjō. He was promoted to the art rank of Hokkyo. His works are at once charming, noble, and dignified. It is impossible to deny their title to be called masterpieces. Though his time was not very remote from our own era (1781), his carvings have the peculiar aspect of age presented by the work of Kwōjō and the other early masters. The chisel-marks are somewhat deep, clear, and strong. His designs suggest the feeling experienced when, looking out under the bamboo blinds from the upper room of a lofty riverside dwelling, one sees the moon rise on an autumn evening. This artist succeeded to the pension of his father Kenjō, and used to live in Kanazawa (chief town of Kaga) every second year. In the house that he inhabited there may still be seen a stone garden-ewer with the figure of Hakuga (a Chinese poet) engraved on it by the chisel of Teijō. It is said that during Teijō's time the Goto family employed a number of Kyōtō chisellers to do rough work.
10. Renjō, called also Mitsutomo, son of Sokujō, was born in 1626 and died 1708. His work is gentle and magnanimous in tone. It reminds one of the quiet, subdued style in which the story of Akashi is told by the author of the Minamoto Annals (Genji Monogatari). He lived to a ripe old age and had many pupils, so that his works are often found. A son of his called Mitsuyoshi gave promise of future greatness, but unfortunately died young and few specimens exist from his chisel.
11. Tsūjō, called also Mitsutoshi, was the son of Senjō and grandson of Teijō. He did not belong to the elder branch of the family. Born in 1668, he died 1721. His works are classed among the "three chefs-d'œuvre (san-saku)" His style is somewhat showy. One can almost smell the fragrance of the flowers he chiselled, his birds seem to be on the point of flying or in actual flight, and his human figures smile as though words hovered on their lips. His sculptures are in truth beautiful beyond expression. Chinese annals tell of a puppet presented by a certain artist to a great monarch, and describe how the figure sang and danced automatically. That was a mere mechanical contrivance for the amusement of the moment. Very different is the air of vivid vitality imparted to his sculpture by the master-artist. There is no actual motion to strike the eye of the common observer, but there is a latent force that imparts to everything the element of motion, and creates a precious picture to be for ever esteemed and admired.
12. Jūjō, called also Mitsumasa, son of Tsūjō, was born in 1694 and died in 1742. His work differs from that of Tsūjō. It resembles the best productions of Mitsutaka, the present (1781) representative of the family. One is reminded of a man reaching his goal by steadily treading the right road. There is also an element of balanced strength that suggests the fabulous serpent of Jōzan, which could defend itself equally with either end.
13. Yenjō, called also Mitsutaka; son of Jūjō, was born in 1720 and died in 1784. Criticised unreservedly, his works seem to vary in quality. The best are not unlike the productions of Tsūjō, for which they may easily be mistaken. The lustre of his house is not tarnished, nor the long-sustained reputation of his family impaired, in his hands.
Since the death of Yūjō, the founder of the family, two hundred and sixty years have passed. During that time the works of the masters from generation to generation have found their way into the hands of the great and the noble, who treasure them as precious possessions, their value augmenting as time rolls on. That is because the art of the illustrious ancestor has been adorned by the achievements of his descendants, every one of whom was himself a master. These happy results are mainly due, however, to the peaceful sway by which we are blessed, and to the tranquil times when men have leisure to show their respect for the dignity of a sword by the decoration they lavish on its mountings.
14. Keijo, called also Mitsumori, son of Yenjō, was born in 1739, and is still living (1781) in the Kyobashi district of Yedo. The work of this artist has the beauty of his grand- father Tsūjō's carving, together with the well-balanced arrangement of his predecessors. His style is his own. There is a tender suggestiveness about his designs that reminds one of a light shower sweeping across the verdant slope of a mountain, or a soft haze resting on the bosom of a limpid lake. His work always shows that noble elevation of tone which belongs to the true artist and can never be imitated.
N. B. Here follow facsimiles of the certificates orikami (lit. "folded paper") given by the Goto experts, but such documents convey no information to foreign readers, and, moreover, have been so often and so successfully forged that to distinguish the true from the false is now almost as difficult as to judge the qualities and identify the sculptor of the art objects to which they refer.
The reader will agree that these commentaries from the pen of a Japanese connoisseur convey a truer and more trustworthy idea of the attitude of the Japanese mind towards the work of the sculptor of sword-ornaments, and, indeed, toward art in general, than could possibly be gathered from a foreign analysis. Even the most intelligent and least prejudiced foreign student has much, nay, insuperable, difficulty in tracing the exact processes of Japanese intelligence. The Japanese are quiet folks. They never expatiate upon beauties presumably as obvious to others as to themselves; never enter into perfervid disquisitions about the "features" of a natural or an artificial picture. To do so would be to slight the eloquence of the picture itself and to insult the intelligence of the observer. A Japanese collector, unless his habits of thought and speech have been radically modified by intercourse with Occidentals, will show the whole of his treasures—if, indeed, he can be induced to show them at all—without making, from first to last, the briefest comment on their "points." The sole exception is in the case of an object which claims the reverence of association,—an object once honoured by the ownership of some celebrated warrior, statesman, or litterateur, and hallowed by the "odile" (kotaku) of his touch. Concerning the origin of such a treasure he will volunteer some information, its story being otherwise untraceable. But whatever is within the unaided reach of expert observation, he leaves to be observed. His silence has been greatly misinterpreted. The ordinary foreigner construes it as evidence either of undeveloped speech or of an unfurnished mind. Strange conclusions surely, the one involving the hypothesis that the silent vocabulary of a people's shaping art may be richer than the spoken vocabulary of the idealism informing that art; the other, the still more unreasonable assumption that a nation can be blind to the beauties of its own creation. Michitaka's comments on the works of the Goto sculptors dispel all these delusions. Some of his comparisons may sound even extravagant. They are not extravagantly expressed, however. Nothing could be simpler than the language in which they are couched. Nature speaks to the Japanese in words of clearest meaning. Other eyes drink in just as deep a draught of enchantment from sunset on "the happy autumn fields" or from moonlight bathing a cherry grove in spring; but it may be truly said of the Japanese that in the course of long centuries of refined civilisation, they have gradually grouped together nature's fairest combinations into a series of ideograms each of which has come to be intimately associated with conceptions and emotions which the physical aspects of the scene alone could not suggest or inspire. There exists a wide field of thought which, though open to poetry, is closed to the arts of manual imitation. But from what does poetry derive its special sway over regions of the mind that lie beyond the direct influence of imitative art? Is it not from its power of invoking from the recesses of the heart feelings and experiences to which the painter or sculptor can appeal only by accidental association? In Japan, however, poetry has so constantly and faithfully drawn its inspiration from nature's images, and has been so loyally content to limit itself to appreciated interpretations of their suggestions, that mere mention of a particular combination of natural beauties summons to Japanese sight a picture of concrete loveliness and to the Japanese mind a poem of abstract ideas. Thus, when Michitaka speaks of "a light shower sweeping across the verdant slope of a mountain," or of "a soft haze" resting on the bosom of a limpid lake," or of "white sails on a wide sea, their outlines softened by the brooding breath of spring," he knows that he is recalling to educated minds, not only delightful images, but also certain subtleties of artistic conception and certain shades of emotion which convey his meaning with accuracy such as no mere verbal analysis could achieve.
The above remarks apply to the style and the technique only of the art. The author of the Sōken Kishō seldom makes reference to decorative motives, unless a sculptor's fame is connected with some special departure in that direction. The quality of the chiselling is, in fact, the first point to which the Japanese connoisseur directs his attention. On the other hand, the decorative design is the prime object of the Occidental dilettante's admiration. In "L'Art Japonais" that most appreciative critic, M. Gonse, says:—
On se blase vite sur l'adresse technique des ciseleurs Japonais, tant elle semble chez eux un don de nature; mais on éprouve une jouissance toujours nouvelle dans l'étude du décor lui-même. Quel tact, quelle souplesse! Comme les deux cotês so complètent harmonieusement! Car, bien souvent, le sujet se continue sur le face et sur le revers et presente dans chacune de ces parties le même intérêt. Quelquefois même il chevauche sur le grand et le petit sabre. On verra Shōki, sur la grande garde poursuivant le diable qui se cache sur la petite; dans l'une, Komachi nous apprait jeune et resplendissante de beauté; dans l'autre, vielle et courbée par l'âge, &c. L'étude du microcosme de cet art pourrait conduire à l'infini.
The standpoint of the French connoisseur's eulogy is as far removed as possible from the standpoint of the Japanese themselves. The fact is that M. Gonse, who must be taken as representing the most intelligent class of Occidental students of Japanese art, rivets his attention on the work of the painter rather than on that of the sculptor; considers the pictorial motive in preference to the glyptic method. Now, as a rule with very rare exceptions, the decorative motives of Japanese sword-furniture were always supplied by painters. There exist innumerable volumes of designs from the brushes of more or less renowned artists, and to these the sculptor habitually referred for inspiration. All classes of art-artisans possessed such volumes, and were prepared to submit them for a customer's choice of motive. Hence it is that the Japanese connoisseur draws a clear line of distinction between the decorative design and its technical execution, crediting the former to the pictorial artist, the latter to the sculptor. The enthusiastic eulogies and poetic comparisons of the Sōken Kishō refer, not to the pictures chiselled on sword-guards, dagger-hafts, or hilt-tips, but to the manner of their execution. Michitaka, in common with all Japanese connoisseurs, detected in the stroke of a chisel and the lines of a graving-tool subjective beauties which appear to be hidden from the great majority of Western dilettanti. He never fell into the mistake of confusing the inspirations supplied by the decorative artist with the technical achievements of the sculptor himself. However elaborate may be the decorative design, however interesting the motive, the Japanese connoisseur never forgets to look first to the chisel work. By its quality alone he estimates the rank of a specimen, just as the critic of pictures judges the authenticity of a painting by the force, directness, and delicacy of the brush strokes. This becomes more easily comprehensible when it is remembered that vigour and grace of line-drawing are the prime essentials of fine art in the eyes of a Japanese, and that his almost instinctive appreciation of those qualities in a picture equips him with a special standard for judging the excellence of sculpture such as is found upon sword-furniture. The Japanese dogu-bori used thirty-six principal classes of chisel, each with its distinctive name, and as most of these classes included from five to ten sub-varieties, his cutting and graving tools aggregated about two hundred and fifty. This fact alone suffices to suggest the delicacy and elaborateness of his work.
There are certain technical facts a knowledge of which is necessary not only to the connoisseur of sword-ornaments, but also to the student of Japanese metal work in all its admirable developments. In the first place, the nature of the metals employed has much interest, as well for the sake of the insight it affords into the metallurgical ingenuity of the Japanese as for its bearing upon this branch of the country's art.
Japan did not at any time possess an abundance of gold. The principal source of supply was river sands, and in washing out the precious metal processes were employed which, though apparently rough, have been proved by Western experts to be profitably applicable to gravel yielding only six cents worth of gold per cubic yard.[3] If the descriptions of Japan penned by Koempfer and other early writers were accepted literally, it would be necessary to conclude that gold was exceptionally abundant and profusely used for ornamental purposes. But the truth is that although the Japanese loved the rich glow of the noble metal and utilised it largely in the adornment of temples, in domestic architecture, and for various ornaments and utensils, they thoroughly understood the art of making a little go a long way, and many objects which a casual observer might readily mistake for solid gold, were nothing more than gilded copper.[4] Still, as the gold-leaf employed for gilding[5] purposes was thicker than that serving the same end in the Occident, the quantity of the precious metal required for coating Buddhist images (whether of bronze or wood), temple utensils, and architectural ornaments must have been considerable. Table utensils of gold or silver did not exist, with the exception of cups for drinking wine and vessels for mulling it, together with small kettles, censers, and other minor objects to be spoken of by-and-by. For the manufacture of sword-ornaments, however,—especially menuki,—and pouch-mountings, pure gold was constantly used. Guards of solid gold are scarcely ever found, except in the case of the aikuchi (a short dagger-like weapon carried by the samurai and used to cut off the head of a fallen enemy). It is true that several collectors in Europe and America possess, among their art treasures, large tsuba (guards) of pure gold, ornamented with the utmost elaboration of detail. But these, with few exceptions, were made expressly for sale to foreigners, and never formed part of a Japanese sword. The term "pure gold" is not used here in an absolutely literal sense. In former times the Japanese were not familiar with the delicate assaying methods in vogue in the West, and could not determine the quality of either gold or silver with the extreme accuracy attained at an American or European mint. They used a touchstone only, a small plate of black siliceous shale, but used it with such skill that their results—according to an eminent authority, Mr. W. Gowland—did not show a maximum difference of more than one per cent from assays made by Occidental methods.[6] Their success with silver was not equally marked, but they were able to obtain it so pure that five hundred and fifty-five specimens of old silver assayed in recent years at the Imperial Ōsaka Mint were found to contain an average of 99.3 per cent of pure metal. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to note that for manufacturing purposes pure gold or silver was never used, the former being alloyed with silver and copper and the latter with copper, not with the idea of debasement, but in order to obtain greater hardness and freedom from vesicular cavities when casting. If, however, the Japanese metallurgist possessed and practised highly skilled methods of freeing the precious metals from impurities, he was also remarkably clever in "surfacing" either gold or silver so as to obtain an appearance of absolute purity. The question here is not of patina,—a legitimate and beautiful feature which Japanese craftsmen had exceptionally ingenious devices for imparting to all the metals used in objects of art,—but to a process originally elaborated in connection with debased coins, and sometimes resorted to by art-artisans of low class, though no kinzoku-shi (gold-smith) of repute ever descended to such deception,—a process of dissolving out the impurities from the upper layers of a gold or silver alloy until the surface assumed the appearance of pure metal.[7]
Gold and silver, though here spoken of in some detail, played a subsidiary rather than a principal part in the manufacture of sword-ornaments, being used chiefly to pick out the details of the decorative design. The ground metals were iron, copper, and, above all, shakudo and shibuichi, two alloys invented by the Japanese and never used by any other people. Owing to the great beauty of the patinas that can be given to them, these alloys are uniquely excellent for art purposes.
Shakudo (literally, "red copper") is an alloy of gold with excess of copper, the approximate proportions being three per cent of gold to ninety-seven of copper. The alloy, when it emerges from the furnace, presents no special features, being simply dark-coloured copper. Its value for artistic purposes depends on the fact that a glossy black patina with violet sheen may be produced on its surface by suitable treatment. Mr. W. Gowland, who has devoted special research to this subject, says:—
The alloy has been long known to the Japanese, but there are no records of its first use, and the date of its origin cannot be even approximately determined. Perhaps the least doubtful of the earliest specimens known to us are the mounts of the sword of Ashikaga Takauji, who held the position of Shōgun from 1335 to 1337, which is preserved in the temple of Itsukushima. There may be earlier examples, but it was certainly not known in the ninth century. The oldest specimen of Buddhist art-metal work in the decoration of which shakudo appears, so far as I have been able to trace, is a reliquary containing fragments of the bones of St. Nichiren in the famous temple of Minobu (date 1580). In many temples there are statues of divinities and saints which are said to be composed of this alloy, but those I have had the opportunity of examining were all of ordinary copper-tin-lead bronze. In the seventeenth century it was extensively employed, but the finest examples of it as a decorative alloy are found in the guards and other furniture of the swords of the last century and the first half of the present. The addition of gold to bronze in order to obtain a black patina has been long known to the Chinese. It is hence possible that the Japanese may have learned from them this peculiar property of gold; but the pure alloy of copper and gold, of the true shakudo, is essentially Japanese, and is unapproached in the beauty and richness of its patina by any alloy of the Chinese, either of old or recent times. Its rich deep tones of black, and the splendid polish which it is capable of receiving, render it alike a perfect ground for inlaid designs of gold, silver, and copper, and for being similarly inlaid in them. This alloy, too, possesses physical properties which are of extreme importance to the worker in metals, and enable him to manipulate and fashion it as he desires. It can be cast into any form; can be hammered into sheets and drawn into wire. No large castings, however, have been made of it. The method by which the black patina is produced is as follows: The object is first boiled in a lye prepared by lixiviating wood ashes; after which it is carefully polished, if necessary, with charcoal powder. It is then immersed in plum-vinegar containing common salt in solution, and, after being washed with a weak lye, is placed in a tub of water to remove all traces of alkali. After this treatment it is digested in a boiling solution of copper sulphate, verdigris, and water, to which sometimes potassium nitrate is added, and the desired patina is produced.
It is roughly stated above that shakudo is composed of 97 per cent of copper to 3 of gold. But, in truth, no less than fifteen grades of the alloy are used by Japanese craftsmen. The lowest of them—called chiusho—contains only traces of gold, and the highest has as much as 7 per cent of the precious metal. Analyses of seven specimens of shakudo made by Mr. Gowland, Mr. Kalischer, and Mr. Atkinson gave the following results:—
| Gold. | Silver. | Copper. | Lead. | Iron. | Arsenic. | Total. | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 . . . | 4.16 | 0.08 | 95.77 | — | — | — | 100.01 |
| 2 . . . | 3.75 | 1.55 | 94.50 | 0.11 | Trace | Trace | 99.89 |
| 3 . . . | 2.67 | 2.06 | 94.90 | 0.11 | — | — | 99.74 |
| 4 . . . | 2.45 | 1.24 | 96.00 | 0.06 | — | — | 99.75 |
| 5 . . . | 1.52 | 2.01 | 96.10 | 0.08 | — | — | 99.71 |
| 6 . . . | 1.00 | 1.37 | 97.40 | 0.07 | — | — | 99.84 |
| 7 . . . | 0.49 | 0.29 | 99.04 | — | — | — | 99.82 |
Another alloy peculiar to Japan and of at least equal importance with shakudo for artistic purposes, is shibuichi, a term literally signifying "one part in four;" that is to say, one part of silver by weight to three of copper. That, doubtless, was the original composition of the alloy. Indeed Japanese records state definitely that the ordinary variety of shibuichi contained 10 momme (5.8 grs. Troy) of copper to 2½ momme of silver. But, as a matter of fact, the shibuichi employed for sword-furniture and other artistic work was usually the kind known as sambo-gin, which consisted of one part of silver to two of copper. In the Sōken Kishō three varieties of shibuichi are enumerated,—the first containing one part (by weight) of silver to three of copper; the second, one part of silver to two of copper; and the third, six or seven parts of silver to ten of copper. Concerning the third variety the author says:—"This is the best quality of shibuichi. It was always used by Sōmin, Soyō, and other great masters as a ground metal. Soyō, however, employed a kind of shibuichi having a dark hue, obtained apparently by an admixture of shakudo, though the compounding of these two alloys presents serious technical difficulties, and it is not known how he overcame them. Speaking generally, a greyish patina and silvery lustre are regarded as the most attractive features of shibuichi, but Soyō's compound presents even choicer qualities. In the course of years the finest kind of shibuichi develops a peculiar lustrous dappling, like the marking of a tiger's skin or the ground of aventurine (nashi-ji) lacquer." It is unnecessary to reproduce here any analytical table of shibuichi. If to what has been already said the fact be added that it contains a small quantity of gold—from 0.08 to 0.12 per cent—its composition is sufficiently described. Mr. Gowland says of shibuichi:—
The value of this alloy in decorative metal work is, like that of shakudo, entirely dependent on its patina. It possesses no special beauty when cast, its colour being that of pale gun-metal, or a common pale bronze; but when its surface is subjected to appropriate treatment, it assumes a patina of charming shades of grey, which gives it an unique position among art alloys. No other affords the artist such a delicate, unobtrusive, and effective ground for inlaid designs of gold, silver, or other metals. It was not known to the Japanese in mediæval times. In fact, it does not appear to have been used until much later than shakudo. The descriptions given of the ornamental appendages of historical swords even as late as the seventeenth century do not mention it, and the first record we have of the alloy only dates from the beginning of the eighteenth century (1706 A.D.), when it was used in the Government Mint for the preparation of debased silver bars, termed chogin (trade silver), which were used for commercial purposes. There are several examples of its use in sword-guards about the same date, but it seems then to have been chiefly employed as a substitute for a richer alloy, a pure silver surface having been given to it by the process already described, and not the fine grey patina of later times. The patina is produced by precisely the same operations which are practised for shakudo, the solution in which the objects are boiled having the same composition as that used for the arsenical bronze, with the addition of 1 c.c. of plum-vinegar to each litre. The finest grey tints are obtained only with alloys containing from 20 to 50 per cent of silver. By the use in his design of both these classes of alloys,—shakudo and shibuicbi,—together with gold, silver, copper, and iron, the Japanese craftsman has achieved results in colour which are unrivalled in the metal work of the world. The white of silver, the black of shakudo, the yellows of golds of various grades, the greys of shibuicbi, and the reds and browns of copper,—all he employs in harmonious combinations to enrich the effect of his sculptured work, and shows himself in all to be a true master in the art of metal decoration.
Copper was largely used in the manufacture of sword-mountings. In fact the earliest sword-guards found in Japan were made of copper thinly plated with gold. Not until a comparatively recent date, however,—probably the seventeenth century,—did Japanese artists discover and put into successful practice the patina-producing methods which impart such beauty to their work in copper, and enable them to combine it so admirably with other metals for decorative purposes. They obtain copper surfaces showing not merely a rich golden sheen with charming limpidity, but also red of various hues, from deep coral to light vermilion, several shades of grey, and brown of numerous tones, from dead-leaf to chocolate.[8]
Until the days of the Gotō masters iron was the metal exclusively used for manufacturing sword-mounts, but Gotō Yūjō's fine chiselling of shakudo, and the beautiful nanako ground that he devised for kōgai and kozuka of that compound, gave it a vogue which continued uninterrupted down to modern times. Naturally a sculptor who contemplated the expenditure of much labour and skill on a small object like a guard or a dagger-haft, was careful to use iron of the highest quality only, and to anneal it by processes of which each great artist made a specialty. But no less attention was bestowed on the production of patina. The guards of early experts—the Miyōchin masters down to Nobuiye, and the Umetada prior to Muneyuki—show a curious patina called moyashi, which suggests the effect that would be produced by boiling a superficial film of the metal. But from the seventeenth century onwards, the patina changes, and the surface of the metal shows a fine satin-like texture constituting one of the most beautiful features of the object. It is, indeed, a matter of constant wonder to the uninitiated that such a surface could have been imparted to iron, and the patina-producing recipes—"rust-summoning processes" (sabi-dashikata), as the Japanese call them—of the great experts would have much interest were they accessible. But these things were among the hiden, or "secret traditions," of each family of artists. No public record of them exists. Modern experts, however, though they no longer chisel sword-mounts, treat iron for artistic purposes in a manner which is at least equal to that of the old masters, and the patina-producing process for which they claim the finest results may be described here. The first step is to obtain a mixture of finely sifted clays, red and black, which is placed in an open vessel and exposed to the action of the elements for a space of two or three years. Blue vitriol and sulphur, having then been heated together, are added to a portion of this seasoned earth, and the compound forms a paste, which is applied to the surface of the metal, this process being repeated time after time, at intervals of from four to five days, and occupying altogether about two months. If the expert judges that a good patina has been obtained, he now washes the metal carefully and polishes it with a brush (tawasbi) of rice-straw. This preliminary polishing is a long business, and when it has been carried far enough, the final burnishing is done with dried spikelets of the pine-tree, after which it remains only to damp the object repeatedly with an infusion of tea-leaves during four or five days. Such is the method pursued by Ito Katsumi, a modern expert of the highest skill. Another plan, more curious and said to be very efficacious, is to substitute for the mixture of red and black earth mentioned above some charcoal ashes taken from beneath the gridiron on which eels have been roasted. Into an open vessel containing this ash a small bag of sulphur is inserted, and the mixture is exposed in the open air for two or three years, by which time the ash has become thoroughly impregnated with sulphur. Repeated coats of it are then applied to the iron object at intervals, for about two months, after which polishing and burnishing are effected as before. Tradition says that the early Miyōchin masters burnished their iron with a cotton cloth dipped in the juice of the lacquer-tree, but there is no certainty as to that point. It is understood, of course, that the processes here described are peculiar to certain experts. Many quaint recipes might be obtained by setting down the alleged hiden of this family or that. But it is plain that the published accounts of these methods are intended to deceive rather than to instruct.
Scarcely less important in Japanese eyes than the chiselling of the decorative design itself is the preparation of the field to which it is applied. This part of the subject has hitherto received little attention from European and American commentators, possibly because it has a technical rather than an artistic character. The translation given above from the Sōken Kishō shows that nanako (fish-roe grounds) were counted de rigueur for kōgai or kozuka from the time (1469) of Gotō Yūjō, and that grounds in the ishime (stone-pitting) or jimigaki (polished) style were not considered proper for swords worn on ceremonial occasions. These remarks do not apply to iron sword-mounts. In the case of iron the patina alone was esteemed. Sometimes, though very rarely, the coarsest kind of ishime (arashi-ishime) was employed even on iron guards to heighten the effect of recessed chiselling, but it is generally true that shakudo was the favourite metal for nanako grounds, and shibuichi or copper for ishime.
As a broad definition it may be said that nanako is obtained by punching the whole surface, except the portion carrying the decorative design, into a texture of microscopic dots. The first makers of nanako did not aim at regularity in the distribution of these dots: they were content to produce the effect of millet-seed sifted, hap-hazard, over the surface. But very soon—certainly by the time of Gotō Yūjō—the punching of the dots in rigidly straight lines came to be considered essential, and the difficulty involved in this tour de force was so great that nanako-making took its place among the highest technical achievements of the sculptor. When it is remembered that the punching-tool was guided solely by the hand and eye, and that three or more blows of the mallet had to be struck for every dot, some idea may be formed of the patience and accuracy needed to produce these tiny protuberances in perfectly straight lines at exactly equal intervals and of absolutely uniform size, so that a magnifying-glass can scarcely detect any variation in their order or size. Nanako disposed in straight parallel lines has always ranked at the head of this kind of work, but a new style was introduced in 1560 by Matabei, the second representative of the Muneta family. It was obtained by punching the dots in intersecting lines, so arranged that the dots fell uniformly into diamond-shaped groups of five each. This is called go-no-me (sometimes gu-no-me) nanako, because of its resemblance to the disposition of chequers in the Japanese game of go. A century later (1640), another representative of the Muneta family—Norinao, known in the art world as Doki—invented a new style of nanako to which the name of daimyo-nanako was given, doubtless because its special excellence seemed to reserve it for the use of the great nobles (daimyo) only. In this variety the lines of dots alternated with lines of polished ground.
Ishime may be described briefly as diapering. A diapered ground is known in Japan, however, by the special term wari-ishime (i.e. ishime distributed in patterns). There is scarcely any limit to the ingenuity and skill of the Japanese expert in diapering a metal surface. Thus one may see a silver teapot having its surface recessed in forty or fifty leaf-shaped panels, each panel filled with a different diaper of minute and delicate workmanship. But the ishime used on the fields of sword-mounts does not belong to the diaper class, according to Japanese nomenclature. There are, first, the zara-maki (broad-cast),—sometimes called tatsuta-maki,—in which the surface is finely but irregularly pitted, after the manner of the face of a stone; second, the kashiji (pear-ground) ishime, which gives a surface like the rind of a pear; third, the hari-ishime, where the indentations are so minute that they seem to have been made with the point of a needle (hart); fourth, the gama-ishime, which is intended to imitate the skin of a toad (gama); fifth, the tsuya-ishime (lustrous), produced with a chisel sharpened so that its traces have a brilliant appearance; sixth, orekuchi (broken-tool) ishime, a peculiar kind obtained by fracturing a chisel and hammering the surface of the metal with the jagged tool (this last variety is spoken of as arashi-ishime, a generic term applied to all rough work); and seventh, gozame-ishime, so called because it resembles the plaited surface of a fine straw-mat. These details may seem insignificant, but without some knowledge of them it is impossible to appreciate the quality of Japanese metal work.
A word must also be said about the different methods of chiselling. Of these the most important is taka-bori, or chiselling in relief. The Japanese distinguish three varieties of relief carving, namely, atsu-niku-bori (high relief), or alto relievo; chiu-niku-bori (medium relief), mezzo relievo; usu-niku-bori (low relief) or basso relievo. These expressions explain themselves. But it may be added that, in the opinion of the Japanese expert, they occupy the same respective rank as the three kinds of ideographic script occupy in the realm of calligraphy. High-relief carving corresponds with the kai-sho, or most correct and classical form of writing; medium relief, with the gyo-sho, or semi-cursive style; and low-relief, with the so-sho, or grass character. Passing to incised chiselling, the commonest form is ke-bori, or "hair cutting," which may be called engraving, the lines being of uniform thickness and depth. Very beautiful results are obtained by the ke-bori method. But incomparably the finest work in the incised class is that known as kata-kiri-bori. In this kind of chiselling the Japanese expert claims to be unique as well as unrivalled. It is easy to see that the idea of the great Yokoya experts, the originators of this style, was to break away from the somewhat formal monotony of ordinary engraving, where each line performs exactly the same function, and to convert the chisel into an artist's brush instead of using it as a common cutting-tool. They succeeded admirably. In the kata-kiri-bori every line has its proper value in the pictorial design, and strength and directness become prime elements in the strokes of the burin, just as they do in the brush-work of the picture-painter. It may be said, indeed, that the same fundamental rule applied whether the field of the decoration was silk, paper, or metal: the artist's tool, be it brush or burin, had to perform its task by one effort. There must be no appearance of subsequent deepening, or extending, or re-cutting, or finishing. Kata-kiri-bori by a great expert is a delight. One is lost in astonishment at the nervous yet perfectly regulated force and the unerring fidelity of every trace of the chisel.
Low-relief chiselling does not easily lend itself to the production of striking effects, but the skill exhibited by many Japanese experts in this kind of work was even more remarkable than that of its great Italian master Donatello, and when combined with kata-kiri chiselling it gave exquisite pictures. Another variety much affected by artists of the seventeenth century and subsequent eras was called shishi-ai-bori, or niku-ai-bori. In this the surface of the design was not raised above the general plane of the field, but an effect of projection was obtained by recessing the whole space immediately surrounding the design or by enclosing the latter in a scarped frame. Again, in many sword-guards the design was modelled on both faces so as to be a complete sculpture. This fashion was always accompanied by chiselling à jour (sukashi-bori), so that the sculptured portions stood out in their entirety. All fully modelled work, whether for guards, menuki, or other purposes, was called maru-bori (round carving).
Inlaying with gold or silver was among the early forms of decoration. There were two principal kinds of inlaying: the first called hon-zōgan[9] (true inlaying); the second nunome-zogan (linen-mesh inlaying. As to the former, the Japanese method did not differ from that seen in the beautiful iron censers and vases inlaid with gold which the Chinese produced with notable success from the Shun-tieh era (1426–1436). In the surface of the metal the workman cut grooves wider at the base than at the top, and then hammered into them gold or silver wire. Such a process presents no remarkable features, except that it has been carried by Japanese experts to an extraordinary degree of elaboration. The nunome-zōgan is much more interesting. Suppose, for example, that the artist desires to produce an inlaid diaper. His first business is to chisel the surface in lines forming the basic pattern of the design. Thus, for a diamond petal diaper the chisel is carried across the face of the metal horizontally, tracing a number of parallel bands, divided at fixed intervals by ribs, which are obtained by merely straightening the chisel and striking it a heavy blow. The same process is then repeated in another direction, so that the new bands cross the old at an angle adapted to the nature of the design. Several independent chisellings may be necessary before the lines of the diaper emerge clearly, but throughout the whole operation no measurement of any kind is taken: the artist is guided entirely by his eye, though the slightest failure to estimate the dimensions correctly, or the slightest deviation of hand or chisel would at once destroy the work. The metal is then heated, not to redness, but sufficiently to develop a certain degree of softness, and the workman, taking a very thin sheet of gold, hammers portions of it into the salient points of the design, thus clearly marking out the spaces. In ordinary cases this is the sixth process. The seventh is to hammer gold into the outlines of the diaper; the eighth, to hammer it into the pattern filling the spaces between the lines, and the ninth and tenth to complete the details of the pattern. Of course the more intricate the design the more numerous the processes. The expert uses magnifying-glasses, but is said to depend more on the delicacy of his own sense of touch than on the power of the glasses. It is scarcely possible to imagine a higher effort of hand and eye than this nunome-zogan displays, for while intricacy and elaborateness are carried to the very extreme, absolutely mechanical accuracy is obtained. Sometimes into the same design gold enters in three different hues, obtained by varying the alloy.
A third kind of inlaying, peculiar to Japan, is sumi-zōgan (ink inlaying), so called because the inlaid design gives the impression of having been painted with Indian ink beneath the transparent surface of the metal. The difference between this process and ordinary inlaying is that for sumi-zogan the design to be inlaid is fully chiselled out of an independent block of metal, with sides sloping so as to be broader at the base than at the top. The object which is to receive the decoration is then channelled in dimensions corresponding with those of the design-block, and the latter having been fixed in the channel, the surface is ground and polished until absolute intimacy seems to be obtained between the inlaid design and the metal forming its field. Very beautiful effects are thus produced, for the design seems to have grown up to the surface of the metal field rather than to have been planted in it. Shibuichi inlaid with shakudo used to be the commonest combination of metals in this class of decoration, and the objects usually depicted were bamboos, crows, wild-fowl under the moon, peony sprays, and so forth.
It remains to refer to a variety of decoration specially affected by the early experts and subsequently carried to a high degree of excellence, namely, mokume-ji, or wood-grained ground. The process in this case is to take a thin plate of iron—if iron is to be treated—and beat into it another plate of similar metal, so that the two, though welded together, retain their separate forms. The mass, while still hot, is coated with hena-tsuchi (a kind of gray clay) and rolled in straw ash, in which state it is roasted over a charcoal fire raised to glowing heat with the bellows. The clay having been removed, another plate of metal is beaten in, and the same process is repeated.
This is done several times, the number depending on the quality of graining that the expert desires to produce. The manifold plate is then heavily punched from one side so that the opposite face protrudes in broken blisters, which are then hammered down until each becomes a centre of wave propagation. In fine work the apex of the blister is ground off before the final hammering. It will be evident that the wood-graining is obtained on one face of the metal only by this process. Hence, when there is question of a sword-guard, two plates have to be separately prepared, and afterwards welded together, back to back. Iron was used exclusively for work of this kind down to the sixteenth century, but various metals began to be thenceforth combined. Perhaps the choicest variety is gold graining in a shakudo field. By repeated hammering and polishing the expert obtains such control of the wood-grain pattern that its sinuosities and eddies seem to have developed symmetry without losing anything of their fantastic grace. Another method of producing mokumeji was to take the plate,—composed of various laminæ as described above,—set it on its edge and hammer it so that it spread in a direction perpendicular to its original face. The new plate was then fixed on a different edge and once more hammered flat. By these devices graining with elongated curves was produced. Sometimes the expert, having welded together the several sheets of metal, fixed the plate on edge at an angle more or less acute, and beat it out by a series of blows which had the effect of peeling the surface and re-distributing it in a kind of wave diaper. Such work demanded much skill and care. The rings and caps of hilts were often decorated in the mokume style. In these cases the plate of grained metal was bent to the required shape and veneered to a base of thicker metal. The metal-workers of Nagoya, from the middle of the eighteenth century, produced excellent mokume grounds. Their favourite plan was to weld four or five laminæ of different metals—iron, shakudo, copper, shibuichi, silver and sometimes gold—into a sheet. The corners of the latter were then cut off, and the plate, having been reheated, was placed vertically on each of the four sections in succession, and beaten flat by strokes delivered from the opposite section. These Nagoya experts were also successful with a special kind of mokume known as tama-mokume. The different metals, having been reduced to spherical form, are loaded like bullets into an iron cylinder, which is brought to a red heat, placed vertically on the anvil and hammered into a plate. In this kind of mokume the contours of the graining take a circular form.
One other variety of decoration has to be mentioned. It is called guri-bori, and its model is taken from the well-known tsui-shiu (or tsui-koku) lacquer, which shows a formal diaper cut deeply into several coats of superposed lacquer, the channels being narrower below than above, so that the slope of their sides enables the various strata of the lacquer coats to be clearly seen. To produce this effect in metal, alternating plates of two metals, or perhaps three, were welded together, and when they had been shaped into the form of the projected object, the design was deeply chiselled, the channels ultimately presenting horizontally streaked sides. The guri-bori exhibits technical skill only, but it is worth noting that although in nearly all the processes of decorative metal work modern Japanese experts are at least as skilled as their predecessors, they fail to produce this particular kind successfully. The experts of former times seem to have possessed some secret for welding together their sheets of metal so that each sheet preserved its individuality though intimately joined to its companions above and below. Experts of the present day are compelled to resort to solder, and it is evident that to lay solder in an absolutely even coat over the surface of a metal plate is almost impossible. Somewhere there is a break of continuity, and a flaw results when the pile of plates is channelled.
- ↑ It will be observed that the kozuka and kogai are the only parts of the sword-furniture referred to. These, in fact, were the parts on which the great sculptors originally expended their skill. The guard (tsuba), to which the place of honour is given by foreign connoisseurs in general, did not hold the same artistic rank as the kozuka and kōgai until a later epoch.
- ↑ There can be little doubt that the Japanese took this idea of "fish-roe" granulations from Chinese porcelain. One of the most admired tours de force of the Chinese keramist was a glaze completely covered with tiny granulations which he compared to millet seed. Crackle of the finest and most regular character was known in the Middle Kingdom as "fish-roe" crackle, and these much esteemed grounds must have inspired the nanako of Japan.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 29.
Note 29.—This has been demonstrated by experiments conducted in Yezo by Professor H. S. Munroe, an American mining-engineer.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 30.
Note 30.—Reference may be made to two huge carp, about nine feet in height, which stand at either extremity of the roof-ridge of Nagoya Castle. According to popular belief they are made of pure gold, but they are in fact copper plated with the precious metal.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 31.
Note 31.—The gilding process is thus described by Mr. W. Gowland, formerly Assayer at the Imperial Japanese Mint, in one of a series of valuable essays read before the Society of Chemical Industry: "The object of copper or bronze to be gilded was immersed in vinegar made from the juice of unripe plums until a clean metallic surface was obtained. It was then washed with water and dried over a brazier, and mercury was applied to it while it was still warm. When the surface had thus been amalgamated, the gold was laid upon it in the form of leaves. A stronger heat was then applied, the mercury was volatilised, and the gold left perfectly adherent." Japanese accounts add that tonoko (freestone powder) was mixed with the mercury for application to the surface of the metal; that the process of plating was repeated two, three, and even four times, and that polishing with tonoko was finally resorted to. They also mention another method: the metal, having been boiled in lye, was carefully polished, first with charcoal and afterwards with emery powder, a brush of split bamboo (called sasara) being employed for the purpose. It was then immersed in plum-juice, afterwards covered with a mixture of mercury and gold-dust, and finally heated to volatilise the mercury. Polishing by friction with steel needles, and, if necessary, "colour-finishing" (iroage) were the final processes. These descriptions apply to silver plating also.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 32.
Note 32.—This statement indicates that refining processes of great efficiency were adopted in Japan. That is the case; and considerable interest attaches to the fact, for these processes seem to have been devised, in great part, by the Japanese themselves. Mr. W. Gowland says: "When gold was found to contain an undue proportion of silver, it was submitted to a curious process for the separation of the latter metal. It was first reduced to a coarse powder by heating it to near its melting-point and then rubbing it on an iron plate with a stone or iron rubber. The coarsely powdered gold was then mixed with common salt, and a certain proportion of clay, and piled up in the form of a cone on an earthen dish. The whole was then placed in a furnace containing charcoal fuel, and was kept at a red heat for at least twelve hours, by which means the silver was converted into chloride. The dish with its contents was then removed, washed with hot brine and water, the silver chloride was dissolved, and the gold left in a purified state." The test for silver was made with the touchstone, but the test for copper was effected by a method "unique in assaying operations." The metal was heated to redness over a charcoal fire, and when at the proper temperature, was rubbed with a stick of hinoki (the wood of the Thaya obtusa) and then immersed in water. The presence of copper and its approximate amount were determined by the colour and appearance presented by the part to which the stick of wood had been applied. So successful were the old operators in the application of this test that it is rare to find more than 0.25 to 0.35 per cent of copper in the old gold coins. If the test showed an excess of copper, it was removed by cupellation with lead.
- ↑ See Appendix, note 33.
Note 33.— In the case of gold this was effected by painting the object with a mixture of iron sulphate, copper sulphate, potassium nitrate, calcined sodium, chloride and resin, made into a paste with water. It was then carefully heated on a grating over a charcoal fire, subsequently immersed in a solution of common salt and then washed with water, the silver being dissolved out of the upper layer of the alloy and a surface of pure gold left (Gowland). In practice, the kinzokushi obtained his nitrate of potash by using gunpowder. In the case of silver, the following interesting account is given by Mr. Gowland: "When bars of debased silver (i.e. silver containing undue proportions of copper) were cast, a practice which unfortunately was not seldom followed, even in the old mints—especially for commercial bars—if the military rulers of the country were in need of money, a special mode of procedure was adopted. The silver was poured into canvas moulds, which were set in troughs of hot water, the reason for this being that the alloy contained so much copper that, if cast in the ordinary way, the bars would be coated with a black layer of oxide from the action of oxygen of the air on the copper, and this was difficult to remove. By placing the moulds under water this oxidation was prevented, and castings with a clear metallic surface were obtained. The bars were, however, of a coppery hue, and this required removal. They were therefore heated to redness over a charcoal fire, and then plunged into vinegar—made from the juice of unripe plums—containing common salt in solution. After digestion in this for some hours, they were washed with water and then boiled in plum vinegar without salt for one or more hours, when they were washed with boiling water and dried. By these operations the copper in the alloy was removed from the surface layers and a coating of pure silver left."
- ↑ See Appendix, note 34.
Note 34.—Professor Rein, in his great work "The Industries of Japan," describes the method adopted by the celebrated artist Gorosaburo of Kyōtō to produce a dark coffee-brown patina on copper and bronze: "Equal weights of green vitriol, copper vitriol, and sulphur are mixed with water. The copper article is then dipped in this bath, which must be often stirred on account of the finely distributed sulphur, and then rinsed in a second bath prepared in the same way but very much thinner. This process is repeated until the necessary corrosion is recognised by long practice. The vessel is then brought to the brazier and heated on an iron grate, whose bars are from eight to twelve centimeters distant from each other, and with frequent turning. In order not to endanger the soldering, these bars are sprinkled from time to time with water in which kariyasu (Calamagrostis hakonesis) has been boiled. The vessel is now rubbed with a cloth; then painted lightly with lacquer, rubbed again with the cloth, painted once more, and now heated until the sprinkled kariyasu water, rolling away in balls, indicates the amount of heat. The copper article is then taken from the grate with a pair of tongs and coated with a mixture of raw lac and lamp-black. It is then heated again up to the point where the water rolls away in balls, brushed over and painted anew with the lac mixture, and so on, till colour and lustre have the desired shade, whereupon the work is finished and the article is set aside for a second cooling."
- ↑ See Appendix, note 35.
Note 35.—In hōn-zōgan, or true inlaying, a distinction is made between hira-zōgan (flat inlaying), where the inlaying is level with the surface of the field, and takā-zōgan (relief inlaying), where the outlines of the inlaid design are in slight relief.