Decoding Armored Combat - the NHK Way

I try not to spend too much time scrolling through online feeds, but like most of us, I suspect, I often find myself doing it more than I would like, especially these days, when the the news seems to propel us from one disaster to the next. Sometimes, however, something a bit more interesting crops up. 

In this case, it was courtesy of NHK World, and was a combination of a broadcast TV programme (for the domestic Japanese audience) and a section with a foreign panel, two of whom, Alexander Bennett and Christopher Glenn, know their stuff with regards to Japanese martial arts and armour (Akino Roza, the other panelist, has more general cultural knowledge). At about 30 minutes, the programme is a reasonable length to make it worth watching, and I think there is something in there for the lay person and enthusiast alike. I have been around Japanese martial arts for a good number of years, but I certainly got something out of it.

https://www3.nhk.or.jp/nhkworld/en/shows/5001439/?cid=wohk-fb-org_vod_5001439_dps-202502-001

I am putting the link here, but it will only be available till September 2025, which seems like a long way off now, but for anyone reading after that date, I’m going to describe some of the parts I found more interesting below.

The action begins sometime around the three minute mark, with a demonstration of how spears were used in military formations. Although I have seen some people bitterly protest about the use of spears as, basically, striking weapons which would be raised and then used to strike from above rather than as pointy sticks, the weight of informed opinion seems to be that this was common practice during the Sengoku period (when spears became one of the principal weapons on the battlefield. Indeed, you can well believe that training men to use the spear this way would have been very time efficient.

Anyway, there is a demonstration of the power this technique can produce (yes, we all know boards don’t fight back, but illustrative, all the same). The higher level version of this is also interesting – the use of the flex of the spear shaft is not usually shown in Japanese systems, whereas it is a common feature (sometimes unrealistically so) in Chinese systems, both for usage and also training purposes. I have some experience of Japanese spears, and the shafts certainly do have a certain amount of flexibility – the one used in this demonstration was quite long, and I think that length is certainly an important consideration for this kind of technique. Many Japanese spearheads have a triangular cross-section, which makes them especially suitable for this bludgeoning type of attack. Other types would most likely have been used differently.

Any way, you can see the flex here:

A couple of other points that were interesting were presented in the discussion of foreign the foreign panel. In particular, I found the point about the overlap of armour particularly interesting – the cuirass wrapped around the body with the back overlapping the front on one side. This seems counter-intuitive: a spear thrust might get caught rather than glancing off, for example (although that in itself could be further examined). However, an overlap to the back would also provide a grip for an opponent if they came into grappling range, something you certainly wouldn’t want.

A cuirass showing the overlap coming from behind.

Moving on, there is also a section on using weapons on horseback, and you get to see the stubby Japanese ponies that were common in those days. There is also a section on Shosho Ryu Yawarajutsu – an early type of jujutsu. This is interesting as preserving aspects that involved fighting an armoured opponent. Many Japanese schools preserve this aspect to a greater or smaller degree – there are several interesting videos online showing techniques from Tenshin Shoden Katori Ryu that many people are probably familiar with – so this may not be new to you, but it is quite interesting all the same. 

An illustration by Oscar Ratti from his well-known book. The illustrations were an important part of the book and certainly added colour and atmosphere, despite certain artistic liberties. Of course, something like this is pure fantasy ... or maybe not?

As well as younger, more mobile members of his dojo, the 87 year old headmaster of the style demonstrates some of the techniques, including kicking someone wearing armour, which is worth seeing.

A well- produced documentary with something for everyone – at least, those who are interested in those kinds of things!  

Miyamoto Musashi's squirrel – samurai wordplay

Musashi's Squirrel and Grapes (cut off slightly on the right)

The bushi were a cultured lot – some of them, anyway – and Japan was a cultured society. Nowadays, when we look at the art of great civilisations, we tend to value it for its beauty – indeed, that is one of the things that attracts us to art in many of its forms. However, there is a lot more to art than that (as a cursory glance at any display of contemporary art will tell us) – and there always was. 

As a form of communication, art has messages and meanings beyond the aesthetic. Its value as a didactic and political tool was well understood by the rich and powerful of feudal Japan. Decorative schemes in castles, temples and residences contained subtle and not so subtle messages that their audiences were practiced in reading. They were messages about power, morals, aspiration – the usual things. The artists might also include details pointing to their lineage, linking to well-known works, thus emphasising the connection with more famous predecessors. (This was happening in the Kano school, where the sidelined Kyoto branch thought it necessary to point out that they were just as much, if not more, worthy successors to the Kano tradition than the politically favoured blood descendants of the founder who ran the Edo branch – their paintings were also beautiful, as you can see here). Other works of art operated on a smaller scale, with more personal messages for the satisfaction of the careful viewer.

Which brings us on to an often overlooked painting byMiyamoto Musashi: Squirrel and Grapes

As a subject, it was an auspicious one, symbolising abundance and fertility: grapes are obvious images of plently, while squirrels were seen as being like mice which were known for having large numbers of offspring. Perhaps not an obvious choice for Musashi, although it could be argued that it reflects a feeling of personal well-being and satisfaction with his position in the world. Indeed, at this stage, relatively late in his life, he was a guest of the powerful and cultured Hosokawa family in Kumamoto, far from the reverses he may have suffered in trying to establish himself in the capital. However, there is more to it than that.

A typical depiction of the squirrel and grapes theme on sword mountings

The title was also understood as a play on words: the word for grapes (budo) is a homophone for budo(martial ways), while squirrel (risu) is similar to rissuru, which means something like to dedicate or discipline oneself. Thus the picture is a pun that refers to discipline in the martial arts. It is in this connection that the motif was utilised by bushi as decoration in sword mountings and the like.  

Musashi’s treatment of the theme is distinctive. Like his more well-known paintings of birds, this one emphasises poise – the squirrel balances on the vine, its eyes sharp, and the tail sweeping up as it prepares to hop onto the next branch or reach out for the grapes below. This sense of dynamism is portrayed through the broad curves of the tail and the body, with the more precise details of the face and claws suggesting the focus and contained energy of a body about to burst into motion.  

Musashi’s work is notable for his sparing yet powerful use of dark ink to focus and control the composition, keeping the dynamism of the subject through rough but fluent brushwork. It was a style that stemmed from Muqi and Liang Kai, both 13^thcentury Chinese monk painters whose works were more admired in Japan than in their native China. Musashi’s artistic education is a matter for speculation, but his style and subject matter suggest he had seen some of these works as well as those of his older contemporaries, Kaiho Yusho and Hasegawa Tohaku, who were both influenced by these artists. Kaiho Yusho and Hasegawa Tohaku were based in Kyoto for much of their careers, and famous works by the two aforementioned Chinese painters were also held in temples in that city. 

 

The 6th Patriarch Chopping Wood by Liang Kai
This work is now in the Tokyo National Museum, but it is quite possible
Musashi had access to it at some time. (Lang Kai's paintings suffer greatly from
reproduction - you cannot really appreciate the subtlety in reproductions).

Crows by Kaiho Yusho. Yo can still get some idea of the power of this piece even though the reproduction is less than perfect.

Of course, early in his career Musashi spent some time in Kyoto, but what his position was is far from certain. At some time he completed some fine paintings for Toji Temple, which maintains he lived there for a period of three years or so after his duels with the Yoshioka swordsmen, and also suggests that he studied with Kaiho Yusho during this time, but this is far from certain. (The priest Takuan, who was linked to Musashi in the famous novel by Yoshikawa Eiji, was head of a sub-temple at the Daitoku-ji complex where Tohaku saw a triptych by Muqi that had a major influence on his style. Although there seems to be no firm evidence to back it up, the temple also claims a connection with Musashi – perhaps that is where Yoshikawa got the idea about Takuan being Musashi’s mentor.)

Wherever he developed his skill with the brush, it is difficult not to see in his works touches of his own experience, and to think that they express something of what was important to him in life.

Musashi often chose animals and birds for his subjects, and among those, it was the small and everyday varieties that he focused on. That he would choose these as subjects, in some cases strongly suggesting connections with aspects of his heiho– his martial art – rather than the powerful, regal creatures that we might normally associate with the arts of war, certainly says something about the man.

A close-up showing the squirrel and one of the well-nibbled bunches of grapes.

Can we read anything else into this inquisitive squirrel? I think we can. If we look carefully, we can see the grapes are mostly gone. Is it late in the season or has another squirrel been here already? Whatever the reason, this one seems unphased – it continues, as full of enthusiasm as ever. Is this the message then – the importance of continued discipline, even though many of the obvious rewards have gone? It would be in keeping with Musashi’s writings. But more than that, given the way the painting pulses with life, it suggests there is an enthusiasm, almost a joy in this. I would like to think that this, too, was part of his message.

You can read more about Musashi's paintings here: https://ichijoji.blogspot.com/2011/12/deeper-reading-of-musashis-painting.html

2020 – Year of the Rat

A rat nibbling New Year mochi from Ehon Shuyo
of 1751 (printsofjapan.com)

2020 is, in the Japanese tradition, the Year of the Rat (or mouse...take your pick – the term nezumi covers both in Japanese). The rat is usually considered a symbol of good luck, being associated with Daikokuten, the god of wealth. This association is usually explained as rats and mice being attracted by wealth (i.e. surplus food), and so signs of rodent activity, particularly nibbled mochi at New Year, were traditionally seen as good luck. It was also believed that rats stored up food for the winter, and this added to their reputation as animals of good fortune.

Kobayashi Issa reflected something of this in the following haiku:
      New Year's shelf –
      from a dark nook
      a lucky mouse

(Toshi-dana ya kurai hō yori fuku nezumi)

Connections with the bushi are, not surprisingly, not particularly common – warriors generally took more powerful animals as their symbols. The timorous mouse seems an unlikely symbol for a class that prided itself on courage. Rats, however, can be bold: Neko no Myojutsu (The Mysterious Skills of the Old Cat) is a well-known story that concerns one such animal. A ferocious rat is wrecking havoc in the house of a samurai, Shoken.

Shoken getting serious with the rat.

The rat proves too strong for his house cat, and even Shoken himself finds himself in trouble when he confronts it, so he enlists the aid of the local cats, famous for their rat-catching skills. Alas, they are also no match for the rat. whose speed and ferocity prove too much for them.

Finally, much to their surprise, Shoken's final gamble – a famous mouser whose rat-catching days seem long gone – pays off, and the old cat succeeds in catching the rat with ease. Later that evening, Shoken overhears the old cat explain how he was able to succeed where the others failed. This explanation is an account of some of the mental teachings involved in swordsmanship, and is said to have been connected to (or even part of) the teachings of the Itto ryu. For those interested, several translations are available...mine is available here.

Rats featured in other stories as well. This one is from a children's story book, Neko Nezumi Kassen (The War between the Cats and the Rats), illustrated by Utagawa Yoshitora c1840-1860, a one-time pupil of the famous Utagawa Kuniyoshi.

In the story, the general of the cats decides to attack the rats, and battle ensues...
The text for these pages reads:

On the other side there was a rat general called Lucky Rat. One day, the white rat, the general’s lieutenant, rushed in, gasping for breath, “Emergency, emergency!” White Rat: “It is terrible! Cat General Nekomata is on his way to attack us with a huge army. They are almost here.” Lucky Rat: “What? This is a crisis!” Lucky Rat immediately called on his mighty warriors among the white rats, red rats, tortoise-shell rats, China rats, mice, top-spinning rats, sewer rats, and with all others waited for the cat army to arrive. 

(https://www.kodomo.go.jp/gallery/edoehon/nekonezumi/index_e.html)

This battle ends happily for both sides with deus ex machina in the form of the intervention of ...Daikokuten.

Although rats and mice were not closely linked to martial culture, Minamoto Musashi's 'Rat's head – ox's neck' (or horse's neck – the character is very similar, and as the original no longer exists, it is not possible to say which was originally intended) from the Fire Scroll of Gorin no sho should not be forgotten. The contrast between these two elements is a reminder to maintain a dual perspective that sees detail at the same time as the broader picture. Musashi noted that this is important in both small and large scale combat.

Although Musashi left no examples of rats or mice in his art, several artists have found them to be fine subjects – netsuke artists in particular, took advantage of the qualities offered by the rat/mouse's

 form. However, rather than netsuke, I will finish with a painting by Watanabe Shōtei which nicely displays his controlled and elegant brushwork.

Watanabe Shōtei (1852-1918)

Noguchi Tetsuya – another look at 'samurai'

Talking Head 2010
All the pictures in this post are of works by
Noguchi, unless otherwise stated.

Sometimes you see an exhibition that strikes such a deep chord that you say to yourself, 'Yes! This is what art is about!' Rare though this may be, it's even rarer with contemporary art, which was why it was especially refreshing to see Noguchi Tetsuya's one-man show at the Asahi Villa in Oyamazaki – just outside Kyoto.

Not only is the museum (a 1930's villa and garden overlooking the battlefield of Oyamazaki, where Toyotomi Hideyoshi beat the rebellious Akechi Mitsuhide, thus stamping his claim as contending heir to Oda Nobunaga's position) worth seeing in itself, but the exhibition has enough to satisfy anyone with a spark of soul (especially if their childhood contained a healthy dose of model building and painting up the kind of miniature figures used in war games and fantasy role playing games).

Work by Tenmouya Hisashi - used as an
advertisement for the 2006 World Cup

Noguchi, a generation younger than artists such as Yamaguchi Akira and Tenmouya Hisashi, who also have a strong link with historical imagery in their work, unrepentantly takes 'samurai' as his theme, with a refreshing outlook that combines humour and sensitivity, inviting the viewer to share and enjoy his passions, presenting snapshots from an alternative historical narrative that is, at times, so convincing that you are almost fooled into believing it's true. He works with highly detailed figures cast in resign, dressed in leather, cloth and metal(?), as well as painting in a reproduction style, throwing in his own anachronisms that make it more than simply an exercise in model making.

The first thing that strikes the visitor is the incredible degree of skill displayed in the works. The craftsmanship shows a loving attention to detail which, in itself, is more than enough to hold the viewer's attention. This is displayed equally in the paintings, facsimile pages from fictional historical reference works, and in fact, in every aspect of  his finished works.

Chanel Samurai 2009

Some of his work drew attention in the glossy magazines a few years ago because of his collaboration with Chanel - I saw the photos of the models wearing armor stamped with the Chanel symbol, and assumed, because of the detail, that they were, in fact, actual people wearing the armor. Even later on, I'm not sure if I had realised that those photographs were of models, but I certainly assumed that the armour was life size – I was wrong, and this was a pleasant surprise. They worked far better as models (up to about 30 inches high, seated, with many smaller than that) than they would have done full size, inviting both closer examination and a kind of respect and fascination that automatically seems to attach itself to the miniature.

Portrait of an Armoured Warrior
Taking the Field by Bicycle 2008

But all this would be mere model making if it was not imbued with a charm and wit that added to the superb craftsmanship: samurai with propellers on their helmets, jetpacks on their backs and giant robots, all rendered as if they came from the 16th century, which manages to keep the charm and makes it almost believable. Other works aimed at different interstices of past and present, involving fashion, technology and identity.

None Shall Speak 2008

Part of the reason this works is because the samurai remains such present figure in modern Japanese culture, reconfigured to match each new generation. This reinvention, the constant stream of dramas, books, manga, magazines, anime and games which feature samurai, means that they retain a relevance which I would be hard put to find an equivalent for in Britain or the USA. Certainly, some people find it passé, I'm sure, but generations of children are brought up with this as part of their contemporary culture, the same way as I had Star Wars and Judge Dredd in my teenage years.

Samurai Stance 2013

This, I think, is the point. The artist has successfully taken the interests he had as a child, and transformed them without losing the intensity of meaning that they have when you are young; in his case, that intensity is continued through the strength and mastery of his craftsmanship, bringing them into the adult sphere in a way that is neither arch nor mocking. He does not denigrate or hero-worship, but treats his subjects with an interest and respect that brings us closer, perhaps, to seeing ourselves.

If
you ever get the chance, this is one artist whose works I thoroughly recommend you see.

Wisdom from Samurai High School

Sanada Yukimura gives advice to the young hero

This is a lighthearted but fun drama series from 2009. (Broadcast by NTV).  It stars Miura Haruma, who does a very good job, both as a goofy high school kid and as the samurai whose spirit possesses his body. It may not be to everybody's taste, of course, but if you like light comedy and bear in mind that it's aimed at teenagers, it's actually pretty good.

Every episode, the hero is taken over by the spirit of his ancestor at a critical point and goes into action. We get to see an idealized young samurai in modern times –  his disciplined outlook on life is contrasted strongly with his lackadaisical but likable modern descendant... of course everything works out happily in the end.

By putting a samurai into a modern day setting, it provides an interesting example of the way 'samurai' are seen in the present day. Not surprisingly, it is more nuanced than the typical view we are used to in the west. It is also, of course, idealized.

It also raised more serious points: one which I will discuss below is something often missed in western treatment of samurai and bugei, and one that has quite important ramifications to serious students of martial arts.

Perhaps this quote is typical of the way in which samurai are viewed (in a non-academic context, of course):

The fighter is to be always single-minded with one object in view: to fight, looking neither backward nor sidewise. To go straight forward in order to crush the enemy is all that is necessary for him.
(D.T. Suzuki, Zen and Culture, p. 62)

Although he was talking generally about the attraction of Zen for the warrior class, the limitations of this point of view were raised nicely by a flashback scene in Episode 2, where the samurai youth is talking to his lord, Sanada Yukimura.

The conversation runs something like this...

'Are you ready for your first battle?'

'Yes! I plan to cut through the outer defenses and go directly for the enemy general to take his head.'

'Well said. It is a fine plan for someone 17 years old.'

This is the crux of it – this attitude of rushing straight in and carrying the day with your determination is vital, but it is not everything.

The bugei do vary in their treatment of the psychology of combat, but there is a tendency to treat them monolithically.  Even within a single style, there are differences in stages of teaching during which different approaches are appropriate. Although much writing (especially, but not limited to, that which is connected to Zen) tends to emphasize the power of determination, this is not necessarily equally stressed at all points of training.

In the late Edo period, there seems to have been a consistent effort to stress the development of this aspect of swordsmanship. For various reasons not wholly related to combat, this aspect was further emphasised during the Meiji and Taisho periods, and aspects of this are still visible in modern day kendo.

The older bugei were not so simplistic. This is especially evident in the teachings (and writings) that are closer to the warring states period. Not only were different attitudes emphasised at different stages of training, but the aims of training differed within and between ryu-ha. Those destined to be leaders would be taught tactics and strategy at a greater level of detail than simple warriors, with much of the higher level material being based on the physical skills that had been mastered in training with weapons. Some ryu-ha, such as the Shinkage ryu, seem to have had quite a strong strategic component, and were patronised by higher ranking warriors. There were also ryu-ha of strategy, which dealt specifically with managing troops. I suspect that, beyond this, there were family teachings and traditions, probably mainly oral, that were passed from generation to generation. There is some evidence of this in the Tokugawa family, with the instructions Tokugawa Ieyasu passed on to his successors; the Sanada family is also an example in which a high level of tactical ability was evident in several generations of the family (with two successive generations bringing the Tokugawa war machine to a halt).

Different writings may be seemingly contradictory, but this is not always the case. The courage and dynamism expressed in sentiments such as those expressed in the Suzuki quote may be very attractive, and certainly are impressive as isolated quotes. However the real strength of the bugei, in my opinion, is that they contain but are not limited to this approach. They are able to harness and build on this fierce attacking energy, but not be controlled by it.

To return to Samurai High School, Sanada Yukimura continues to advise his young vassal:

'In war, things do not always go as expected... a warrior who is certain of victory is arrogant. He only sees what is straight ahead. We must look to the left... to the right... and above us.'

Still, it is hard not to admire the teenage samurai's admonishment to his enemies before he ploughs into school bullies and local hoods:

'I cannot help but pity your miserable existence!'

Ichimei - Death of a Samurai

At last I made it to the cinema to see Ichimei - I had been meaning to go ever since it was released. After 13 Assassins, I was expecting good things from Miike, the director. This was another remake of a film from the 60s, and one which, like 13 Assassins, contained an overt political element in its criticism of the arbitrary powers of the feudal system, an obvious reference to Japanese society at the time the films were made. Much has changed since then, not least, the abandonment of overt political activism, but there is still an acknowledgement of the power of circumstances to lay low the honest, hardworking everyman, and this is the theme that Miike chose to expand upon.

Visually, it was very impressive - particularly the set dressing. Part of this must have been calculated to maximise the effect of the 3d filming, although I only saw the standard version. The acting was uniformly good - Ebizo, a well-known kabuki actor, who took the lead role (played by Nakadai Tatsuya in the 60s version) often shows a tendency towards the melodramatic, but he managed to keep it largely under control in this film.

Had I not seen the original, I might not have noticed what was missing - but I had, and so I was a little dissappointed at the route Miike took to differentiate his work from its predecessor. He chose to emphasise the powerlessness of the characters and the corresponding pain of their situations, rather than the evil of the system or the power of Hanshiro to control events as he orchestrates the final showdown, both aspects which were given far more play in the original.

As far as I was concerned, the core of the original was the give and take of the confrontation in the courtyard. The way in which Hanshiro gradually maneuvers his opponents, the vignettes involving the three principle villains, and the climactic battle itself, all show the skills of a man pitting himself to the extent of his powers against the monolith of authority - although he is destined to lose the unequal fight, the spirit of his challenge reaffirms our sense of human courage and dignity. In Miike's version, though Hanshiro also displays these attributes, he is not striving for victory, or even revenge, but merely to have his story told. Although this may, ultimately, be the more humane course, he seems somehow diminished compared to Nakadai's portrayal, as if he has already accepted his defeat, and nothing more remains than to see things through to the end.

I would have preferred him to 'Rage, rage against the dying of the light' - and perhaps this is, in itself, more a reflection of the times: although we may dislike aspects of 'The System', the alternative has been revealed to us as something worse. Perhaps, in fact, there is comfort in not wrecking the major institutions of society, but just demanding some recognition of our human place in the drama. In Japan, this is much more visible - the spirit of the sixties was largely quashed, and people got back to the task of finding their place in the society as it existed, rather than seeking to change it. Success stories of rebels are far less common here than in Britain or the USA - Ebizo's Hanshiro has no thought of fighting the clan - he is just expressing his grievances, and the only people who should suffer are the ones directly involved. Nakadai's Hanshiro, in contrast, had declared war - the only question was how far he could go.

For all that, Ichimei - Death of a Samurai - is certainly worth seeing, but its not half as satisfying as 13 Assassins.

Information Rich

Advertising for the Ikeda-ya on Sanjo Street

Japan, and particularly Kyoto, it seems, is an extremely information rich environment: walking through the streets, on odd corners, outside temples or next to bridges, you can often see information boards or stone markers to inform passers-by of the historical importance of each location, as well as a huge number and variety of notices everywhere concerned with more immediate details of everyday life.

For non-Japanese, however, the difficulties of accessing this information (which means reading Japanese), makes the experience quite different - there is so little you can actually understand, and much of that is without a familiar context , even if you have some knowledge of the history, that many give up even trying. It's enough to discourage even a well-developed sense of curiosity.

But over the years since I came here, the accessibility of information, both in Japanese and English, has improved enormously. This is partly due to the advance of technology, and the proliferation of on-line sources, but also to the increasing presence of information at street level.

You can just see the sword cuts in the dark area

Recently, I have been involved in some research that has made me look more closely at the city itself. I have been surprised by the richness of information available to those with a little persistence, and also by how much interesting history is attached to places I have passed on an almost daily basis with, totally unaware.

One such that particularly piqued my interest are the sword cuts on one of the bronze finials of Sanjo Bridge.

The finials themselves (giboshi) are, all save one, the originals from when Hideyoshi had the bridge built in 1590, as indeed are some of the stone pillars (on the south side) on which the bridge stands. Another one of these pillars is now outside Starbucks at the northwest end of the bridge. Civil engineering has never been a particular interest of mine but, like almost any subject, the more you look into it, the more interesting it becomes.

Of course, what I was really interested in were those sword cuts. They date, apparently, from the famous Ikedaya incident which occurred just along the street in 1864. I used to work in the building just next to the site of the incident, which was, in those days, marked by a small stone pillar in front of a pachinko parlor. This was in the days when the British Council and Japan Research Foundation libraries, and one or two bookshops, together with the occasional article in Kyoto Visitors Guide constituted the bulk of my research resources, and I was pretty happy to find out that I was working right next to the Ikedaya, site of one of the most famous engagements of the Bakumatsu period.

For those of you unfamiliar with it, this was when the Shinsengumi, a para-military force supporting the ailing government, mounted a surprise attack on a group of pro-Imperial plotters, many from the Choshu Domain, who were meeting at the inn. The battle itself lasted for a couple of hours, and eventually involved some 60 or so people. At first, however, the Shinsengumi members were outnumbered - 9 of them, under their leader Kondo Isami, attacked the plotters, who numbered about 30. Later reinforcements equalled the numbers. Largely confined to the Ikedaya inn itself, the fighting spilled onto the streets as the plotters tried to escape. Some, it seems, made it as far as Sanjo Bridge, hence the scars on the bridge. It was a hard fought battle, but the Shinsengumi lost only 3 men (2 of whom died of their wounds), compared to 8 on the other side, and more than 20 taken prisoner.


For anyone who wants to have a look for themselves, the sword marks are on the second post from the west, on the south side.

And the Ikeda-ya? Now it is an izakaya, with the front made up in period style. A notice-board in front gives an account of the affair, and you can often see interested groups of tourists stopping outside to read. It is, of course, in Japanese.

Go Grrrls - Ishida Mitsunari, the Musical

The Takurazuka Revue is not really my cup of tea, but the poster looks dramatic.

For those of you who don't know, Takurazuka is an all female affair - playing to almost permanently packed houses, composed of devotees and wannabees. Like much of Japanese theatre, it is an institution and a way of life. There is a continual procession of new plays, many of them set in romantic European settings, with the rather odd combination of platinum blond wigs and Japanese faces (not to mention the cross-dressing and moustaches). In this poster, they look the best I have seen them - although a little 'manga-chic'.

Ishida Mitsunari is the star of this production, although he is not one of the more charismatic characters from this period. Of course, he suffers from the usual fate of the loser, whose faults seem overwhelming when he is cast as the foil to Tokugawa Ieyasu in his successful bid for power, which culminated in the Battle of Sekigahara. Wheras Ieyasu was a cunning straegist and battlefield general, who had benefitted from his close association with Oda Nobunaga and had the sense to allow himself to take a subsidiary position to both his predecessors while preserving a degree of independence, Mitsunari's strong skills lay in his powers of administration. Although he could command close loyalties, he had made personal enemies of several of Hideyoshi's generals in Korea (for reporting them for mismanagement of funds), and was not, primarily, a military leader.

Despite Ieyasu's skill in intrigue and politicking, it was still a close run thing (as someone said of another decisive battle).

Like many westerners, my first exposure to him was in James Clavell's Shogun, where he is portrayed as a cruel, power-hungry despot, set on controlling the country. Japanese portrayals tend to be kinder, making him a loyal follower of Hideyoshi, well-meaning but ultimately out-matched. This story, cashing in on the current NHK Taiga drama, concerns the relationship between Mitsunari and  Chacha, who was to become Hideyoshi's mistress. The title: "A Beautiful Life - Ishida Mitsunari, his eternal love and loyalty".

Samurai Soul

I got a bit busy this week, so only this for now: a light-hearted look at samurai life.

Sword practice in the back garden

Writing about Hirayama Shiryu for the past couple of weeks, put me in mind of this - a life where everything is subsumed into the world of martial arts. It's from the music video for the song Samurai Soul by the pop/rock group Ulfuls. Good song - kind of quirky, soulful rock, I suppose - and a fun video.

Folding the washing

For those of you familiar with Japanese houses, I'm sure you'll appreciate the details. And even sensitive ears needn't be worried about being subjected to screaming guitars and a wall of noise. It helps if you understand Japanese - but it's not essential.

Here's the link for youtube: Samurai Soul-Ulfuls

And if you like that, I also recommend Guts - da ze, which has a really goofy video, complete with a ninja trying to assasinate Tono-sama. It's kind of catchy, too.

Hirayama Shiryu - some stories

Hirayama Shiryu was a rare character, obsessive when it came to the world of bugei (martial arts). All the stories I have heard about him bear out his forceful character and his emphasis on determination and courage as the key components of martial arts.  This example of his calligraphy reads "Angry Frog" - it can be pronounced onomatopoeically "Do-a". It refers to the story of a frog that announced it's defiance as one of the warlords of ancient China was invading a neighboring territory. It certainly displays vigor and energy in the two main characters, which accord well with Hirayama's martial character, as does the bravery of the small frog, but one should also pay attention to the signature at the side. The characters display grace and refinement, indicating that Hirayama developed skills that required more than sheer energy and determination. interestingly, this is also very visible in Musashi's painting and calligraphy, suggesting the high degree of physical control and finesse developed in traditional bugei. Interestingly, this quality is usually not present in the calligraphy of Zen priests, whose work often expresses forcefulness at the expense of flexibility. However, this more refined side of Hirayama's nature is something that does not normally come out in the stories about him.

As a young man, he was a student of Shibukawa Tokifusa, head the style of jujutsu of that name. Once, when practicing with the son of his master, he applied a shime-waza (strangle-hold) that left his partner unconscious. When he did not come to, Hirayama and his fellow students attempted to revive him, but to no avail. After many anxious minutes, he eventually came round. Throughout the whole incident, Hirayama retained his composure, despite the panic of his fellow students. When asked about it, he said that he had already resolved to take responsibility by committing seppuku, should their teacher's son have died, so there was no cause for alarm.

This is somewhat reminiscent of the attitude discussed in Yamamoto Tsunetomo's Hagakure, written a hundred years or so earlier. By Hirayama's time, this was somewhat outdated, I suspect, but it is worth noting that death by seppuku continued both as a judicial punishment and as a personal statement of responsibility until the beginning of the Meiji period, (and, indeed, in the latter case, beyond).

Another story that well illustrates his character is an episode that occurred with one of his friends, Shimizu Akagi, who was obviously of a similar mind to Hirayama. Walking home one cold evening in winter, Shimizu remarked "The heroes of old used to fight in the middle of winter. If we are serious about our martial studies, shouldn't we prepare ourselves for the same. How about a little swim?"
Hirayama, of course, agreed, so they both got into the icy water.
After finishing their swim and getting out, Hirayama proposed a nice bowl of hot noodles, to which his friend replied "Gotcha! They wouldn't have had that kind of luxury on the battlefield!"
Hirayama conceded the point, and they both went their separate ways home.

However, Hirayama's friend, on his way back, figuring Hirayama would go back home and be snuggled up warm in bed, thought he would surprise him and score double points. When he got to Hiryama's place, he was not in bed, but sitting on his normal oak board (which he used in place of a cushion), studying, according to his normal schedule. (In fact, he usually slept on the floor of his dojo rather than in a futon, with only a light cover, so I doubt he would have been getting very warm in any case).

Neko No Myojutsu - The Mysterious Skills of the Old Cat

The Cornered Rat Attacks the Cat - Ogata Gekko (1892)

Neko no Myojutsu is a story that many people will be familiar with. I first came across it as a student in DT Suzuki's Zen and Japanese Culture, an important but somewhat flawed book in this field, and subsequently it was the first text on swordsmanship that I read in Japanese, being already familiar with the story. It was also the genesis of my book The Samurai Mind. Originally I had envisaged an illustrated version of this story, done in sumi-e, and this was the proposal I sent to several publishers. Stonebridge Press picked it up and asked to see the complete series of illustrations. They liked them, and everything looked set... until their parent company got into trouble and placed a moratorium on new acquisitions. Subsequently Tuttle contacted me and said they were interested in the text, but not the illustrations, and the rest is history.

The importance of Neko no Myojutsu
The fact that it has been translated several times suggests that not only is this an appealing story, but that it might have something interesting to say. Although the author, Issai Chozan, disavowed his own skill as a swordsman, he clearly had a well-developed understanding, and was able to give a very helpful impressionistic view of the inner factors involved higher levels of the art. It is commonly included in Japanese collections of works on swordsmanship, and was, at one time, held as an inner text of the Itto-ryu.

In the context of my book, I regard it as a key to understanding these inner elements of bujutsu.

Overview
It is a fable, and this is part of its attraction and why it is so accessible. A samurai named Shoken (his name means 'Victorious Sword' or something along those lines) finds a large rat running about his house. His own cat runs away in fright and he has no luck when he tries to kill it himself. the three experienced rat-catching cats in the area have no luck either, so it is left to an old cat in a neighboring part of town to take care of things. That night, the cats have a little celebration, and ask the old cat to explain why he was so successful. He offers critiques of their methods and goes on to explain his own approach. Shoken has been listening in and interjects his own question, which the old cat answers, expanding on his original answer.

What makes it a key text?
The critiques of the old cat are important in that they compare the different methods of the three cats, each one of which uses an approach focused on one aspect of combat. Actually, each one of these approaches is fairly specific, and anyone with a broad background in martial arts that includes some knowledge about different styles and approaches, and the arguments that surround them will probably find this quite familiar. They are particularly apposite in terms of swordsmanship - from this and other writings, it seems there was some dispute about which was the most effective approach to swordsmanship, both in terms of training and tactical usage during the period in which he was writing... and later, too.

Readers will probably understand these different approaches without too much difficulty. The explanations offered by the cat on why each approach is flawed require a little more care with the translation, and I must admit that some of the translations I have read didn't supply the reader with the clarity and logic present in the original.

The cat's explanation of his myojutsu (marvellous technique) is the heart of the piece, and consequently it is here that a firm understanding of the concepts described, on the part of the translator, is most important to get a real sense of what it all means and why it works. 'It', in this case, refers to these inner factors, often referred to by terms such as shinpo or shinjutsu, that form an important part of the advanced techniques of bujutsu. The most well-known example is probably mushin, which is often treated as an exclusively Zen concept. This story is interesting in that it offers, as I noted before, an impressionistic description and explanation of this area of bujutsu, as well as describing related areas, such as mental domination and harmonizing with the opponent, and explaining why they are different and their relative superiority.

Wrapped up in a story about cats, it makes for a compelling and practical introduction to this area.

Hopefully readers will find my translation in The Samurai Mind leaves them in a better position to understand and appreciate the other works in the collection, which I will be discussing over the next few posts.

Plum Blossom Lore

Yamamoto Baiitsu (1783-1856)

Although it's only the first week of February, the last few days have seemed quite spring-like.. despite the snow that is still visible on the mountains to the north of Kyoto, and the dead grass that covers the banks of the Kamo River. It should have been no surprise to find that February 4th is the day known as Rishun, which marks the start of spring in the old Japanese calendar. This early spring period runs through the 18th of the month, and is closely associated with plum blossom.

The ume - more properly an apricot, it seems, but generally known as plum - is just coming into flower during this period, though it won't come into full bloom until near the end of the month. I associate it particularly strongly with China and Japan, and it often appears in literature and art here, not to mention as a favorite plant in gardens. The sweet scent of a plum orchard in flower is quite strong, and if you go to a plum bonsai exhibition, such as the one held in Nagahama every year, almost unbelievably concentrated and quite beautiful, even - I would think- for non-flower lovers.

The plum tree itself is quite striking, with its delicate flowers, characteristically a mix of full blossom and new buds set against the angular and harshly pruned branches, making it a popular motif in visual art, both in China and Japan. (If I had to make a generalisation, I would say Chinese paintings tend to emphasise profusion, and Japanese ones, sparseness in their depictions.)

The particular angularity of the plum is also the subject of a proverb:
                     Sakura kiru baka; ume kiranu baka
It's stupid to prune a cherry tree - and stupid not to prune a plum - a comment on the failings of a 'one size fits all' policy.

The plum is also included among 'The three friends of winter' and 'The four gentlemen' (as the translations usually go) - traditional groupings of plants that often appear in art. The three friends, sho-chiku-bai, are pine, bamboo and plum, which all have positive associations connected with strength and endurance during the cold months of winter. The four gentlemen, shikunshi, is a closely related theme that was popular in Chinese art and later adopted in Japan. The plants - plum, orchid, bamboo and chrysanthemum, each represent one of the seasons, as well as noble virtues. In fact the word kun (jun Ch.) is one of those untranslatable words with connotations of nobility and virtue, but which tends to sound a bit hokey in English. It is Confucius's 'virtuous man'.

The four gentlemen also form part of the foundation of the art of ink painting - especially in the literati (and now hobbyist) style. As well as their symbolic nature, they also serve as a bridge for  well-practiced brush wielding scholars to move from the field of calligraphy into picture-making, using the same brush strokes they had been using for years, but in a more graphic role.

In Japan, there seems to have been little direct relation with the martial world, other than that provided by the cultural associations common to society at large. By way of contrast, the connections in the Chinese martial arts world are many and varied - and include a famous style of Northern boxing, Meihua quan (Plum Flower Fist/Boxing) and its off-shoots, as well as a number of forms in different styles that bear its name.

Nevertheless, there are several stories that feature plum blossom, with their own, uniquely Japanese, atmosphere.

Oshukubai - The plum where the nightingale dwells (bai is another reading of the character for plum)

By Tsuchiya Koitsu - from the Ohmi Gallery Website

This tale concerns the old plum tree of the emperor, which stood on one side of the entrance to the imperial palace, the Sakon no Ume, or plum of the left, along with its counterpart, Ukon no Tachibana, sweet orange of the right (sa and u are alternative readings for the characters left and right). Seeking a replacement, his courtiers found one in the garden of Ki no Tsurayuki (872-945), the famous poet. Before they carted it off (tree transplanting was a well developed art), Tsurayuki's daughter wrote the following poem, which she hung from its branches:

Choku nareba itomo kashiko shi uguisu no yado wa to towaba ikaga kotaemu
Since my lord commands, I can but obey.
but what shall I tell the nightingale when it cannot find its nest?

The emperor Murakami was obviously touched by this, and returned the tree, planting a cherry tree in its place. The nightingale (otoguisu or bush warbler, to be more exact), is often paired with the plum blossom in art - in fact Keats is said to have composed the first draft of 'Ode to a Nightingale' while sitting under a plum tree.

(Interestingly, Tsurayuki's poem in the famous collection Hyakunin Isshu (number 35) is about the plum blossom, where he compares its reliability to the changeability of the human heart.)

 Abe no Muneto
A more amusing anecdote concerns the aftermath of a rebellion by Abe no Sadato, who was beaten and slain after a protracted series of campaigns by Minamoto Yoriyoshi and his son. Yoshiie, Sadato's younger brother, Muneto, was brought back to court and condemned to exile. While he was waiting for the sentence to be carried out, a courtier, curious about this semi barbarian from the northern provinces, brings a branch of flowering plum and asks, "What do you call this?"
Muneto replied:
In my country, where I saw it often
we call it ume,
But for the true name,
we need a courtier to tell us.

Genda Kagesuye (by Kuniyoshi)

Kajiwara Genda Kagesuye
This fierce warrior fought at the battle of Ikuta (in the Gempei War, on the side of the Minamoto) with a branch of plum blossom thrust into his quiver (ebira), a reminder of his love  and was the inspiration for the noh drama of that name. During the battle, he lost his helmet, and the motif of a helmet with a branch of plum blossom was sometimes used in art.
There is a lot more to be said about him, but that will have to wait for another time. The same is also true of....

...Maeda Toshiie
Finally, I couldn't miss out the famous general Maeda Toshiie, who fought under Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and whose crest was the plum blossom, as you can see here:

Late 19th century print showing Maeda Toshiie in action - he was famous for his use of the spear

Year of the Usagi

Helmet with large hare's ear crest, probably made of lacquered linen or paper

Happy New Year!

Perhaps confusingly, Japan starts the New Year on Jan 1st, but also uses the Chinese astrological designations for each year - the Year of the Tiger is over here, and the Year of the Hare has just begun.

I don't know if there is any value in characterising years by their astrological sign, but if there were, I would say that this past year has lived up to its image of power and ferocity, leaving its claws in to the very last.

The hare is quite different, of course, and interesting as a symbol. Though often translated as rabbit, it is not the Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter kind of animal, but more Brer Rabbit. Many Japanese folktales attest to this side of its nature. The earliest mention I know of is from the Kojiki, where the white hare has got stuck on an island, and to get off tricks all the sharks in the area to line up between the island and the coast on the pretext of counting them to decide whether the hare clan or the shark clan is largest. The hare runs across their backs to the mainland - of course, it can't resist a final quip, telling the sharks what it has done, and gets its skin torn off for its pains (surviving to fight another day). From this comes the common image of the hare and waves.

Rabbit in the Moon menuki - courtesy of the Dayton Art Institute

Artistically, the Japanese hare looks much like our cuddly bunny. It was much used by the samurai as a symbol of speed and determination to go forwards. Interestingly, the samurai didn't feel a need to always use 'tough-looking' symbols to portray military prowess. As part of a wider culture with multiple meanings in different fields (military, religious, political, personal) they had wider concerns than looking mean and surly - if you were a professional, spending a large amount of your life campaigning, you didn't have to try to look military - you were anyway.

Utagawa Kuniyoshi:s depiction of Shinozuka Iga-no-kami, a 14th century warrior

Quite a few examples, from a variety of historical periods show hare crests, sword ornaments, helmet decorations etc. The recent exhibition at the Met in New York had a good example of rabbit ears on a helmet, for example, and in Kurosawa's Throne of Blood, the general Miki Yoshiaki (the noble Banquo character) has a hare crest on his sashimono (banner) and ears on his helmet.

 

Still from Throne of Blood - note the crest on the banner on the left. You can just see the small hare ears on his helmet, too.

So, returning to the story above, the image I have for this year, is running swiftly towards your goal, passing freely over the waves over the backs of the sharks (and avoiding their jaws if you just keep your mouth shut for long enough).

Best wishes to you all.

Tsuba from late 16th/early 17th century (www.ricecracker.com)