A Musashi Miscellany – stories from out of the way places

A dynamic illustration of Musashi by Noriyoshi Ohrai

You read enough on a subject, and sooner or later you come to find yourself going round in circles. These days, it seems almost everything you read about Musashi online seems to be rehashing the same information. And don’t get me started on the rash of ‘new translations’ of Gorin no Sho which seem to be blatant copies of the classic translation by Victor Harris (my advice is to check out the “translator” - if almost nothing comes back, you can have a good guess as to where the translation actually comes from).

Occasionally, however, I come across nuggets of information, or stories or opinions that are new to me and seem to carry some weight. Musashi has certainly been a magnet for stories over the years, so much so that it is sometimes difficult to sift out the facts from the fiction. Perhaps, however, it is not always necessary to – the stories have grown up, sometimes in martial traditions, and have become a kind of folklore, the truth of which reflects the opinions and experience of the traditions it comes from. Or to put it another way, they are consistent with what we know about Musashi and might, indeed, be true. Of course, they should have some provenance, too.

So here are a couple items of interest that are unlikely to crop up on a random search online:

First, a (possibly) true story.

At one time, it is said that Musashi was trying to get a position as instructor to the heir apparent to the Shogun. Although the Yagyu school were official instructors to the Tokugawa, (and to a number of other daimyo), that didn’t mean all other schools were shut out (the Itto Ryu headmaster, Ono Tadaaki, was also employed by them). Musashi was beginning to make a name for himself, and somebody thought he was worth checking out. 

The story goes that officials from the shogunate came to watch Musashi – they were important people, so I presume this demonstration was put on specially for them. Musashi faced off against his opponent, gradually forcing him back with the strength of his sakki, or killing intention. The officials recognised the uncompromising nature and lethal strength of his spirit and the effectiveness of his technique, but that was not what they wanted for a teacher of a possible heir to the shogun. They were looking for someone with a degree of polish who and who could perhaps play the courtier as occasion demanded. Musashi was all about cutting down the enemy. They told him, “No thank you.”

Although I have found no direct corroboration of this story, it is notable that there were at least a couple of contemporary mentions of Musashi and the Yagyu school together. One commentator who had personal knowledge of both (I forget who, which is very lax, I admit) suggested that even with a handicap, Yagyu Munenori was not a match for Musashi. Also interesting is the copy of Musashi’s Heiho Sanjugokajo (35 articles of Strategy) which was owned and annotated by the Yagyu school. They clearly recognised Musashi’s potential as a rival.

Poster for Duel at Hannyazaka Heights

Second, a series of articles on the Nakamura Kinnosuke Miyamoto Musashi movies (the same story as the Toshiro Mifune series, which are generally better known in the west).

You can find the site here:

https://www.uchidatomu.com/the-miyamoto-musashi-series-miyamoto-musashi-parts-i-v-1961-1965/2/

 

Dedicated to the films of Uchida Tomo, this site includes substantial detail on his series of 5 Musashi movies, and a final 6th (with a different studio) that was not really part of the series. 

While I appreciate the depth of information and thought that has gone into this, I must say that I disagree with much of the commentary on the films. I acknowledge that David Baldwin (the site owner) writes as an experienced film critic (and connoisseur of Japanese films), but I feel he doesn’t really get the character of Musashi or fully appreciate the milieu in which the films are set. Perhaps, it is that he can’t suspend his disbelief and enter into a story where the major motivating factor is not love, money or revenge, but the desire for self-development. Rather than the sociopath Baldwin characterizes him as, Nakamura Kinnosuke’s Musashi is a man honing his character through his (martial) art. The episodes in the films are illustrations of various aspects of his learning process and illustrate (to a martial artist) some quite interesting points. This is particularly so in the second film in the series (Duel at Hannyazaka Heights) which Baldwin characterizes as the least interesting.

The climactic scene from Duel at Hannyazaka Heights

To take one example where we differ in opinion, Baldwin complains that Musashi treats Jotaro roughly, pushing him to the ground, and this is an example of his lack of compassion. The scene takes place as Musashi is leaving Nara and has just sighted a group of ne’er do well ronin who have been a source of trouble in the city (and are clearly about to ambush him), as well as a contingent of spear wielding monks from the Hozo-in temple who are seemingly out for revenge. Jotaro starts bawling, begging Musashi to escape. Musashi replies, saying firmly, ‘Samurai are precisely those who don’t run away’, (remember that Jotaro is tagging along with Musashi because he wants to be taught swordsmanship by him). Jotaro continues bawling and Musashi comforts him. Jotaro continues insisting that Musashi escape, Musashi, aware of the fact that he will be fighting for his life in a few moments says, in effect, ‘Ok, get out of here, then’, pushing him away before turning his back and marching to his potential death. Hmm… cruelty? You be the judge.

You can see the scene (or most of it) at about 5:18 in this trailer for the films.

https://natalie.mu/eiga/gallery/news/472699/media/75490

In fact, dealing with fear, (and, indeed, the desire to deal with it as well as other weaknesses) is a fundamental part of the swordsman’s mindset. There is much in Musashi’s approach that reflects the kinds of attitudes that have been promulgated in traditional martial arts for hundreds of years, and certainly, that was the case in my own studies. I came upon a relevant quotation from a Hozo-in densho that includes the line: “the correct attitude (of a student of this school) is always maintaining a high level of dignity”. Kinnosuke does this very successfully.

Still, it’s a good site if you are interested in knowing more about these films (and Uchida Tomo’s work in general) – I first saw them at a festival of samurai movies at the Barbican Centre in London more than 35 years ago – I must admit, I was so bored watching the first one that I almost didn’t come back for the others. I’m glad I did! 

Sound principles - sound and awareness in swordsmanship

Ichikawa Raizo playing the blind swordsman in the film
Daibosatsu Toge: Ryu no Maki. His character (who was
blinded at the end of the first film in the series) was famous
for his otonashi no kamae (lit. noiseless kamae)

The days shorten, the leaves turn red, the scent of kinmokusei fills the air and in the evening the crickets chirp mournfully. As the autumn kicks in, it is not only the sights, but the scents and sounds that make up our experience of the season. The same is true of my training in traditional martial arts.

Anyone who has spent time training in a traditional dojo, especially in Japan, will have been struck by the sound of bare feet on wooden boards, the resounding thud as a body hits the mats, or the clash of wooden weapons, part and parcel of the environment in which the training takes place and the equipment used. There are other sounds that have more specific and deeper resonances and uses, in training.

Unsurprisingly, much of the training in traditional martial arts involves training the body – not just making it stronger or more flexible, but learning to use it differently. Indeed, training is largely a process of embodying skills to the extent that the body takes on a new identity as it moves. To do this needs powers of observation and sensitivity to a whole variety of physical and mental processes, some of which may not have been noticed previously or were not thought to be important. Becoming aware of and then using these is not an easy task - they are open to misinterpretation and difficult to nail down. Developing them so that they may support functional skills requires sensory input on multiple levels.

Katsu Shintaro as Zatoichi, the most famous blind swordsman

The role of sight and touch goes without saying, but sensitivity to the quality of certain sounds can also play a role. Below are just two examples from my experience of learning to use a sword.

The sword puts particular demands on the trainee – you cannot always look to see where your sword is, and even when it is within your field of vision, it may be moving too fast to be able to adjust its movement based on visual feedback. This is especially true of a live blade, when mistakes can have immediate and dramatic consequences. Dave Lowry makes a comment in his book Autumn Lightning about his worried demeanor as a teenager – it wasn’t girlfriend troubles but worrying about how many stitches it might take to sew him up if he made a mistake sheathing his sword that occupied his mind.

An awareness of your blade is vital when wielding a sword. This includes not only the path it takes, but the angle of the blade, too. This may be obvious, but it is sometimes more easily said than done. You can’t look to see where it is or gauge its angle, and so you become more alert to other clues. Sound is part of this.

 

A bamboo thicket - a familiar location for those tasked 
with keeping a dojo in bamboo for cutting practice

One of the acid tests of sword use, for those schools that practise it, is cutting. It is not the kind of practice which you can perform slowly to make sure you get it right. The pull of the left hand must be fast, the cut must be fast, too. It is not something you can do repeatedly, either – at least not if there are a number of other people hoping to cut and the supply of cutting material – always green bamboo in my own experience –  is limited. The cut is a confirmation of your practice, or a chance to correct your technique more-or-less on the fly. Either watching others cut, or cutting yourself, the blade can move too quickly to allow accurate visual judgement. You cannot watch yourself, or even check the position of the sword for much of the technique.

The sound of the cut, of the sword going through the green bamboo (or the horrible crash of the uncut piece of bamboo hitting the floor) can give important feedback on the quality of the cut. As a rule of thumb, the quieter the cut, the better it is. A wetter sound often indicates a better cut than a dry ‘crack’. The type and quality of a sword blade can affect the sound, too – a thicker blade will sound different from a thinner blade. And some swords are just exceptionally good at cutting – they are exceptionally sharp, well-balanced and responsive to good technique. Sufficient experience, especially in a dojo with a strong cutting practice, allows students to develop a fine appreciation of the sound as they develop and refine cutting technique.

Nakadai Tatsuya (r.) playing the same character as Raizo 
in another version of Daibosatsu Toge (The Sword
of Doom). Here we see him practicing his otonashi no kamae.

Leaving cutting aside, many other aspects of sword use can be difficult enough. In drawing the sword, for example, the line the sword takes as it leaves the saya, or sheath, is vitally important. This is not something the trainee can check visually – much of the movement is taking place outside their field of vision, so it is important to develop this through ‘feel’. The sound made by the sword through this part of the movement becomes part of the experience of the movement, and is also a useful means of gauging if this aspect of the draw is correct.

A common mistake in what is one of the most fundamental draw and cut movements, yoko ichimonji, (which involves drawing the sword, then cutting horizontally from left to right), is to begin moving the sword to the right before it has fully cleared the saya. Even if this movement is slight, it will cause the sword to scrape along the inside of the saya. Concentrating on completing the draw as correctly as possible, the trainee may not feel this contact – it may also be all but impossible to see by those watching –but the sound it makes is a giveaway. In fact, the sword should leave the saya with just a whisper – the mune or ridge of the sword runs along the corresponding surface of the saya, almost soundlessly. If the sword does not run straight, that characteristic sound will not be heard.

Raizo again, this time from one of the Nemuri Kyoshiro series. This series
also highlighted the swordsman's unusual (but plausible) technique.

Watching other students, one by one, drawing their swords, what might escape the eye will not escape the ear. When it is your turn, you are well aware that the eyes and ears of the dojo are upon you – mistakes will not go unnoticed. As a student, your ear becomes attuned to the quality of sound of the draw, and this becomes a useful yardstick for judging your own technique.

The descriptions above may sound a bit mechanical, but the experience is far from that. Sound is just one of the sensations that form the technique. There is so much going on, even in simple movements, that the conscious mind is frequently overloaded. Indeed, you cannot think your way through the movements. Much of the awareness and control occurs behind the scenes. As training continues, the student becomes more familiar with the mental and physical processes the techniques depend on, as well as enlarging the range of sensory perception and increasing sensitivity to a range of stimuli as a step on the road to control and mastery of him/herself, the art and the enemy.

As alluded to at the beginning of this post, the everyday sounds of a traditional dojo also make up a part of the experience of training, and can remain deep in the memory long after they are no longer a part of everyday life. I have only to think of the Kyoto Butokuden to hear the sound of the taiko drum in my mind, even though it is more than a decade since I was last there. 

The drum at the Kyoto Butokuden (now Budo Centre).

On a similar note, but a rather more grisly one, I remember, but one of the senior members of the dojo was talking about how his grandmother used to tell him off, as a boy, for dropping his wet washcloth on the bathroom floor. She told him the sound was just like that of the heads she had heard fall under the executioner’s sword when she was a girl! When all’s said and done, it is sometimes good to remember what swords were all about. 

Sound was just one part of the highly developed awareness
of a master swordsman - here we have Raizo again.

 

Senki — the spirit of battle

Senki by Miyamoto Musashi, Shimada Bijutsukan

Calligraphy held an important place in the arts in both China and Japan. Indeed, it was probably regarded as the primary visual art, certainly more important than painting. It gained by the importance of the message it transmitted, but didn't suffer from the taint of craftsmanship. Practised by emperors, nobles, priests, statesmen and generals, as well as literati of various stripes, it also benefitted by being an art with an immediate practical application, and one that allowed expression, both of skill and sensibility, without necessarily possessing artistic talent.

As Japan adopted the Chinese writing system, it is no surprise that Chinese calligraphers were regarded as the chief exemplars of the art. These calligraphers are still revered today and fine examples of their art can be seen in various collections in Japan. (A minor spat ensued earlier this year when Taiwan loaned a famous work by Yan Zhenqing (J.Ganshinkei) to the Tokyo National Museum despite pointedly refusing to allow it to travel to the mainland. See here for more details).

Like many things adopted from China, Japan added its own twists, one of these being the fashion for displaying short pieces of calligraphy — often only a few characters — a fashion commonly associated with Zen.

One of the characteristics that is often identified with the practice of calligraphy is the development of the student's character. As an art which is dependent on copying models as the primary mode of practice, it has been said that this helps the student imbibe some of the character of the model.

In a similar vein, there has long been a fashion for reading the artist's character through the shape and flow of the characters her or she produces. Modern scholarship places more emphasis on the uses calligraphy was put to in the roles and institutions for which it was written rather than this impressionistic approach, but nevertheless, when faced by the power of a piece of art, there is something to be said for such impressions. Subjective though it may be, the individual response to a work of art is at the heart of art appreciation. I have been taken aback on several occasions when coming upon a powerful work unexpectedly, particularly, I might add, in the case of Yamaoka Tesshu — he was so prolific that his works do, indeed, turn up where you are not expecting them.

Not so Miyamoto Musashi – or not often, anyway.

The piece above — Senki — is one of his more famous pieces. This pairing of the two main characters, tatakau (fight, battle) and ki (energy, spirit) seems to be unique to Musashi. The line below it is from a Chinese poem  by Bai Juyi (Po Chü-i; J. Hakukyoi), taken from the Wakan Roueishu (A Collection of Japanese and Chinese Poems for Singing), and elucidates the main two characters.

The chill current holds the moon as clearly as a mirror.

The chill current (the slow, inexorable flow of a broad river) is generally taken to represent Musashi's mindset: cold, unstoppable, and ever moving, yet which reads perfectly everything the opponent thinks or does.

There is a rather long (for this kind of thing) analysis (in English) of this work in terms of character on the website of the Japanese martial arts magazine Hiden. It is written by a calligrapher and aikido practitioner, William Reed. Although I feel it rather overanalyses, you might find it an interesting read. The following is one of the more interesting observations:

Thick strokes mix freely with thin strokes, and internal spaces are well preserved, which further reinforces the impression of a sword master who could remain calm and effective at the edge of life and death. Musashi knew how to be close enough to safely penetrate the opponent’s space and deliver a fatal strike.

In any case, the work itself deserves a close study, however you may interpret it. An interesting perspective on Zen calligraphy is that interpretation of calligraphy does not tell you about the character of the artist, as much as that of the observer. This, too, may be true, but for myself, I find the more I look, the more I see.

Living Confucianism – a daimyo's iaijutsu

The actor Amachi Shigeru receiving instruction in
Muso Jikiden Eishin Ryu Yamauchi-ha

Virtually any field of human endeavour and achievement is influenced by more than just the need for practicality. It is this aspect, the human and cultural dimension that, as much as anything else, has shaped and distinguished the different styles of classical martial arts. The wants and needs of societies as well as individuals leave their marks on each style, and these may be quite different how we imagine them.

It is axiomatic in the world of Japanese martial arts that ‘if the kokoro (mind) is not correct, the sword will not be correct’. While kokoro (and mind, for that matter) is a term that is open to many interpetations, let us take it , in this case, as being ‘attitude’ or ‘way of thinking’. This, of course, begs the question, What is the correct attitude?

The answer may not be as simple as it seems, and the dimensions that it touches may be the reason that, on and off, so much of the discourse on martial arts has been flavoured with large helpings of philosophy, mysticism and spirituality. While in some ryu-ha this tends towards the religious (especially in those schools which maintain a close connection with particular shrines and/or deities); in others, it is more philosphically or morally inclined. This connection seems to date from early in the development in swordsmanship, although given the prominence of religion in medieval societies, this is not surprising.

In modern budo, the aspect of moral/spiritual training has continued, with disciplines such as kendo and kyudo stating their aim as being a honing of the human spirit by using martially flavoured practice as a tool. (It must be admitted that this may not be readily apparent to the casual observer).

It is rare, however, to see these influences addressed explicitly and lucidly by advanced practitioners of a pre-modern style in any more than a cursory way, in English, at least, which is why it can be so interesting when they do appear.

  

One such work is ‘Muso-Jikiden Eishin Ryu. The Iai Forms and Oral Traditions of the Yamauchi Branch’ by Yamakoshi Masaki, Tsukimoto Kazutake and translated by Steven Trenson. Although I have no connection with this style, I found it shed some valuable light on the aims and functions of this ryu-ha, recognizing its place in a society that had moved on from the age of war but still found value in the old practices.

Muso-Jikiden Eishin Ryu – what’s it all about?

What is interesting about this ryu-ha is that it was an elite practice, used by members of the Yamauchi Family (the daimyo of Tosa, in Shikoku – also famous as the birthplace of Sakamoto Ryoma, who did not practice this style) and higher ranking members of the administration. It was deeply Neo-Confucian in nature, and represented this philosophy in its theory of practice. Interestingly, it was well aware of the need for the discipline to provide more than skill at arms, especially for members of  a class whose duties were largely bureaucratic rather than military. If anything, it appeared to look down on such a simplistic view of sworsmanship. Indeed, compared with the ‘way’ of governing, or of service to one’s lord, the ‘way’ of swordsmanship, and of any craft or skill, was generally regarded as being of lesser value. The ability to govern a domain or command an army were of far more importance than the ability to wield a sword. However, they were not entirely unconnected.

The bushi of the Edo period were the heads of society, and they took their role seriously. For them, the idea of a virtuous government and leading by example were important: learning necessarily included the cultivation of moral virtue. Iaijutsu embodied this attitude, and it also provided a pedagogic framework.

While for normal folk, moral virtue meant following rules – rules that supposedly embodied the Principle of the Universe (or the Dao), for the higher ranks there was more to it. The practice of iaijutsu ‘provided the attitude and method of how to cultivate, by themselves, the necessary virtues to fulfil their duties.’ Following the Neo-Confucian teaching of kakubutsu-chichi, which can be rather ponderously translated as the expansion of knowledge of the inherent principles of phenomena attaining to the principle of the universe. In other words, in order to understand this principle, you have to know as much as you can about, well, just about everything. In terms of iaijutsu, this meant not only questioning the principles inherent in the forms, but also reflection on the purposes of practice itself.

Beyond this, was the method of contemplation, which was, indeed, the primary method of cultivation in iaijutsu. Shuitsu-muteki, not wandering off, referred to an awareness involving all the senses and faculties rather than a single-minded attention, in the same way that you would notice who had come into a room while you were watching television. The purpose of this was to gradually calm the mind and allow one’s true, which is to say good, benevolent, nature to come to the fore.

Kashima Shinto Ryu iai

Certain practices, (such as tameshigiri) are not included in the school because they work against this process. By promoting a sense of satisfaction in one’s cutting performance, one is increasing the passions that surround your true nature, thus making it that much more difficult to allow it to surface. The nature of test cutting itself was also though to be deleterious to character building, and could lead to a cold, cruel character. Indeed, a danger was seen in the development of technical skills if they were not accompanied by a corresponding moral and intellectual growth.

Of course, the devil is in the details, but even from this cursory view, this gives us some insight into how the martial arts might have been viewed by their practitioners during the Edo period – perhaps in a very different way from how we imagine tham to have been.  The authors note that the aim of iaijutsu was to help a practitioner understand the meaning of his or her own life and not to retreat from responsibilities, thus embodying the dictum ‘First know, then act.’

Ryoma – in the news again

Sakamoto Ryoma seems to exert an endless fascination on the Japanese public, and I have to admit that he seems one of the more likable characters of the Bakumatsu period. Recently a discovery was made which adds a little more historical evidence to his story – a mokuroku from the Hokushin Itto ryu which  attests to his skill in naginata. It does not seem to be a particularly high level qualification, but that does not, in itself, mean very much – other records could easily have been lost following his death. Before leaving Tosa for Edo, he studied the Oguri ryu under Hineno Benji, and documentation for this is held by the Kyoto National Museum.

Sakamoto swordsmanship scroll declared authentic

 NOV 9, 2015 

KYOTO – A swordsmanship scroll issued to legendary samurai Sakamoto Ryoma has been declared authentic by an expert at the Kyoto National Museum, confirming he was indeed a master swordsman.

Despite Sakamoto’s deadly reputation, his true prowess with the sword had often been debated by experts.

Born in 1836 (1835 on the Julian calendar) in what is known today as Kochi Prefecture, Sakamoto played a prominent role in modernizing the national government in the turbulent 1860s. He is often portrayed in novels and TV dramas and is considered a national hero.

The scroll, measuring roughly 18 cm wide and 2.7 meters long, recognizes the mastery of “the art of war using a long-handled sword in the Hokushin Itto-ryu style” and is dated the first month of Ansei 5, which may mean January 1858. It states that it was issued to Sakamoto by his master, Chiba Sadakichi.

Teiichi Miyakawa, head of the registration and image archives department at Kyoto National Museum and an expert in Sakamoto lore, confirmed the scroll’s authenticity, noting the presence of a Big Dipper, the school’s symbol, and its striking similarity to other images of the constellation on other scrolls issued by the school, then based in Edo, the old name for Tokyo.

“It is a document representing Sakamoto’s swordsmanship studies in Edo and proves the high skills of Sakamoto, who was known as a great swordsman,” Miyakawa said at a news conference Saturday at the Kyoto National Museum.

The roll, owned by the Actland history theme park in Konan, Kochi Prefecture, describes 21 types of swordfighting techniques and has a list of names that includes Chiba Shusaku, founder of Hokushin Itto-ryu, and Chiba Jutaro, a son of master Sadakichi.

Also on the list is Chiba Sana, a daughter of Sadakichi who was rumored to have been in love with Sakamoto during his stint at the Hokushin Itto-ryu dojo.

Actland Director Akio Kitamura said the scroll will be put on display at the museum starting Friday.

Japan Times

The Big Dipper (Hokuto Shichisei) was an emblem of the school. The Hokushin or North Star, from which the school's name derived, was the emblem of the Chiba Clan, and represented the Myoken Bosatsu, who is associated with both the Big Dipper and the North Star.

Chiba Sano

As mentioned in the article, Ryoma was enrolled at the dojo of Chiba Sadakichi, the brother of Chiba Shusaku (who founded the style) and father of Jutaro, with whom Ryoma was apparently good friends, and Sano, to whom Ryoma was engaged (in a matrimonial sense). Although he later married Oryu, who saved his life in Kyoto, alerting him to the attack on the Teradaya and so allowing him enough time to prepare to repel the attackers and escape(for a first hand account, see here).










Ryoma was pragmatic when it came to his sword skills (and much else, it seems). He favored a short sword as being easier to wield in the close fighting that was common in those days, he also carried a Smith and Wesson revolver. This sword, made by Mutsu no kami Yoshiyuki, will shortly be on display at Kyoto National Museum as part of an exhibition of swords. As you can see from the picture below, it has very little curve, as was common in the swords of that period.

Ryoma's Yoshiyuki

He also owned several other swords, including a short sword which is currently on display (for the first time in 86 years) in the Ryoma Museum in Kochi.

Ryoma to be shown for first time in 86 years

October 18, 2015

By NAOMI NISHIMURA/ Staff Writer

KOCHI--Long out of the public eye, a “wakizashi” (short Japanese sword) that belonged to renowned mid-19th century samurai Sakamoto Ryoma will be displayed here for the first time since being shown in Tokyo in 1929.

The sword, whose blade is 52.3 centimeters long, will be featured at the Sakamoto Ryoma Memorial Museum here from Nov. 1 to Jan. 3 as part of an exhibition now under way.

Ryoma (1835-1867) played a key role in the transfer of power from the Tokugawa Shogunate to the Meiji government in the closing years of the Edo Period (1603-1867). The wakizashi was said to be a favorite of the fabled samurai.

After Ryoma's assassination in Kyoto in 1867, the sword was passed down to the Sakamoto family’s seventh head, Yataro. Yataro's third son, who is currently living in Hokkaido, has kept possession of it over the years. However, among the public, its whereabouts was unknown for many years though its existence was known through photos and other means.

In June this year, a member of the Sakamoto family living in Kochi donated a collection of materials to the Sakamoto Ryoma Memorial Museum. In the materials, Yukie Maeda, 57, a senior curator, discovered the list of exhibits Yataro wrote to present the 1929 exhibition. Part of the program read, “This sword is one that Ryoma particularly loved.”

The sword was also shown at an exhibition in Kyoto in 1916. The program for the exhibition read, “This sword was carried by an infant.”

“The process in which this sword reached Ryoma is unknown. But there is a possibility that he always had the sword with him since his childhood,” Maeda said.

The sword contains the kanji characters of “Katsumitsu,” “Munemitsu” and “Eishoninen Hachigatsu Kichijitsu” in its “nakago” portion, which is the inside of the hilt. Katsumitsu and Munemitsu are names of talented sword craftsmen of Bizenosafune (current Okayama Prefecture), a major production area of Japanese swords in medieval Japan. Eishoninen Hachigatsu Kichijitsu implies “a lucky day in August 1505.”

The ongoing exhibition, which includes about 80 items, is titled, “Ryoma no Yoki Rikaisha ‘Sakamotoke-Kazoku no Kizuna’ ” (Bond of Sakamoto family that understands Ryoma well).

http://ajw.asahi.com/article/behind_news/social_affairs/AJ201510180031