WRITING TABLE.
Among those who contributed to Sennoske’s training was one whose name was then already famous in Japan,—Muramasa, the sword-smith. An immense gulf divided, at that time, the samurai from the merchant, the farmer, the artisan, and, in fact, from all other classes. To this rule the sword-smith formed the only exception. He Who could forge a sword fairly well stood far higher in social rank than the artisan of equal skill in any other profession; and a master of the art, however low his extraction, was considered and treated as an equal by the two-sworded gentry. Muramasa then stood at the head of his profession, without a rival in the country. His superiority was acknowledged by his brother artisans as well as by the nobility; and many of the latter—men of great means too—would willingly have beggared themselves to obtain a sword of his making. To have a man like this living in his dominions was considered a great honor, and was, moreover, a source of real power and influence, of which the Duke was fully aware; and he had made to the smith the most extravagant offers of money, titles, and other honorary considerations to induce him duly to inscribe himself on the roll of his feudal retainers, but without success. Threats or coercion would have been worse than useless with a man whom the Shôgun himself would only too gladly have welcomed to his capital (Kamakura), and would have honored there as highly as the Duke did in his province. Any wilful injury done him would have been resented as a national loss by every samurai in the country; so Ono ga Sawa had fain to be satisfied with the sword-smith’s independent way of living, taking care, however, to use every opportunity to prove to him, by valuable gifts and otherwise, the honor and esteem in which he was held.
And there was good reason for all this regard and high consideration; for those famous “Muramasas,” as the blades were called after their maker, were things of beauty, of joy, of pride, and of power to their lucky possessors. The smith himself was an expert at using as well as making his weapon, and the proofs he had sometimes semi-publicly given of its excellence were marvellous, and wellnigh bordered on the incredible. He would cut a hair let fall in the air; he would hold his sword still in the water, with its sharp edge facing the current, and there it would of itself out a piece of paper floating toward it; then again, to show its strength, he would cut through a copper bar an inch in thickness without producing the slightest mark or indentation on the blade. Once, on a memorable occasion when discussion as to the relative merits of rival sword-smiths ran high, he asked that any three swords of the best makers be selected. This was done; and placing them side by side, he dealt with his own blade terrific blow square upon their upturned edges. It went entirely through one sword, which was the most strongly curved, passed through the steel edges of the others, and remained imbedded in the softer part which forms the back. Being with difficulty extracted, it was found that its own sharp edge had remained intact; and there was nothing but a slightly increased brightness in three different spots to show where it had been in contact.
Small wonder, then, that a true samurai should value such a weapon above every other earthly possession. Money alone could not buy one. It began to be known that only warriors of high standing, whose reputation for valor and fighting qualities was established, could succeed in having an order for a sword executed. If the applicant had a name for loving fighting for its own sake,—one who, when no opportunities for legitimate warfare presented themselves, would hunt up broils, quarrels, and duels,—it greatly enhanced his chances of a favorable reception from the sword-smith. The prices paid were always high enough; but far more liberal offers had often been refused because made by men—as the report went—whose reputation credited them with inclinations, if not of a pacific, yet of a less decidedly bellicose nature. One of Muramasa’s stipulations in former years had been that no sword bought of him should be sold during the lifetime of the purchaser. He dispensed with this condition now, because there was no further need for it; the lucky possessor of such a treasure would have sacrificed his last hakama, his mistress, his wife and child probably, sooner than part with it.
STREET SCENE IN KUWANA.
The smith’s residence was in the outskirts of the city, in what had formerly been called the village of Senjuin. It was a smoke-blackened, gloomy looking building of two stories close to the street, the lower part—the doors of which were constantly closed—being the forge. On both sides of the house and in the rear was a yard which was enclosed with a bamboo fence, the stakes being placed side by side and three deep,—thus effectually preventing any possibility of getting even a glimpse through them; while their ends were sharply pointed, threatening certain impalement to any who should attempt to scale them. Here Muramasa lived with his son,—who assisted him at his craft and was initiated into its secrets,—his daughter, and only one old woman-servant.
He was not a pleasant man to look at, this cunning forger, whose handiwork caused the great and the mighty to do him honor. His eyes—very large and very prominent, ready, it seemed, to start from their sockets—had a sinister look; to which the heavy, bushy eyebrows, heaviest and bushiest in the space between the eyes, where they met, doubtless contributed. A massive chin, under a small, rather thin-lipped mouth, showed great energy and determination, while the short stout neck, with veins like cords, the broad shoulders, and the brawny, sinewy arms, gave evidence of great physical strength. When speaking, two rows of large, regular, and beautifully white teeth partly redeemed the unattractiveness of the other features; but when angered or excited, the whole face presented an aspect of extreme hideousness and repulsiveness. At such times the mouth was firmly closed; the eyebrows moved and contracted until each individual hair seemed to stand on end; the eyes, already unnaturally large and protruding, dilated and rolled around in their sockets with a glitter like that of a snake; and a deep red, furrowed line showed itself on his forehead from the crown down to the eyebrows, making his head look as if it consisted of two halves badly pasted together.