A MURAMASA BLADE.
INTRODUCTION.
One day in my wanderings in that quarter of the city of Tokio given up to the habitation of the poorer classes of the community, I stopped to rest for a moment at the lowly hut of an old jinrikisha man whom I had had frequent occasion to employ theretofore. Finding the old man and his wife at home, I sat down on the porch, and after a while succeeded in drawing the couple into something like conversation.
The hut which they occupied was poor enough. It stood on the edge of a small sweet-potato field, and contained only two rooms, the floor of each one covered by two mats of the usual size, and therefore exactly six feet square. The extreme cleanliness of the place—although this quality in general is common in Japan—struck me at once, in spite, or partly on account, of the extreme poverty, which was equally evident. The sliding paper-covered doors, which also served as windows, had been taken out, and I could look through the house, which contained nothing in the way of furniture, not even a pine cloth-chest such as is seldom lacking in the poorest habitations,—nothing, in fact, except a few patched cotton quilts which served for beds, bedding, and covering, rolled up in a corner. The thick straw mats, although their outside covering was in part worn off by use, showed not a speck of dirt or dust, and the bare upright timbers were perfectly white from frequent washing and scrubbing.
Noticing on one side of the room an old sword hanging on two wooden pegs, I asked to be allowed to look at it, and it was rather hesitatingly, as I thought, handed to me. In former years only the samurai, or men of gentle blood, were allowed to wear two swords, and always did so. They esteemed this as their most prized prerogative, and guarded the privilege with extreme jealousy as long as they enjoyed it, which was until the Government prohibited the practice a few years ago. The mere possession of a sword is now free to everybody, and many tens of thousands of these weapons at present serve for fish and kitchen knives, or for other common purposes.
Drawing this one from its wooden scabbard, I found it bright and shining; and being an amateur collector, I could see that it was no ordinary blade.
“Who is the maker?” I asked, almost mechanically, as I usually did when my Japanese friends favored me with a sight of their old family swords.
The answer came very slowly, and not until an inquiring glance showed that I was surprised at not getting it sooner: “It is a Muramasa blade, your honor.”