THE GLADIOLOGICAL

by Gabriele Culot

The act of collecting swords has a long and distinguished history spanning different eras and cultures. As a consequence, the reasons and purposes that move collectors, the criteria they value, and their approaches to maintenance, display, and description also vary dramatically across space and time. 

Over the course of centuries sword collections emerged from a diverse milieu of substrates: the remains of municipal armouries and national arsenals, the aesthetic whims of aristocrats with more wealth than they could dispose of, and the taxonomical mindset boosted by the Enlightenment, are just some of the paths through which notable sword collections developed and grew.

Ancestral heirlooms, status symbols, ceremonial paraphernalia, celebration of victory, and even currency, are all further functions of the sword that pushed people all over the world to place value in these sharp and pointy objects. 

And where value is perceived, collections are rife.

However, the path of value is a two-way road, and just as collectors shape their treasures according to their preferences and experience, each sword brings new experiences and insights, influencing the collector in a “Heideggerian¹” (of sorts) cycle of expanding growth and development. 

Not to participate in this process means to risk stumbling into the pitfalls of the Victorian view on weapons, too busy looking for “objective” hierarchies, temporal dependencies, and cause-consequence relations, often resulting in fantastic and unrealistic conclusions, and blind to alternative perspectives. It also leaves the modern collector open to bias and deprived of tools to address it, a fatal risk in today’s world.

To be clear, there is nothing wrong in charting the quality of different steels, or plotting out the cutting coefficient of a certain blade curvature or angle. In fact, doing so provides crucial data that can help us better understand swords, their purpose, and their use. 

The risk, in focusing exclusively on metrics, though, is that we may be tempted to ask, or worse, declare, what the best sword is with an expectation of objectivity, or to dismiss the use of bloomery iron as absolutely inferior to crucible steel, or even to gloss over the importance of the swords of the Topoke people just to give one example, because they are “just currency” rather than “real” weapons.

Beyond the obvious danger of trivializing cultural values that are not our own and distorting perspectives that do not match ours, we may find ourselves knitting interpretative blindfolds that may be too thick and intricate to dismantle once we are made aware of them, if ever.

So how can the modern, and mindful, collector ensure that this virtuous cycle of growth is triggered, enabling a passion for swords to grow from a niche hobby to a tool for a better understanding of the world around us?

I believe the answer is simple, and by no means original, yet often overlooked. It involves approaching swords as objects to be interpreted rather than just studied. Once measurements are taken, and data computed, what the sword still has to say can only be accessed through interpretation rather than empirical observation.

Interpretation of swords seems, to me, to happen on three levels: history, culture, and art (and the interconnections between them).

Swords as objects of history

In the context of sword collecting, this first interpretative layer may seem obvious, but it’s still worth mentioning. On this plane, the sword communicates information about its historical context, from the broad strokes of the political and social events occurring during its time of use, to the minute details of the sword’s history itself, such as the location of its excavation, or the marks that identify its regimental history. 

Sediment, patina, maker’s marks, battle scars, model, blade type, etc… These are all elements that can help inform our understanding of the sword as a historical object. 

One modest example of a sword that I view primarily through the historical lens is a Dutch M.1813 n.1 Light cavalry sabre, essentially a clone of the British 1796 LC and Blücher sabres, which I acquired a few years ago. 

While the artistic value of its innovative design can be discussed, and hints of a cultural heritage value could be distilled from the iconic role similar swords had throughout many armies opposed to Napoleon, I believe the main value of this sword is historical. 

The sword was part of the famous Rijksmuseum Amsterdam depot auction in 2020, so, in addition to the markings and features that would be expected, it comes with a direct provenance from the Dutch army depots, through the Leger Museum (now Nationaal Militair Museum), to the Rijksmuseum, and eventually to me. 

This context opens new doors to the potential researcher interested not only in the Dutch involvement during the Napoleonic wars, but also in the process of adoption and obsolescence of sword patterns in the 19th-century Dutch army, the location of historical army surplus depots, the logistical challenges of managing an ever-inflating depot of old weapons which eventually turn into antiques, the process of donating them to museums, the transfer policies between museums, and so on, up to the deaccessioning policies of the Rijksmuseum which made these swords accessible to private collectors. 

Swords as objects of cultural heritage

At the same time, swords are the output of a culture beyond its existence on the timeline of history. On this interpretative plane, a sword tells us about the values, fears, and beliefs of the people that used it, the rituals and traditions that may have shaped its forging, and its relations to social structures past, and present. In fact, unlike the previous interpretative layer, swords as objects of cultural heritage can be deeply embedded in current culture, no matter how old the individual sword may be.

Consider, for example, the iconic role of the Japanese Nihontō even far beyond the narrow constraints of hoplological academia. A design that will be recognized by most people all across the globe as a “Samurai” or “Ninja” sword. A sword that has an undeniable place in modern, globalized pop culture². 

Of course, the cultural heritage value of a sword is not limited to Kill Bill or One Piece references, but it digs deep into the roots from which cultures, habits, and behaviors were born.

It is through this interpretative layer that the subtle variations in the Pamor or the fittings of a keris, such as the one pictured below, part of the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam collection, can open the door to discovering the world as it was experienced on Sumatra or Borneo in the 18th century, and help draw a direct line from the blacksmith that forged that blade to the people that live there today. 

Swords as objects of art

Finally, a sword can communicate aesthetic value that transcends the sword’s role in society or its function throughout history. This third interpretative layer is more personal and emotional but in no way less important to truly decoding the full range of what a sword has to say. 

The creativity and skill of countless craftsmen³ and artists are forever embedded into the richly decorated hilts, blades, and fittings of countless swords. Colors, materials, textures, and patterns all interact to generate objects that can stand alone as proper works of art. 

Take the ivory Udamalore at the MET, for example. This ceremonial sword of the Yoruba people certainly can tell a lot about history and the culture that produced it, but it is also a stunning example of artistry and beauty, even when taken outside of its richer context. 

And, just like all art, swords of any kind can have aesthetic value. From the jewel-encrusted hilts made to fit royal hands to the crudely engraved blade of the humble infantryman, they all speak of the human need for expression.

A need whose product collectors are lucky enough to be in a privileged position to enjoy. 

An interpretative framework in practice

These three interpretative layers all coexist in every sword, in proportions that vary and are not necessarily fixed. The same sword may be read primarily through any of the three lenses, depending on the observer and the reason for observation. 

In fact, each of the swords mentioned and pictured above could fit in any section of this article. Their current position is simply a function of how I am viewing them at this moment in time.

And the importance of understanding the interactions between these layers is crucial to fully understanding the object, as subjective as this understanding may be. Without it, we may be fooled into looking at the many Indonesian pedang blades mounted to European hilts, or the V.O.C. blades fitted to local mounts, as useless composites, rather than as the product of complex relations involving history, culture, and art, and the keepers of stories, memories, and emotions.

But let’s talk about one last sword to show how fluid the shift between interpretative layers can be. And what better sword to illustrate this than a legendary one who seems to have disappeared in the mists of time?

I’m referring to the Honjō Masamune, a Japanese National Treasure that was lost after WW2.

• From a historical perspective, this sword is important for several reasons. 

It’s very antique, dating to between the XIII and XIV centuries, therefore its shape, metallurgy, polishing style, etc. could provide a lot of information about sword making in a specific time and region.

Moreover, it was a symbol of the Tokugawa shogunate, passed down through generations of shōguns. It could therefore be an important tool in understanding the Japanese political structure and landscape through times of war and peace.

Finally, it is directly related to specific historical figures and events of the past, like the legendary blacksmith Masamune, who forged it, or the samurai Honjō Shigenaga, after whom the sword was named.

• From a cultural heritage perspective, this sword is also extremely valuable. 

As already mentioned, it was listed as a Japanese National Treasure in 1939. Far from merely being a classification of value, a National Treasure is the definition of the most precious Tangible Cultural Properties of the country.

Beyond its modern classification, the Honjō Masamune provided a direct connection to the political leadership of Japan over the course of several centuries. A leadership that helped shape Japanese culture into what it is today.

Moreover, the circumstances of its disappearance, in the context of the surrender of sharp blades to the police in accordance with the policies of the U.S. Foreign Liquidation Commission also offers opportunities to reflect on themes related to the spoliation of cultural heritage in the context of war, and the boundaries we may set when defining cultural heritage looting, as opposed to legitimate demilitarization policies, and what cultural consequences these actions can have. 

Of course, it should be noted that the huge influx of Japanese swords to the U.S. in the post-war years can be considered a direct cause of the modern global popularity of Japanese swords, which is another interesting matter to ponder. 

• Also from an artistic perspective, this sword does not disappoint. 

Details of Japanese sword manufacturing have evolved into proper artistic evaluation criteria that can tell a lot about the period of production, the regional style, the blacksmith school, and even the actual hand that forged the blade. Just as we can recognize Rembrand’s free brush strokes, Caravaggio’s mastery of light, or place an impressionistic landscape in its artistic context, so can the wave patterns of a Hamon, the quality of a blade’s Jihada, and the signature of a master, become tools for artistic critique and appreciation. 

The Honjō Masamune was forged by one of the most notable blacksmiths in Japanese history, Gorō Nyūdō Masamune, and in this sense, could be equated to an artistic masterpiece by a Renaissance master making its loss all the more tragic. 

Finally, of course, but not less importantly, is the pure aesthetic appreciation of a polished piece of steel, elegantly shaped, and richly decorated. While the Honjō Masamune may not be available to us anymore, thankfully there are other Japanese masterpieces that are. 

The Honjō Masamune contains within it all three interpretative layers at the highest level, however, which ones will be prioritized at any given moment, depends on the individual and the context in which the sword is being discussed. 

I suggest that all swords communicate information on all three levels, though they may not always be as highly pedigreed.

Conclusion

Far from wanting to set limits, or gatekeep, the enjoyment of fellow sword enthusiasts, I hope this proposed framework can act as a catalyst for discussion around the broader themes of what sword collecting means to each of us, and how we can turn the time and considerable effort we spend studying and learning into valuable insights for those around us. 

I hope not to have ruffled the feathers of the more data-oriented scholars and collectors, that is not my intention. Their work and input are the backbone on which a modern understanding and appreciation of swords is being built. I simply believe there are more aspects to swords that are worth looking at, and hope to have illustrated this with some clarity.

I expect objections, integrations, additions, and subtractions to this suggested approach, in fact, I welcome them. They will be a signal that its intended purpose is working.

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1. In his “The origin of the work of art”, of which a brief quote is added below, Heidegger focuses on a pair of peasant shoes depicted in a painting by Van Gogh. While the philosophical intricacies (and their critique at the hand of Meyer Shapiro) are far beyond the scope of this text, what should be noted is the process by which the work of art communicates something that goes beyond the mere qualities of the shoes. The painting speaks, and the observer may be able to engage in a dialogue, of sorts, with it. Similarly, the collector may be able to engage in a similar relation with the sword.
   The equipmental quality of equipment was discovered. But how? Not by a description and explanation of a pair of shoes actually present; not by a report about the process of making shoes; and also not by the observation of the actual use of shoes occurring here and there; but only by bringing ourselves before Van Gogh’s painting. This painting spoke. In the vicinity of the work we were suddenly somewhere else than we usually tend to be (G5, 20–21/35). 
   Heidegger Martin, as translated in: “Art Matters: A Critical Commentary on Heidegger’s ‘The Origin of the Work of Art’, by Karsten Harries.” Journal of the British Society for Phenomenology, 42(3), p.88) ↩︎
2. Puchalska, J. (2017). The journey of the Japanese sword. https://ruj.uj.edu.pl/entities/publication/edd9acd7-58c9-413e-967d-113275dc5815 ↩︎
3. Capwell, T. (2011). The sword as a work of art: Four medieval swords in the Wallace Collection. Medieval Warfare, 1(1), 24–26. https://www.jstor.org/stable/48579322 ↩︎

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