We warmly welcome you to the ‘Time of the Samurai’ exhibition. The exhibition tells the story of Japanese warriors, from the emergence of this social group to its decline. Alongside tales of honour, loyalty and courage, we present stories full of intrigue, betrayal, and conspiracy. As well as the familiar aspects of combat, weapons and armour, we also present the lesser-known side of the samurai as men of culture. We will explore themes concerning their daily lives, religion, entertainment, and the arts. We will examine the various ‘ways’ (dō) that were integral to samurai life, such as bushidō (the way of the warrior), kyūdō (the way of the bow), chadō (the way of tea), shodō (the way of calligraphy) and kōdō (the way of incense). As the path unfolds before those who walk it, we invite you to explore the exhibition and follow the paths once taken by Japanese warriors.

The first part of the exhibition presents works by Utagawa Hiroshige, one of the most outstanding masters of the ukiyo-e (‘pictures of the floating world’) movement. He is also renowned for creating some of Japan’s most famous landscape paintings.

He was born in Edo as Andō Tokutarō into a low-ranking samurai family. His father, Andō Genemon, was a fire brigade official, and Hiroshige inherited his position as a fire warden, coordinating firefighting operations. Following the death of both parents, he had to provide for his three siblings. It was during this turbulent period that he began to discover his talent for painting. Around 1811, his growing passion for art led him to enter the Utagawa School, where its founder, Toyohiro, became his master. Toyohiro quickly recognised his student’s talent, granting him the artist name Hiroshige just a year later.

Initially, the artist’s work centred on traditional ukiyo-e subjects, particularly portraits of beautiful women (bijinga) and actors (yakusha-e). In the 1820s, Hiroshige began creating ukiyo-e series dedicated to landscapes. His career breakthrough came in the early 1830s with two seminal series. The first, published in 1831, was “Famous Views of the Eastern Capital”, followed by the far more popular “The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tōkaidō Road”. The latter was inspired by the artist’s own journey accompanying an official procession of horses delivered from Edo to the imperial court in Kyoto.

Hiroshige undertook numerous other journeys across Japan, publishing print series such as “Famous Places in Kyoto”, “Eight Views of Lake Biwa”, “The Sixty-Nine Stations of the Kisokaidō”, and “One Hundred Famous Views of Edo”. Over his lifetime, he produced hundreds of paintings, more than 4,770 ukiyo-e woodblock print designs, and illustrations for over 150 books – focusing primarily on landscapes, travel, and the daily lives of Edo’s inhabitants. His repertoire also included Chūshingura, the most famous samurai tale of loyalty and revenge.

Hiroshige died in Edo in 1858 during a cholera epidemic, leaving behind a legacy that permanently reshaped the history of landscape art. This section of the exhibition showcases woodblock prints that capture not only the beauty and starkness of the Japanese landscape, but also the mood, atmosphere, and rhythm of Edo-period Japan (1603–1868), interwoven with the stories of the samurai.

The Tōkaidō, also known as the “East Coast Road”, was the most important route during the Edo period. It linked the shogun’s seat in Edo (modern-day Tokyo) with the Emperor’s residence in Kyoto. This 515-kilometre route ran along the Pacific coast of the island of Honshu and featured fifty-three stations, known as shukuba, which offered travellers accommodation and meals. Samurai also travelled along this road as part of their sankin-kōtai duty. According to this principle of alternate attendance, feudal lords (daimyō) were required to spend as much time in Edo as on their domains. Consequently, they travelled in long processions, with lavish equipment carried by porters.

“The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tōkaidō Road” is Utagawa Hiroshige’s most famous series of landscape prints. It was inspired by his own travels along the famous road in 1832. Commissioned by the renowned Edo publisher Tsuruya Kiemono (Senkakudō) and Takenouchi Magohachi (Hōeidō), who was new to the industry, this edition was created around 1833–1834. Consisting of fifty-five sheets, it illustrates all the shukuba stations, as well as the starting station at Nihonbashi and the ending station in Kyoto. The series was so popular that the artist went on to create over twenty more thematic series on the Tōkaidō, totalling thousands of woodblock prints – a testament to the immense interest in this motif.

Nihonbashi, which literally means “Japanese Bridge”, was the starting point for all five major roads (the Gokaidō) that connected the shogunal capital (present-day Tokyo) with other regions of Japan during the Edo period. Distances to other locations in Japan were measured from this point. The bridge was located in the city’s main commercial district, which was home to a large fish market. In the foreground, fishermen carrying baskets can be seen making their way there, while on the bridge is the front of the procession of a daimyō (feudal lord), who is just beginning his journey back to his province.

The Rokugō River was home to one of the eight ferry crossings along the Tōkaidō road. The absence of a bridge here was due to its proximity to the capital of the Tokugawa shogunate – there was a fear that such a structure could be used by potential enemies to launch an invasion. Furthermore, numerous floods repeatedly destroyed the bridges over the River Rokugō in the 17th century. In response, the shogunate introduced a ferry service in 1688. It was not until the early 20th century that a permanent bridge was built.

In the foreground, a boat with passengers is being rowed across the river towards Kawasaki post station on the opposite bank. On the shore, people are waiting to travel in the opposite direction. In the background stands a booth where an official checks documents and collects tolls, while in the distance, the monumental Mount Fuji looms.

The narrow path visible in the woodblock print winds its way through the marshy terrain like a dike. At the beginning of the path are a boundary post and other information signs. The man running off to the right is an express postal courier, or hayabikyaku, identifiable by his characteristic hunched posture. These couriers carried urgent letters, military orders or government dispatches. In order to run as quickly as possible, they usually wore only a loincloth (fundoshi) and straw sandals (waraji). When they reached the next station, they handed the parcel to the next courier, enabling messages to be transmitted quickly. Thanks to this system, instead of the journey taking around two weeks, couriers covered the length of the Tōkaidō in just a few days. In the opposite direction, porters are carrying an empty kago palanquin, which they had previously used to transport travellers. In the background, Mount Kōmayama dominates the scene, while Mount Fuji hides timidly in its shadow.

Travellers clad in straw hats and capes traverse the seaside town of Ōiso, while others take shelter under umbrellas. The rain, depicted using thin, diagonal lines, holds a symbolic significance here – according to legend, these are the tears of Tora Gozen, a courtesan in love with Juro, one of the Soga brothers, who was killed after avenging his father’s death. Mourning her beloved, Tora was said to bring heavy rainfall to her hometown every year with her tears. In this landscape, Hiroshige has captured not only the weather but also a deeply rooted Japanese sensibility – the projection of human sadness onto the phenomena of nature.

Hakone was considered both the highest and the most dangerous section of the 500-kilometre Tōkaidō road. In the centre, there is a steep, almost vertical mountain. The road follows a narrow path to the next extremely strict checkpoint. Travellers were thoroughly searched there to prevent weapons from being smuggled into the capital and daimyō families from escaping.

The narrow yet numerous column of the daimyō’s procession is symbolically represented by an endless stream of hats. This section was famous for its steep slopes and mud, making it arduous to traverse – in winter in particular, conditions there were extreme. Such natural barriers were often exploited to control those travelling along the various roads.

Hiroshige depicts travellers during the first moments of an autumn morning, when everything around them is still shrouded in mist. In the central part, we see a sedan chair carried by porters and a traveller on horseback hiding his face under a round hat. To the right emerges a torii gate leading to the Mishima Taisha Shintō shrine, where Japan’s first shogun, Minamoto Yoritomo, once prayed for victory over the Taira clan – the artist’s masterful use of colour, evocatively rendering shadows and mist, evokes a melancholy mood.

The woodblock print illustrates the different ways in which people crossed the Abe River, depending on their social status and wealth. One woman is being carried in a palanquin – a type of enclosed sedan chair that only the most distinguished individuals could afford. Another sits on an open platform carried by porters. A third woman, meanwhile, is carried on a ferryman’s shoulders, just like the man with a sword tucked into his belt. Women found it exceptionally difficult to obtain permission to travel along the Tōkaidō without a male companion, as they were suspected of being the wives of daimyō attempting to escape from Edo to their provinces.

The next station on the Tōkaidō road is Mariko. Here, the artist has immortalised a teahouse serving a dish that became famous throughout Japan, which is advertised on a sign leaning against the building. The dish in question is tororojiru soup, made from grated yamaimo (mountain yam), broth and miso paste. Travellers believed that this thick soup, served with rice, would give them the strength and energy to tackle the subsequent sections of the route. It is this very dish that Matsuo Bashō celebrates in his haiku, comparing the enjoyment of its flavour to the delight of admiring sprouting plum leaves. Hiroshige has almost literally illustrated this poem – on either side of the teahouse, he has depicted trees preparing to blossom.

The teahouse in Mariko is still in business today, making it one of the oldest operating restaurants in Japan. The establishment’s speciality remains tororojiru, a dish that has been served by the same family for fourteen generations..

The woodblock print depicts figures on a bridge stretched over rice fields near the town of Kakegawa. A monk approaches from the left, to whom two elderly people bow deeply. However, the true heroes of this scene are the kites. The first, having broken free from a child’s hands, soars towards Mount Akiba, which is visible in the distance. The second, flown by someone outside the frame, almost extends beyond the top of the composition. The kites were made from washi paper and bamboo that had been dried in the sun for a long time to make it light and strong.

Mount Akiba – as the abode of the fire deity – was venerated for the protection it offered against fires. It was a popular destination for numerous pilgrims seeking protection from this destructive element.

A humorous scene depicts the struggle for customers in the town of Goyu. As this station was less than two kilometres from the next one, every effort was made to persuade travellers to stop here rather than at Akasaka, especially as dusk approached. Professional female workers known as tome-onna were responsible for soliciting customers.

We see two such women trying to forcefully drag travellers into their inn, tugging them in all directions and trying to wrest away their baggage. One customer, presumably acquired in a similar way, is already settled and – now calm – being served inside the inn.

The woodblock print shows a genre scene taking place inside one of the inns in Akasaka. In the inn’s courtyard, cycads visually divide the composition into two sections. On the left, a maid is shown serving a meal to a pipe-smoking man. On the right are meshimori onna – women who served as both waitresses and courtesans – who are likely applying makeup and adjusting their clothes as they prepare to meet one of the visiting customers. The artist seems to suggest that it is these women offering their company, rather than nature, that constitute the “main view” of this area.

The work for women in such inns was hard, and they usually had to hand over all their wages to the innkeeper. This enabled the innkeeper to ‘recover’ the loan he had paid to the woman’s family when she started working there.

This woodblock print depicts the place where the Fujikawa River ends. This is evident from the bōbana pole – a boundary marker for each shukuba station. The scene shows envoys of the Tokugawa shogunate being greeted by kneeling officials. In the procession being welcomed are two horses adorned with white paper streamers on long poles fixed to their backs. The procession is heading to the Emperor in Kyoto to present the annual gift of horses. Horses were a symbol of status and power, particularly amongst the aristocracy and the samurai military elite. In 1832, Hiroshige personally participated in such an official procession, transporting horses to the imperial court.

Hiroshige depicts the Yahagi Bridge – the longest on the Tōkaidō road, measuring nearly 370 metres in length. In the distance to the right lies Okazaki Castle, the birthplace of Tokugawa Ieyasu – the ultimate unifier of Japan.

The bridge is also associated with a legend whose hero is Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Before he achieved success and renown, as a young, poor boy he would sleep on the bridge. On one occasion, he was bumped into by a bandit leader, Hachisuka Koroku. His brave demand for an apology earned him the gang’s respect, and he was accepted into their ranks. In later years, it was Hachisuka Koroku who became one of Hideyoshi’s most loyal generals.

This is another of Utagawa Hiroshige’s masterful woodblock prints, capturing moments that intertwine human fate with the forces of nature. We see two groups of travellers attempting to brave a violent summer downpour, known as “white rain”. The composition is dynamic, created by diagonal, intersecting lines: the bamboo forest, the falling rain and the sloping hillside. The printer’s use of varying shades of grey to depict individual sections of trees and hut roofs gives the print a sense of depth and multi-layered texture. Hiroshige even incorporated the name of the publisher, Takenouchi, and an abbreviated name of the series – “53 Stations” – onto the umbrella.

The titled inn near the town of Kusatsu was famous for its centuries-old tradition of selling ubaga-mochi – “grandmother’s rice cakes”. It is a sweet treat consisting of sticky rice wrapped in a red bean paste. It can still be bought in this town today, made using the same recipe.

According to legend, a grandmother started making them to support her orphaned grandson, the son of a man named Sasaki Yoshikata, who was killed by the first unifier of Japan, Oda Nobunaga.

Here, Hiroshige presents an interesting juxtaposition of two groups of travellers. While some are quietly enjoying the rice delicacy inside the teahouse, in the foreground porters carrying two palanquins hurry past in opposite directions.

The final woodblock print in the series depicts the entrance to Kyoto – the Emperor’s capital – via the great Sanjō Bridge spanning the Kamo River. This structure serves as a bookend, bringing the entire cycle together. In the background rise the Higashiyama mountain range and the distinctive silhouette of Mount Hiei. The bridge is crossed by people representing Japanese society at the time – travellers, vendors and ordinary Kyoto residents alike. A lone figure in the centre of the bridge catches our attention; he looks down, presumably reflecting on the difficulties of his long journey and rejoicing at its imminent end. The former Imperial Palace, where the emperor lived, was located very close to the Great Sanjō Bridge, less than two kilometres north of it.

The story of the forty-seven rōnin, who sought to avenge their master’s death, is one of the tales of honour and revenge that has become a permanent fixture in Japanese culture.

In 1701, whilst serving at the shogun’s court, the daimyō Asano of Akō was provoked and drew his sword, wounding the master of ceremonies, Kira Yoshinaka. He was subsequently sentenced to commit ritual suicide. His estate was confiscated, and his warriors became rōnin, or masterless samurai. For two years, they plotted in secret to take revenge. On the night of 30–31 January 1703, they finally launched an attack on Kira’s castle. They found Kira, but he refused to commit seppuku, so the rōnin completed their revenge. They placed the head of the murdered man on their master’s grave, and then surrendered to the authorities. Although they were sentenced, they were also granted the right to commit honourable suicide, which they carried out with dignity.

The forty-seven rōnin’s actions were an expression of unconditional loyalty to their lord, and they were known as gishi, or righteous warriors. This story was adapted for the stage and exerted a profound influence on woodblock print artists.

One of the plays that became a permanent fixture in the Japanese theatre repertoire was the eleven-act drama Kanadehon Chūshingura (The Treasury of Loyal Retainers). Due to censorship during the Edo period, which prohibited commenting on current events, the setting was moved back several centuries to the 14th century and the names of the main characters were changed. Nevertheless, the audience could recognise the historical figures, Asano Naganori and Kira Yoshina­ka, who appear in the play as Enya Hangan and Kō no Moronao.

In 1836, the publisher Izumiya Ichibei commissioned Utagawa Hiroshige to create a woodblock print series illustrating scenes from the play. Each print corresponds to a different act – for the finale, depicting the rōnin’s final attack, Hiroshige devoted six individual panels.

Enya Hangan must face punishment for breaking the law and drawing his sword in the shogun’s palace. While he awaits his sentence, his wife, Kaoyo, prepares a bouquet of cherry blossoms for him. The sakura – symbolising the transience of life – foreshadows what awaits Enya. He is sentenced to commit ritual seppuku, and his estate is to be confiscated.

In the final moments of Hangan’s life, his chief and most loyal vassal, Yuranosuke, arrives at the scene. The dying lord commands him to avenge his wrongful death and hands him his short sword. Enya Hangan’s loyal vassals thus become masterless rōnin, swearing an oath of vengeance for what they consider a grave injustice.

Months pass. In an attempt to divert suspicion from his planned revenge, Yuranosuke feigns being a drunkard and a patron of pleasure houses. Here, we see him at the teahouse where Okaru now works. He is accompanied by other rōnin, including Kudayū – a traitor spying for the enemy lord. The conspirators bring Yuranosuke a letter from Lady Kaoyo containing vital intelligence regarding Moronao. He reads it in secret, unaware that its contents are being read over his shoulder by both Okaru and Kudayū. Ultimately, Yuranosuke uncovers the traitor and kills him with the assistance of Okaru’s brother.

Hiroshige depicts the interior of the Ichiriki Teahouse, where the action unfolds. A fascinating detail of the composition is the double pointing out of Kudayū the spy – once by a courtesan with her pipe, and again by Yuranosuke with his fan.

In the final, eleventh act of the play, the rōnin take their revenge. Here we see how, after a bloody battle, they find Moronao hiding in the coal shed. Yuranosuke – wearing distinctive red hakama trousers adorned with a blue leaf motif – draws his sword on Moronao, who is dressed in a blue-and-white kimono. The official tries to free himself from the ropes, but the rōnin holding him from behind prevent any escape.

Yuranosuke offers Moronao the honourable option of committing seppuku with the very same short sword their master had used to take his own life. When the cowardly Moronao refuses and attempts to fight back, Yuranosuke beheads him.

The final print depicts the rōnin marching in a solemn procession to prove their loyalty to their lord once and for all. Their march reaches Sengakuji Temple, where the grave of Enya Hangan lies. Yuranosuke – the leader of the conspiracy – walks right behind the vanguard, followed by his son Rikiya, who turns back to face his remaining companions. While most woodblock print series conclude with a scene at Hangan’s grave, here Hiroshige opts for a powerful sense of understatement.

The tombs of the forty-seven ronin are located at Sengakuji Temple, arranged in several rows in the form of small stone stelae. Each stele is inscribed with the name and age of the warrior at the time of his death. This unique cemetery complex is where loyal vassals rest beside their lord. It is one of the most important sites in Japan dedicated to the samurai ethos. We now invite you to the second room.

The display cases before you feature objects that represent the most recognisable and symbolic aspects of samurai culture. The daishō, comprising a pair of swords, symbolises membership of the warrior class and evokes an ethos of combat, honour, and a readiness to sacrifice one’s life for principle. Only samurai were entitled to wear a daishō, which was a sign of their high standing in society.

To the left of the daishō is a suit of armour, a tangible reminder of an era of constant conflict and the military origins of this social class. Its design also reveals the expertise of Japanese craftsmen, who were able to combine functionality with refined aesthetics.

The military elements are contrasted by the kamishimo, the traditional samurai attire, on the right. This takes us back to the Edo period, a time of stability and peace, when warriors increasingly served as officials and guardians of social order.

Together, these objects tell the story of the transformation of samurai identity — from ruthless warriors to officials for whom the sword became a symbol of social status rather than a weapon of war. We will return to this theme later in the exhibition, revealing another, lesser-known aspect of samurai culture: their appreciation of art and literature. For now, however, we invite you to explore the history of the samurai, followed by these magnificent examples of Japanese weaponry.

The origins of the Japanese warrior class, who would come to be known as samurai in subsequent centuries, date back to the ninth century. At this time, the imperial court in Kyoto was consolidating its position and needed loyal allies to suppress rebellions by local nobles and defend distant provinces. Japan is a vast country, situated on an archipelago of islands stretching 3,300 kilometres. Political infighting and inter-family warfare led to a growing demand for armed men, who were known as bushi. The term “samurai”, meaning “to serve the lord”, appeared in the tenth century, though it derived from the archaic word samurau. The samurai’s code of conduct remained unwritten for centuries, and it was not until the 17th century, during the rule of the Tokugawa shoguns, that it began to be defined by the term bushidō, meaning “way of the warrior”. A samurai was expected to be loyal to their lord, courageous, and ready to die. This image, perpetuated in popular culture, most often refers to periods of conflict over power between individual families.

In 1192, Minamoto no Yoritomo was appointed shogun by the emperor, becoming the highest-ranking warrior responsible for maintaining peace in the country. This moment is considered to mark the beginning of military rule in Japan, known as bakufu, or “tent rule”. Although the emperor retained formal authority, the samurai held actual power for nearly seven hundred years through the shogunate system.

Since the unification of Japan in the early 17th century, there had been few opportunities for warriors to fight. Instead, they performed administrative functions, managed land, maintained social order, and fought fires. The following timeline provides an overview of the most significant events in samurai history, from the formation of this warrior group to its dissolution following Japan’s opening to the world in the second half of the 19th century.

Japanese armour evolved over the centuries to adapt to various fighting styles. It provided effective protection and was distinguished by its high level of craftsmanship and precision. The display case in front of you contains individual pieces of samurai armour. They do not form a single set, but come from different ones. Full suits of armour can be seen in display cases located in the central part of the exhibition. Here, the pieces are arranged to resemble the human body, making it easier to identify the body parts they protected. The diagram of the armour on the left-hand side of the display case can also help with orientation. The drawers contain further examples of the finest Japanese craftsmanship.

The development of Japanese armour began with the keikō, which consisted of numerous small, interconnected iron plates called lamellae. From the Heian period onwards, more advanced armour began to emerge, such as the ō-yoroi. This type of armour featured a dō cuirass made up of numerous iron or leather lamellae coated with multiple layers of lacquer. These were connected by leather cords to create overlapping rows, which were then tied together with silk cords called odoshi, forming larger plates. The breastplate was often covered with printed leather to prevent the bowstring from snagging on the plates. The dō was extended with additional rows of lamellae to protect the hips (kusazuri).

As a warrior armed with a bow and arrows could not protect themself with a portable shield, the armour was equipped with large protective plates (ō-sode), which were attached to the shoulders and were similar in design to a cuirass. These plates acted as a shield and were intended to protect against attacks from the side. The armour was complemented by additional pieces: arm protectors made of cloth and iron plates, greaves, and a throat protector.

From the mid-Heian period onwards, another type of armour emerged: the dō-maru. Like the kozane, it was made of lamellar panels, but it was smaller in size. Its design and light weight made it popular among infantrymen, as it allowed considerable freedom of movement.

Further adjustments to armour were prompted by the intense fighting between samurai clans during the Sengoku period, when armies of thousands of warriors faced each other in battle. Armour was intended to be practical, quick, and easy to produce, so various modifications were introduced. Instead of individual lamellae, entire plates (itazane) were used, and the lacing was simplified; sometimes, the plates were joined with rivets. Hinges were also added to the left side of the cuirass to make it easier to put on. Together with the cuirass, the arm protectors, hip guards, greaves, and shoulder guards formed a type of armour known as tōsei gusoku.

During the Azuchi–Momoyama period, the use of firearms became widespread. This resulted in the creation of a new type of cuirass called the nimai-dō, which featured a double-plate design. This consisted of a breastplate and a backplate, each made of a single plate.

During the Edo period (1603–1868), Japan experienced a time of peace and isolation. As a result, armour lost its original purpose, and its protective function faded into the background. It was primarily used for ceremonial purposes. The daimyō (great feudal lords) and their entourage wore sumptuous armour on annual journeys ordered by the shogunate. This was designed according to the preferences of those who commissioned it, resulting in a wide variety of cuirass shapes and types inspired by earlier models. To ensure a lightweight design, many components were made of leather. Original components from older pieces were sometimes used as well.

Following Japan’s opening to international contact in 1854, and during the Meiji period (1868–1912), many pieces of armour left the Japanese mainland and became part of private and museum collections around the world.

The Japanese kabuto helmet was originally designed for practical head protection, but over time it evolved into more decorative forms, often used during periods of peace. It typically consisted of a bowl (hachi), a neck guard (shikoro), a visor (mabisashi), side flaps (fukigaeshi), and a decorative crest (tatemono).

The earliest helmets featured a round or conical bowl. Over time, two main types developed: the hoshi-kabuto, characterised by prominent rivets, and the suji-kabuto, distinguished by ribs running from the base to the apex. The zunari-kabuto had a simpler construction, usually made from three to five plates shaped to fit the head. The toppai-kabuto was noted for its conical form, while the momonari-kabuto had a distinctive peach-like shape. In contrast, kawari-kabuto could take on highly imaginative forms, limited only by the creativity of their makers and owners.

War hats (jingasa), worn by samurai during travel and by infantry soldiers in the field, were also widely use

A maedate is a decorative element mounted on a fitting at the front of a helmet. Typically made from lightweight materials such as wood, leather, papier-mâché, whalebone, or metal, it was designed to avoid adding significant weight to the helmet. Maedate could take the form of horns (kuwagata) or depict stylised plants, animals, insects, mythical creatures, or religious motifs. In some cases, they were shaped like a family crest. They served both identificatory and representational purposes. These ornaments were often large and vividly coloured to attract attention or inspire fear.

War masks (mengu), used for facial protection, first appeared in the 12th century in the form of a headpiece (happuri) that protected the forehead and cheeks. In the following centuries, several types developed, including the full mask (sōmen), the half mask (menpō), which covered the face below the eyes and often featured a detachable nose piece, and the lower-face mask (hanbō), which protected only the cheeks and chin.

In addition to their protective function, masks were designed to instil fear in the enemy. They were typically made of iron and lacquered on the inside to prevent direct contact with the metal. Following contact with Europeans, some masks began to feature stylised moustaches and beards. Full masks were not worn in battle, as they restricted visibility. Instead, the mask was secured at the back of the head with straps and held firmly against the face by a helmet cord (shinobi no o). A throat guard (tare) was frequently attached to the mask.

The weapons on display in the exhibition demonstrate the variety of tools used by Japanese warriors over the centuries. Each type was designed for specific combat situations and had a distinct purpose on the battlefield.

For centuries, the primary weapon of Japanese warriors was the bow (yumi), even after firearms became widespread. The term “way of the horse and bow” (kyūba no michi) originally referred to the duties of samurai.

The bow, measuring between 2 and 2.5 metres in length, was asymmetrically constructed, with the grip positioned one-third of the way up. This design allowed it to be used both on horseback and from a kneeling position. The bow was made from slats of wood and bamboo glued together, coated with lacquer and bound with rattan to increase its strength. The bowstring was made from plant fibres such as hemp. Arrows were fashioned from thin bamboo shafts with steel points, and the fletching was usually made from osprey feathers.

Arrows were carried either in an open quiver worn on the right hip, called an ebira, or in a closed cylindrical quiver worn on the back, called an utsubo.

Japanese warriors also used a variety of polearms. Yari spears, in various lengths and with different types of heads, were common—single- or double-edged, simple or complex in shape. They were employed both in frontal attacks and defensive formations, allowing samurai to maintain distance from their opponents.

The long naginata, with its curved, single-edged blade, was used for both cutting and thrusting. Originally wielded by samurai, as well as infantrymen (ashigaru), it was also used by warrior monks (sōhei). Over time, a specific fighting style, known as naginata-dō, developed. The weapon also became associated with noblewomen warriors, called onna-bugeisha. One of the most famous was Tomoe Gozen, renowned for her skill in battle and her courage. Her mastery of weapons and bravery has been celebrated in numerous literary works and painted depictions. In times of danger, while their husbands were away at war, samurai wives also had to defend their family, property and honour.

Firearms appeared in Japan relatively late. In 1543, a storm caused a Chinese ship carrying Portuguese sailors to land on the island of Tanegashima. It was these sailors who introduced the matchlock guns they carried to Japan.

Local feudal lords (daimyō) were intrigued by the new weapon and commissioned their own copies. However, firearms did not come into widespread use until the Battle of Nagashino in 1575, when soldiers under the command of Oda Nobunaga (1534–1582) employed them effectively.

The matchlock guns used in Japan were based entirely on Portuguese designs, although they were decorated in accordance with Japanese culture and tradition. Firearms evolved little in Japan over the centuries, remaining largely unchanged until the late Edo period.

Swords held a special place in Japanese warrior culture. The process of making them was complex and required considerable experience; it involved repeatedly folding and tempering the steel to give the blade the right balance of hardness and flexibility. Tamahagane steel, smelted from iron sand extracted from riverbeds, was used for this purpose. The steel was then forged into layers, which removed impurities and created a pattern of thousands of layers visible on the sword as the hada. The tempering process produced a hard cutting edge and a flexible spine, as well as a hamon line that varied depending on the smith’s preference. Finally, the blade was sharpened and polished, and could be marked by the maker if desired.

The katana is the most well-known type of Japanese sword. This weapon has a slightly curved, single-edged blade that is over sixty centimetres long. It is designed for rapid drawing and cutting. Its form is the result of centuries of development, during which the shape of the blade and the properties of the steel were perfected. The katana evolved from the tachi, a long, single-edged sword often exceeding 80 centimetres in length and suspended from a belt with the blade facing downwards. Thanks to its larger size and pronounced curvature, the tachi was ideally suited to horseback combat, whereas the shorter katana was designed for close combat, particularly on foot. There were also ōdachi (great swords), measuring over ninety centimetres. Due to their size, these swords were typically carried on the back. As well as their combat function, they were also presented as offerings to temples. However, it was the katana that became a symbol of the Japanese warrior, often being referred to as the “samurai soul”.

A wakizashi is a short, single-edged sword ranging from thirty-three to sixty-six centimetres (one to two shaku) in length. It was used by samurai and non-sword-bearers alike, the latter of whom were forbidden to carry long swords, only short ones. Together with a katana, it formed the distinctive daishō two-sword set. Unlike a long blade, a wakizashi could be carried indoors, making it useful in tight spaces and in situations requiring a quick reaction. Thanks to its size, it was a handy and versatile weapon. It could be used in combat and as a backup weapon. The wakizashi also had ritual significance. A samurai could use it to commit seppuku, an act of suicide that symbolised honour and loyalty.

The display also presents individual components of the sword’s mountings. Although these are easy to miss when viewing the blade in its setting, the surfaces feature a remarkable wealth of decorative techniques and motifs. Miniature scenes, subtle details and precise craftsmanship mean that each of these elements is a miniature work of art in its own right. We therefore present them separately so that you can appreciate the extraordinary skill of the Japanese craftsmen who made them.

A tantō is a short, usually single-edged sword, no longer than about one shaku (about thirty centimetres). In the hands of a samurai, it was primarily used as a secondary weapon in close combat, particularly in situations of surprise or where the use of a longer sword would have been difficult.

Like the wakizashi, the tantō could be used for seppuku, or ritual suicide, which was associated with the samurai’s code of honour. Due to its small size, this weapon was also carried by women and non-warriors for personal protection. Its compact form meant that it could easily be concealed within the folds of clothing, making it practical for everyday use.

The tantō came in various mounting styles, both with and without a tsuba (guard). In the latter version, called aikuchi, the hilt and scabbard fit tightly together, creating a compact, elegant whole.

By the end of the 19^th century, the role of sword makers had begun to fade due to the introduction of a ban on swords. However, many masters adapted their skills to create everyday and decorative objects, thus preserving ancient craftsmanship techniques. The vases presented here are a fine example of this.

A tsuba is a type of metal guard positioned between the hilt and the blade of a sword. It prevented the hand from slipping onto the blade, protected the wearer from an opponent’s blows, and also helped to balance the sword.

The material, shape, and decoration of sword guards varied. They were crafted by specialised workshops, often associated with distinct artistic schools. The sword was worn tucked through the belt, edge upwards, with the hilt slightly forward, which made the tsuba clearly visible. Over time, increasingly complex techniques and decorative motifs were employed in their production, reflecting the status of the owner. These included openwork, relief decoration, and metal inlays. Due to their decorative nature, tsuba came to convey philosophical and religious ideas. Japanese craftsmen fashioned them into extraordinary forms — small works of art that were frequently given as unique gifts.

In addition to the central hole for the blade’s tang, the tsuba featured smaller apertures for attaching additional accessories, such as a small knife or a hairpin. Whether these were present depended on how the sword was mounted and the user’s individual needs.

We now enter the world of samurai spirituality to discover their lesser-known side as men of culture, art, and science. The ideal warrior combined “pen and sword”, possessing both martial competence and the sensitivity of an educated person. This transition takes place through the tearoom. The ritual of preparing, serving, and drinking powdered green tea, known as chanoyu, occupied an important place in samurai culture. Originally brought from China by Buddhist monks, tea was initially valued as a means of aiding concentration during meditation practices. Over time, it became a crucial element in the lives of the military elite, symbolising status and sophistication. During the Middle Ages and the era of civil wars, tea gatherings served social, political, and ceremonial functions, strengthening alliances, conducting negotiations, and planning military campaigns.

In the 16^th century, the wabi-cha aesthetic emerged under the influence of tea masters, especially Sen no Rikyū. Based on simplicity, moderation, and a connection with nature, it is also reflected in irregularly shaped vessels bearing traces of hand-forming. For the samurai, who valued asceticism and readiness to sacrifice, tea gatherings offered a form of spiritual discipline, helping them to maintain mindfulness and composure in battle.

Tea gatherings (chanoyu) took place in specially designed rooms or pavilions known as chashitsu. These were small, unpretentious spaces made of natural materials, typically measuring four and a half tatami mats. Inside, there was either a sunken hearth (ro) or a portable brazier (furo) used for boiling water. In a back room, known as the mizuya, the host prepared the tea utensils. One wall of the pavilion featured an alcove (tokonoma) for displaying a hanging scroll or a flower arrangement. These items provided topics of conversation during the tea gathering.

You are welcome to enter our tearoom. In keeping with tradition, however, we kindly ask that you remove your shoes before entering.

Karesansui, or dry landscape gardens, are a specific type of Japanese garden associated with Zen Buddhism. These compositions, almost entirely devoid of vegetation, reflect the essence of Japanese nature.

Stones (ishi) represent mountains and islands. Their shape and arrangement are carefully considered, reflecting harmony and balance in the world. They symbolise permanence — that which remains unchanged by the passage of time.

Carefully raked gravel and sand form wavy lines that mimic the shapes of waves or water currents. Representing rivers, seas, or waterfalls, they introduce a sense of dynamism into an otherwise static landscape, pointing to the transience of all things.

These gardens are intended to convey humanity’s humility and awe in the face of nature’s majesty. The sense of emptiness, which is central to Japanese aesthetics, is designed to encourage reflection and contemplation. They are not intended for strolling through, but are usually admired from a veranda or from the entrance to a temple.

For the samurai, the karesansui garden was a place of peace and concentration. Far from the hustle and bustle, it offered a space in which mental balance could be nurtured — essential both in martial arts and in everyday life.

We invite you to take a moment to pause and immerse yourself in the garden, discovering its rhythm and harmony.

The lives of samurai were shaped by a system combining three belief systems: Shinto, Buddhism, and Confucianism. These were intertwined to create a coherent foundation for the samurai’s worldview.

Shinto, Japan’s indigenous religion, fosters a sense of connection with nature and one’s ancestors. At its core is the belief in the presence of kami — spirits that inhabit mountains, rivers, trees, and even everyday objects. This worldview engenders respect for nature, tradition, and one’s own lineage.

Buddhism encouraged reflection on the transience and fragility of life. Zen, which emphasised meditation and direct experience, became particularly important. It taught composure, concentration, and acceptance of death — attitudes that were crucial for warriors. Samurai prayed for success in battle and, after victories, presented offerings of thanks and built temples. After retiring from service, it was also common for them to choose a monastic life.

In turn, Confucianism shaped the social order. It emphasised loyalty, duty, and hierarchy. Samurai were obliged to remain loyal to their lord and to adhere to specific moral principles, such as justice, honesty, and responsibility. These principles formed the foundation of the samurai ethos of bushidō.

Beyond the symbolic torii gate, which demarcates the boundary between the secular and the sacred in Japan, you will find artefacts associated with samurai beliefs. Our tour begins with a woodblock print depicting Amaterasu, the most important Shinto sun goddess from whom all Japanese emperors are said to descend, and concludes with a statue of Bishamonten, the Buddhist patron of the samurai.

Samurai, particularly during the Edo period, were guided by the principle of achieving a balance between combat skills, learning, and the arts. As well as being skilled in the use of weapons, they also excelled in calligraphy, poetry, and philosophy. Many of them wrote poems, particularly haiku, as well as philosophical treatises and texts devoted to martial arts.

Shodō, meaning the “way of writing”, is the Japanese art of calligraphy using a brush and ink. It developed through the activities of Zen monks who travelled to Chinese monasteries to study the teachings of the Buddha. They copied Buddhist texts and returned with works of art, literature, and calligraphy.

Traditionally, Japanese calligraphy uses several basic tools known as the “Four Treasures of the Study”: a brush (fude), ink (sumi), an inkstone (suzuri), and paper (washi). The essence of shodō lies in achieving harmony between body movement, breathing, and the mind. As it required extensive training and concentration, this art form served as a means of self-improvement for samurai, on a par with swordsmanship. In the display case, you can see two suzuribako, traditional Japanese calligraphy boxes. Made of wood and covered with lacquer, these boxes were used to store ink, inkstones, water containers, and brushes, among other items. They formed an important part of the writing culture of the elite, including the samurai.

Nō theatre is a refined blend of drama, music, dance, and poetry. It emerged in the 14th century, drawing on earlier performance traditions. It soon gained the patronage of the samurai class, whose members were not only devoted supporters of nō theatre but also occasionally performed on stage themselves. The plays explore themes of death and the transmigration of souls, connected with Zen philosophy and the ideals of bushidō.

The lead actor (shite) performed in a distinctive costume and mask (omote). His precise, restrained movements carried symbolic meaning and required familiarity with theatrical conventions to be fully understood. He was accompanied by a supporting actor (waki), a chorus (jiutai), and musicians (hayashi) playing flutes and drums.

The masks were carved from cypress wood with great precision. They were then primed with gofun, a paste made from finely ground oyster shells and glue, which gave them their characteristic smooth, milky-white surface. The masks were subsequently painted with mineral pigments and sealed with lacquer. Subtle tilting of the head, combined with the interplay of light and shadow, allowed the mask to convey shifting emotions and inner states. Different types of masks represented various characters, including women, elders, demons, and ghosts. They were treated with great respect and were never worn offstage. We present here a Kōbeshimi mask representing a sinister demon and a mask for the role of a young woman.

In this display case and the next, you can see objects decorated with lacquer, or urushi, one of the raw materials most frequently used by Japanese craftsmen. It was used to adorn both weapons and everyday objects. Not only did it protect surfaces from undesirable substances, it also provided high aesthetic value thanks to the shine and smoothness of lacquered surfaces. Lacquer is obtained from the sap of the sumac tree, which is then filtered and dyed to the desired colour. It was applied in thin layers, each of which was sanded and polished before the next was added. The lacquer hardened when exposed to the appropriate temperature and humidity.

One traditional Japanese decorative technique was maki-e. This involved sprinkling powdered gold, silver, or other metal alloys through a bamboo tube onto a wet pattern painted with clear lacquer. The images thus created could lie flush with the background or appear as subtle raised reliefs. The pattern was then protected with a layer of transparent lacquer, and the hardened surface was polished. The decoration could be enhanced with inlays of thin sheets of metal, mother-of-pearl flakes, ceramics, and even eggshells. Japanese masters knew over a hundred different decorative processes and mastered each one to perfection, applying them with extraordinary skill. This is exemplified by the trays and tables on display.

In the final section of the exhibition, we explore the everyday costumes and accessories worn by samurai, particularly during times of peace. Clothing was not just a practical necessity; it was also an important symbol of social identity and a way of expressing one’s social class.

A kamishimo was the traditional formal attire worn by samurai, primarily during the Edo period. Consisting of wide, pleated trousers (hakama) and a sleeveless vest (kataginu) with stiff, wide-cut shoulders, it was worn over a dark kimono. This attire emphasised social status, dignity, and membership of the warrior class.

An essential part of the kimono was the obi, which held the garment together and allowed the wearer to carry various objects. One such item was the inrō, of which there are numerous intricately decorated examples on the left. This small box consisted of several interconnected compartments. It was used to store small everyday items, medicines, ink, or seals. The inrō was hung on a cord and secured with a decorative netsuke toggle, which often took the form of a small sculpture depicting animals, figures, or scenes from daily life. An ojime bead, attached to the cord connecting the compartments, prevented them from opening unintentionally.

The final display case features kimono, obi belts, and women’s accessories, including kushi combs, hairpins, and mirrors. Kimono were most often made of silk and decorated using various weaving, dyeing, and embroidery techniques. The choice of texture, colour, and pattern depended on the occasion, the season, and the wearer’s social status. The motifs adorning the fabrics frequently alluded to the natural world and symbols of good fortune, longevity, and moral virtues. One of the kimono on display here is decorated with alternating motifs of cranes, chrysanthemums, fans, and a court carriage — symbols of prosperity, longevity, dignity, and elegance.

Kimono reflected the ideals of harmony, order, and beauty that shaped Japanese culture for centuries. Their form and manner of wearing were linked to cultural practices maintained by the samurai, for whom clothing represented a continuous tradition, even as their position in society changed during the Edo period. Although the samurai era has passed, their legacy lives on — not only in museums but also in popular culture. Thank you for joining us on this journey through the world of the samurai. We now invite you to the final zone of the exhibition, where we explore how themes related to samurai culture have permeated films, manga, and anime to become a global phenomenon.