Kaidan Dansu

The traditional Japanese step-chest

BY DAVID JACKSON

PHOTO BY JAY WEILAND

I still wonder what Edward S. Morse was thinking when he saw a step-chest for the first time in his journeys around Japan. Morse, who originally went to Japan in 1877 as a zoologist, would by dint of curiosity and draughtsman's effort provide the United States with some of its earliest glimpses of the peculiarities of Japanese architecture. The book Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings, published in 1886, documented his habit of looking thoroughly at his environment. On one day his eyes alighted on what he called a “kitchen closet, drawers, cupboard, and stairs combined” (1). This observation and subsequent drawing sparked an interest in me to get to the bottom (or top, as it were) of an exceptional furniture resolution.

     Last year, with the assistance of a Japan Foundation grant, I traveled to Japan seeking a greater knowledge of step-chest history. Step-chests are otherwise known as kaidan-dansu (stair-cabinet) or hako kaidan (box-stair). These unique hybrids have been largely overlooked by most architectural accounts of Japanese homes. The only other Westerner to take note of these tansu besides Morse was the German architect Bruno Taut in his book The Houses and People of Japan, published in 1937. Still, neither text revealed answers to my questions, which included: Where did they begin? How did they evolve? Who made them? These were but three of many I entertained about this fascinating design.

     To begin, let's be clear about exactly what a step-chest was. It was in various incarnations both a built-in and freestanding wooden cupboard that was also a functioning staircase. Thus, it exhibited treads and risers on a supporting frame, and beneath these were drawers and sliding and hinged doors that secured a variety of compartments. A design unique to Japan, the step-chest first appeared during the early Edo period (1615-1867). In some interior design texts it has been suggested that these cabinets fit under stairs; this is incorrect. They were the stairs, as the wear and tear on treads amply demonstrates. In my research I did come upon cabinetry which was built beneath existing ladder-like stairs (hakobashigo or box ladders) but these situations I believe were inspired by step-chests. The cabinetry is wholly separate, simply taking advantage of the space beneath, and does not consist of a set of stairs as in step-chests.

     The kaidan-dansu was primarily a result of merchant needs in an ever-expanding environment of two-story housing. The Edo period was the merchant's era. Urban growth brought together craftsmen, tools and an increasing array of goods and merchandise to be sold and stored. Townsmen lived in various dwellings, including machiya—buildings that often combined a business and home. Most of these buildings exhibited a functional second floor or attic space even though restrictions forbade second stories. Restrictions were largely concerned with living “above one's means and station,” both literally and figuratively. As woodblock prints of the day show, however, such edicts were largely ignored: two story housing was quite common. Of course, access to such spaces was necessary. While ladder-type steps were common, the hako kaidan or box-stair became increasingly used as well. Machiya had smaller step-chests, but inns and the grander-scale architecture of pleasure houses often had more than one stair cabinet, and these exhibited taller and deeper dimensions. Such businesses thrived in the entertainment districts of the day. Even today one can see a large step-chest, dating to the 1780s, in the Sumiya House in Kyoto, now a preserved historical landmark.

     Where did the kaidan-dansu begin? We have historical imagery which points to the Kansai, an area encompassing central western Honshu; cities such as Kyoto, Sakai and Osaka come to mind. During the Edo period these cities were the first major places where commerce and two-story housing occurred. Old woodblock print books known as ehon provide specific evidence of step-chests in the Kyoto-Osaka vicinity before 1700. In such images courtesans are often shown ascending step-chests, and in some depictions even specific construction methods can be identified, which again suggests such cabinetry was observed and common.

DRAWING FROM JAPANESE HOMES AND THEIR SURROUNDINGS BY EDWARD S. MORSE (DOVER REPRINT)

     The fact is, most stair-cabinets are found in mercantile settings, and this has led me to believe it could as much have been a merchant's idea as a craftsmen's inspiration. That such furnishings were (and still are) decorative as well as practical indicates merchants ordered step-chests as one more object of status in a household or business. Such behavior was often on the minds of the merchant class, which was considered the lowest class in the culture of 17th-century Japan even though they came to have the real social might through economic power.

     The Edo period was the period of tansu, the collective term for cabinetry. A plethora of designs existed for every need—from ship's safes to writing supply boxes, from clothing chests to kitchen cupboards, from peddlers chests to book chests for the literate samurai. Woodworkers specialized as the carpentry and box-making professions evolved. It appeared that some carpenters were responsible for and specialized in step-cabinets, just as they did for other stair forms. In many early instances the step-chest evidences framing connected to the house architecture, truly a fixture built on-site. Later designs were freestanding and often built in separate shops in craftsmen's neighborhoods. Such cabinets were then installed, albeit often attached to a wall or adjacent built-in cupboard for stability. These different construction methods may indicate that the carpenter began in what would end up a cabinetmaker's domain. At the least, they indicate that a tradesman knowledgeable in both arenas was responsible for the hybrid cabinet; in a word, the sashimono-daiku, or hybrid craftsman.

     Did such a scenario preclude planning the requisite surrounding carpentry for stair placement? I do not believe so. Since before the Edo period Japanese homes were built according to a modular system of measurement, based on standard ken dimensions (historically, the distance between two supporting columns in any wooden structure, approximately 6′). In fact, kaidan-dansu, here defined as separate free-standing cabinets, were testament to the modular dimensions of Japanese houses. A cabinetmaker was aware of these standard ken dimensions and could build kaidan-dansu in a shop knowing it would fit (just as they did large kitchen cupboards or mizuya-dansu). Most kaidan-dansu “footprints” were within ken dimensions; in fact, the majority of kaidan-dansu I've seen have been compact designs taking up much less space than a traditional run of stairs. Step-chest designs—some even going up two stairs and then turning, in effect creating a winder—with their strange rise-to-run ratios seem in our day of building codes to test our concern for safety. Yet this points to the fact that such furnishings had indeed become cabinetry first, stairs second. This fact also contributed to my theory that the house carpenter had relinquished responsibility for these types of stairs. Step-chests are fascinating precisely because they are neither normal stairs nor normal tansu.

     The step-chest design was built using various construction methods, including stacking shallow rectangular boxes one upon the other: literally living up to the name “box stair” or hako kaidan. These were rare and were first documented by Professor Kudo Takashi of Kinki University. Most, however, were built by variations on frame-and-panel construction. In my travels I had hoped joinery would identify regional designs in step-chests, but such was not to be the case. In locations as diverse as Kurashiki and Kanazawa and Matsumoto (towns in south, central and western Honshu) I saw all construction types used. Nor was it true that a particular method indicated earlier or later dating of the chest. It was true that some old step-chests evidenced the most expensive and labor-intensive joinery. Thus I was reminded that both date and place could not necessarily be derived from methodology. In that case iron hardware and overall design would help identify it. I have drawn the three most prevalent methods. They are essentially defined by their method of affixing tread and riser to the framework.

     The first, “tread over frame,” is the most prevalent form (2), and likely so because it is the most expedient. Two “stepped” frames having been built (with mortise and tenon joinery) then were attached front to back by rails, drawer runners, treads and risers in an overall sturdy design. Treads and risers sit upon the frame and, seen from the front, their edges are visible. Panels of sugi (Japanese cedar, Cryptomeria japonica) were then affixed to the side and rear and helped with racking. Panels, risers and treads were often simply nailed; some panels were housed.

DRAWINGS BY DAVID JACKSON

PHOTOS BY DAVID JACKSON

     The second is the step-chest that exhibits a face frame (3). In this design the step-chest appears to have a complete thin framework attached to the front. In fact, the frame is thicker and is rabbeted on the back to receive the tread that it fronts. Treads can be secured additionally by tenons and nails. Risers are housed or butted to this same frame. Visually, the tread and riser edges are unseen, and this makes for a handsome design. Variants 1 and 2 are often sugi with drawers and doors of keyaki (Japanese elm, Zelkova serrata), or sugi throughout.

     Third is the stout method which uses a flush framework housing the tread and riser (4). In this design three-part joinery is used, either mortise-and-tenon or mitered mortise-and-tenon. It is a framework used throughout the entire step-chest and is very strong. I believe almost every step-chest I have seen evidencing this method has used keyaki, the prized wood similar to elm or ash. Frame, drawers, even large door panels were keyaki. It was the showcase kaidan-dansu in most cases.

     Of course, variations existed on all designs and I have shown a few in the drawings as well (5-7). There were stout frames of mitered tenons with the treads simply affixed on top instead of being housed or dadoed. Additionally one notable framing device seen on the rear of step-chests is that of using a stringer, a notched length of board as an expeditious way of supporting treads.

     To add to our discussion I would like to review the construction of one particular step-chest in my collection (see opening photo). The kaidan is of normal scale from a 19th-century Kansai home. It measures 74″ tall and is 45″ wide by 27″ deep. This step-chest is made entirely of sugi. It has a quiet beauty with delicate iron fittings and a warm worn color of wiped lacquer. It is made of two stacking sections. The upper cabinet sits upon its four-step mate by way of locating tenons in its base frame. One curious feature is that the steps are about 3″ deeper than the actual cabinet carcase. The drawer depth is 18″. These dimensions of drawer and carcase reflect a man's reach and seem practical. The greater depth of the stair likely reflects the right fit in its architectural context. This step-chest exhibits one of the most common construction methods: that of tread and riser over frame (8). Large-headed nails actually affix the treads to the stair framing. Interestingly, the rear construction shows a carpenter's use of boards for a stair—that of making a stringer, an expedient use of wood to frame an unseen area of the cabinet (9).

     I am most familiar with antique step-chests separated from their former homes, as I have repaired and restored many over the last 17 years. In my travels around Japan I had sought most to locate and see step-chests in their original context. Fortunately, Japan is blessed with historical districts in many cities, such as Kawagoe and Kanazawa, which had thriving shops with intact step-chests. While my research afforded few opportunities to speak directly with craftsman, I saw contemporary examples of step-chests and realized this design still inspired craftsman in the East, as it does in the West. I wonder what Edward Morse would say to the realization that this fascinating and design had now crossed an ocean?

David Jackson restores and sells tansu near Asheville, North Carolina. He and Dane Owen co-wrote the book Japanese Cabinetry: the art and craft of tansu, published by Gibbs Smith. His website is tansuconservation.com.