The Wilted Flowers

For the flower of Japan's aristocracy, the Way of the Gods seemed suddenly to be a way of the godforsaken. In Tokyo's dismal Sugamo Prison languished the Emperor's lifelong friend, Marquis Kido, and his high-&-mighty cousin Prince Morimasa Nashimoto. Prince Konoye had evaded arrest only by joining his ancestors. The long arm of U.S. justice had thrust deep into the Imperial Household, was brushing the Throne itself. There was no telling where it would stop.

Worried Marquis Matsudaira, Kido's successor in the Imperial Household, anxiously said he was "eager to have a committee of Americans advise him on his difficult job." The Americans, it was known, were seriously beginning to consider the environment and education of bandy-legged Prince Akihito, 12, the Emperor's first-born son and heir apparent. The Japanese wondered if this interest presaged Hirohito's abdication, or his arrest as a war criminal.

In the House of Peers (unaccustomedly open to the public, by U.S. order) the morose mombatsu groped for security. Typical discussion:

Peer: Do you think there will be riots? If so, in what month of next year?

Speaker: That I don't know. It is comparable to the story that if one doesn't break an eggshell, one cannot tell whether it is male or female, or whether it is rotten. . . .

Peer: Since the Allied soldiers like flowers very much, the Government, mobilizing all the flower growers, should present flowers or fruits to them, in order to soothe their nostalgia, and in such a way that we may have friendly talks with them.

Speaker: I also think that would be good.

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