Heir Apparent?

The luckiest man in Japan today?

Junichiro Koizumi. The populist Prime Minister of Japan must be grinning like the Cheshire cat, because he had dropped in his lap on Tuesday the best kind of feel-good news any political operative could ask for: The Princess is really, truly, madly pregnant.

At long last, the Japan's royal fertility drought is over. The super-secretive Imperial Household Agency, which manages the royal family's affairs, announced that Princess Masako, the 37-year-old wife of Crown Prince Naruhito, the Emperor's eldest son, will deliver late November or early December what is surely the world's most eagerly awaited child.

Come June, it will have been eight years since Masako, the bright and telegenic former foreign-service functionary, wed Naruhito, the smiling Crown Prince who can't keep his hair combed straight. They are a likeable pair, often photographed strolling together through the royal palace grounds, holding hands, or skiing, as they were in February, down the slopes together. She was a reluctant Princess, a thoroughly modern woman, educated at Harvard, with a promising diplomatic career ahead of her. They met at a royal reception. He was immediately smitten. They dated, as much as a future emperor can possibly court someone, but she resisted his overtures. He spent years wooing her. When she finally relented, a nation hungry for heroes embraced Masako as a Princess for a new age, someone, her legions of fans hoped, who would modernize the staid institution and serve as a role model for Japan's long-suffering women. If people were silent about Hirohito, dutifully respectful of his son, Akihito, the current Emperor, and mildly curious about Naruhito, next in line to the throne, they were crazy about Masako. Her face lit up the covers of magazines and TV news shows.

But, alas, like all fairy tales, her story has been bittersweet. At times compared to Diana, she was never so glamorous, never so adored, and never so tragic. She was also called "Japan's Hillary," in reference to the former American First Lady (now Senator Hillary Clinton), but Masako was never so ambitious, never so outspoken, and never so vilified. Although there are many fans who still revere Masako, most Japanese probably feel more sorry for her than anything else.

To them, she has been a disappointment for not being a bit more like Diana, a bit more like Hillary, and a lot less like her mother-in-law and all previous empresses. Whether by choice or by royal pressure, she has all but retreated into a quite, sheltered life, appearing sporadically at garden parties and ribbon-cutting ceremonies by her husband's side. She has not taken up any special causes nor spoken out on any issue, as the royals jealously adhered to post-World War II prohibitions against any political involvement. Even a trip with the Crown Prince to visit victims of Kobe's devastating earthquake in 1995 was seen in some corners as shocking.

One of Japan's enduring mysteries is what this Princess with a privileged education actually thinks about. We may still find out, for producing an heir could both relieve an unbearable pressure on her and empower her in a way that a mere royal wedding could not.

Since she wasn't going to go about changing the monarchy right away, the public reverted to the same sort of expectations they've always had for their princesses. They expected her to have a baby. Each year, a nation of royal watchers waited for an offspring. Each year, a nation grieved that no such offspring was forthcoming. The palace-gazing turned especially mournful in 1999, when news was leaked of a pregnancy that eventually resulted in a miscarriage. For that reason, Tuesday's announcement was more muted than might otherwise be expected. "Please watch over her quietly," said Kiyoshi Furukawa, the official who made the announcement. (As an aside, he must have one of the best job titles in the world: Grand Master of the Crown Prince's Household.)

It's doubtful the Japanese press will be able to restrain itself. And really, now, why should it? After all, Japan holds onto its monarchy and its old- fashioned ways, refusing to make life in the palace more transparent or to allow its royals to become more active members of society. Naturally, an institution cloaked in mystery and ritual provokes considerable fascination and curiosity. Now, the obsession will be about what Masako's sonograms show -- namely, is she carrying a future Prince or Princess? Furukawa said there were no plans at this stage to conduct a test to determine the baby's sex.

By law, only a male heir can ascend to the Chrysanthemum Throne, although this is a fairly recent decree enacted during the Meiji Restoration period of the 19th century. In fact, of Japan's 125 sovereigns, dating back to about 600 B.C., seven have been women. Last week Prime Minister Koizumi's Liberal Democratic Party set up a committee to consider changing the law to allow female emperors once again -- Koizumi himself said he personally favored the idea.

Koizumi is the chief political beneficiary from Masako's good news. A royal pregnancy is expected to give a psychological boost to a country in a permanent state of the doldrums. There may even be an economic lift. After the initial report of Masako's suspected pregnancy last month, stock prices of baby goods manufacturers soared by as much as 49%, on the expectation that a royal pregnancy would provoke a baby boom. So Koizumi can now do the Princess a favor. He should push to liberalize the question of royal succession so that male and female heirs are treated equally, so that the question, Is it a boy or girl?, is irrelevant. Then Masako can have her child in peace.