The biographer, reflecting on the long and manifold life of the Showa Emperor, cannot but be struck by many contrasts. None, perhaps, is greater than that which distinguished the Scholar Emperor and Imperial Biologist, about whom this memoir is written, from His Imperial Majesty the Emperor and Statesman. Many short articles have appeared in illustration of his biological prowess (Egami 1989; Guillain 1989; Hamburger 1962; Kitamura 1988; Komai 1972; Reischauer 1975; Steam 1989; Taku 1972), and there is the early book by Hino (1931). The substantial biographies of the western press, however, treat it as if it had been a pastime (Haas 1975; Mosley 1966; Packard 1987; Sayle 1988; Takeda 1988). It was far more. No amateur could have encompassed and mastered the vast field of nature that he did and have risen to international authority. His enjoyment of biology not only provided comfort and relaxation, as others have remarked, but reflected his confidence in natural science as a means, so dear to his heart, of uniting all mankind. With much greater resources than others, he assembled a biological court of advisers in whom he had implicit trust, and became the first emperor to have devoted his spare time to science. Said to have entered this world alarmingly slight as an infant, he developed the physique and resolution to reign for 62 years, longer than any monarch in history, and he passed away still dwelling on that research. He wore two faces. There was the placid, impassionate, and, even, obedient leader in public regard, and there was the eager intent of the original investigator whether in the field or the laboratory, bent on discovery and understanding. A boy, raised strictly in the aura of the one divinely to ascend the Chrysanthemum Throne, found not respite so much as inspiration in studying the humblest orders of life. Surrounded with beauty and detesting conflict, he was led into the second and most frightful world war, to rescue his country, for the first time in its history, from shattering and abject defeat, by that very humility which his science had nurtured. A dual image has already been ascribed. Takeda compares an arrogant monarchy with the democratization of post-war and modem Japan. Others have contrasted the impassionate emperor with the endearing father who loved his children; and in both regards there is a profound chapter in one of the books of Elizabeth Vining (1970). Neither aspect, however, reveals the true personality which was manifested in that love of nature, respect for all living things, and confidence in the brotherhood of science. So far from being a side-issue, it is a cardinal consideration; it was the force that kept him going through troubled times. In the words of Professor Woodroofe, when we were conversing in Tokyo, Hirohito was a born naturalist who had to be the emperor. In the course of this memoir about one who was both botanist and zoologist, I have kept two questions in mind. What led the young Prince to biology and what was the scientific outcome? Perhaps, the nearest answers have already appeared in the charming reminiscences of Kanroji (1975), written at the age of 96 years after he had served the Imperial Court for 70 years. With Japanese text and splendid illustration, there are the book of the National Science Museum, Tokyo (Anonymous 1988) and those of the Asahi Publishing Company (Anonymous 1989
a
; Senzo 1989).
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