WHEN SHE BECAME THE BRIDE of Japan's Crown Prince Naruhito in June 1993, Masako Owada faced a daunting set of challenges. As a professional woman—a junior member of Japan's diplomatic corps—she was expected by some to revolutionize the tradition-bound Japanese monarchy. At the same time, she was obliged to immerse herself in the arcane rituals of an anachronistic court where the annual poetry-writing contest is regarded as a seismic event. And—not incidentally—it was understood that she was to produce a son and royal heir.
Today, four years after the royal wedding and the decorous motorcade that drew almost 192,000 celebrants into the streets of Tokyo, Masako, 33, seems more enigma than trailblazer. Still childless and seldom seen outside the palace unless on an official engagement with her husband, she has been dubbed the silent princess. Instead of acting as a catalyst, she seems to some a hothouse flower: She has replaced her stylish wardrobe with kimonos and conservative suits and walks discreetly behind the prince, whom she must address in public as Your Imperial Highness.
Fueled by Masako's reticence, Tokyo's popular press—abetted by European tabloids—has suggested that she is struggling with infertility and depression, that she seldom sees friends, has lost weight and is disappointed with her marriage to the studious Naruhito, 37, whose hobbies include playing the viola. (Clucking over the princess's life in a "golden prison," France's Point de Vue claimed in October that "during her very rare public appearances [she] barely manages to hide profound sadness.")
Gossip about Masako became so furious, in fact, that the imperial household launched an unprecedented, Buckingham Palace-style public-relations offensive. In December, on the eve of her birthday, Masako met with 17 uncommonly respectful reporters at Tokyo's Akasaka Palace. Declaring that she was not "in a state of depression...so I hope no one will worry," the princess demurely criticized the media, saying that some reports about her "cite examples that are not based on truth." She also suggested that her job isn't an easy one. "The question," she said, "is...one of finding a point of harmonious balance between a traditional model of a crown princess and my own personality."
Indeed. As it happens, those who know her well say that Masako has adapted well to life at court and the pressures of producing an heir. "Marrying," says Dr. Elizabeth Owens, a Harvard classmate and physician in Englewood, N.J., who describes herself as Masako's best friend, "was a very conscious decision for her. She knew her freedom was going to be restricted. [But] she's the same person as before. She's happily married, and the press reports upset her."
Though a source close to Masako acknowledges "there were things she had to work very hard at," he says that she is extremely close to Naruhito, who shares her enthusiasm for literature, classical music and sports, including skiing. "He's a very thoughtful, kind, bright person," says the source. "She is very, very happy."
If Masako has failed to bring the royal family into the 20th century by wearing Galliano or inviting celebrities to tea, friends aren't surprised. Though pegged as a hard-driving professional, she never expressed any intention to alter the imperial family. "The media image of her is completely wrong," says Yukie Kudo, a journalist who was a close friend at the University of Tokyo, where Masako studied economics in 1989. "I've seldom met any woman our age who is so graceful and so Japanese."
Not that the "golden cage" cliché doesn't have a certain resonance. Detectives shadow her every movement in public, and she usually drives her Toyota only within the 125-acre palace compound. Though she travels with Naruhito on official engagements, she has yet to take up a particular cause. And outside the palace, the once-vibrant Masako has dutifully adapted the distant mien of an empress-to-be. "There is a very regal air about her," says Harvard classmate Kathy Matsui, a financial strategist who spoke to her at a fund-raiser in Tokyo in June 1996.
The concepts of discipline and service to her country have always been integral for Masako. A child of privilege whose father, Hisashi Owada, is Japan's ambassador to the UN, she was hardly a Di-style ingenue. Though her parents lived in Tokyo when she was born, her father's postings took the family (including her mother, Yumiko, a chemical magnate's daughter; and twins Reiko, a UNICEF staffer in Beijing, and Setsuko, a Harvard graduate student, both 30) to the Soviet Union, Manhattan and Boston, where her father lectured at Harvard. By the time she met Naruhito at a 1986 reception in Tokyo, Masako had sailed through Japan's foreign service exam. While she was reluctant to relinquish her freedom, Naruhito reportedly persuaded her to accept his third proposal by arguing that "working as a diplomat and working as a member of the imperial family are the same thing."
Perhaps. Diplomats, though, are seldom subjected to headlines like "Cheer up, Masako, the baby will come!" Since 1993, Masako has been surrounded by relentless speculation about a pregnancy. At the moment the couple's prospects are uncertain; though insiders say they are trying hard to conceive, it is unclear whether they have undergone treatment for infertility. At a '96 press conference, Naruhito tried to quell rumors by saying, "It seems that the stork likes a quiet environment. If it's going to come flying our way, I think we'd like to take it in our own pace." Beside him, Masako managed a wan smile.
For all of the anxiety about an heir, friends say that her life is more harmonious than one might suspect. When she isn't meeting disaster victims with the crown prince, she plays tennis with him, practices the flute and keeps up with friends by e-mail. Armed with her mother's cookbooks, Masako often makes dinner for Naruhito; when he jogs inside the palace grounds, she trails along on her bike. Close to her family, she has made visits, incognito, to her parents' home in an affluent Tokyo suburb, where "she still lays out the table and helps out in the kitchen," says a family friend.
And if the crown princess pauses to linger over thoughts about the path not taken, those who know her would be surprised. "She was always the one who thought very hard before making a decision," says a friend. "Once she made it, though, she never looked back."
MICHELLE GREEN
JENNIFER FREY in New York City
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