“See—see, sire,” he said, slowly, strongly, so that every syllable tore its way to the understanding of the Mikado—“see, the shogunate is already weakened. It comes creeping to Kioto to give that nominal submission to your Majesty ordained by custom to be paid once a year, but deferred up to this day for just two hundred and thirty years. Already the shogunate, needing your divine support, crawls. Crush it, sire—crush it!”
To Echizen the diplomat, this new development in the situation had unfolded itself with intuitive rapidity.
“Sire,” said Echizen, “I can tell your Majesty what the shogunate will advocate.”
“What?”
“The closing of the ports and the sending away of all foreigners.”
“But that is just the policy you advocate,” said Kommei. “You will grant me that this is suspicious,” he quickly added.
Echizen answered:
“Your Majesty, the shogunate, realizing its own weakness, will outwardly identify itself with a popular policy. In secret, it has its own policy.”
“Sire,” interjected Mori, beseechingly, “I pray you answer them with the majesty that is Japan, and commit yourself to no policy with them. Once they are gone, command the expulsion of the foreigner, and we, your true and faithful Imperialists, will obey you at once.”
The Emperor’s faith was still unsettled. Their proposals he respected, but their loyalty he distrusted.