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    But the people of Yeddo seem to have no especial partiality for gymnastic performances. They require something more dramatic something better calculated to excite the emotions - as wrestling, for example, where man contends against man, or against the laws of the material world. They demand that their histrions shall surmount great obstacles, and expose themselves to great dangers. And, finally, they demand, above all, a continual succession of new and novel feats to supply their insatiable desire for the fantastic and marvellous. For this reason, no spectacle finds so much favor with the people of Yeddo as the public exhibitions of professional wrestlers. These contests are among the most ancient amusements of the Japanese. The tribe of wrestlers date their origin back as far as the third year of the reign of Zinmou, the first of the Mikados, that is, about the year 658 B. C.
    Placed under imperial direction, it is in concert with the government that the association organizes every year the programme of its representations, by distributing its members among the principal cities of the empire. The association nowhere possesses a permanent building for its exhibitions. The constructions improvised for their use, when they accept the invitation of a city, are sometimes quite large, but no useless expense is employed in their erection.
    The general plan of these structures is always the same, and they seldom have more than one gallery, which is reached from the parterre by means of simple ladders made of bamboo. Men and women scramble to their places pell-mell. With the exception of a few boxes reserved for the authorities, there is no distinction except in the prices of the places, those of the gallery being the higher. The multitude fill the enclosure long before the hour of the representation. The results of the contest being the subject of enthusiastic betting, the spectators, who are in the habit of risking their money, appropriate the positions they find most to their convenience - usually the last row of the seats of the amphitheatre forming the parterre, in the centre of which is the arena for the athletes, none of whom show themselves until after the audience are all in their places. They are all restricted to the dressing-room, where they divest themselves of their garments, gird their loins with a fine silk scarf, having a long fringe, and deck themselves with a velvet apron, embroidered with their arms, and over which they suspend the diplomas of their feats. These preparations are interminable. Our noble athletes, in spite of the assistance of their comrades, never find their sashes sufficiently tight, their head-dresses sufficiently drawn up on the back of the neck, or their aprons to fall sufficiently gracefully over their hips. And then they must pass in review all the joints of their arms and legs, make them crack, one after the other, and stretch their limbs over large straw-cushions, suspended from the ceiling of the room by means of cords.
    Finally, the sound of a drum is heard. The tumultuous impatience of the crowd instantly gives place to the most devout attention, for nothing less is expected than an apparition that will excite the greatest wonder and admiration. It is not, in the imagination of the spectators, simple mortals that are about to pass in review before them, but rather giants, colossi, fabulous heroes, who surpass, in strength and proportion, every other race of the human species!
    In the mean time, an obsequious personage, of very small stature, faultlessly attired - the manager, in fact - makes his appearance in the arena. He bows to the right and the left, in the most approved manner, and then announces, in a clear, sing-song tone, the programme of the representation, as well as the names and the glorious titles of the two rival troupes that are about to enter the lists. The tambour sounds a second time; it is the signal for the athletes to appear. They advance proudly, one after the other, with undisguised satisfaction. The truth is, it would be difficult to compose a procession, in any corner of the world, that would compare with that of these athletes of Yeddo. They follow, from generation to generation, we know not what traditional regimen, perfected from century to century, that is rivalled in its results only by those attained by the English breeders of quadrupeds.
    After this parade, they divide into two parties, remove their aprons, and sit down on the ground, to the right and left of the arena, which forms a little circle, raised about two feet above the level of the parterre. It is sanded, and surrounded by a double row of sacks, filled with straw, and protected by an elegant canopy, supported by four pillars. All the rest of the enclosure is uncovered. On one of the pillars of the arena hangs a sprinkler (the gohei); on another, a paper sack, containing salt; the third is ornamented with a sword of honor, and at the foot of the fourth stands a pail of water, with a small dipper in it. There are four judges, each of whom takes a position at the foot of one of the pillars. The manager does not quit the arena. Armed with a fan as his baton de commandment, he invites a representative of each of the rival troupes to enter the arena; then he announces, in a loud voice, amidst the acclamations of the spectators, the titles of the two illustrious champions. They are, however, not ready to begin the contest. The art of finding pretexts for delays is one of the chief merits of the Japanese athlete. Our pair of heroes begin by eying each other from head to foot - but it is only a simple recognition - after which each one retires to his side to take breath, drink a cup of water, and sprinkle a pinch of salt over the sand, to exorcise the evil spirits. Then they meet, apparently by accident, and put themselves in position, that is, the two adversaries squat down, facing each other, and look at the white of each other's eyes. When they have enough of that, they rise with becoming dignity, take another swallow of water, another pinch of salt, reassure themselves that their sashes are drawn tight enough, and slap their thighs and knees with the fiat of their hands to a certain measure, raising first one foot and then the other. Finally, they resume their squatting position. They look at each other as before, but, little by little, we see them straighten up; their fore-arms and fingers extend to grapple with the adversary. Suddenly the attack takes place, when we quickly discover that the entire game consists in pushing or throwing each other beyond the circle traced by the sacks of straw. The contest, it is true, affords rare sport for the Japanese, but there is little in it to edify the European or American. So long as possible, each one avoids letting the other get hold of him.
    It is less on their muscular force and their address than on their weight - that is, on the violent shock, or on the constant pressure of one mass of flesh against another —that the Japanese athlete depends for victory. It is very rarely that one is ever thrown to the ground. And, as for animated tilts, dramatic incidents, and picturesque situations, they are very unusual indeed. Besides, at the least intimation of danger, or as soon as the champions exhibit the least anger, the little manager indulges in a great variety of pathetic grimaces, and immediately interferes. The most he will allow is for one athlete, favored by fortune, to seize the leg of his adversary, and to run him, hopping backward, out of the arena. Nothing more than this is necessary to excite a degree of enthusiasm in the audience impossible to describe.
    The victor is always largely remunerated by those parties who are indebted to him for winning their bets. The athletes, who enjoy a certain celebrity, are received by the better classes of the citizens, and indeed by the nobility, and, in consideration of a small tax, the government allows them to carry a sword. The children shout their names when they see them in the streets, and, if they visit a place of public amusement, the reception they meet with from both sexes reminds one of the honors paid by the populace to the toreros in Spanish cities.