The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1886-05-22
HEROIC MEURTRIER.
The True History OF a Great
French Athlete.

was at one time employed in a Gov
eminent office. Every day from ten
until four o'clock 1 became a voluntary
prisoner in depressing Office, adorned
with yellow pasteboard boxes and filled
with the musty odor of old papers,
There l breakfasted on Italian cheese
and apples which I roasted at the CRATE;
I read the morning papers, even to the
advertisements; / ryhmed verses. and
i attended to the affairs of state to the
extent of drawing, at the end of each
month, a salary which barely kept me
from starving.
recall to-day one of my companions
in captivity at that epoch. He was
called Achille Meurtrier, and certainly
his fierce look and his tall form seemed
to warrant that name. He was great
big fellow, about forty years old, with
out too much chest or shoulders, but
who wore felt hats with wide brims,
short, but ample coats, large plaid
trousers, and red neckties under rolling
collars. He wore a full beard, long
hair, and was very proud of his hairy
hands. The chief boast of Meurtrier,
otherwise the best and most amiable of
companions, was to trife with an
athletic constitution, to possess
the biceps of prize fighter, and, as he
said himself, not to know his own
strength. He never made a gesture
even in the exercise of his peaceable
profession that did not have for its OBJ
ject to convince the spectators of his
prodigious vigor. Did he have to take
from its case an empty pasteboard box,
he advanced toward the shelf with the
heavy step of street porter, grasped
the box solidly with tight hand, and
carried it with stiff arm as far as the
next table with Struggling of shout
ders and frowning of brow worthy of
Milo of Cretona. He carried this man.
ner so far that he never nsedle appar-
ent effort even to lift the lightest objects,
and one day when he held in his right
hand n basket of old papers, saw him
extend his left arm horizontally as if to
make a connterpoise to the tremendous
weight.
i ought to say that this robust creature
inspired me with profound respect,
for was then, even more than to-day,
physically weak and delicate. and in
consequence filed with admiration for
that energetic physique which i lacked.
The conversations of Meurtrier We're
not of nature TO diminish the admira-
ton with which he inspired me. Above
all, in the summer, on Monday morn
ings, when he had returned to the Office
after our Sunday holiday, he had an in
exhaustible fund of stories concerning
his adventures and feats of strength.
After having taken off his felt hat, his
coat and his vest. and having wiped the
perspiration from his forehead with the
sleeve of his shirt to indicate his san
guine an ardent temperament, he would
thrust his hands deep lin the pockets of
his trousers, and, standing near me in
an attitude of perpendicular solidity,
begin monofogue something as
follows:
What a Sunday, my boy! Pos
itively no fatigue can lay me up. Think
of it-yesterday was the regatta at
BONNEVILLE le-Pont-at six o'clock i'm the
morning the rendezvous at Bercv for
the crew of the Marsouin-the sun is up
we jump into our rowing suits and
seize the oar and give way--one-two,
one-two--as far as Joinville then over
board for swim before breakfast; strip
to swimming drawers. Jump ovor-
board, and look out for squalls. After
my bath / have the appetite of tiger.
Good; l seize the boat by one hand and
l call out, Carpenter, pass me small
nam. Three motions in one time and |
have finished it to the bone. Charpen-
tier. pass me the brandy flask. Three
swallows and it is empty"
So the description would continue
dazzling Homeric.
1.-The hour for the regatta-noon, the
sun just overhead. The boats draw up
in line on the river, before tent gaudy
with streamers. On the bank the
Mayor, with his scarf of office, gend-
armes in yellow shoulder belts, and a
swarm of summer dresses, open para
soils, and straw hats. Bang! The sig
nal gun is fired, the Marsouin shoots
Aoi W CRU Vi uci CotupStitOts anu gains
the first prize, and no fatigue. We dine
at Creteil. How cool the evening in the
dusky arbor; pipes glow in the dark
ness, and moths SINCE their wings
in the fame of the emetette du
sirsch. At the end of a dessert
served on decorated plates. we hear
from the bali room the call of the cor
net. Take places for the uuadrilIei
But already rival crew beaten that
same morning, has monopolized the
prettiest girls. A fight! teeth broken,
eyes blackened, ugly falls. and whacks
below the belt; in word, poem of
physical enthusiasm, of noisy hilarity,
If animal spirits"
And the evenings of my astonishing
were not less full of adven-
ure than his Sundays. Collar-and-el-
low wrestling in q tent, under the red |
light of torches, between him, simple |
I'M afaur and Duhois the iron man in