The Dynamite Club: How a Bombing in Fin-de-Siecle Paris Ignited the Age of Modern Terror by John Merriman Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Merriman
occasion, a cow, which he took to a starving woman. A worker who lived on boulevard Voltaire recalled Émile giving money and sometimes shelter to "unfortunate people" and his particular love for children. On one occasion, he invited a friend who had been evicted by his landlord to stay in his room until he could find another place.
Until the middle of 1891, Émile Henry had always respected what he called "the present morality," including the principles "of country, family, authority, and property." However, his teachers had forgotten to teach him one thing, "that life, with its struggles and disappointments, with its injustices and inequalities, opens the eyes of the ignorant ... to reality." This had happened to him. He had been told that life was "open to the intelligent and the energetic," but what he saw in the Paris of the Third Republic clearly demonstrated otherwise. He began to realize "that only the cynics and grovelers can get a place at the banquet." He had believed that social institutions were based on justice and equality but had found only "lies and treachery," a republic rife with sleazy financial scandals and massive corruption, amid shocking poverty. The upper class "has appropriated everything, robbing the other class not just of the sustenance of the body but also of the sustenance of the mind."
In 1887, it emerged that Daniel Wilson, the son-in-law of the president of France (Jules Grévy), had sold the Legion of Honor, a medal signifying France's highest honor, to those who could afford it, making a tidy profit. He and other members of the Chamber of Deputies had also taken large bribes in exchange for their support of a company that had begun construction of the Panama Canal and then run into daunting difficulties before going broke in 1889. Such sums paid for fine dinners in the restaurants and hotels of the
grands boulevards
on which Émile walked. Without a hint of shame, Wilson, who used the stationery of the president of France to drum up business, proclaimed that he had done nothing more than any politician worthy of the name. Many criticized the blatant corruption, along with the wasteful colonial adventures, of the current government, questioning its legitimacy.
The injustice plagued Émile, an extremely sensitive young man. Every hour of every day, the bourgeois state ignored or even abused the weak. The contrasts between rich and poor in Paris were indeed astonishing. According to those on the upper rungs of society, the factory owner who accumulated a colossal fortune from the labor of his pitifully poor workers was an honest man, and the politician and the minister who took bribes were "devoted to the public good." Army officers who experimented with new rifles by shooting African children understood that they were doing their duty to their country; one of them had received congratulations in the Chamber of Deputies from its president. Émile felt profoundly dislocated and alienated by this state of affairs. He loved humanity but hated what he saw around him.
At first, briefly, Émile considered himself a socialist. Then, late in 1891—or at the latest, the beginning of 1892—Émile became an anarchist. A primary influence was his older brother, Fortuné, who had left school in 1885 to take a job at the Central Pharmacy. Even shorter than Émile, Fortuné was stocky and dark-complexioned, with brown hair, a mustache, and sideburns. Excused from military service because of an ankylotic arm, Fortuné left the pharmacy after a "discussion" with his boss, probably about politics. Fortuné was then a socialist and briefly worked on a socialist newspaper. By 1889, he was known to the police, turning up at various socialist meetings, including one determined to achieve "the union of all proletarians" in view of "the decisive struggle" that would end the bourgeois republic. Early in 1891, Fortuné broke with the socialists and embraced anarchism. He believed that the state could not be
Until the middle of 1891, Émile Henry had always respected what he called "the present morality," including the principles "of country, family, authority, and property." However, his teachers had forgotten to teach him one thing, "that life, with its struggles and disappointments, with its injustices and inequalities, opens the eyes of the ignorant ... to reality." This had happened to him. He had been told that life was "open to the intelligent and the energetic," but what he saw in the Paris of the Third Republic clearly demonstrated otherwise. He began to realize "that only the cynics and grovelers can get a place at the banquet." He had believed that social institutions were based on justice and equality but had found only "lies and treachery," a republic rife with sleazy financial scandals and massive corruption, amid shocking poverty. The upper class "has appropriated everything, robbing the other class not just of the sustenance of the body but also of the sustenance of the mind."
In 1887, it emerged that Daniel Wilson, the son-in-law of the president of France (Jules Grévy), had sold the Legion of Honor, a medal signifying France's highest honor, to those who could afford it, making a tidy profit. He and other members of the Chamber of Deputies had also taken large bribes in exchange for their support of a company that had begun construction of the Panama Canal and then run into daunting difficulties before going broke in 1889. Such sums paid for fine dinners in the restaurants and hotels of the
grands boulevards
on which Émile walked. Without a hint of shame, Wilson, who used the stationery of the president of France to drum up business, proclaimed that he had done nothing more than any politician worthy of the name. Many criticized the blatant corruption, along with the wasteful colonial adventures, of the current government, questioning its legitimacy.
The injustice plagued Émile, an extremely sensitive young man. Every hour of every day, the bourgeois state ignored or even abused the weak. The contrasts between rich and poor in Paris were indeed astonishing. According to those on the upper rungs of society, the factory owner who accumulated a colossal fortune from the labor of his pitifully poor workers was an honest man, and the politician and the minister who took bribes were "devoted to the public good." Army officers who experimented with new rifles by shooting African children understood that they were doing their duty to their country; one of them had received congratulations in the Chamber of Deputies from its president. Émile felt profoundly dislocated and alienated by this state of affairs. He loved humanity but hated what he saw around him.
At first, briefly, Émile considered himself a socialist. Then, late in 1891—or at the latest, the beginning of 1892—Émile became an anarchist. A primary influence was his older brother, Fortuné, who had left school in 1885 to take a job at the Central Pharmacy. Even shorter than Émile, Fortuné was stocky and dark-complexioned, with brown hair, a mustache, and sideburns. Excused from military service because of an ankylotic arm, Fortuné left the pharmacy after a "discussion" with his boss, probably about politics. Fortuné was then a socialist and briefly worked on a socialist newspaper. By 1889, he was known to the police, turning up at various socialist meetings, including one determined to achieve "the union of all proletarians" in view of "the decisive struggle" that would end the bourgeois republic. Early in 1891, Fortuné broke with the socialists and embraced anarchism. He believed that the state could not be
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