Hitler, Stalin and I

by Heda Margolius Kovály

  Nobody had an idea of what was really happening in Czechoslovakia. It was only after they detained people we really had known that we were suddenly terrified. That is, I was suddenly terrified – Rudolf used to say: “It can’t be possible for somebody to get arrested for nothing. Something must have happened. Maybe they did something inadvertently, or made a serious mistake, or they got entangled in an intrigue.” I told him: “If you say so …” I was afraid to talk to him because I realized I was undermining him. I said to myself: “I’m his wife. I should support him in his work and not always raise complaints.”

  We went skiing, and Rudolf became ill suddenly. We skied down from Horní Mísečky in the Krkonoše Mountains, and he stopped and said his head was spinning. I thought: “That’s nerves. He must have found out something terrible.” From there on I think it was clear to me what was happening around him and that he couldn’t do anything about it. He submitted his resignation, but it was rejected. His health deteriorated, and the dreadful detentions continued. They arrested people we knew who were honest and decent – and nobody knew why. Their families had no news whatsoever about them. I began to be very unhappy.

  It turned out that most of those arrested were Jews. I said: “Rudolf, isn’t it peculiar that most of the detained are Jews?” Rudolf replied: “How can you even say that? Why would you think that a Communist could be an anti-Semite? That’s one of the basic principles of Communism, that all people are equal and there’s no difference if a person is black, white or whatever. Go and look it up.”

  When again it was being emphasized that someone was a Jew, I wasn’t surprised. Russians started the pogroms, and I never believed that they ever overlooked the ethnic origin of people.

  Have you ever had any special feeling of being Jewish?

  I have never reconciled myself with the concept of the Jewish racial origin because I never thought that I had such an origin. I always considered myself the same as others. We have a slightly different religion, but along with Catholic or Protestant friends, we have one God and I never worried about it. My father said: “Jesus Christ was the greatest Jew.” There was no direct conflict among these religions, so I never deliberated on it further.

  Anti-Semitism is a disease, and Jews were always an easy target. In some western countries perhaps they have managed to eradicate this, not totally, but to be an anti-Semite is such backwardness. People realized that when Jews gained power and rights in the countries where they lived then usually they endeavored to improve their country and help elevate its arts and sciences. Today one can observe that the world’s Jewish community is comparatively small, but in the United States, for example, there are people who deserve credit for increasing prosperity. They participate in government or various branches of business achieving excellent results, and there isn’t anything to reproach them for. But the further east one goes it becomes worse. That has to be considered.

  I never encountered any anti-Semitism in my youth; I never thought about it. When during the Nazi occupation we had to carry the Judenstern on our coats, and my mother and I could still travel on a tram, several people offered her a seat showing their feelings for us and that they believed what was happening to us was wrong.

  Rudolf began as Chief of the Cabinet of Antonín Gregor, Minister for Foreign Trade, and was initially only concerned with administrative tasks, but after a short while he was given the post of Deputy Minister. I was very unhappy, wishing so much that Rudolf wouldn’t take it. He still hoped that he could get a place at a university and become a lecturer. He loved theoretical principles of law and kept saying: “I don’t want to stay there. I’ll do my duty that they’ve entrusted me with. Surely there’ll be another person who will take over from me, and I’ll go back to my books.” He didn’t take his situation that seriously, but from his colleagues I could feel insincerity, a desire for power and dogmatism. One was continuously observed in what one said or did, or if one freely voiced one’s opinions. That wasn’t normal life; it was terrible. He didn’t feel the same because when he met his colleagues they discussed real economic problems, and we women just sat and looked at each other, afraid to express our own opinion because that could damage our husband’s chances at work.

  On which occasions did this occur?

  We were invited, along with the rest of the cabinet and their spouses, to a party hosted by Minister Gregor. The men went off straight away to solve some economic problems, and we women went to another room and sat around the table talking like little children. Mrs. Gregorová wanted to prove that she had stemmed from the working class and told us: “Girls, I really missed manual labor, so today I scrubbed my apartment’s floors.” Such drivel went on despite the fact that she, as a Minister’s wife, obviously had servants and anything she wished. All the same, she knew that now and then she must display a working class urge, so she said she had to scrub the floors.

  Everybody was afraid to say something. We could never be sure of saying the right thing, so in the end we sat in silence. We were so tired of this charade that we couldn’t find anything to talk about. Then, one clever woman asked: “Have you seen any good plays lately?” Immediately, she got terrified: “So sorry to have raised such a middle class topic …” The cause of it all was fear. When one had become embroiled in it, then right from the beginning one was afraid.

  Did you ever meet President Gottwald?

  I met President Gottwald only once, and it was a catastrophe. It was the celebration of the founding of the republic or some similar affair, which I hated attending because they were always torture; they took Rudolf away from his work, but we had to make an appearance once or twice. The celebration was at the Hradčany Castle. We stood in the corner with a small group of Rudolf’s colleagues. Suddenly the door opened, and Gottwald came in supported by Party Presidium member Oldřich John. The President made a beeline across the room, walked up to me and asked: “How come? Why aren’t you drinking? You aren’t drinking!” The waiter hurried over and offered two glasses of wine. With great embarrassment, I accepted a glass and drank a little. President emptied his glass, looked at me and said again: “How come? You aren’t drinking. Why aren’t you drinking!” I replied: “I had a little …” I was wearing a long dress, and beneath my gown, my knees were trembling. John took over and pushed him out of the room.

  Gottwald was totally inebriated. He drank frequently. It was being said that he was drinking because Stalin left him in the lurch. Before we were completely smothered under Soviet control, their initial promise was that we would be permitted to have our own specific path toward socialism. It would be tackled differently, not the same way as the Soviets had done, only in the broadest strokes. It would be freer in Czechoslovakia to allow us to establish socialism in this country on our own, the way we wished. That, however, was a trap.

  The President’s encounter was an enormous shock for us. It was the first time Rudolf had begun – slowly – to understand my point. At home I sat in the bathroom with a wet towel wrapped around my head and thought of President Masaryk and what an impressive pure human being he had been, how it suited him to be at the Castle, how we used to walk up there to admire him – and now – what we had ended up with.

  All those celebrations and gatherings with government officials were very depressing; I had nightmares about them. We went to see an opera performance of Libuše by Smetana in the National Theatre, and in those special reserved boxes the whole government elite sat. I observed them and whispered to Rudolf: “Rudolf, look at them. Can’t you see what kind of people they are?” Just the way they behaved and looked illustrated what sort of low-grade gathering they were. Václav Kopecký, Minister of Information, looked like a newt – he was uneducated and didn’t display any special intelligence. Viliam Široký, Deputy Prime Minister, had a very unpleasant look, with sunken black eyes – like a person with permanently tightened fists. Alexej Čepička, Deputy Prime Minister, all decked out, described by many as ‘Admiral of the River Vltava Flotilla,�
� wore some strange uniform made especially for him. The wife of the working class President, Martička Gottwaldová, was as round as a ball and swathed in luscious eye-watering diamonds complemented by fur throws flung over her usually bright green outfit. Instinctively we could see that those people weren’t a distinguished group in any way and couldn’t be thought of as having any good intentions for the country.

  After the opera, Rudolf took a week’s holiday. It was autumn. The weather was beautiful, and we toured around the country. We arrived at Seč where during the war the two Rudolfs were in a partisan group. One of them, the same one in whose flat I stayed, had a cottage there. Nearby was a large lake created by a dam built across the river. He told me: “Come on, I’ll take you out boating.” Rudolf wanted to go for a walk and went on his own into the forest. Once we were out of earshot in the middle of the lake, Syrovátka said: “Look, you’ve got to get Rudolf out of his post because for all his hard work, he’s the ideal victim. Exactly for all those great things he’s done, they’ll lock him up. The only way out is if you take it into your own hands; drop him into some scandal, so they’d be forced to kick him out.”

  I didn’t want to show Syrovátka the enormous impression he had made on me because one wasn’t ever sure with whom one was speaking in those days. And I kept telling myself: “How can I trip up Rudolf like that? He’s my husband …” I knew the situation was dire, but I had no idea what to do. And in the end, I did nothing, which was a grave mistake.

  It was 1951, and the terrible situation in the country was getting worse every day. Devaluation of the Czechoslovak crown was rumored, people were frightened, no one dared to say a word in protest, long lines formed at every store and the whole country was on its knees; everyone was desperate. Rudolf constantly tried to console people saying – just wait, it will get better. In the streets, people were rushing around looking for basic goods. Everywhere uncertainty and feelings of anxiety reigned.

  Czechoslovak President Klement Gottwald and his wife, Marta Gottwaldová, Prague, no date. Courtesy Česká televize.

  Then after a long break, we sat down together at last. We had a small cozy room where we liked to sit in the evening. Unexpectedly we established a renewed connection, a restored sense of understanding each other that we used to have when we were younger, when we followed each other’s thoughts clearly without any further explanation. When I was a small girl, I used to say that heaven was a place where nothing needed clarification. I said: “Rudolf, look, it can’t go on like this. This country is in total disarray, and I’m very frightened for you. I think that what’s happening is a first class swindle to rip-off fools like you, idealists who tremble with fear every time the doorbell rings. This is all the biggest racket and the worst rot, and it’ll end very badly.”

  Rudolf got up, went to the window and, as he looked outside, said: “If that’s true what you say, if it’s all a swindle and a fraud, then I’m a participant in a terrible crime, and if I convince myself that it’s true, then I wouldn’t be able to go on living. I wouldn’t want to and couldn’t live anymore.” That was the last serious conversation we ever had. It was the end of 1951.

  The accused await their verdicts at the Slánský Trial, Prague, November 27, 1952. All of the defendants are flanked by military officers. Rudolf Margolius can be seen in the third row at the edge of the photograph. Rudolf Slánský is in the front row, second from left.

  Prosecutor Josef Urválek at the Slánský Trial.

  Courtesy Česká televize.

  XIII

  WITHOUT A SINGLE WORD

  THE TRIAL

  I lived with anxiety continuously and encouraged myself: “Come on, you have to get out of this.” Even at work I had a feeling that there was nothing I could do, and I worried that our child had been growing up without his father. When Rudolf had a few free moments he played with his son, and that was very nice. But he kept coming home later and later and working on Sundays. As a result, he spent very little time with our child – maybe once a week. I was very troubled by it, and then I had a tangible feeling that something terrible was happening.

  One night, Rudolf came home from work very late again. A friend of mine was visiting, and we both started to provoke him, telling him off about how badly the country was faring, and that there was unrest and nervousness and people were losing their calm. Rudolf tried to pacify us saying: “It’ll get better; it’ll be all right.” I got really angry and told him: “I don’t want to hear this anymore, go away.”

  That was the very first time we went to bed without making up. We hardly ever had arguments, and I don’t remember quarreling except about politics. Political matters were always the stumbling block. Later he took me by the shoulders and wanted to reconcile, but I said: “Leave me alone, I’ve had enough.”

  I was nasty to him and regretted it the next day. Toward the evening I phoned the office and asked: “When are you coming home, come soon.” I thought we’d make up. He said: “I can’t yet. I still have loads of work but will try.” So I sat down and read a book.

  Josef Lada illustration from The Good Soldier Švejk, an unfinished series of satirical books by Jaroslav Hašek, released by Czech publishing house A. Synek between 1921–1923.

  That’s very important that you sat at home and read Jaroslav Hašek’s uplifting, satirical book, The Good Soldier Švejk [1921–23]. That’s fundamental.

  It was because I wanted to start a new life without any worries. At ten o’clock I phoned again: “When will you be back?” He said: “Soon, just one thing to finish.” So I took an aspirin and went to bed.

  After Rudolf had been driven home, the whole of Veverkova Street was barricaded by State Security limousines and flooded with searchlights. They arrested my husband heroically and theatrically when he got out of the car. They disarmed him by taking his briefcase and drove him off, not sure where, possibly to Ruzyně prison near Prague. I never found out. At midnight five men knocked on our apartment door and notified me that Rudolf had been arrested and that they had to search the apartment. I had to sit there watching their search. I smoked then and lit one cigarette after another. They took over the flat and searched everything – even all of our books, everything.

  They behaved very politely and civilly toward me. Only one – it was so strange – only one was rough and very rude, snapping at me the entire time. We had a writing desk where all our private correspondence was stored. I used to write to one of my distant cousins who lived in Great Britain. Rudolf advised: “Always keep a copy of your letters just in case you have to confirm their content.” I did that. I typed them and kept copies in the writing desk. That rude man opened the lid of the desk and rummaged inside. I thought: “My God, that’s bad. There’re the letters written in English, and that alone could hurt Rudolf’s case.” I saw him taking the copies and waited for him to start shouting at me, but he rolled them up and tucked them away behind the other correspondence. He didn’t say a thing.

  That afternoon I had gone shopping because Rudolf needed a new suit, and I wanted to buy cloth for it. I put some money in my handbag, but, because there was a long line, I didn’t get into the shop and left the handbag at home on my return without taking anything out. The leader of these five men picked up the handbag, but the rude man took it from him and said: “I’ll look through it.” My 1952 diary was in the bag; even so, now past midnight on January 11th there was nothing written yet inside. He looked at it contemptuously and threw it onto the heap of things being confiscated. Even though he couldn’t have helped but notice the money inside, he shut the handbag, and put it down again.

  They went through Ivan’s room too. I begged them not to go in there, and if the child had woken to the sight of strange men going through his things, he could have had a shock. They said they had to search everywhere, but I must say they looked through Ivan’s room with consideration not to wake him.

  They confiscated everything except the handbag, even taking my own salary, which I kept in the dra
wer; they even confiscated our savings bank passbook, which gave access to all we had, including the money left from the sale of my parents’ house. When they finally left in the early morning hours, I had nothing.

  I had to pick myself up and go to work. While there, I was so beside myself, I had no idea what to do. I wondered what was possibly happening to Rudolf? Notwithstanding, I was afraid of doing anything that would make things worse for him. I phoned the Ministry and asked for the Minister. He wasn’t there. I tried to reach other administrators and Deputy Ministers who worked with Rudolf and knew him well – he was their colleague, but no one would talk to me. Finally I gave up, went to see my boss and told him what had happened. He said: “I don’t know your husband, but I believe you and know you. Please stay as long as you can. I’ll let you know how long I’d be able to keep you here.”

  I worked there for a couple more weeks. It was terrible as I had no money, only the money I had in the handbag for the suit. I was terrified for Rudolf – every night lying in bed I listened for the elevator going up and thought: “Maybe it’ll stop at our floor, Rudolf will come out and say it was a misunderstanding, and that they have let him go.” Every night I waited for him to come back; I couldn’t believe that such a completely upstanding man could have had any unpleasantness. I still didn’t see the depth of that whole catastrophic wickedness.