In order for Terezin to work as an alibi, the Jews must appear well treated. This is why the Nazis allow them to have a relatively well developed cultural life, with art and theater encouraged—under the vigilant control of the SS, which asks everyone to wear their most winning smiles. And it works. The Red Cross representatives, impressed by their visits, report very positively on the ghetto, its culture, and the treatment of prisoners. Of the 140,000 Jews who will live in Terezin during the war, only 17,000 will survive. Kundera writes of them:
They were under no illusions: they were living in death’s antechamber; their cultural life was exhibited by Nazi propaganda as an alibi; but should that be a reason to refuse freedom, however precarious and fraudulent? Their response was utterly clear: their creations, their art shows, their concerts, their loves, the whole array of their lives were incomparably more important than their jailers’ macabre theatrics. That was their wager.
In conclusion, he adds: “It should be ours, too.”
124
You don’t need to be head of the secret services to see that President Benes is extremely worried. London constantly evaluates the contribution to the war effort made by the various underground movements in the occupied countries. And while France—thanks to Operation Barbarossa—is benefiting from the input of Communist groups, the Czech Resistance is practically nonexistent. Since Heydrich took control, the Czech underground movements have fallen one by one, and the few that remain have largely been infiltrated by the Gestapo. This ineffectiveness puts Benes in a very uncomfortable position: as it stands, even if the Allies are victorious, Britain will not want to listen to a discussion about revoking the Munich Agreement. This means that, even in victory, Czechoslovakia would be restored only to its September 1938 frontiers, with the Sudetenland amputated, leaving it far from its original territorial integrity.
Something must be done. Colonel Moravec listens as his president moans bitterly. This humiliating insistence with which the British compare Czech apathy with the patriotism of the French, the Russians, even the Yugoslavs! It can’t go on.
But what to do? There’s no point ordering the internal Resistance to intensify its activities, given its disordered state. So the solution lies here, in Britain. Benes’s eyes must have shone, and I imagine his fist banging the table as he explained to Moravec what he was thinking. A spectacular attack on the Nazis—an assassination prepared in the greatest secrecy by his parachute commandos.
Moravec understands Benes’s reasoning. The Resistance is dying, so reinforcements must be sent from abroad—armed men, well trained and motivated, who will accomplish a mission that sends out shock waves, nationally and internationally. It must impress the Allies by showing them that Czechoslovakia cannot be counted out, and at the same time it must stimulate Czech patriotism so that the Resistance can rise once again from the ashes. I say “Czech patriotism,” but I’m pretty sure that Benes said “Czechoslovak.” I’m also pretty sure that he was the one who insisted that Moravec choose a Czech and a Slovak to carry out the operation. Two men to symbolize the indivisible unity of the two peoples.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First they must decide on a target. Moravec thinks straightaway of his namesake—Emanuel Moravec, the most collaborationist minister in the Protectorate, a sort of Czech Quisling. But his resonance is too local—no one beyond the country’s borders would care. Karl Hermann Frank is better known: his ferocity and his hatred of the Czechs is legendary—and besides, he’s a German, and a member of the SS. He could make a good target. Then again, if you’re going to choose a German, and a member of the SS…
I can imagine what it must have meant—especially to Colonel Moravec, head of the Czech secret services— the idea of assassinating Obergruppenfuhrer Heydrich: interim Protector of Bohemia and Moravia, Hangman of his people, Butcher of Prague… and also head of the German secret services, thus in some ways his opposite number.
Yes. If you’re going to do something, do it properly. Why not Heydrich?
125
I read a brilliant book set against the backdrop of Heydrich’s assassination. It’s a novel written by a Czech, Jiri Weil, entitled
The title is taken from the first chapter, which reads almost like a joke. Some Czech workmen are on the roof of the Opera House in Prague in order to take down a statue of Mendelssohn, the composer, because he’s a Jew. The order has come directly from Heydrich, recently named Protector of Bohemia and Moravia, and a connoisseur of classical music. But there’s a whole row of statues on the roof, and Heydrich hasn’t specified which is Mendelssohn. Now, apart from Heydrich, it seems that nobody—even among the Germans—is capable of recognizing the Jewish composer. But nobody dares disturb Heydrich just for that. So the SS guards supervising the operation decide to point out the statue with the biggest nose. Well, they’re looking for a Jew, aren’t they? But— disaster!—the statue the workmen start to remove is actually Wagner!
The mistake is narrowly avoided, and—ten chapters later—the statue of Mendelssohn is finally pulled down. In spite of their efforts not to damage it, the Czech workmen break one of its hands when they’re laying it on the ground. This comic story is based on fact: the statue of Mendelssohn really was knocked over in 1941, and (as in the novel) one of its hands was broken. I wonder if they stuck it back on again? In any case, the peregrinations of the poor SS guards in charge of removing the statue—imagined by a man who lived through this period—are an apex of burlesque typical of Czech literature, which is always imbued with this very particular kind of humor, sugarcoated yet subversive. Its patron saint is Jaroslav Hasek, immortal author of the adventures of the good soldier Svejk.
126
Moravec watches the parachute commandos being trained. Soldiers in combat fatigues run, jump, and shoot. He notices an agile, energetic little man who brings down all his opponents in hand-to-hand combat. He asks the instructor—an old Englishman who has served in the colonies—what this soldier is like with explosives. “An expert,” the Englishman replies. And with firearms? “An artist!” His name? “Jozef Gabcik.” A Slovak-sounding name. He is summoned immediately.
127
Colonel Moravec talks to the two parachutists selected for Operation Anthropoid: Sergeant Jozef Gabcik and Sergeant Anton Svoboda—a Slovak and a Czech, just as President Benes wished.
“You will know, from newspapers and the radio, about the insane murders being committed in our homeland. The Germans are killing the best of us. This state of affairs, however, is part and parcel of war, so there’s no point moaning or crying about it. We must fight.
“In our homeland, our people have fought. But now they find themselves in a situation that limits their ability to do so anymore. It’s our turn to help them, from the outside. One of the tasks that must be performed as part of this outside help will be entrusted to you. October is the month of our national holiday—the saddest since we won our independence. We must commemorate this anniversary in a dazzling, devastating way. It has been decided that this will be done by an act that will go down in history—just as the murders committed against our people have done.
“In Prague, there are two men who personify this mass extermination: Karl Hermann Frank and Heydrich, the new arrival. In our opinion, and in the opinions of our bosses, you must see to it that one of these two pays for
