The Not-So-Good Legacy of King Wenceslas
Albright puts the relationship between Germany and her fellow Czechs in the starkest and clearest of terms: “The Aryans were destined to rule, the Czechs to serve.” Leading to this assertion is a much more imagery-laden exemplification of this nationalistic division as she recalls one of the lowest moments in the history of her homeland:
“President Hácha held the keys so that his guests might see; one for each of the seven locks to the royal chamber and crown jewels of Bohemia, representing the heritage of a thousand years of Czech history. Before him, laid out on a center table, were the king’s scepter, orb, and cloak, the coronation cross and sword, and Wenceslas’s gleaming gold crown. Slowly Hácha made a half turn and surrendered them. Reinhard Heydrich, the acting reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia, grasped the keys firmly, and he, too, held them aloft. Here, on November 19, 1941, in the Wenceslas Chapel of Saint Vitus Cathedral, the Czechs’ supposed leader formally entrusted his nation’s most cherished heirlooms to Germany.”
How to View History
What is the difference between the ways a scholar and regular folk look back at history? It seems a difficult question to answer succinctly, but fortunately Albright’ father boils the whole thing down to an essential image which puts that an into perfect an easily understood perspective:
“A scholar inescapably reads the historical record in much the same way as he would look in a mirror—what is most clear to him is the image of his own values [and] sense of . . . identity.”
Air Show Extreme
A footnote to history that is likely not very well known among Americans—certainly not most around today—offers Albright an opportunity for imagery that is breathlessly exciting before the horror of the realty really sinks in. Just like at a modern air show just before the precision of the Blue Angels suddenly goes terribly, terribly wrong. Apparently, in the early days of World War II, Britons used to watch dogfights in the air in what was “a breathtaking show.”
“The enemy planes began as specks on the horizon, rapidly growing larger; within seconds the kah-chunk, kah-chink of engines could be heard merging into a hum and soon a roar. The planes approached in lines before breaking into groups, then individual arcs as they were challenged. The bombers ducked and swooped, their pilots eager to discharge their deadly cargo and head home. The fighters on both sides buzzed frantically, seeking the cover of clouds or the advantageous glare of sunlight at their rear. As the combatants darted, puffs of smoke from their guns were etched against the blue or black sky, and on the ground, blasts of fire marked the spots where five-hundred-pound bombs punched holes in the earth.”
Welcome to the Spa
Terezin was concentration camp disguised as a city. It was just another in the long line of Nazi ghettoes where those deemed ready to genocide at a moment’s notice could be kept and contained until the signal came to ship them off to the ovens. Newcomers who had little clue into the working mind of Nazi bureaucracy were easily bamboozled by signing a contract offering admission to a spa complemented by great food and rooms with a view. The reality was quite different:
“Instead they were greeted by shouting guards, robbed of their luggage, fed swill, and packed into barracks crawling with vermin. In a matter of weeks, rooms for four people became warehouses for twenty, then forty, then sixty. Triple-decker bunks stretched from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, with two inmates sharing every mattress. When the supply of habitable rooms was exhausted, prisoners were jammed into windowless attics, cellars with dirt floors, and dust-ridden supply closets and storerooms. The shortage of eating utensils was more than matched by the lack of food. In July, the sewers backed up. There was not nearly enough clean water.”
