CZECHOSLOVAKIA: Death No. 2

Conspicuous among the grim, worried satellite leaders who journeyed to Moscow for Stalin’s funeral was Klement Gottwald, 56, President of Czechoslovakia, chairman and secretary general of the Czechoslovak Communist Party. Of all Western Communists, Gottwald stood closest to new Soviet Boss Malenkov during the funeral ceremonies; only Chou En-lai of Red China stood closer. Although, in Moscow’s view, Gottwald was merely a tried and trusty puppet, to the Czechs he was an absolute boss and tyrant. He had in his hands the government, the party, the army, the police. Four months ago he had hanged the last of his visible rivals, Rudolf Slansky, and all known Slansky adherents were eliminated with their leader. Thus, in Moscow last fortnight, Gottwald stood at the apogee of his long career. Last week death struck Klement Gottwald down.

Atop Lenin’s tomb in Moscow, Gottwald had stood for 90 minutes in an icy wind and 12° cold. He had been in uncertain health for years, and he was a heavy guzzler who often showed up tipsy at official functions. When he returned to Prague, he looked well enough as he briskly reviewed an honor guard at the airport. But the next day he was ill. A clutch of doctors, including two Russians, called to his bedside in Hradcany Castle (medieval seat of the Bohemian kings), diagnosed his trouble as pneumonia and pleurisy.

The people of Czechoslovakia (and the world) were alerted in a series of meticulously detailed bulletins, interspersed with solemn music—a pattern in close imitation of Moscow’s handling of Stalin’s death. At last came the death bulletin, with assurances that, “to save the life of Klement Gottwald, all was done that could be done by human power,” and that “Comrade Gottwald fought for his life almost until the last moment while fully conscious,” and with a warning: “There must be no weakness or panic in our ranks. Let us rally even closer around the Central Committee . . .”

Black Mark Erased. Gottwald was an earthy, peasant type who liked his pipe and bawdy jokes as well as the bottle. Beneath this exterior, he concealed a vast store of political savvy and cunning. The son of a poor farmer, he was born in Dedice, Moravia, became a carpenter’s apprentice, was drafted into Austria’s World War I army, was wounded on the Russian front, and subsequently deserted. In 1920 he switched from the Socialists to the Communists, by 1926 was chairman of the party, and a member of Parliament three years later. In 1939 he fled from the Nazis and spent the next six years in the U.S.S.R. After the war he returned in triumph, and in 1946, when the Communists won 38% of the popular vote, he became Prime Minister. The next year, with Benes and Masaryk still in the government, Gottwald was playing the democratic, popular-front line; he tried to take Czechoslovakia into the Marshall Plan. He was summoned to Moscow and reprimanded, and changed course overnight.

Somehow he persuaded the Kremlin to forgive his error; perhaps the black mark against him was erased by the smooth and effective way in which he (with Rudolf Slansky’s help) engineered the Communist coup of 1948 against worn-out Eduard Benes and disillusioned Jan Masaryk. After that, all Gottwald had to do was suppress his rivals and keep Moscow happy, both of which he managed fairly well. But Moscow has not been 100% happy, for Czechoslovakia, a highly industrialized and once prosperous nation, has been in deepening economic crises for the past five years.

The Vacuum. Three days after Gottwald’s death, no successor had been announced. Moscow, well aware of the dangerous power vacuum, sent a delegation to Prague headed by Marshal Bulganin—ostensibly to attend Gottwald’s funeral. Outside the Iron Curtain, there was speculation that Czechoslovakia might abolish the office of President; even so, somebody had to be the country’s boss. The chief aspirants were Prime Minister Antonin Zapotocky, 69, who is old for the job and perhaps not aggressive enough; Defense Minister Alexei Cepicka, 43, who rose to favor by marrying Gottwald’s daughter, and is opportunistic and ruthless, but thoroughly disliked by other Communist leaders; Security Minister Karol Bacilek, 57, and Deputy Premier Viliam Siroky, 51, both of whom have the initial disadvantage of being Slovaks in a nation predominantly Czech. Even by Communist standards, there is not much to choose from.