The Bulletin’s Day Book

The stage is set in Austria for a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde melodrama that might well make the Robert Louis Stevenson thriller appear a milk-and-water concoction by comparison.

The stage is set, but it may be set in vain, for in the wings there stands a grim gallows with a noose that waits patiently for its next occupant. And this next occupant, it is reasonable to believe, may be the person who would play the leading role in the Jekyll-Hyde tale of our imagination.

He is Dr. Anton (Rin-Tin-Tin) Rintelen, former Austrian Minister to Italy, and a man in whom the anti-Semitic fever was known to have reached such a high degree that the mercury popped through the thermometer’s top every time he came within sight of an “international banker.” Rin-Tin-Tin (and we hope the heirs of that great movie actor won’t take offense at our dubbing Anton after him) was a Nazi after Goering’s own heart.

If King Anton (as he was known in Styria) escapes the neck-stretching party that may be his lot should he recover from the supposedly self-inflicted wound he received when the Nazi rebellion folded, that will constitute the second act of the drama. As a second act climax it will be a hummer. The picture of a man foiling the hangman’s hemp always gives the gallery gods palpitations of the pump.

But what will give such a second act its significance (for Jews, particularly) is what occurred in the preceding act. When the curtain rises, the scene discovered is the operating arena of a Vienna hospital.

Rin-Tin-Tin is on the operating table. His face is waxen. Death is written all over it. But the doctors haven’t given up hope. He may yet be saved for the noose or whatever Fate holds in store for him.

While the orderlies are wheeling into the operating arena a second white-sheeted figure, one of the doctors punctures an artery in Rinty’s exposed arm and inserts a thin tube. At the same time, an artery in the second fellow’s arm is punctured. The other end of the tube is inserted and the blood transfusion is on.

After a few minutes, a pale pink glow appears on the cheeks of Rintelen. (That may not be medically accurate but it sounds good). The transfusion bids fair to be successful.

But for the Jews among the gallery gods watching the play unfold, the glow of pink has added meaning. For presently, as the curtain is descending on the transfusion scene, the physician who has performed the operation laughs softly and, as if talking to himself, says in a stage-murmur:

“Ah, a good day’s work. If Rintelen lives, he has a Jew to thank for it. The Jewish blood of Josef Kraus flows in his veins.”

Neat? It makes one believe that Fate is not only a dramatist of the first water, but might be a Jewish dramatist at that.

That scene, minus the trimmings inserted by your Daybooker, actually took place in Vienna the other day.

Vienna now awaits the second act. Will the noose get the plump Rintelen neck or will the plump Rintelen neck foil its hempen grip?

All drama-loving Vienna is on edge with expectancy. They like a good show in that city and they like their shows to have three acts.

If Rintelen, with a pint or so of Jewish blood coursing in his veins, dies for treason to the country, the show ends with the second act. And Fate will have to step before the curtain and announce “That’s all there is, there isn’t any more.”

And who will blame the temperamental Viennese audiences if they pelt Fate with soft vegetables and give it the Bronx cheer?

This Daybooker for one will be in a mood to toss an overripe tomato or two at the dramatist for having dubbed a “natural.” In company with millions of others he wants to see this drama acted out to a more pleasing finish. The spotlight focused on a figure dangling from a gallows may be okay for those who like their theatre fare realistic, but we’d rather have a dash of pollyanna in our foot-light cocktail if you don’t mind.

Bring on that third act, Austria. Curtain!

(Rintelen, breathing a lot easier since the hempen necklace was found unsuitable for his Adam’s apple, is discovered seated in the Chancellor’s seat once occupied by the game-cock Dollfuss. As the curtain rises, Marshal Fey walks on the set from the left. Fey is now Vice Chancellor in the new Nazi cabinet, a reward for his part in protecting his late master from the Nazi assailants. Fey bears an ornate document on a swastika-decorated platter).

Fey: Mein Fuehrer, here is an order “Aryanizing” the legal, medical, theatrical and writing professions. (With a sly smile). And the blood donor’s profession as well.

(At this last unnecessary reminder by Fey of an unhappy incident in Rin-Tin-Tin’s life, Rinty winces. Incidentally, the Austrian press has been forbidden ever to mention the blood transfusion incident on pain of execution for the entire staff of any newspaper that let such mention slip its columns. But among the official family, the joke was bandied about with considerable freedom to the obvious discomfiture of its object).

Rintelen: (The wince turning to a maniacal grin of pleasure) Aha, aha, give it here! How I will enjoy signing that one.

(Rin-Tin-Tin’s foam – flecked fangs are bared in the typical Hyde manner as he grasps the quill which Hitler presented to him on his accession to office and scrawls his signature. It will be noted that, for the purposes of the Day Book’s version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Rintelen is Hyde before he’s Jekyll).

Fey: (Grinning from ear to ear) Ah, ’tis well, Mein Fuehrer. The people will heil you plenty for that one, ja.

Rintelen: (The fangs still bared) Tell them to think nothing of it. I do my duty as Hitler himself would do ti.

(Fey departs. No sooner is he gone than Rinty undergoes a startling change. His face becomes rigid, the fangs, foam and all, disappear. The pint of Jewish blood in him is beginning to go into action. In a moment he has become a benign, contrite Dr. Jekyll, all too aware of the deed he has just committed).

Rintelen-Jekyll: (Tearing at his hair and beating his chest) What have I done? What have I done? I am slaughtering my own blood brothers. I must make amends.

(No sooner said than done. Rintykyll rushes to a phone and calls Mussolini).

Rintelen: (Talking into the telephone excitedly). Mussy, old pal, give me a hand. I want you to help me exterminate a certain party in Berlin who acts on me like a drug. When I’m under his influence I do things I’m sorry for later. Help me get rid of the Hitler-habit. Call out your army and I’ll call out mine. Mussy, we’ll make war on that nasty drug. Please, Mussy.

Mussolini: (His voice heard in the distance). Rinty, you’re off your nut again. I think it’s the Kraus in you. I can’t help you. You known darn well war isn’t in my line. Good-bye. Call again when you’re feeling normal.

(As Rintelen is hanging up, dejectedly, Fey, who has been listening in on a tapped wire, rushes on. He is followed by Hitler and his aides, one of whom carries a large golden swastika medal on a pillow. The sight of the Berliners acts miraculously on Rinty, who turns rigid for a moment and, fangs once more bared, jumps to attention with a shout of Heil. While the swastika is being hung around his neck, Rintelen keeps repeating Heil with monotonous regularity. The medal-bestowers turn to go. Rintelen continues his Heil, Heil. The Nazi leaders have gone. Unmistakably, as the curtain is slowly lowered, the Heil, Heil turns into a low, lilting, poignant “Heili, Heili.”)

H. W.