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Page 7
"You
have yet to prove a single case of imposture on my part," protested
Hanussen. "A
single case? I'll prove a dozen." There
was a fidgeting, uneasy commotion in the room. But by now Hanussen had
completely recovered his poise. "Very
well," he said. "Let me provide proof - against the
prosecution... Listen, Mr. State Attorney. You have two hundred crowns in
your wallet, a bus ticket and an unpaid tailor's bill... " There was
laughter as Hanussen continued: "In the attache case of the presiding
judge there are two sandwiches and a book... a commentary on criminal law.
But let me continue. The sergeant at the door has left his handkerchief at
home - and borrowed his wife's. His wife is sitting in the centre of
the last row. The sergeant has a small snuffbox and a comb in his pocket.
Three teeth of the comb are missing. Would you please check all this. "This
is not a music hall," the judge intervened. "You are facing a
court of law. Your freedom is at stake. Please, take this more scriously…
" "I
ask the court to have the statements of my client checked," Hanussen's
counsel rose. "They would provide full proof for his clairvoyant
talent." "That's
just telepathy," protested the prosecutor. "It has nothing to do
with clairvoyance." "Is
it? Then let me give you other proof," Hanussen continued. "At the
railway station at Leitmeritz, Platform Two, there is a man standing. He
wears a green hat. Ten minutes ago he burgled the Commercial Bank. His train
is arriving at Platform Two in four minutes. The money he stole is in his
briefcase. If you act at once, you can still arrest him…" Hanussen
was right. They caught the bankrobber at exactly the spot he indicated.
Hanussen was triumphantly acquitted. In the judgment the court expressly
acknowledged his clairvoyant powers, ignoring the medical and scientific
experts. It was this court judgment that was to help Hanussen to conquer
Berlin in the late twenties. Outside
the hotel, temporarily turned into a courtroom, he ran into an elegant
pretty woman. It was Baroness Prawitz. He
greeted her with an arrogant smile and said: "The four weeks are almost
up, Baroness. Do you remember our talk in Vienna?" "I
do. But I forgot to give you a proper answer." She
swung out her hand and slapped him - once, twice, very hard. Hanussen
stood there, silent and dazed. "Why
are you so startled?" she asked. "Aren't you a clairvoyant?"
* *
*
It was late in 1929 that I saw Hanussen perform for the first and last time in the Scala,
the great variety theatre of Berlin. As a young journalist I had heard much
about the "great clairvoyant", had caught a glimpse of him late
one night in his favourite coffee-house, the Romanisches Café which
the Berlin wits had baptized "Café Megalomania". (Too many egos,
successful or on the skids were flaunted here - it well deserved its
nickname.)
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