Passover in New Orleans

I went to a hypnotist's show once, here in New York. It was years and years ago, around 1870 or so. My wife was always very superstitious, and she was the one who wanted to see the show. But I was the one who ended up on stage. The hypnotist told me and the other volunteers to close our eyes, and I felt myself swaying back and forth as he lulled us into a trance. Then he told us all that we were musicians in a conceit hall, about to play the opening notes of a symphony. I later found out that I was the only volunteer to take up the violin. When I had finished the first movement, the hypnotist dismissed the others and continued with me. By the end of the evening, I had played a dozen other instruments, traded neckties with a man in the front row, barked like a dog and kissed a woman who wasn't my wife. In the final act, I climbed up to one of the box seats just beside the stage, where I fired an imaginary pistol and assassinated an imaginary president. The audience adored it.