In vain I pointed out to him on paper that I was utterly incapable of making the slightest sound. He still pressed me, until at last I stood up and faced that audience, feeling like the champion fool of all the world, for I was dumb. I made a few signs, and then with burning face sat down. I felt then, and I feel still, that, grievous as my friend’s disappointment was, he need not thus have humiliated me. I am sure, though, that he did not think he was so doing, it was only his desire that his friends should see for themselves that I could not speak to them, much as I must have wished to exercise that privilege.
One audience that I addressed in a large northern town did fairly puzzle me. The hall was full, and I was in good form, but those people never gave a sign that they even knew what I was saying. They sat stolidly looking at the screen, but never making a sound, and though none of them went away until the whole thing was over, they preserved the same uncanny silence all through. No! let me be just. They did once applaud, and for that I was, and shall always be, grateful to them. My chairman was a most amiable schoolmaster, head of an important school in the vicinity, and he exercised his function as chairman in the most praiseworthy way.
So far, so good, but from the commencement of my address I had noted with growing disfavour the behaviour of the young men who occupied the front row of seats. They were evidently out for a lark, and showed it plainly by conversing with one another, gradually becoming more and more audible, until there was a serious interference with the sound of my voice. I grew more and more disturbed, until at last I could endure it no longer, and suddenly ceased speaking. Of course they did so too, so after waiting about a minute in a profound silence, I said gravely:
“I have been waiting patiently for you young gentlemen to finish what must be a very important conversation, since you must needs pursue it in a place like this, where it disturbs me in the performance of my duty, and prevents people who wish to listen to me from hearing. But I think it is very strange that you should come here to talk when you could find so many better opportunities outside. If, however, you feel that you must talk here, I must appeal to the audience whether they want to hear you more than me, and I will abide by their decision.”
A vigorous burst of applause followed, and I had no more trouble, but went on to the end of my lecture in perfect silence. After I had returned to the anteroom my chairman said, pompously:
“I think you were much too severe in your remarks about the behaviour of those young gentlemen.”
“Do you?” I retorted. “Well, all I have to say is that some audiences I have addressed would have had them ejected long before. Their behaviour was that of a pack of uneducated cads.”
He said no more, and I afterwards learned that those young gentlemen were his prime scholars. Hence his defence of their conduct. On my way home with my hostess I expressed my astonishment at the strange apathy of my audience.
“Oh,” she replied, “that is easily explained. I doubt if ten of them understood what you said. They were nearly all German Jews.”
Which set me wondering in another direction, although it did satisfactorily explain the principal mystery.