Mistakes Of Identity

Mistakes of Identity.

Instances of Cases Which are Humorous and Others that are Far From It.

Men, who in the fulfillment of their profession, or for some special reason, have assumed a role not really their own, are often taken to be really as they seem. Sometimes the error proves to be sufficiently ludicrous.

It is related, says the Sat. Evening Post, that Baron James De Rothschild, who established the Paris branch of the great financial house, was eccentric in his outward appearance, and occasionally in his conduct. He was fond of art, and a patron of painters. He once consented to pose for Eugene Delacroix, as a beggar. While thus occupied a pupil of the painter passed by. So touched was he by the seeming poverty and wretchedness of the ragged beggar that he surreptitiously slipped a coin into the old man's hand--literally bestowing alms on a Rothschild. The financier kept the money, inquired about the giver, and shortly afterward paid back the charity with a princely present.

A number of young Indian gentlemen were studying law in London some few years since. Dr. Vaughn, the Master of the Temple, invited them to spend a pleasant evening at this house. They accepted in nearly every instance. But, though the host waited at the hour fixed, nobody arrived. At last the maid was called in. She was a new servant, fresh to her duties in the house. The puzzled inquiry was made: "Have none of the gentlemen come?" "No, please," said the girl, "but a lot of impudent Christy Minstrels have been a-ringing the bell, and I've been driving them away."

A capital story is told of the ready wit of a man of Middlesex, traveling in Germany. He was called upon, before being allowed to pass through the gates of a petty town, to describe himself. This was the red-tape rule for all strangers in the land. "I am an elector of Middlesex," said the adroit John Bull. In Germany an elector is a person of importance; so word went forth, out came the guards, and not only was the visitor permitted to enter, but he was received with military honors.

But sometimes the foreign blunder a out character of identity is of a different description. The merriment has been mixed. Humor is blended with inconvenience, and, perhaps, risk, in misadventures of arrest. A number of these awkward incidents are reported concerning notable men. Charles Kingsley was thrown into a German prison, when his only offense was a rather too reckless love of angling. He was misconstrued in dress, character, and conduct by over-suspicious natives. His fishing rod was taken for some new fangled deadly weapon, and, to the stolid, rural mind, the wide-awaken Italian hat he wore pointed him out as a follower of Mazzini, the troublesome southern revolutionist.

Dr. Hooker, of Kew, was on one occasion mistaken for a intriguer during his travels in Hindoostan, and was summarily imprisoned, and kept in close quarters for six weeks together in the Himalayas by the Rajah of Sikkim.

Rubinstein, the eminent pianist and composer, found himself in a curious scrape, and one more amusing in retrospect than in the hour of crisis, in the storm year of 1848. The trouble of the time put an end to plans for concerts in Hungary, and he turned his attention to Russia. But, on the frontier, Rubinstein was taken into custody. His looks were held to go against him. The official wiseacres considered him a person extremely likely to be meditating mischief to the state, and believed their suspicions confirmed, when, upon searching his luggage a "score," in MS., was found. The head of the military command felt sure that a treacherous secret was hidden in the notes of this unfortunate composition. Precaution was a safe policy, if, also, a harsh one. The prisoner was ordered off into Siberian exile. His earnest protests were unheeded, and the absurd mistake might have been carried through, but for the timely arrival on the scene of County Weilhorsky. This nobleman knew Rubinstein, and was in time to prevent a cruel scandal. He answered for the composer's bona fides, and obtained his release.

When Salvini, the actor, was touring in Italy he came to a small town, where the voice of fame spoke faintly. The great player was incognito, and studying up a new part. He was overheard using most bloodthirsty language when alone in his lodgings, and the scandalized provincials carried news to the police office that an escaped lunatic was in the house. Salvini was arrested, and kept under surveillance until he could persuade the local authorities that, in spite of making noise indoors, he was same in the street.