CHAPTER XVIII.
1812 to 1816.
A Clergyman's Dinner-party at Bath—First Appearance of Grimaldi's Son, and Death of his old Friend, Mr. Hughes—Grimaldi plays at three Theatres on one night, and has his Salary stopped for his pains—His severe illness—Second journey to Bath—Davidge, "Billy Coombes," and the Chest—Facetiousness of the aforesaid Billy.
Two days after his arrival in Bath he appeared at the theatre, where he was fortunate enough to elicit the warmest applause and approbation from a crowded audience; nor was he less successful at Bristol, the theatre being completely filled every night he performed. He remained in this part of the country during five weeks, playing four nights in every week at Bath, and the remaining two at Bristol. By this trip he realized 287l.-125l. for salary, and 162l. for benefits; but although it was a lucrative expedition, it was by no means a pleasant one, the weather being exceedingly inclement, and he being compelled to return to Bath every evening after the performances at Bristol were over. The nightly rides at that season of the year were by no means agreeable; he suffered very much from colds, and, upon the whole, was very far from sorry when his engagement terminated.
During his stay at Bath a little incident happened, developing, in a striking point of view, a very repulsive trait of discourtesy and bad breeding in a quarter where, least of any, such an exhibition might have been looked for.
Higman, the bass-singer, who was then in great repute, and was afterwards the original Gabriel, in Guy Mannering, but is since dead, was invited with Grimaldi to dine with a reverend gentleman of that city. They accepted the invitation, and upon their arrival found a pretty large party of gentlemen assembled, the clerical host of course presiding. The very instant the cloth was removed, this gentleman commanded, rather than asked, Higman to sing a song. Not wishing to appear desirous of enhancing the merit of the song by frivolous objections, he at once consented, although he had scarcely swallowed his meal. It was deservedly very much applauded and complimented, and the moment the applause had ceased, the reverend doctor turned to Grimaldi, and in the same peremptory manner requested a song from him. He begged leave to decline for the present, urging—what was indeed the truth—that he had scarcely swallowed his dinner. The observation made by the host in reply rather astonished him.
"What, Mr. Grimaldi!" he exclaimed, hastily, "not sing, sir! Why, I asked you here, sir, to-day expressly to sing."
"Indeed, sir!" said Grimaldi, rising from the table: "then I heartily wish you had said so when you gave me the invitation; in which case you would have saved me the inconvenience of coming here to-day, and prevented my wishing you, as I now beg to do, a very unceremonious good-night."