The Silhouettes

== THE SILHOUETTES ==
=== By A. T. Quiller-Couch ===
Originally published in The Speaker 1893
The small round gentleman who had come all the way to Gantick village from the extreme south of
,
and had blown his flageolet all day in without exciting its
population in the least, was disgusted. Toward dusk he crossed the stile which divides Sanctuary Lane from the churchyard and pausing, with a leg on each side
of the bar, shook his fist back at the village, which lay below, its gray roofs
and red chimneys just distinguishable here and there, between a foamy sea of apple-blossom and a haze of bluish smoke. He could not very well shake its dust
off his feet, for this was hardly separable from the dust of many other places
on his boots, and also it was mostly mud. But his gesture betokened extreme
malevolence. 
“These Cornishmen,”he
said, “are pigs all. There is not a Cornishman that is not a big pig.”
He lifted the
second leg wearily over the bar. 
“As for Art —
phit! Moreover, they shut up their churches.”
This was really
a serious matter for he had not a penny-piece in his pocket, the last had gone
to buy a loaf — and there was no lodging to be had in the village. The month
was April, a bad time to sleep in the open; and though the night drew in
tranquilly upon a day of broad sunshine, the earth had by no means sucked in
the late heavy rains. The church-porch, however, had a broad bench on either
side and faced the south, away from the prevailing wind. He had made a mental
note of this early in the day, being schooled to anticipate such straits as the
present. As he passed up the narrow path between the graves, with a gait like a
limping hare's, he scanned his surroundings carefully. 
The churchyard
was narrow and surrounded by a high gray wall, mostly hidden by an inner belt
of well-grown cypresses. At one point the ranks of these trees were 
broken for some
forty feet, and here the back of a small dwelling-house abutted on the
cemetery. There was one window only in the yellow-washed wall, and this window
looked straight on the church-porch. The flageolet-player regarded it with
suspicion ; but the casement was shut and the blind drawn down. The aspect of
the cottage, too, proclaimed that its inhabitants were very poor folk — not at
all the sort to tell tales upon a casual tramp if they spied him bivouacking
upon holy ground. 
He limped into
the porch and cast off the blue bag that was strapped upon his shoulders. Out
of it he drew a sheep's wool cape, worn very thin, and then turned the bag
inside out, on the chance of discovering a forgotten crust. The search
disappointed him, but he took it calmly — being on the whole a sweet-tempered
man and not easily angered, except by ah affront to his vanity. His violent
indignation against the people of Gantick arose from their indifference to his
playing. Had they even run out at their doors to listen and stare, he would not
have minded their stinginess. 
He that cannot
eat had best sleep. The little man passed the flat of his hand, in the dusky
light, over the two benches, and having chosen the one with fewest asperities
on its sur face, tossed his bag and flageolet upon the other, pulled off his
boots, folded his cape to make a pillow, and stretched himself at length. In
less than ten minutes he was sleeping dreamlessly. 
Over his head
there hung a board containing a list or two of the parish ratepayers, and the usual
notice of the spring training of the Royal Cornwall Rangers' militia. This last
placard had broken from two of its fastenings, and, toward mid night was
rustled by an eddy of the light wind so loudly as to wake the sleeper. 
He sat upright
and lowered his bare feet upon the pavement. Outside, the blue firmament was
full of stars, spark ling unevenly, as though the wind was trying in sport to extinguish
them. In the eaves of the porch he could hear the martins rustling in the
crevices that they had come back, but a few days since, to warm again. But what
drew the man to the entrance was the window in the cottage over the wall. 
The lattice was
pushed back and the room inside was brightly lit. But a white sheet had been
stretched right across the window between him and the lamp. And on this sheet
two quick hands were waving all kinds of clever shadows, shaping them, moving
them and reshaping them with the speed of lightning. 
It was certainly
a remarkable performance. The shadows took the form of rabbits, swans, foxes,
elephants, fairies, sailors with wooden legs, old women who smoked pipes, ballet-girls
who pirouetted, twirling harlequins and the pro files of eminent statesmen —
and all made with two hands and, at the most, the help of a tiny stick or piece
of string. They danced and capered, grew large and then small, with such odd
turns and changes that the flageolet-player could hardly hold his laughter. He
remarked that the hands, whenever they were disentwined for a moment, appeared
to be very small and plump. 
After about ten
minutes the display ceased at the shadow of a woman's head and neck crossed the
sheet, which was presently drawn back at one corner. 
“Is that any
better?” asked a woman's voice, low but distinct. 
The
flageolet-player started and bent his eyes lower across the graves and into the
shadow beneath the window. For the first time he grew aware that a figure stood
there, a little way ouc from the wall. As well as he could see, it was a young
boy. 
“That was
beautiful, mother. You can't think how you've improved at it this week.”
“Any mistakes?”
“The harlequin
and columbine seemed a little stiff; but that's the hardest of all, I know. “
“Never mind;
they've got to be perfect. We'll try them again.”
She was about to
drop the corner of the sheet when the listener sprang out toward the window,
leaping with bare feet over the graves and waving his flageolet madly. 
“Ah, no — no,
madame!”he cried. “Wait one moment, the tiniest, and I shall inspire you!”
“Whoever is
that?” cried the voice at the window, rising almost to a scream. 
The youth
beneath the wall faced round on the intruder. He had turned white and wanted to
run, but mastered his voice to inquire gruffly: 
"Who the
devil are you?”
I? I am an
artist, and as such I salute madame and monsieur, her son. She is greater
artist than I, but I shall help her. Her harlequin and columbine shall dance better
this time. Why? Because they shall dance to my music, the music that I shall
make, here, on this spot, under the stars. I shall play as if possessed — I
feel that. I bet you. It is because I have found an artist — an artist in Gan
tick ! O — my — good — Lor ! ' ' 
He had pulled
off his greasy hat, and stood bowing and smiling, showing his white teeth, and
holding up his flag let for the woman to see and convince herself. 
“That's all very
well,” said the boy; “but my mother doesn't want it known yet that she
practices at these shadows.”
“Ha? It is
perhaps forbidden by law.”
“Since you have
found us out, sir,” said the woman, “I will tell you why we are behaving like
this, and trust you to tell nobody. I have been left a widow, in great poverty
and with this one son, who must be educated as well as his father was. Six
months ago, when sadly perplexed, I found out by chance that this small gift of
mine might earn me a good income at a — a music hall. Richard, of course,
doesn't like my performing at such places, but agrees with me that he must be
educated. So we are hiding it from everybody in the village, because we have
always been respected here ; and, as soon as I have practiced enough, we mean
to travel up to .
Of course I shall change my name, and no body will “
But the
flageolet-player sat suddenly down upon a grave and broke into hysterical
laughter. 
“Oh — oh — oh!.
Quick, madame! dance your pretty figures while yet I laugh and before I curse.
O stars and planets, look down on this mad world and help me play ! And, O
monsieur, pardon me if J laugh ; for that either you or I are mad is a
cock-sure. Dance, madame “
He put the
flageolet to his lips and blew. In a moment or two harlequin and columbine
appeared on the screen and began to caper nimbly, naturally, with the wildest
grace. The tune was a merry reel and soon began to inspire the performer above.
Her small dancers in a twinkling turned into gai-boling elephant, then to a
couple of tripping fairies. 
A moment after,
they were flower and butterfly, then a jigging donkey; then harlequin and
columbine again. With each fantastic change the tune quickened and the dance grew
wilder, till, tired out, the woman spread her hands wide against the sheet, as
if imploring mercy. 
The player
tossed his flageolet over a headstone and rolled back on the grave in a
paroxysm of laughter. Above him the rooks had poured out of their nests and
were calling to each other. 
“Monsieur.”he
gasped at last, sitting up and wiping his eyes, "was it good this time?”
“It was quite
different, I'll own.”
“Then could you
spare from the house one little crust of bread? For I am famished.”
The youth
returned, in a couple of minutes, with some bread and cold bacon. 
“Of course,” he
said, “if you should meet either of us in the village to-morrow you will not
recognize us.”
The little man
bowed. “I agree,” said he, “with your mother, monsieur, that you must be
educated at all costs.”
Category:Quiller-Couch
Category:The Speaker