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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN AUDIO-VISUAL CULTURE

The Development of
Popular Music Function
in Film
From the Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll to
the Death of Disco
Anthony Hogg
Palgrave Studies in Audio-Visual Culture

Series Editor
K.J. Donnelly
School of Humanities
University of Southampton
Southampton, UK
The aesthetic union of sound and image has become a cultural dominant.
A junction for aesthetics, technology and theorisation, film’s relationship
with music remains the crucial nexus point of two of the most popular
arts and richest cultural industries. Arguably, the most interesting area of
culture is the interface of audio and video aspects, and that film is the
flagship cultural industry remains the fount and crucible of both indus-
trial developments and critical ideas.
Palgrave Studies in Audio-Visual Culture has an agenda-setting aspi-
ration. By acknowledging that radical technological changes allow for
rethinking existing relationships, as well as existing histories and the
efficacy of conventional theories, it provides a platform for innovative
scholarship pertaining to the audio-visual. While film is the keystone of
the audio visual continuum, the series aims to address blind spots such
as video game sound, soundscapes and sound ecology, sound psychology,
art installations, sound art, mobile telephony and stealth remote viewing
cultures.

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14647
 Anthony Hogg

The Development
of Popular Music
Function in Film
From the Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll
to the Death of Disco
Anthony Hogg
Newton Abbot, Devon, UK

Palgrave Studies in Audio-Visual Culture

ISBN 978-3-030-21457-9 ISBN 978-3-030-21458-6 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-21458-6

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2019
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 Preface

As a part-time accountant in my mid-40s, I was looking for a fresh chal-

lenge. So, when I struck upon the idea to go to university, I wanted to
study a topic totally removed from my job, something which enthused
me. My interests included film, so a degree in Film Studies seemed an
obvious choice.
During my final year, my love of popular music drew me towards its
role in film and it was during this time that I wrote a short essay on the
music of Saturday Night Fever. In carrying out research for this piece of
work, I became increasingly aware how little had been written about this
film, particularly its soundtrack. This led me to question why its rich vari-
ety of popular music had been largely ignored. Was it because the film
essentially offered little value in comparison to other, more frequently
cited pop-musicals or was it that its association with disco culture, includ-
ing dance music, contributed to a perception of this being the case?
In attempting to answer this question I completed a thesis which
assesses the significance of Saturday Night Fever’s soundtrack by evaluat-
ing it against other films, both before and after, which incorporate popu-
lar music. That thesis was the kernel from which my ideas and arguments
expanded and developed. The outcome is this book which offers a fresh,
accessible perspective on the historical importance of a small number of
films, including Saturday Night Fever, to the development of the contri-
bution of popular music to film.

Newton Abbot, UK Anthony Hogg

v
 Acknowledgements

Thank you to all my lecturers at the University of the West of England

for introducing me to the world of Film Studies and starting me off on
the route which has ended with this book. I am also grateful to Abigail
Gardner and Robin Griffiths for all their guidance and advice in assisting
me in developing my initial ideas into a complete and coherent form.
Also, thanks to everybody at Palgrave Macmillan who have guided me
through the process of getting my first book published. Finally, many
thanks to Sandra for her always being there to engage with my ideas and
read through my many drafts and to Nikki for our regular discussions on
film and popular music.

vii
 Contents

1 Introduction 1

2 The Classic American Musical Phase: The Films

of Elvis Presley 23

3 The British Invasion Phase: A Hard Day’s Night 57

4 The New Hollywood Alienation Phase: The Graduate 89

5 The Disco Phase: Saturday Night Fever 123

6 The Conservative Post-Disco Phase: Footloose

and Flashdance 151

7 Afterword 163

Index 171

ix
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

From the point at which a solo snare drum gives way to Bill Haley and
His Comets’ rendition of “Rock Around the Clock”, during the open-
ing credits of Blackboard Jungle (Richard Brooks, USA, 1955), popular
music has been a consistent aural component of film. However, despite
the longstanding nature of this relationship, it is not a subject that has
attracted much attention and, consequently, many facets of it remain
unexplored. Donnelly adds weight to this view, whilst highlighting the
need for further research when he observes, “It is startling that there is
so little written on a subject that is so popular as a consumer item and
thus has a significant profile” (2015: 9).
The concept of popular music functions in film as a developmental
process is one such overlooked aspect. Nearly forty years have passed
since Williams first drew attention to this idea with the following appeal:

We need some working hypotheses – “an evolution of the Language of

Cinema” for the soundtrack… we should have precise descriptions of the
soundtrack of selected musicals and non-musicals… these areas could best
be attacked comparatively. (1981: 157–158)

However, during the intervening decades, detailed working hypothe-

ses of this type have not been forthcoming. Motivated by the continu-
ing lack of engagement with Williams’ plea, what follows is an in-depth
response which compares popular music’s functions in a variety of

© The Author(s) 2019 1

A. Hogg, The Development of Popular Music Function
in Film, Palgrave Studies in Audio-Visual Culture,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-21458-6_1
2 A. HOGG

films to highlight a period vital to the evolution of the popular music

soundtrack.
Timewise, central to the notion of development are the years span-
ning the release of Blackboard Jungle, and the emergence of rock ‘n’ roll,
to the demise of disco following the release of Saturday Night Fever.
However, before beginning a detailed investigation of the reasons for the
significance of this period, it is essential to define three of the key terms
which comprise the concept—popular music, developmental process and
music function—as each requires clarification in the context of this topic.

Popular Music
The term popular music is problematic. It is resistant to an overriding,
exact definition which is satisfactory. Shuker concurs with this view,
stating “the criteria for what counts as popular, and their application
to specific musical styles and genres, are open to considerable debate”
(2013: 5). Consequently, it would be futile to attempt to define the term
in such a way.
Given this is the case, rather than struggle with constructing an all-­
encompassing meaning, a more useful alternative is to compile aspects,
commonly attached to the term, which are relevant within the frame-
work of the concept being addressed. As this relates to the association
between popular music and film, popular music can be regarded as orig-
inating in the 1950s, specifically beginning with the inclusion of the
aforementioned “Rock Around the Clock”. This has previously been
identified by Barron as “the precise moment at which this relationship
[between popular music and film] came into being” (2003: 148).
But this assertion should not be interpreted as a claim that no form
of popular music existed prior to this date. Evidently, the term popu-
lar music was employed before 1955. Shuker (2013: 5) tells us it was
first seen in 1855, in William Chapple’s Popular Music of Olden Times,
and was widely used in the 1930s and 1940s. Given this information, it
may appear contradictory to rely upon Barron’s statement that popular
music did not appear in film until 1955, especially as much earlier exam-
ples exist, such as Jakie Rabinowitz (Al Jolson) singing “My Mammy” in
The Jazz Singer (Alan Crosland, USA, 1927), a song which, at that time,
would have been identified as belonging to this genre.
However, such an argument fails to recognize what Shuker describes
as popular music’s “shifting topography” (2013: 6). Popular music
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

should not be thought of as a consistent genre, but instead a fluid one

in which the definitive and temporal parameters undergo constant
modifications. Songs or tunes which were referred to as popular music
by Chapple in 1855 would not be attached to the term today. As these
earlier examples become excluded so the perceived date of origin of the
genre is brought forward in time. This provides a partial vindication as to
how Barron came to identify 1955 as marking the beginning of the rela-
tionship between popular music and film. However, it does not explain
why Barron singled out “Rock Around the Clock” as the key song at the
start of this association. To support this assertion, it is necessary to con-
sider key elements included within existing definitions of popular music.
One such element is popular music’s commercial nature, in that suc-
cess, in part, is measured via record sales and airplay. It is therefore ori-
entated to achieve these goals. Significantly, rock ‘n’ roll coincided with
two industrial innovations which were to boost sales of popular music:
the 45 rpm single and the establishment of record charts as a measure of
commercial success. The introduction of the single and its effect on the
expansion of the influence of the charts represented a new beginning for
music, in a commercial sense. This accounts for rock ‘n’ roll’s associa-
tion with the start of this new era. Since “Rock Around the Clock” was
the first major rock ‘n’ roll hit, in accordance with Barron’s statement, it
could also be regarded as the first popular music to be included in film.
Given its “shifting topography”, this commonly held assumption
that the birth of rock ‘n’ roll denotes the genesis of popular music can
only be made retrospectively, since, at the time, it would have been con-
sidered an extension of the genre. It was only when the seismic effects
upon this genre had been fully appreciated that popular music’s begin-
nings became linked to “Rock Around the Clock”. However, in terms
of the relationship between popular music and film, the song’s inclu-
sion in Blackboard Jungle also marked a significant development at the
time. The song had previously been released in 1954, but only enjoyed
international chart success after it was incorporated into the film. At this
point, the synergistic possibilities of film and rock ‘n’ roll music were
first realized. The coupling of a film and pre-recorded popular music,
both of which were aimed primarily at a youth audience, an increasingly
important demographic, allowed each to be exploited in the promotion
of the other. Consequently, Blackboard Jungle took $5.2 million in US/
Canadian box-office rentals, making it the sixteenth most successful
film of the year, whilst “Rock Around the Clock” achieved international
4 A. HOGG

chart success, reaching No. 1 in the US and UK charts. Barron’s claim is

therefore justified by the combination of the song’s association with rock
‘n’ roll’s beginnings and its chart success as a consequence of its inclu-
sion within a film.

Developmental Process
Having substantiated the reasoning behind the recognition of the pres-
ence of “Rock Around the Clock” in Blackboard Jungle as representative
of the beginning of popular music in film, a comparison to later exam-
ples also reveals popular music’s limitations at this point. This song is the
only example included in the film and is only heard during the open-
ing and closing credits, along with an orchestral version during a fight
sequence. Moving forward in time to 1977, by contrast, popular music is
present in abundance throughout Saturday Night Fever (John Badham,
USA, 1977). In this film, pieces of music are performed by different art-
ists and different versions of individual songs are included. In addition,
music is included diegetically, non-diegetically and meta-diegetically, that
is, both within and outside the world of the film, and within the imag-
ination of the film’s characters. This greater variety, both in the array
of pieces and the ways in which they are used, impacts upon the range
of functions of the popular music in this film. But, clearly, it would be
wrong to assume that all these advances, and their influence upon the
expansion of functional abilities, were instantaneous. It was not a sin-
gle jump from Blackboard Jungle to Saturday Night Fever. During the
intervening period between the release of each of these films, other key
examples were produced which exhibit individual innovations in the use
of popular music in forms which are absent from their predecessors. To
verify this premise of development, such examples need to be analyzed to
identify important phases which make up this process.

Music Function
An understanding of the term music function can best be achieved by
reference to film text. Jaws (Steven Spielberg, USA, 1975), with its
iconic musical theme, provides appropriate examples of music functions,
through the relationship between the film’s score and its other visual
and aural elements. At various points when the theme is heard, includ-
ing when Alex Kintner (Jeffrey Voorhees) is attacked by the shark, the
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

audience is aware of the beast being there even though its image is not
visible on the screen. This suggests some form of association between
the musical theme and the shark. During these scenes it is the music,
rather than the visual image which functions to denote the shark’s pres-
ence. Furthermore, this ability to act as a signifier is not limited merely
to that of a presence but extends to a representation of the shark’s move-
ments. Sipos describes this well: “The ponderous Jaws theme music
suggests a shark pushing inexorably forward, then speeding towards its
prey” (2010: 236). This depiction, which is achieved by increasing the
tempo of the music as the piece progresses, signifies the increased speed
of movement of the shark as it closes in on its victim.
But this is not the limit of the functions of the Jaws theme. This piece
of music is also intended to engender specific emotions in the audience,
including tension and fear, through its structure and choice of instru-
mentation. Its initial bass notes, performed on a cello, creating a deep,
ominous tone, gradually, through the introduction of a tuba, build to a
crescendo as they represent the shark firstly stalking, and then devouring
its prey.
This example demonstrates how a single piece of music can both con-
tribute to an audience’s interpretation of a film and affect its emotional
response to it. This is achieved through the performance of a variety of
functions in collaboration with the film’s other elements such as dia-
logue, sound effects, mise-en-scene and editing.
From the three terms defined above, it is developmental process
which most provides an original angle from which to observe the role
of popular music in film. There already exist several studies which con-
sider the ways in which popular music functions, often by making a
comparison to a classical film score. Foremost among these are Kalinak’s
(2010: 1–8) analysis of the torture sequence from Reservoir Dogs
(Quentin Tarantino, USA, 1992) which incorporates Stealers Wheel’s
“Stuck in the Middle With You”, Reay’s (2004: 48–55) examination
of the compilation score of Goodfellas (Martin Scorcese, USA, 1990),
Anderson’s (2003: 102–116) study of Sliding Doors (Peter Howitt, UK/
USA, 1998) and Topless Women Talk About Their Lives (Harry Sinclair,
New Zealand, 1997), Carey and Hannan’s (2003: 162–177) explo-
ration of The Big Chill (Lawrence Kasdan, USA, 1983) and Rodman’s
(2006: 119–136) evaluation of popular music in Pulp Fiction (Quentin
Tarantino, USA, 1994).
6 A. HOGG

From this body of work there already exists a consensus that popular
music is capable of functioning in a variety of ways that resemble those
of a classical score, though often these functions are achieved by alterna-
tive means. For example, Rodman (2006: 126) concludes that by fore-
grounding female characteristics, “Son of a Preacher Man” and “Girl,
You’ll Be Woman Soon” collectively act as a leitmotif for the character
Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman), much as a composed theme, and varia-
tions upon it would in the case of a classical score. In addition, exist-
ing work provides evidence of functions peculiar to popular music, such
as the representation of a specific period. Reay explains how Scorcese
employs popular music to “chronicle the life of the central charac-
ter” (2004: 50) by compiling a soundtrack of songs ranging from the
Cleftones’ “Can’t We Be Sweethearts”, released in 1956, to The Sex
Pistols’ rendition of “My Way”, released in 1978.
But, this collection of work also demonstrates the need for an investi-
gation into the developmental process, since it exposes a lack of engage-
ment with the principle of the expansion of popular music functionality
as an evolutionary path. Notably absent is a recognition of film’s first
employment of individual functions and the identification of films which
were key to the functional development of popular music from its first
use to the point at which its capabilities resembled, and even exceeded,
those of a classical score. Existing studies focus predominantly on films
produced following this initial period of development. As a result, an
investigation of the derivation of individual functions and crucial phases
in the development of the functional capability of popular music in film
has consistently evaded attention.
Reay’s conclusion in relation to Goodfellas that “the score of popu-
lar songs fulfils many of the functions of the classical score” (2004: 54)
further demonstrates the need for such an investigation since, whilst
this deduction is fully justifiable in relation to the music of this film, it
is also apparent that such a statement could not be universally applied
to all popular music in film dating back to “Rock Around the Clock” in
Blackboard Jungle. As Bill Haley and His Comet’s version of this song
is used only as an accompaniment to the opening and closing titles, it
is clear such limited use of popular music within a film severely restricts
its functional capability. For whilst it could be argued the song may be
able to function effectively as a leitmotif, representing the theme of disaf-
fected youth through rock ‘n’ roll music, its ability to support the narra-
tive, the mood or the characters of the film is constrained if its inclusion
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

is limited to accompanying the credits. Therefore, in this case, Reay’s

conclusion would not be applicable.
The contrast in the range of popular music functions present in these
two films raises the questions how, when and why innovation resulting
in an expansion in functional ability took place between the release of
Blackboard Jungle and Goodfellas. In response, an analysis of innovative
uses of popular music, contained within a selection of films covering key
phases, assists both in creating an understanding as to how these changes
contributed to an expansion in functional capabilities, and in identifying
precise moments at which these developments occurred. In addition,
establishing examples of innovation facilitates an examination of salient,
contemporary factors, both internal to and external from the film indus-
try, which enabled these advances to occur.
Given there already exists a considerable level of engagement with
popular music function in film it is logical to question why the con-
cept of development has continued to be ignored. One reason is the
limited date-range of the film texts selected for analysis. Through tem-
poral identification as a post-1980 movie, Goodfellas is typical of those
which have been analyzed in detail. A summary of the films analyzed in
the pieces referred to above shows them to date from 1983 to 1998.
Although there are exceptions to this trend, including Smith’s (1998:
161–163, 168–170) mention of Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, USA,
1969) and Zabriskie Point (Michelangelo Antonioni, USA, 1970), these
are restricted to brief points, rather than a close textual analysis of the
functional abilities present in these films as a whole.
Clearly, if the origins of, and developments in, individual popular
music functions are to be investigated fully, it would be insufficient to
limit analysis to post-1980s films, as this would certainly partially, and
possibly wholly, exclude the most important examples. Since Blackboard
Jungle denotes the origins of popular music in film as 1955, and the films
analyzed in detail by others date from 1983 onwards, there remains an
inexplicable absence of a thorough examination of the functions of pop-
ular music in films of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. The following chap-
ters address these omissions through close textual analyses of a range of
films covering these decades.
Originally the intention was to set out functional developments
throughout this period purely in chronological order, but this over-­
simplifies the temporal relationship between innovative films, since
the cultural and industrial movements which contributed to individual
8 A. HOGG

advances often overlapped one another. Consequently, it is more apt to

divide the period of analysis, from the birth of rock ‘n’ roll to the death
of disco, into key phases, as such a format better illustrates that innova-
tion did not result in a universal change in the methods of inclusion of
popular music in film. As an example which demonstrates the suitabil-
ity of this approach, the techniques for incorporating popular music in
the films starring Elvis Presley remained largely consistent, regardless of
whether they were released before or after developments were present
in other, more innovative films, such as A Hard Day’s Night (Richard
Lester, UK, 1964) and The Graduate (Mike Nichols, USA, 1967).
Consequently, since Presley’s movies are present throughout much of
the period analyzed, his film career lasted from 1956 to 1969, from the
viewpoint of development it is more useful to identify significant distinct
phases which will categorize films according to the cultural movements
which contributed to their innovation, rather than attempt to construct
a strict timeline which would classify films simply according to the year in
which they were released.
As a result, the period of analysis is divided into five phases, The
Classic American Musical, The British Invasion, The New Hollywood
Alienation, The Disco and The Conservative Post-Disco. It is the core
three of these (The British Invasion, The New Hollywood Alienation
and The Disco) which consist an unrivalled era of development in pop-
ular music function from the first significant innovations to a point at
which popular music demonstrates the ability to exceed the functions of
a classical score. A demonstration of the collective significance of these
three phases is further enhanced through an analysis of the relative lack
of innovation present during the phases which preceded (The Classic
American Musical) and proceeded (The Conservative Post-Disco) them.
Each of the three core phases are identified as being driven by change,
through the emergence of new traits of genre, both within film and pop-
ular music.
In relation to film, The British Invasion Phase encompasses a time
when British cinema was in the ascendancy owing, in part, to the emer-
gence of the New Wave movement, and from a popular music viewpoint,
it was a period when British singers and bands were increasingly achiev-
ing transatlantic success. The establishment and the growing popularity
of the representation of social realism in British cinema, which coincided
with the invasion of numerous popular musicians touring America, has
been identified as contributing to the first advances in popular music
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

function, since it was this combination, manifesting itself in the form of

the Beatles’ film debut, A Hard Day’s Night, which marked the first sig-
nificant break from the established format of preceding pop musicals.
These challenges to convention continue during The New Hollywood
Alienation Phase which encompasses the rise of New Hollywood cinema,
protest singers, youth alienation and the hippie movement. All these ele-
ments combine in films such as The Graduate, in part through the incor-
poration of a popular music soundtrack.
The Disco Phase embraces elements of disco culture, including
music, dance and venue and the ways in which these are represented in
film. Film examples from this phase, such as Saturday Night Fever and
Thank God Its Friday (Robert Klane, USA, 1978), contain extensive
soundtracks of popular music. Furthermore, the quantity of pieces of
music and the variety of artists are indicators of development not only
from the earliest pop musicals, but also from intervening films, such as
A Hard Day’s Night and The Graduate.
As representative of each of these phases, A Hard Day’s Night, The
Graduate and Saturday Night Fever have been singled out as the primary
film texts for analysis as there are clear reasons why each can be regarded
as foremost in the developments of popular music function. Sarris’
assessment of A Hard Day’s Night very effectively reveals the elements
which set this film apart from all that had come before:

A Hard Day’s Night has turned out to be The Citizen Kane of jukebox
musicals, the brilliant crystallization of such diverse cultural particles as the
pop movie, rock ‘n’ roll, cinema verité, the nouvelle vague, free cinema,
the affectedly hand-held camera, frenzied cutting, the cult of the sexless
sub-adolescent, the semi-documentary and studied spontaneity. (2004: 50)

In relation to the film’s use of popular music, these influences brought

about the landmark sequences accompanied by the non-diegetic “Can’t
Buy Me Love”, which have been widely recognized as the earliest fore-
runner of the music video.
The Graduate extended the use of non-diegetic popular music, by
removing the musicians’ visual image entirely. Although popular music
had previously been used non-diegetically during opening and closing
credits since its first inclusion in film, The Graduate was the first example
in which this method was used throughout a Hollywood film. In addi-
tion, The Graduate exploits the value of the repeated use of individual
10 A. HOGG

songs, including “The Sound of Silence”. Such novelty within this film
underlines its importance to the development of popular music function.
These advances in technique lead Denisoff and Romanowski to describe
it as “a landmark picture, elevating the integration of story and rock
music” (1991: 66).
The ground-breaking nature of Saturday Night Fever is acknowledged
by Babington and Evans, who recognize it as a “film of great significance
[containing] some quality innovation which is able to extend what the
[musical] genre can do” (1985: 224). Its utilization of popular music
warrants a detailed analysis to assess the level to which the extension of
the genre, referred to by Babington and Evans, enables expansion of the
scope of functional abilities. As it embraces the popularity of the disco
movement, a large proportion of the film’s music can be included dieget-
ically, despite there being no live performance by musicians, since none
are visually present. Additionally, the extensive variety of popular music
used in Saturday Night Fever provides an exceptionally relevant text in
assessing the extent to which the range of the music’s functions both
resemble a classical score and extend to those peculiar to popular music.
Although this method of selecting individual films from distinct
phases makes it possible to compare the functions present in each to aid
in establishing the principle of popular music function as a developmen-
tal process, there are obvious limitations in restricting detailed analysis
to such a small sample of films, which must be recognized. Whilst it is
possible to identify important developments by focussing entirely on
just a small number of film texts, this approach substantially restricts
the variety of material examined and, consequently, it is inevitable there
will exist gaps within the period which will evade scrutiny. To partially
address this, references to significant sequences from additional films,
including Catch Us If You Can (John Boorman, UK, 1965), American
Graffiti (George Lucas, USA, 1973) and Easy Rider, are included. But
it is necessary to point out that, even with the inclusion of these addi-
tional references, the intention of this book is not to attempt to identify
every functional development which occurred but rather to use examples
recognized to verify the concept of popular music function as a develop-
mental process.
Analysis of these three inventive phases is bookended by an examina-
tion of the Classic American Musical Phase and the Conservative Post-
Disco Phase. Given that popular music was first included in film in 1955,
it is necessary to analyse films from the phase which precedes the British
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

Invasion. In considering developments in popular music function, even

though there is little evidence of innovation during this phase, such an
analysis is beneficial in two ways.
Firstly, to illustrate an example of functional advance it is necessary to
analyze not only the texts which contain them but also earlier examples
which do not, as inclusion of these enables a more coherent explanation
of subsequent development. For instance, to demonstrate the occurrence
of such a development in A Hard Day’s Night, evidence of that develop-
ment’s absence from other contemporary and previously-released films,
such as those starring Elvis Presley, is a useful reference for comparative
purposes.
Secondly, the inclusion of films which are not innovative, in terms of
popular music function, assists in establishing the causes of subsequent
originality. On occasion, change has arisen from both a desire not to
conform, and an aversion, to the genre conventions of the time. From
the following comments attributed to John Lennon, the novel configura-
tion of A Hard Day’s Night was, in part, borne out of a response to the
existing, predictable format of preceding pop musicals:

We’d made it clear to Brian (Epstein) that we weren’t interested in being

stuck in one of those typical nobody-understands-our-music plots where the
local dignitaries are trying to ban something as terrible as the Saturday-night
hop. The kind of thing where we’d just pop up a couple of times between
the action … all smiles and clean shirt collars to sing our latest record and
once again at the end when the local mayor has been convinced we’re not all
mass murderers … We all know the scene so well … where he and a bunch
of town councillors and the police chief start dancing around all over the
place like those bloody Thunderbirds puppets. (in Carr 1996: 30)

Lennon’s views serve as evidence that A Hard Day’s Night was moti-
vated by the desire of the Beatles to distance themselves from the con-
formity of the time. Therefore, an analysis of examples of the films to
which Lennon is referring is required if a full appreciation of the ways in
which A Hard Day’s Night transformed the genre is to be gained.
Similarly, an examination of the Conservative Post-Disco Phase, can
demonstrate how and why functional development declined after the
death of disco, through analysis of relevant films following Saturday
Night Fever which incorporate popular music, along with consideration
as to why these films were so heavily influenced by the same pop musicals
12 A. HOGG

Lennon had criticized almost twenty years earlier. Both the Classic
American Musical and the Conservative Post-Disco eras act as contrast-
ing phases against which the developments which occurred between can
be measured.
The identified phases and the selected primary film texts demonstrate
an attention to UK and US film and popular music and there are obvious
reasons for this. Since it is the Classic American Musical, British Invasion,
New Hollywood and Disco which have been identified as crucial to the
development of popular music function, it follows that selected film texts
should be representative of these, as logic dictates it is examples from
British and American cinema which will best serve this purpose. In terms
of popular music, it is the UK and US which have consistently been at
the forefront of the genre since its inception.
Also, it is iconic British and American films, such as A Hard Day’s
Night, The Graduate and Saturday Night Fever, which possess cultural
capital in terms of their commercial success and their positive critical
reception. As such, each can be regarded as symbolic of popular cul-
ture at the time. Therefore, in addition to being examples of films which
advanced popular music function, they also best exhibit cultural and his-
torical factors which contributed to these changes.
The commercial success is verified by the global popularity of each of
these films and its music. According to Glynn (2005: 87), A Hard Day’s
Night was the second most profitable film in Britain in 1964 and took
$5.8 million in US rentals in just six weeks. In the same year, it was also
released in West Germany, Ireland, Denmark, Japan, Sweden, Canada,
Iceland, Finland, Venezuela, Spain, France and Argentina, helping it
gross $14 million worldwide. The film’s music was equally successful.
The soundtrack topped the UK album charts for twenty-one weeks and
its US counterpart for fourteen. The film’s title track, released as a sin-
gle, reached number one in the charts in Ireland, Australia, South Africa,
Finland, Sweden, Norway, Germany, The Netherlands, Spain, Malaysia,
Hong Kong and Argentina, as well as reaching the top 5 in Brazil, Peru
and Uruguay.
The Graduate grossed around $100 million globally. The film was
released throughout Europe and South America, as well as Japan and
Hong Kong. Sales of its soundtrack exceeded two million, reaching the
top ten in the charts in Australia, France Norway and Spain, in addition
to the US and the UK. “Mrs. Robinson” reached number one in the US
singles chart.
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

The soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever was at number one in the US

charts for 24 weeks and topped the UK Charts for 18. Globally it has
sold over forty million copies. Jeff Smith tells us the film, itself, “grossed
more than $94 million in domestic box office and another $143 million
in foreign sales” (2014: 96). Its release in a diverse range of countries,
including Italy, Finland, Australia, Brazil, Mexico and Japan contributed
to its global success.
As well as attaining commercial success around the world each was
critically acclaimed and recognized by the film industry at the time of
its release. Michael Thornton praises A Hard Day’s Night as “not the
usual kind of British pop musical in which a series of hit songs are linked
loosely by an incredible plot and unspeakable dialogue”, whilst contain-
ing “all the ingredients of good cinema – wonderful photography, imag-
inative direction and excellent character performances” (in Glynn 2005:
82–83). Stanley Kauffman’s review of The Graduate in The New Republic
is entitled “How Mike Nichols and ‘The Graduate’ Changed American
Movies Forever”. In it, he declares that “All the talents involved in The
Graduate make it soar brightly above its shortcomings and … make it
a milestone in American film history” (1967). Pauline Kael describes
Saturday Night Fever as containing “among the most hypnotically beau-
tiful pop dance scenes ever filmed” (1994: 764). Collectively, industrial
commendation was demonstrated by the twelve Oscar nominations
received between them. Such achievements provide evidence that each is
a fitting example of popular film culture of the time, enjoyed by massive
audiences and appreciated by reviewers.
There also exist other ground-breaking films which do not fit these
criteria and are, therefore, excluded from detailed analysis herein. One
such example is Scorpio Rising (Kenneth Anger, USA, 1964) which,
musically, can be considered as innovative as its contemporary, A Hard
Day’s Night, being built around a thirteen-song compilation of popular
music which makes up almost the entire soundtrack. Although the film
received favourable reviews in The New Yorker and Newsweek, its status
was confined to that of an underground cult-classic rather than a com-
mercial success. Its avant-garde style, and its subject matter, addressing
issues considered extremely contentious at the time, such as homosex-
uality, sadism and Nazi sympathies, resulted in the film having a limited
release, largely restricted to American art-cinemas and receiving a mixed
reception from the public. Denisoff and Romanowski describe how,
“When the film was shown at a Los Angeles art theatre, the manager was
14 A. HOGG

arrested and the run cancelled” (1991: 168). As a result, despite some
positive reviews, Scorpio Rising did not reach a wide audience and would
not, therefore, have been able to directly influence popular culture to the
same degree as A Hard Day’s Night, The Graduate and Saturday Night
Fever. For this reason, despite its innovative content, it does not warrant
inclusion as the primary film example of the phase to which it belongs.
Having established that the development of popular music in film can
be demonstrated by an examination of important film examples from five
distinct phases, it is essential to employ a suitable means of measuring
such development. The construction of a list of music functions which
can be applied to each film text is a logical approach in achieving a com-
parative assessment of films from different phases. A referential list of
principles of film music function is an indispensable tool as it provides a
catalogue of individual criteria against which to test textual analysis of the
use of popular music in film. Such tests help to determine the function or
functions of individual popular songs, variations of individual songs and
facilitate comparison to those of a classical film score, enabling a cross-ref-
erence of the functional similarities and differences between the two.
The idea of building such a list is not new. Several already exist,
including those compiled by Copland (1949), Spottiswoode (1973),
Lissa (1965) and Gorbman (1987). Although, each includes material
which is valuable when applied to film texts which incorporate popular
music, the work of Copland and Spottiswoode is not as comprehensive
as the other examples. For example, neither account for the function of
music in relation to other film sounds, such as dialogue or sound effects.
Lissa’s assessment in Asthetik der Filmmusik (1965) is more extensive,
but it is also extremely obscure. Hillman highlights the book’s rarity,
describing it as “unknown here and long out of print” (2005: 170).
Consequently, academic reference to it is rare.
By contrast, Gorbman’s synopsis of music functions in film is
among the most frequently cited work in this field. Donnelly describes
Gorbman’s book, Unheard Melodies: Narrative Film Music (1987), as
“perhaps the most enduring analysis of film music” (2001: 5), and Reay
refers to it as “the most influential writing in this area” (2004: 32).
More recently both Carroll (2016: 5) and Lehman (2018: 4) describe
Gorbman’s work as “seminal”. Therefore, it is evident this work is not
only frequently referred to, but has also been, and continues to be,
widely endorsed by others. Such an extensive level of engagement is one
of several factors which differentiates Gorbman’s list of principles from
the earlier examples set out above.
 1 INTRODUCTION 15

A further reason for its appropriateness in considering the develop-

ment of popular music function is that Gorbman’s list refers specifically
to functions of classical Hollywood film scores, including the music of
King Kong (Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack, USA, 1933)
and Mildred Pierce (Michael Curtiz, USA, 1945). It, therefore, provides
a relevant basis for comparison by providing criteria which can be used
to identify the similarities and differences between a classical film score
and the popular music in the selected films. This is particularly relevant
to the analysis of Saturday Night Fever as this film has been singled out
to establish the extent of functional similarity between popular music and
a classic score at the end of the period of development encompassed by
this study.
Also, in contrast to Lissa’s work on the functions of film music, a sig-
nificant number of other theorists, including Kalinak, Reay, Anderson,
Carey and Hannan and Rodman, referred to previously, have engaged
with Gorbman’s principles when exploring the functions of popular
music. Using the same source as a reference for this analysis will assist in
a direct connection with existing theory and, consequently, will help to
clearly identify the originality of the choice of film texts and the chrono-
logical approach to these contained within the following chapters.
Since Gorbman’s principles are the basis of analysis it is necessary to
set these out in some detail as an illustration of some of the individual
functions which will be referred to throughout this investigation.
Gorbman offers the view that it is not simply freedom of choice which
draws the spectator’s attention to specific visual or sound content within
a film. Instead, the filmmaker uses techniques with the intention of posi-
tioning the spectator in a particular way, through prioritising certain
elements seen and heard above others. For example, a director may fore-
ground a telephone centre-screen to draw the spectator’s attention to it,
emphasizing its importance and signalling that it is about to ring. This
frequently employed technique is taken to an extreme level at the end-
ing of the US version of Strangers on a Train (Alfred Hitchcock, USA,
1951) when an oversized phone is used to further stress the importance
of the expected call by filling yet more of the screen with the telephone’s
image.
Gorbman also observes that “classical Hollywood film works toward
the goal of a transparent or invisible discourse” (1987: 72). Within a
film, various methods are employed to assist in concealing elements
which disrupt the narrative. These include continuity editing to obscure
the disruption of cutting. By using this technique to give a film a greater
16 A. HOGG

sense of coherence, the disorientating effect of switching from one loca-

tion to another, or of jumping forward in time, is reduced.
Gorbman (1987: 12–16) stresses that music is one of several, interde-
pendent components which make up film, rather than an element which
merely supports or counterpoints visual image. Consequently, music is
also one of several contributory constituents which can function to help
position the spectator, raise awareness of a specific item or event, and
help to hide narrative disruption. As an example of each of these func-
tions, the association of late-50s and early-60s music used in Grease
(Randal Kleiser, USA, 1978) not only places the spectator in that decade
but also creates a sense of nostalgia within, which is further supported
by the images of classic cars, diners and high schools which are symbolic
of that time. In terms of raising awareness, the inclusion of the repeated,
high-pitched strings in Bernard Herrmann’s score, draws the specta-
tor’s attention to the rhythm of the repeated stabbing of Marion Crane
(Janet Leigh) by Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) in Psycho (Alfred
Hitchcock, USA, 1960), whilst simultaneously reinforcing the hor-
ror of the scene through a musical representation of Marion’s screams.
Lastly, by its inclusion during sequences which use parallel editing, a sin-
gle continual piece of music may help to obscure narrative disruption
by introducing an element of consistency. Using Snatch (Guy Ritchie,
UK/USA, 2000) as an example, this method is used when a continuous
score is heard over scenes of Mickey O’Neill (Brad Pitt) and his fellow
travellers hare-coursing which are interwoven with those of Brick Top’s
(Alan Ford) henchmen kidnapping Tyrone (Ade), and again later when
Massive Attack’s “Angel” is used to smooth repeated switches between
scenes of Turkish’s (Jason Statham) amusement arcade being ransacked
and Mickey watching helplessly as his mother (Sorcha Cusack) is burnt
alive in her caravan.
Drawing on these arguments Gorbman constructs a list of seven prin-
ciples relating to the “composition, mixing and editing (of musical score)
in the classical narrative film” (1987: 73), which illustrate how these
operate to achieve the functions described above:

I. Invisibility: the technical apparatus of non-diegetic music must

not be visible.
II. “Inaudibility”: music is not meant to be heard consciously. As
such it should subordinate itself to dialogue, to visuals—i.e. to
the primary vehicles of the narrative.
 1 INTRODUCTION 17

III. Signifier of emotion: soundtrack music may set specific moods

and emphasize particular emotions suggested in the narrative,
but first and foremost, it is a signifier of emotion itself.
IV. Narrative cueing:
– Referential/narrative: music gives referential and narrative
cues, e.g. indicating point of view, supplying formal demarca-
tions, and establishing setting and characters.
– Connotative: music “interprets” and “illustrates” narrative
events.
V. Continuity: music provides formal and rhythmic continuity—
between shots, in transitions between scenes, by filling “gaps”.
VI. Unity: via repetition and variation of musical material and instru-
mentation, music aids in the construction of formal and narrative
unity.
VII. A given film score may violate any of the principles above,
providing the violation is at the service of the other principles
(1987: 73).

Gorbman’s summary is followed by a more comprehensive examination,

using the film scores of composer Max Steiner to illustrate instances of
each in operation. Each of these principles will be addressed in more
detail in the following chapters. As an illustration, taking the principle of
Inaudibility as an example, Gorbman expands the definition by explain-
ing that this term does not mean that music is literally unheard, but
rather that it often operates in the background on a sub-conscious level.
She then proceeds to set out four practices “dictated by the principle of
inaudibility” (1987: 76).

1. The musical form is generally subordinate to the narrative form.

2. Music is normally subordinate to the voice.
3. In order for music to be less noticeable, there are certain points in
a film at which it is better for it to start or stop.
4. The music should be appropriate to the scene (1987: 76–79).

Engagement with such a detailed explanation of Inaudibility, and each

of the other principles, allows a greater depth of analysis, giving more
authority to resultant conclusions on the functions within a compilation
soundtrack, such as that of Saturday Night Fever, and the ways in which
they can resemble those of the score of a classical film.
18 A. HOGG

However, whilst Gorbman’s principles on the functions of a classi-

cal film score may be the most suitable of the above in the context of
measuring development in popular music function in film, they cannot
be regarded as an exhaustive catalogue. As has been demonstrated with
reference to Reay’s analysis of Goodfellas there are additional functions,
peculiar to popular music, which are not included within the principles
listed in Unheard Melodies: Narrative Film Music. One of the chief rea-
sons for their omission is Gorbman’s reference to this genre of music
being largely restricted to a brief mention in the Afterword (1987: 162–
163), in which the functional similarities of popular music, firstly to a
traditional Hollywood musical and then to classical music in films, are
questioned. Additionally, as with the other pieces of work identified pre-
viously, Gorbman’s also focuses on the concept of popular music func-
tion in film as a post-1980 phenomenon, identifying its origins as being
rooted in the following decade, thereby providing further evidence of
neglect of consideration of relevant films from the 1950s, 1960s and
1970s. The brevity of Gorbman’s reference to popular music function
suggests the intention of this postscript is to raise questions on these
points rather than provide answers or definitive statements. As a result, it
is necessary to consider the work of others for details of additional func-
tions specific to popular music.
It may be possible to compile a list of such functions from the pieces
mentioned earlier in this introduction, since each makes a significant
contribution to this topic. However, drawing upon appropriate sections
of Smith’s, The Sounds of Commerce: Marketing Popular Film Music
(1998) is of greater benefit since it provides a more rigorous analysis
which specifically addresses this area. As with Gorbman’s work on the
functions of a classical score, Smith’s theories on those of popular music
in film are widely supported by others, including Reay (2004: 41), who
has created the following concise list of the functions specific to this
musical genre identified by Smith as follows:

1. As an effective means of denoting particular time periods (1998:

165).
2. To highlight the element of authorial expressivity by comment-
ing on characters rather than speaking from their point of view
(1998: 169).
 1 INTRODUCTION 19

3. The lyrics can give voice to feelings and attitudes not made explicit
by the film’s visuals and dialogue (1998: 170).
4. Intertextual/extra-textual/musical allusionism can be used to
flesh out characters, and emphasize particular generic or narrative
themes (1998: 170).

Taking each of these in turn, the inclusion of sub-genres of popu-

lar music contemporary to the period in which the movie is set, or one
which is important to the narrative, assists in audience recognition of a
film’s historical position. To support this view Smith identifies “Elvis
and Rockabilly as a touchstone of the fifties, and the Eagles and disco as
emblems of the seventies” (1998: 165). However, this does not mean that
it is necessary for music to date from that period. For example, Grease
includes songs such as “Greased Lightning” and “Born to Hand Jive”
which, although written in the early 1970s for the original stage musical
version, denote the late 1950s through their early rock ‘n’ roll style in a
similar way to the songs included in the film which are original to that
decade, such as “Hound Dog” and “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On”.
In addition to the historical context mentioned by Reay, Smith also
reveals a connection between music and social context, concluding that
music can help to position a film both geographically, “the mixture of
opera and contemporary pop in Mean Streets gives viewers a strong fla-
vour of the film’s Little Italy locales” (1998: 165), and culturally, “the
juke-box in Mean Streets functions at the center of the characters’ cul-
tural rituals and provides an aural backdrop for their dancing, drinking,
debauching, and fighting” (1998: 165).
Whilst, as Gorbman argues, it is true that classical score also “contrib-
utes to the narrative’s geographical and temporal setting” (1987: 83), it
is not as effective in this context when denoting specific time periods fol-
lowing the emergence of rock ‘n’ roll, since popular music can allude to
a given time not only through its genre but also through its performer.
This additional ability to reference more precisely also extends to geo-
graphical location. For example, classical score would not be as effec-
tive in contributing to a setting of 1960s, working-class Liverpool as the
Gerry and the Pacemakers version of “Ferry Cross the Mersey”, with its
title, contemporary Liverpudlian performer, Merseybeat style and lyrics
all contributing to this image.
20 A. HOGG

In respect of the second function listed above, Smith refers to the

songs from Easy Rider to demonstrate the ways in which popular music
can contribute to audience interpretation of characters by substituting
dialogue with songs as a means of commenting on their actions. For
example, “‘Born to be Wild’ sets the film’s tone… by capturing the sense
of power that fuels the character’s nomadic drive” (1998: 168–169). As
a result, Captain America and Billy do not need to verbalize their views
since “the music provides a schema with which we may interpret the sig-
nificance of the characters’ actions” (1998: 169). In such cases, songs
replace the role of a commentator with their lyrics acting as the dialogue,
in a way in which a classical score is largely incapable as it usually includes
no lyrical content.
Smith identifies directors who wanted to “have their cake and eat it
too” (1998: 170) as the exploiters of the third function on Reay’s list.
By this, he means that they not only want to present their characters
as ambivalent through their actions and words, but also require clar-
ity when they feel the need arises. As Smith explains, by using carefully
selected songs at these points, music can “‘speak for’ characters [and] fill
some of the problematic gaps of causality and motivation while at the
same time maintaining the veneer of more complex and realistic char-
acterization” (1998: 170). So, on occasions when interpretations may
have been unclear based on the visual image alone, accompanying music
could provide a degree of lucidity. However, as Smith points out, it is
only popular music which provides clarity through sung lyrics, enabling
a more precise audience interpretation rather than a more general appre-
ciation of mood. Whereas a classical score may clarify the feelings of a
character, song lyrics can also set out reasons for these feelings and artic-
ulate them in detail.
Finally, Smith observes that in addition to lyrics, style and instru-
mentation, there often exist further sub-texts within a popular song
which give it additional meanings. To sustain this argument he cites the
tragic, premature deaths of Johnny Ace and Hank Williams as examples
in which a sub-text is drawn from the identity of the musician, rather
than from the music itself, thus providing another reading of the reason
for the inclusion of a song to audiences who are aware of this additional
information. Given that the celebrity-based nature of popular music per-
formers does not normally apply to film score composers, it follows that
such sub-texts do not normally extend to a classical score.
 1 INTRODUCTION 21

By combining Gorbman’s principles of the classical film score with

Smith’s work on additional functions unique to popular music, it is
possible to construct a catalogue of functions which is appropriate to a
body of work encompassing the development of popular music in film
throughout the chosen period. The range of functions drawn from the
work of Gorbman and Smith is applied comparatively to the film texts
referred to in the following chapters as a means of determining the ori-
gins of individual functions and tracking development in the scope of
functionality throughout the phases analyzed. In addition, dividing this
key period into salient phases allows an assessment of the role of cultural,
industrial and technical factors, peculiar to each, in facilitating functional
development.

Bibliography
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About Their Lives. In Popular Music and Film, ed. Ian Inglis, 102–116.
London: Wallflower Press.
Babington, Bruce and P.W. Evans. 1985. Blue Skies and Silver Linings: Aspects
of the Hollywood Musical. Manchester and Dover, NH: Manchester University
Press.
Barron, Lee. 2003. Music Inspired By…’: The Curious Case of the Missing
Soundtrack. In Popular Music and Film, ed. Ian Inglis, 148–161. London:
Wallflower Press.
Carey, Melissa and Michael Hannan. 2003. Case Study 2: The Big Chill. In
Popular Music and Film, ed. Ian Inglis, 162–177. London: Wallflower Press.
Carr, Roy. 1996. Beatles at the Movies: Scenes from a Career. London: UFO
Music.
Carroll, Beth. 2016. Feeling Fine: A Spatial Approach. London: Palgrave
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York Times, November 6, pp. 28–32.
Denisoff, R.Serge, and William D. Romanowski. 1991. Risky Business: Rock in
Film. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers.
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 "To say good-bye," was the reply, formed with dry lips. Then suddenly
he cried out, sharply: "Henri, I cannot go! I will not leave her to that man!
Either I stay here to die, or she shall come with me as my wife. Henri, I tell
you I cannot leave her!"

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the Duchess was alone in her
dressing-room. She was alone, had been alone through the whole morning,
refusing admittance to the usual visitors of the toilette, in the hope that
Claude might come. She had learned, like the rest of the Court, of the letter
delivered in the chapel. But the reason of it, which was so well known to her,
the Court but guessed. Her desire to speak with her cousin again was
unaccountably strong, and she could not believe that he would make no
effort to see her—for the last time. Nevertheless the hours had passed, and
Claude neither sent her any word of farewell nor came himself. She was
anxious, and she was bored. The King, who had that morning been informed
that she was ill, had gone hunting. Versailles was deserted. Even Victorine
was at Rambouillet. And so madame, more restless with every passing
instant, was at last guilty of the imprudence of sending for the man whose
banishment was caused by his having dared to enter too closely into her life.

Her note finally despatched by the only man in her household whom she
could trust, she drank a second cup of chocolate and ate a fillet of venison,
of royal shooting, with some appetite. Afterwards, with the assistance of
Antoinette, she made one of her most careful négligé toilets, in which the
carelessness was obviously becoming. Her dress was entirely of white. She
wore not a single jewel, wiped off every trace of rouge, took the ornaments
from her hair, and brushed its powdery locks till the bright gold lay in
natural waves about her neck, and Mme. de Châteauroux had become as
beautiful as flattery itself could have painted her. She was, at this time,
nearly seven and twenty years of age. Her face was still young, but her
manner was old—older than that of the King. She had acquired long ago the
carriage of a King's consort, and that was, indeed, a role which she had
played so much that it had become a natural part of herself. She had faced
difficult situations since her childhood; and never, save once with her dead
father and once with her husband, the old Marquis de la Tournelle, had she
lost control of herself and of the affair in hand. It had made her too self-
confident in appearance—a fact which she realized, but could not change.
She would have liked to-day to play a younger part with Claude, but she
sighed and shook her head as Antoinette finally tied back the shining hair
with a white ribbon, and the grand manner descended upon her like a pall.

It was now a full half-hour since she had sat in the little room, waiting,
and looking out upon the bleak courtyard below her window. She had ceased
to think, and her appearance was that of a statue in marble, when Antoinette
softly pushed open the door of her room and allowed a cloaked and hatted
figure to pass in. The door closed again after the entrance, and at the same
time there was a little click from the antechamber beyond, as the faithful
maid locked the door that opened upon the great corridor. In the boudoir of
the favorite two people were alone.

With a slight movement of the shoulders Claude dropped his enveloping

mantle upon a chair behind him, and threw his hat down upon it also. Then,
impulsively, he turned towards his cousin, as though upon the spot he would
have taken her in his arms and told her all that he had come to say. But there
was something in her attitude that stopped him—something that even forced
him back a pace from his advance. As a matter of fact the Duchess meant to
be herself mistress of the scene, and, having no idea of Claude's ill advised
intent, she seated herself quietly on a chair with her back to the drawn
window-curtain, and, with a gesture peculiar to herself, bade him draw a
tabouret to her knee. He went to her obediently, looking at her with
repressed expectation in his white face. After an instant's hesitation she said,
slowly:

"And so, my poor Claude, it is come to the end."

His reply was quick. "No, Anne. It is not the end yet."

"What! What are you saying? You are exiled, Claude."

"Ah, yes. The King told you that."

"It was not the King told me that. Do you mean that the story of the letter
of banishment is not true?"

Claude was silent.

 "Why do you say it is not the end?"

"Because, Anne, I mean that for me it shall be the beginning."

"Of what?"

"Of freedom—of life—of love."

"Love!"

"Yes."

The Duchess was puzzled. She drew slightly away from him. "Then
there is some one—some one of whom I know nothing."

"Yes, Anne, some one of whom you know nothing. Would you hear who
it is? No, remain where you are! That some one whom I love, whom I have
come to to-day, with whom now I am going to plead for life, is your real
self. You have forgotten it in life here, my Anne. You have forgotten, in the
midst of your estate, in the midst of the Court ways, what you were before
all that was part of you. Listen. We played together, you and I, and
Alexandre and Henri, and Louise and Pauline, in the gardens of the old
château, by the river-bank, and through the forest. We were the youngest,
you and I. Alexandre was our leader, and we obeyed him as our general. I
liked you then better than the other girls, though you always mocked at me
for a baby, while Louise was gentle, and Pauline always in difficulty. And
after—we separated, all of us. You were sent to the Ursulines, I to
Languedoc with a tutor, Alexandre to Paris. It was there in the old Hôtel de
Mailly, at Alexandre's wedding with Louise, that again we came together.
Ah, Anne, Anne, I think you have not forgotten what followed! The first
scandal, Alexandre's death, Louise's life in the little apartments, how the
King grew weary, how little Pauline was brought from her convent, how she,
too, was sacrificed to infamy, and how she died—how she was murdered,
Anne, you—"

"Stop, Claude!"

"Not yet. Pauline was murdered, I say—poisoned, in her sickness. And

then, Anne, then the way was opened for you by Mme. de Mazarin's death.
How should the rest of us have guessed—your father, I, Henri, already
unhappy with Mme. de Mailly-Nesle—how should we have guessed that
you, too, should have followed in the footsteps of your sisters? Mon Dieu,
Anne! In your widowhood, after Maurepas took the Hôtel Mazarin, Henri's
house was open to you. Why did you choose instead to put yourself under
the protection, not of the Queen, not of Louise, but of his Majesty? And then
—the end was so swift. You drove Louise pitilessly away—you ruined
d'Agenois with your coquetries—you infatuated the King with your daring
and your loftiness; your title was bestowed; you reigned; and then comes the
last: my history with you. I know your life, Anne, from its beginning to to-
day. You know what my feeling has always been. And now, when I am so
nearly at the end of hope, you would have me make no resistance to fate;
you would have me acquiesce; you would have me bid you good-bye with
de Gêvres' manner, and depart, quietly. I have right to more than that."

"All this is well enough if you wish it, little one. Neither do those long
'recollections' of thine disturb me, save that they are very stupid, my Claude.
But now, how shall you continue? Are there yet more of them?" Evidently
the Duchess was not overpleased with the interview, so far.

"I have done with the recollections, but I have more to say," returned the
boy, undaunted by her manner. "I have something to say which, once before,
you have heard, but which you shall listen to again. It is why I obeyed your
note. In other case I should have left Versailles without seeing you. It is
something that I am going to offer you, something that I have to give that is
not elsewhere, I think, to be found in Versailles. You will seek long, Anne,
before you find it again. It is something that you, and every woman about
you, make light of daily; and yet it is what women—ay, and men—sell their
souls for."

"Love," murmured Madame la Duchesse, absently.

"Yes, it is love—my love, that I have to give. Anne, to you, here, being
as you are; what you are; belonging to none who has the right to guard you;
paid with much gold, it is true, yet with false gold; puppet-queen, without
real honor in any heart, your name a byword in many countries—"

"Ah! Ah! You insult—"

 "I speak truth! You know that. To you, I say, who have so little of love,
none of real honor, I offer all. I offer you marriage, a name unstained, a pure-
hearted devotion, a life that shall be pure— Ah, now, Anne, now, I am
making you feel! There. Do not turn from me. No, no. Listen! I did not mean
it. Forget what I have said—forgive it. Think only of how I have suffered.
Think how utterly I love you; how I am a man desperate. My whole
existence, my heart, my mind, my hopes, are here at your feet. Crush them—
you kill me. You cannot spurn all. To leave you is to enter a living death. But
—but—you must know what love means! It means that my soul belongs to
you; that in you, for you, only, forever, I live. How, then, can you let me go
from you? You will be tearing the heart from my body. You know that all my
life—it has been you. Had I ever cared for another, it would not have
mattered so. Anne—" he was upon his knee—"Anne—you shall come with
me! You shall come away with me—into the sweetest exile that ever man
was blessed with. Why, look you, I take you from a palace, but I will give
you that which I shall transform to paradise! Oh, my dear—my dear—I can
say no more. Anne, Anne, I die for you!"

Both her hands were in his, clasped so tightly that she was pained. Much
of the force of his passion had entered into her. It could not but do so, for it
was too real. She was trembling; her breath came unsteadily, and she could
not give her answer with his upturned eyes upon her. Gently, very gently, she
pushed him aside, rose from her chair, and, turning away from him, began to
pace the end of the room, steadying herself as she walked. De Mailly, a little
dazed now, the reaction from his nervous strain already beginning to
overcome him, passed slowly to the opposite side of the dressing-room and
stood there with his back to the door, one cold hand pressed to his damp
forehead. His face was deathly white. His body quivered. Presently madame
stopped, in her walk, before her cabinet of toys, opened one little drawer,
and took something therefrom. Then she went over to where her cousin was
standing, and, with an effort, spoke:

"Thank you," she said, dreamily, "for what you have said to me. May
God, in his goodness, bless you, little cousin. You know that it is all useless,
what you wish. Some day you will be glad that my place was here—that I
knew that I was not fit for you. Remember it. I am not fit for you. You spoke
truth at first. See, I grant you all that. You must go your way alone. Such as I
could not make you happy. I—give you only this—if you care to take it—for
memory. 'Tis all I have. As to my love—who knows what I love—or where?
Adieu."

"'I GIVE YOU ONLY THIS'"

She held something out to him, something white, and heavy with gold
and little jewels. It was the mate to that gauntlet which he had won from her
and given to the King ten days ago. He took it, mechanically, and placed it,
almost without looking at it, in a pocket. Then he picked up his cloak and his
hat. Slowly he put both on; and, once more, all accoutred, he turned to look
at her. Her back was towards him. Her head was bent. He could not speak
coherently. He put out his hand and felt for the fastening of the door. There
was a long, inaudible sigh. The door swung open. An effort, two steps, a
slight mist before his eyes—he was gone. In the antechamber Henri, with
haggard face and tears unconcealed, waited also for a clasp of the hand, to
bid him godspeed to his banishment.
 Book II

DEBORAH

CHAPTER I

A Ship Comes In

All night the waters of the Chesapeake and those of the Atlantic beyond
had been tumbling under the force of a fresh east wind that was bearing an
incoming vessel straight up to her harbor and home. But with the first streak
of gray along the far horizon, Night ceased to flap her dusky wings, and the
wind fainted till it was but a breath. As the wavelets lapped against the ship's
side, her captain, longing for home, shrugged his big shoulders and ordered
out more canvas.

It was a fair dawn. The whole stretch of sky over the bay was flushed
with pink and beamy with gold; while beyond this the clear greenish
turquoise of mid-sky and the west grew so vivid that the last clinging night-
mist melted away, and the day waited only for the sun. He came at last, a
great, fiery wheel, dripping from a watery bath and pouring his splendor
back to the waters again till the river ran gold, dazzling the eyes of the gulls
that veered across its breast down to the bay and out towards the salty sea.
And the sun woke the forests of birches and poplars and spruce, colored the
dandelions in the grass all over again, drank dew from the flower-cups,
played with the breeze among the peach-blossoms of the orchard on the
bank, and finally entered into the quaint breakfast-room of a colonial house,
Trevor Manor, that stood on the river Severn, three miles from the city of
Annapolis.

Adam, the house-butler, very black and very sleepy, was in this small
apartment, dusting. From the next room Lilith, his wife, hummed, in a rich
contralto, over her sweeping. Otherwise the house was still; for the sun rises
early in May.

The breakfast-room wherein Adam worked, or played at work, is worthy

of description, perhaps; for the colonial country-side knew nothing just like
it. It was the south-west corner room on the lower floor, opening out of the
library, but so easily accessible from the kitchen, which was fifty feet from
the house, that the family commonly used it for all their meals. The general
Southern fashion of dining in the central hall, from a custom of hospitality,
had its drawbacks. On the north side of the breakfast-room were the library
door, a small buffet covered with the best cheynay, some chased silver, and a
little Venetian glassware, the pride of the family heart, and, on the other side
of the doorway, a badly done family portrait. In the east wall was a large
fireplace, with a mantel above, on which stood two large porcelain jars and a
black bust of Plato, over which hung a recent print of his Majesty King
George. To the south a large window looked out upon the yard behind; but
the western wall of this little place was no wall at all. Across the top of it,
just below the ceiling, a grudging support to the upper story was given by a
heavy oaken beam. Beneath this all was glass. The little, opal-like, diamond-
shaped panes, were wont to catch the rays of the afternoon sun, and make the
room, from noon to twilight, a blinding, rainbow cloud of light. A door, too,
there was here, all of glass and bound with lead—a real triumph of
craftsman's skill in those simple days. It had been Madame Trevor's idea,
however,—and where was the workman in Maryland who would not have
been stimulated to inspiration with Madame Trevor to oversee his work? The
door opened upon a terrace which led by a little flight of steps down into the
rose-garden, or, by a diverging path, off to the big round kitchen, in which
last building the morning fires had been lit, and Chloe, with Phyllis, her
scullion, daughter, and probable successor, was plucking spring chickens for
the morning meal.

Adam and Lilith, their first tasks ended, were now setting the table in the
breakfast-room, with table-cloth of unbleached linen, the ordinary service of
burnished pewter, silver knives, and carving-set of steel, horn-handled.
When the six places at the oval table had been laid, Lilith disappeared
through the glass door, to return presently with a great platter of newly
picked strawberries, green-stemmed, scarlet and fragrant, and still glistening
with dew. These were set in the centre of the table, while on either side stood
an earthenware bowl heaped with sugar, patiently scraped by Adam from the
high, hard loaves that came, wrapped in bright purple "dye-paper," up from
the Spanish Indies.

The sun being by this time nearly two hours high in the heavens, the
breakfast-room was deserted by serving-folk to regain a more tranquil tone
for the reception of its ordinary habitants. Through the open door came the
breath of the May morning, heavy with the sweetness of the garden just
outside. Plato gazed mildly down upon the two or three lazy flies that
hummed over the strawberries, and once a robin from the woods near by
skimmed into the room, brushed past the decanters on the buffet, halted for a
second on a jar near King George, and made a darting exit through the open
southern window.

Finally, into the waiting solitude, came Sir Charles—Sir Charles, tall,
slender, graceful, freshly wigged and powdered, his lieutenant's uniform of
scarlet and white in harmony with the morning, the Gentleman's Magazine
in one of his well-kept hands, an eye-glass on a silken cord in the other. He
seated himself in an evidently accustomed place at the table, pushed back his
chair a little, comfortably crossed his legs, and began to reperuse an article
on the best methods of preserving fox-brushes, which had engaged his
attention the evening before. He was not a rapid reader, and he had not half
finished the column when he felt, unmistakably, another presence near him.
Thereupon he permitted himself an unmannerly luxury:

"Good-morning, Debby," he murmured, without looking up.

"Good-morning, Sir Charles," was the reply.

Then, quickly throwing aside his paper, the young man rose, bowed as he
should have done, and stood looking at her who was before him.
 "THE YOUNG MAN ROSE AND BOWED"

Deborah stood in the glass doorway, half in and half out of the room. Her
face was slightly flushed, and her hair, as usual, in a state of delightful,
crinkly disorder. Otherwise her appearance was immaculate, and, for all Sir
Charles could have told, she might have been in a costume of brocade and
lace. It was no more, however, than a faded blue and white homemade linen
over a petticoat of brown holland, with a small white muslin kerchief
crossed upon her breast. She was bareheaded, and the hair that had been
tossed into a thousand rebellious ringlets was tied back with a blue ribbon.
Deborah Travis, Sir Charles Fairfield's second cousin, and Madame Trevor's
first, was, at this time, seventeen years old, and not yet so pretty as she gave
promise of being—later. Nevertheless, Sir Charles' poorly concealed
devotion in her direction was a matter that was not discussed in the Trevor
family. The tongues of slaves, however, are seldom bridled among
themselves; and neat things upon this interesting topic were not infrequently
spoken round cabin-fires on cool evenings in the quarters.

"You've quite recovered, I trust, Deborah, from your—your indisposition

of yesterday?"

The girl's cheeks grew pink as she answered, quietly, "Quite, thank you,
Sir Charles."

"'Twas another experiment in the still-room?" he ventured.

"Of course," she responded, reluctantly, and in a tone that finished the
topic.

There was a pause. The Governor's lieutenant was finding himself again.
"Will not you come in, Mistress Debby?" he said, finally. "Or may I come
out and walk in the garden a little with you?"

"Thank you, I shall come in. Breakfast is ready, but the rest are late."

"And you have been in the still-room all this while?"

"No, I have been in the twelve-acre field, and as far as Hudson's

Swamp."

"Devil take me! What were you doing there?"

"I was hunting for a plant—but I could not get it. I brought home some
young tobacco instead."

"Why—why—Deborah, 'tis always plants with you! Can you find

nothing nearer home to suit your pleasure? Tell me the plant you sought, and
I will hunt for it to the other end o' Maryland, if you command."

"Thank you, Sir Charles, but in a month I shall pluck it for myself, at the
end of the huckleberry path. 'Tis spotted hemlock. I found one, young yet,
but well-looking, which I shall gather as soon as 'tis big enough."
 "Spotted hemlock! Child, 'tis rank poison! I'd a horse die of it once in—"

He broke off suddenly and turned about as Madam Trevor, with her
younger daughter, Lucy, rustled into the room. The elder lady looked rather
sharply from her nephew to her young cousin as she came in; but she could
read neither face. Sir Charles bowed with great respect, and Deborah gave
her usual demure courtesy for the morning. Lucy was a slight, pretty little
creature, with thin, silky dark hair, lively blue eyes, and a waist as trim as
Deborah's own. She greeted the two cousins with equal grace, but seemed to
prefer Deborah's company, drawing her a little on one side to show a
spindle-prick upon her finger. Their whispered conversation was interrupted
by the entrance of the master of the house, Madam Trevor's only son,
Vincent. He was a well-built, muscular fellow, a trifle short for his breadth of
shoulder, with the family's blue eyes, and hair so black that the powder but
badly concealed its hue. He greeted his mother with profound respect, lightly
kissed his little sister's cheek, and nodded to Deborah in a preoccupied
fashion. Then, joining Charles at the buffet, he proceeded to mix their first
potation of the day, two Venice glasses full of Jamaica rum, sugar, and water.
Both gentlemen drank to the health of Madam Trevor, who acknowledged
the usual courtesy with a slight nod, and then, seating herself at the head of
the table, drew towards her the platter of strawberries.

"We are not to wait for Virginia?" asked Vincent, taking his place.

Madam was about to reply when, from the little passageway beyond the
library, came the crisp rustle of stiff petticoats, and Virginia Trevor, the belle
of Annapolis, tall, fresh of complexion, unrouged, of slender figure, and
delicate patrician features, came smilingly into the room. The gentlemen
hastened to rise, and Sir Charles lifted back her chair.

"Thank you. Your pardon, madam, for being late. Amanda was very
slow."

"After your wakefulness of last night, I had not imagined that you would
attempt to rise this morning," answered her mother.

Virginia glanced at Lucy, and a half smile passed between them. It was
over before Madam Trevor perceived it.
 "Debby was the sick one yesterday," observed Lucy, gently. "But you
seem to be quite recovered to-day," she finished, turning to her cousin, just
as Adam entered from the kitchen, bearing with him a platter of fried
chickens, crisply browned and smoking, while Lilith followed with hoe-cake
and bacon.

"Deborah's illness appears to be a matter of her own choice," remarked

Madam Trevor, with displeasure in her tone. "She has been warned of the
dangers of her strange and useless experiments. If she chooses to go her way
against all advice, she must accept the consequences of such folly."

Deborah was silent, and appeared unconcerned at the reproof. Virginia,

however, rather unwisely, spoke in her favor. "Indeed, Debby's experiments
would seem to me most useful, mother. You yourself say that no one about
Annapolis can make such rose and lavender water, or distil such cordials and
strong waters as she. The still-room, too, is a different place since she was
given charge over it."

"I was not of the opinion, Virginia, that Deborah's illness resulted either
from rose-water or from cordial. And, as to the still-room, who enters it to
know how it may be kept?"

"Madam Trevor, I have never refused entrance to any one of the family
or the slaves who has wished to enter the room you gave me charge over!
Indeed, Lucy—"

"That is enough, Deborah."

Sir Charles Fairfield, though to all appearances he had not been listening
to the short conversation, flushed a little at the manner in which it was
ended, and, raising his voice, he addressed Vincent:

"Will you ride into town with me to-day? I've not waited on his
Excellency for a week. On my life! they give us an easy time out here!
Fancy a full-pay staff-officer at home, in camp, not seeing his colonel for a
week! I must really ride in to-day. Come with me, Vincent, and see what
idea there is of a chase next week."
 Vincent poured out another tankard of quince-cider and slowly shook his
head: "'Tis not possible to-day, Charles. They are just beginning to top the
tobacco. I am going over all the farther fields with Thompson—and there are
three new blacks to be graded. If you'll go to-morrow, I'll ride with you; but
not to-day."

"Pa'don, Mas' Trev'!" cried a black boy, in house livery, who came
running in from the front. "Docta' Caw'l and Mist' Cawlve't outside on the'
ho'ses, an' say, can they come in?"

"Mr. Calvert!" cried Lucy.

"Go to meet them and bring them here at once, Vincent," commanded
Madam Trevor, at the same time sounding a hand-bell for Adam and Lilith.

Vincent and Charles together hurried out of the room, while the ladies
drew more closely together at the table, and two extra places were laid.

"Bring some fresh chicken and hot bacon and hoe-cake at once, Adam;
and have Chloe fry some oysters and tap a barrel of apple-jack."

The slaves scurried away to the kitchen again as the sound of deep
masculine voices was heard in the library. The guests entered the breakfast-
room side by side, and the four ladies rose to greet them; Madam Trevor
first, with her daughters just behind her, and Deborah, with suddenly eager
eyes, a little to one side.

Dr. Charles Carroll, father of "Mr. Carroll, of Carrollton," foremost Whig

and Catholic in Annapolis, always in disfavor with the Governor officially,
and excellent friends with him of a Saturday night, forty-five years old,
wealthy, bluff, a little gray under his bag-wig, booted, spurred, fresh of color,
and bright of eye, greeted his old friend and mentor, Madam Trevor, with
hearty good-humor. Beside him was Benedict Calvert, a son of the Lord
Proprietary, but Protestant bred; Whig by preference, slender, handsome,
unusually dignified, and quite unaffected. After the various salutations the
entire party reseated themselves at table, and the guests, hungry after their
early canter, helped themselves without stint to the freshly cooked food
brought in for them. The doctor had placed himself, as usual, by Deborah,
who was all attention now; while Mr. Calvert, with a sympathetic smile of
understanding and good-comradeship, was by Lucy, with his hostess on the
other side.

"And now, madam, young ladies, Sir Charles, and our host," cried the
doctor, in a hearty voice, "we are about to repay your hospitality with news,
excellent news, for every one of you!"

"Ah! Let us hear it, doctor!" cried Vincent, while the others murmured
assent.

"Well, then, for the ladies first! The Baltimore is in port, after a bad
voyage. She sailed from Portsmouth on the 20th of February. I was on the
south piers as she came to anchor. Her cargo—or part of it—is all for
feminine ears to hear. She has with her the last fashions from home, and the
material to reproduce them. There are paduasoys and lutestrings, and satins
and laces, and damasks and silverware, and cheynay and glass, and ribbons
and combs, and shoe-buckles and silk stockings, and most wonderful garters,
I'm told; and—"

"Nay, now, doctor, 'tis far enough!" cried Sir Charles; and the gentlemen
laughed.

"Well, then, there are those things, and more. And on the morrow, at ten
of the morning, there is to be a public sale on the docks off Hanover Street,
where he who has the wherewithal may buy. And I am bidden to ask you all
to ride in and spend what moneys you can wrest from Vincent's hands, and,
after, to come to my house, where Mistresses Letitia and Frances will serve
you with a fair widower's dinner. How now—what think you of my first
news, damsels?"

"'Tis what none in the world but you could bring, Dr. Carroll," replied
Madam Trevor, beaming graciously.

"And we may go, mother?" asked Lucy, voicing the anxiety of her more
dignified sister and her silent cousin.

"Yes, we will go—and our compliments and thanks to Mistress Letitia

and Mistress Frances for their asking. Deborah, child, you must have tabby
for a new petticoat; and I shall get you all muslins."

"And I must have a new set of plumes for—"

"Mother, may I not have a flowered paduasoy this year?"

"Come, come, girls! 'Tis our turn now! Surely, doctor, you do not
imagine us interested in sales of silk stockings and satins? What is the news
for us?" asked Vincent, with a slight smile.

Benedict Calvert laughed. "Troth, sir, 'tis not every man that is so
unfeignedly disdainful of silk stockings and satins, whether for his own attire
or for a lady's. Howbeit, there is other news that you may like to hear. In the
assembly yesterday the matter of the commissioners for Lancaster was
finally settled. Word has come from Virginia that the council will open on
the 25th of June. Our men will probably leave here on the 20th; and—"

"I am elected to go, devil take me!" cried Sir Charles, ruefully.

"No such luck. Do not bemoan thyself, Charlie. Not one of the
Governor's staff, and only one official—Marshe—is of the number,"
returned Benedict, grinning broadly. "'Twas a prudent choice. Not a Radical
on either side."

"Then the doctor's scarce in," observed Vincent.

"That am I not," returned the doctor with eminent good-humor. "But Mr.
Calvert—the worshipful Mr. Calvert—is; and so are Phil Thomas, and the
Reverend Mr. Cradock, and Edmund Jennings, and Colvill, and—ah, yes!
Bob King. There, at least, is one Radical for you. Well, well! Even such as
they should manage, together with their right honorable compeers from
Virginia and Pennsylvania, to buy the right of our colonial lands from the
Six Nations—after a hundred and fifty years of occupancy willy-nilly!"

"Quite so. And now that's all our news, Madam Trevor. Does it equal the
breakfast?"

"Not quite all, seeking your pardon! But the other matter is for the ears
of Mistress Debby here, whom, if you will permit me, madam, I will, after
breakfast, attend to her sanctum—the still-room."

Deborah did not move. Her eyes dropped, and sharp-eyed Calvert
himself could not have guessed the eagerness hidden under her perfect mien.

"Deborah has been too much with her drugs of late, Dr. Carroll. I think it
were better if you talked with her on some healthier subject. I am not over-
fond of her ill-considered ways. They are morbid, much of the time."

"Ah, madam, I am sorry for that! I look forward to the consultations with
little Mistress Deborah as the happiest reminiscences of my professional
days—before I abandoned physic for merchandise. Your young cousin has
remarkable talent about it."

Madam Trevor shrugged her shoulders. "If you put it in that way, Dr.
Carroll, how can I refuse you your pleasure in coming to our plantation? If
'tis a question of talking with Deborah or not coming at all, why—Deborah
is all at your service."

"By my troth, Madam Antoinette, if that is a pleasantry, it is not one that

I like overmuch. How could you so take my words?"

"Come now, doctor, hurry on! Conduct the damsel to your physicking-
room, and I'll wait here. You forget that our road leads on to the Kings'."

"To be sure. Well, Debby, let us be off. I must see your manipulation of
the new retort."

Thereupon the doctor and his protégée, leaving the others still at table,
went together out of the glass door, down the path, across the yard, with its
great poplar-trees and the groups of pickaninnies playing, as usual, about the
high well-sweep, to a small building a trifle northeast of the cabins and half
hidden in great lilac bushes that clustered before its very door. This was
Deborah's sanctum, the still-room; and into it she and her companion retired.

The single room contained three large windows, through one of which
nodded a thick bunch of purple lilacs, heavy with perfume, and still damp
with dew. Along the windowless wall of the room ran a stout pine table, on
which, among various utensils, stood two chemist's retorts, one the old iron
alembic, the other Deborah's greatest treasure, a glass retort for which Dr.
Carroll had sent to Europe. In one corner stood the charcoal box, a tall, iron
brazier containing some smouldering coals, and a keg for water.

While Deborah built up her charcoal fire and carried the brazier to the
table, Carroll went over to a corner cupboard, opened its door, and looked in
upon the five shelves where, ranged in orderly rows, stood all the phials and
flasks that Deborah had been able to collect. Only a dozen or so contained
more or less muddy-looking liquids, and on each of these was pasted a paper
label covered with fine writing. One after another the doctor picked them up
and examined them.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, finally, taking the cork from one, and smelling the
cloudy mixture within. "Aha! You have it here! I thought so. Now, this is
precisely the thing that I should advise."

Deborah went over to him. "What! The monkshood? 'Tis a poor solution.
For want of pure alcohol, I had to use rum."

"No matter. Let us manipulate this a bit, Debby, instead of your tobacco
there. For this is necessary. And while we are distilling some pure aconitum
napellus, I will tell you a little story, and weave for you a prettier romance
than ever you did find in The Chyrurgien's Mate or old Galen's Art of
Physick, that once I found you with—or even the Whole Duty of Man, which
I swear you have not read."

"Yes, I have. But the story, Dr. Carroll! Was't the news you had for my
ears?"

"Even so, mistress. Now—careful with the body. We mustn't spill this—
where's your filter? That's it. A slow evaporation will be best. Can you fix
the other end? Good! You have a deft hand.

"Well, now, the tale runs this wise. You heard me say that I was at the
piers when the Baltimore came in this morning. I'm half-owner in her, and,
besides that, Croft is a very good friend of mine, and 'tis four months since
he sailed from here. He—the captain, Debby—came off from the ship in his
boat, looking a bit tired and haggard, and more glad to get home again than
ever I saw him before. They'd a nasty voyage, been short of water for a
week, and, besides that, he had a tale to tell about one of his passengers. At
Portsmouth only four came on board, one of them a young fellow, a
Frenchman, known to Lord Baltimore, who commended him to the care of
Croft. It appears that the young man is of the nobility and high up in Court
society at his home—Paris, I suppose. But, for some reason unknown, he
packed himself on board the Baltimore and sailed for a place certainly far
enough away from his friends and his people, whoever they are. Croft says
that it can't be an unlawful thing he's done to make him come away, for the
Lord Proprietary himself came down to the ship with him and tried to
persuade him to give up the idea of coming. I suggested to Croft that, if it
were not outlawry, love were the thing to send a man flying like a fool from
civilization; and Croft vows I hit it. This noble Marquis de something-or-
other, Croft said, mooned about the ship like a soul in purgatory for the first
weeks out, and thereupon he fell sick in good earnest. It seems he's been in a
raving fever now for days past, sometimes delirious, sometimes in coma.
He's talked overmuch, from what I can hear, about Lewis, the French King,
and a lot of madames, and a Henry—his rival, perhaps—and I don't know
what all.—See, there's the first vapor. Now 'twill be just right.—Well, Croft
said he must see this man safe off his hands and in some place where he
could be cared for, before he'd make report of the voyage. So, Debby, I sent
a black up to the ordinary of Mrs. Miriam Vawse, and she came down herself
to the wharf, just as they got the man ashore—de Mailly, his name is. By the
great Plutarch, Deb, he's the man for us! Never have I seen a creature in such
condition! I think he must have been well enough looking once. But now!—
He's a skeleton from fever. His face is shrunken and as bright as a hunting-
coat. His hair—'tis long and black—tangled into a mat; and his clothes, of
excellent make they are, hang about him like bags. He was conscious when
he landed, but I didn't hear him speak a single time as we drove him up the
hill and to the ordinary, where Mrs. Miriam is to care for him.

"Now, Deborah, here's my part of the tale for you. To-morrow, when you
come in town for the sale, after you dine with us at noon, I shall manage so
that you go down to the Vawse house and yourself see this fellow, judge his
symptoms, and administer this very stuff—that is coming out fine and clear
now—to him, in your own way. 'Twill be the best practice you could have;
you could scarce make the man worse; and 'twould be a grand thing, eh,
Deb, to accomplish such a cure as that?—My faith, you'll be having me