About a hundred years ago, a young man, little more than a boy, was
drawing large audiences to the theaters of our eastern cities. New York
received him with enthusiasm, cultured Boston was charmed by his person
and his graceful bearing, while warm-hearted Baltimore fairly outdid
herself in hospitality. Until this time five hundred dollars was a large
sum for a theater to yield in a single night in Baltimore, but people
paid high premiums to hear the boy actor, and a one-evening audience
brought in more than a thousand dollars.
About the same time in England another boy actor, Master Betty, was
creating great excitement, and him they called the Young Roscius, a name
that was quickly caught up by the admirers of the Yankee youth, who then
became known as the Young American Roscius.
He was a wonderful boy in every way, was John Howard Payne. One of a
large family of children, several of whom were remarkably bright, he had
from his parents the most careful training, though they were not able
always to give him the advantages they wished. John was born in New York
City, but early moved with his parents to East Hampton, the most eastern
town on the jutting southern point of Long Island. Here in the charming
little village he passed his childhood, a leader among his playmates,
and a favorite among his elders. His slight form, rounded face,
beautiful features and graceful bearing combined to attract also the
marked attention of every stranger who met him.
At thirteen years of age he was at work in New York, and soon was
discovered to be the editor in secret of a paper called _The Thespian
Mirror_. The merit of this juvenile sheet attracted the attention of
many people, and among them of Mr. Seaman, a wealthy New Yorker who
offered the talented boy an opportunity to go to college free of
expense. Young Payne gladly accepted the invitation, and proceeded to
Union College, where he soon became one of the most popular boys in the
school. His handsome face, graceful manners and elegant delivery were
met with applause whenever he spoke in public, and a natural taste led
him to seek every chance for declamation and acting. Even as a child he
had showed his dramatic ability, and more than once he was urged to go
upon the stage. But his father refused all offers and kept the boy
steadily at his work.
When he was seventeen, however, two events occurred which changed all
his plans. First his mother died, and then his father failed in
business, and the young man saw that he must himself take up the burdens
of the family. Accordingly he left college before graduation and began
his career as an actor.
[Illustration: JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
1791-1852]
His success was immediate and unusual, if we may judge from the words of
contemporary critics. His first appearance in Boston was on February
24, 1809, as Douglas in _Young Norval_. In this play occurs the
speech that countless American boys have declaimed, "On the Grampian
Hills my father feeds his flocks." Of Payne's rendition a critic says,
"He had all the skill of a finished artist combined with the freshness
and simplicity of youth. Great praise, but there are few actors who can
claim any competition with him." Six weeks later he was playing Hamlet
there, and his elocution is spoken of as remarkable for its purity, his
action as suited to the passion he represented, and his performance as
an exquisite one that delighted his brilliant audience.
"Upon the stage, a glowing boy appeared
Whom heavenly smiles and grateful thunders cheered;
Then through the throng delighted murmurs ran.
The boy enacts more wonders than a man."
Another, writing about this time, says, "Young Payne was a perfect Cupid
in his beauty, and his sweet voice, self-possessed yet modest manners,
wit, vivacity and premature wisdom, made him a most engaging prodigy."
And again, "A more engaging youth could not be imagined; he won all
hearts by the beauty of his person and his captivating address, the
premature richness of his mind and his chaste and flowing utterance."
His great successes here led him to go to England, where his popularity
was not nearly so great, and where the critics pounced upon him
unmercifully, hurting his feelings beyond repair. Still he succeeded
moderately both in England and on the Continent, until he turned his
attention to writing rather than to acting. _Brutus_, a tragedy, is the
only one of the sixty works which he wrote, translated or adapted, that
ever is played nowadays. In _Clari, the Maid of Milan_, one of his
operas, however, appeared a little song that has made the name of John
Howard Payne eternally famous throughout the world.
_Home, Sweet Home_ had originally four stanzas, but by common consent
the third and fourth have been dropped because of their inferiority. The
two remaining ones are sung everywhere with heartfelt appreciation, and
the air, whatever its origin, has now association only with the words of
the old home song. Miss Ellen Tree, who sang it in the opera, charmed
her audience instantly, and in the end won her husband through its
melody.
In 1823, 100,000 copies were sold, and the publishers made 2,000 guineas
from it in two years. In fact, it enriched everybody who had anything to
do with it, except Payne, who sold it originally for £30.
Perhaps the most noteworthy incident connected with the public rendition
of _Home, Sweet Home_ occurred in Washington at one of the theaters
where Jenny Lind was singing before an audience composed of the first
people of our land. In one of the boxes sat the author, then on a visit
to this country, and a favorite everywhere. The prima donna sang her
greatest classical music and moved her audience to the wildest applause.
Then in response to the renewed calls she stepped to the front of the
stage, turned her face to the box where the poet sat, and in a voice of
marvelous pathos and power sang:
"Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, Home! Sweet, sweet Home!
There's no place like Home!
There's no place like Home!
[Illustration: THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME]
"An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain!
O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gaily that came at my call;--
Give me them! and the peace of mind dearer than all!
Home, Home! Sweet, sweet Home!
There's no place like Home!
There's no place like Home!"[226-1]
The audience were moved to tears. Even Daniel Webster, stern man of law,
lost control of himself and wept like a child.
Payne's later life was not altogether a happy one, and he felt some
resentment against the world, although it may not have been justified.
He was unmarried, but was no more homeless than most bachelors. He
exiled himself voluntarily from his own country, and so lost much of the
delightful result of his own early popularity. He may have been reduced
to privation and suffering, but it was not for long at a time. Some
writers have sought to heighten effect by making the author of the
greatest song of home a homeless wanderer. The truth is that Payne's
unhappiness was largely the result of his own peculiarities. He was
given to poetic exaggeration, for there is now known to be little stern
fact in the following oft-quoted writing of himself:
"How often have I been in the heart of Paris, Berlin, London or some
other city, and have heard persons singing or hand organs playing _Sweet
Home_ without having a shilling to buy myself the next meal or a place
to lay my head! The world has literally sung my song until every heart
is familiar with its melody, yet I have been a wanderer from my
boyhood. My country has turned me ruthlessly from office and in my old
age I have to submit to humiliation for my bread."
Upon his own request he was appointed United States consul at Tunis, and
after being removed from that office continued to reside there until his
death. He was buried in Saint George's Cemetery in Tunis, and there his
body rested for more than thirty years, until W. W. Corcoran, a wealthy
resident of Washington, had it disinterred, brought to this country and
buried in the beautiful Oak Hill Cemetery near Washington. There a white
marble shaft surmounted by a bust of the poet marks his last home. On
one side of the shaft is the inscription:
John Howard Payne,
Author of "Home, Sweet Home."
Born June 9, 1792. Died April 9, 1852.
On the other side is chiseled this stanza:
"Sure when thy gentle spirit fled
To realms above the azure dome,
With outstretched arms God's angels said
Welcome to Heaven's Home, Sweet Home."
Much sentiment has been wasted over Payne, who was really not a great
poet and whose lack of stamina prevented him from grasping the power
already in his hand. We should remember, too, that the astonishing
popularity of _Home, Sweet Home_ is doubtless due more to the glorious
melody of the air, probably composed by some unknown Sicilian, than to
the wording of the two stanzas.
When we study the verses themselves we see that the first three lines
are rather fine, but the fourth line is clumsy and matter-of-fact
compared with the others. In the second stanza "lowly thatched cottage"
may be a poetic description, but the home longing is not confined to
people who have lived in thatched cottages. Tame singing birds are
interesting, but home stands for higher and holier things. All he asks
for are a thatched cottage, singing birds and peace of mind: a curious
group of things. The fourth line of that stanza is unmusical and
inharmonious.
These facts make us see that what really has made the song so dear to us
is its sweet music and the powerful emotion that seizes us all when we
think of the home of our childhood.