The Cambridge History of English and American Literature in 18 Volumes (1907–21).
Volume XII. The Romantic Revival.
§ 1. Rogers
I
The “knock-out” above suggested in Southey’s case might or might not really have surprised Byron; for it is clear that it was Southey’s principles and personality, rather than his poetry that annoyed his assailant. But he might have been much more certainly disappointed at the corresponding drop in the public estimation of Rogers. At the present time, it is probably a very exceptional thing to find anyone who, save in a vague traditional way, thinks of the author of The Pleasures of Memory as a poet at all; and, even where that tradition survives, it is extremely questionable whether it is often supported by actual reading. At one time, of course, Rogers was quite a popular poet; and it is a task neither difficult nor disagreeable for the literary historian to trace the causes of his popularity. He had, like Campbell, the very great advantage of beginning at a dead season and, again like Campbell, he had the further, but more dangerous, advantage of writing in a style which, while thoroughly acceptable to established and conventional criticism, had certain attractions for the tastes, as yet undeveloped, which were to bring about new things. He kept this up later, with some deliberate heed to younger tastes, in Italy and Jacqueline, thus shifting, but still retaining, his grasp. His wealth left him free to write or not, exactly as he pleased: and, in the famous case of Italy itself, to reinforce his work in a manner which appealed to more tastes than the purely literary by splendid presentation with the aid of great pictorial art. If he had a sharp tongue, and perhaps, not exactly a kind heart, he had a very generous disposition; and he was most powerfully assisted by the undefinable gift, by no means a necessary consequence of his affluence, which enabled a parvenu to become something like a master of society. He really had taste of various kinds: he might have been a greater poet if he had hadless. And so he hit the bird of public taste on several of its many wings.
But the greater number, if not the whole, of these attractions have now ceased to attract; like the plates of Italy itself, they have generally become “foxed” with time. We ask, nowadays, simply, “Was Rogers a poet?” and, if so, “What sort of a poet was he?” There cannot, for reasons above glanced at, be many people whose answer to this question would be worth much, unless it is based on a dispassionate re-reading of the documents in the case. Such a re-reading may, to some extent, qualify earlier and more impulsive judgments of the same critic; but it is not likely, whatever power of correcting his impressions that critic may possess, to produce any very material alteration of opinion. For Rogers, very distinctly and unmistakably, comes on one side of the dividing line which marks off sheep from goats in this matter; though, on which side the goats are to be found and on which the sheep will depend entirely on the general and foregone attitude of the investigator of poetry. Rogers’s subjects are good; his treatment of them is scholarly, and never offends against the ordinary canons of good taste; his versification is smooth and pleasing on its own limited scale; from some points of view, he might be pronounced an almost faultless writer. But will all this make him a poet? If it will not, we might, perhaps, explain the failure worse than by applying to him that opposition of “quotidian” and “stimulant” which his very near contemporary William Taylor of Norwich devised as a criterion; which Carlyle laughed at; which Taylor himself made somewhat ridiculous in application; but which has something to say for itself, and which will not be found quite useless in regard to many, if not most, of the subjects of this chapter.
Rogers is always quotidian. You may read The Pleasures of Memory at different times of life (and the more different these periods and the longer the intervals the better). It is not difficult or unpleasant to read; and though, if not at first, certainly a little later, you may feel pretty sure that, if Akenside, on the one hand, and Goldsmith, on the other, had not written, The Pleasures of Memory might never have been, this is far from fatal. The question is “What has it positively to give you?” Here is one of its very best couplets:
Let us try another text and test. The duke of Wellington (as Rogers himself most frankly records in a note to the poem) had told Rogers, with his usual plainness of speech and absence of pose, a striking story, how, when he went to sleep after the great slaughter of Assaye,