René Rapin's De Carmine Pastorali, here presented in Thomas Creech's 1684 translation, opens with a striking declaration of critical method: Rapin admits he has 'no guide, neither Aristotle nor Horace' for the pastoral genre, yet he proceeds to construct a rigorous set of rules by leaning on the Ancients and the concept of 'good Sense.' The treatise is less a descriptive survey than a prescriptive manifesto, repeatedly insisting that pastoral poetry must embody 'the most innocent simplicity imaginable.' Rapin's voice is combative and assured, dismissing critics who find Virgil's Tityrus beneath notice as 'Ridiculous' and praising concision as the genre's chief excellence. The text reveals a critic who equates literary authority with natural law, and who is willing to scold those who disagree.

The Argument from Authority

Rapin's primary critical move is to ground pastoral in the authority of ancient writers. He repeatedly cites Theocritus and Virgil as models, and Aristotle and Horace as theoretical guides—even when, as he admits, those guides offer no direct help for pastoral. This reliance creates a tension: Rapin claims to follow 'Nature put in Method,' but his method is overwhelmingly derived from precedent. For instance, he argues that pastoral belongs to the 'Golden Age' because 'the Life of a Shepherd... is to be referr’d to the manners and age of the world whilst yet innocent.' This is not an observation from nature but a literary-historical construct. Rapin's absolutism appears in his assertion that 'none can treat well and clearly of any kind of Poetry if he hath no helps from these two'—meaning Aristotle and Horace. The treatise thus becomes a performance of scholarly deference, even as it innovates by applying classical principles to an under-theorized genre.

Simplicity as the Defining Grace

For Rapin, simplicity is not merely a stylistic preference but the 'peculiar Grace, and as it were Character of Bucolicks.' He draws a parallel between moral innocence and linguistic purity: 'as Innocence in Life, so purity and simplicity in discourse was the Glory of that Age.' This equation allows him to rank poets: Theocritus excels Virgil because Virgil 'hath mixt Allegories, and some other things which contain too much learning.' Rapin's ideal pastoral is spare, close, and concise—'a great deal coucht in a few words.' He praises Virgil's line 'These Fields and Corn shall a Barbarian share?' as exemplary: 'How short is that? how concise? and yet how full of...' The sentence breaks off in the excerpt, but the point is clear. Rapin also warns against 'raw unexperienced Writers' who 'pour out their whole stock' when describing a rainbow or river. Simplicity, he insists, is not easy; it requires 'strength of Wit, and greater pains.'

A Combative and Self-Aware Voice

Rapin's tone throughout is that of a critic confident in his judgments and willing to mock opponents. He refers to 'Excellent Criticks indeed, whom I wish a little more sense, that they might not really be, what they would not seem to be, Ridiculous.' This sarcasm is directed at those who dislike Virgil's humble settings. Elsewhere, he uses a rhetorical question to dismiss counterarguments: 'I could heap up a great many more things to this purpose, but I see no need of such a trouble, since no man can rationally doubt of the goodness of my Observation.' The voice is performative, blending scholarly citation with personal attack. Yet Rapin also shows self-awareness about the difficulty of his task, calling it 'a hard Task' to inquire into pastoral without ancient guides. This mix of arrogance and acknowledged limitation gives the treatise a distinctive energy, as Rapin simultaneously defers to the past and asserts his own critical authority.

Pace and Structure in the Argument

The treatise is divided into three parts, each with a different rhetorical pace. The first part establishes the problem and Rapin's method, moving deliberately through citations. The second part, on the nature of pastoral, accelerates as Rapin defines simplicity and attacks critics. The third part, on rules for writing, becomes more prescriptive and condensed, mirroring the concision he advocates. This structural shift from inquiry to assertion reflects Rapin's confidence: he begins by admitting difficulty and ends by laying down laws. The change in pace is not merely organizational but rhetorical, designed to lead the reader from uncertainty to certainty. Rapin's own prose, however, does not always achieve the simplicity he praises; his sentences are often long and packed with references, creating a tension between his doctrine and his practice.

Readers approaching Rapin's treatise should attend to the interplay between his stated ideals and his actual prose. He champions simplicity but writes with learned complexity; he defers to the Ancients but asserts his own judgments with force. The text rewards attention to its rhetorical strategies—the shifts in pace, the sarcastic asides, the careful structuring of authority. For those interested in the history of criticism, De Carmine Pastorali offers a vivid example of how neoclassical principles were applied to a genre that lacked explicit ancient theory, and how a critic's voice can shape the reception of a literary form.