Accounts of the life of Anne Boleyn (c. 1500–1536), the second wife of England's King Henry VIII, have hovered between biography and fiction since more than 125 years before the former term entered the English lexicon and over a half-century before the latter became a recognized genre. A riveting amalgam of invention and fact, the pivot between the oldest definitions of “fiction” and chronicle life-writing, has dominated her story since the final years of her life. The historical Anne has merged with a succession of exemplary characters who share her name and ostensibly inhabit her world, but speak primarily to and about women from subsequent eras. In a 2012 television documentary on the rise of young Anne Boleyn fans, the “biggest-selling female historian in the United Kingdom,” Alison Weir, explains that “[t]here are cults around Elizabeth the First, but not the way there are around Anne Boleyn […]. Anne Boleyn has been highly romanticized […] and this is the fault of some historians as well.” Anne's influence, she continues, has been drastically overstated since the 1960s by scholars as well as novelists and film-makers when during her life “her only power came from a man” (Burden). Such valorization is hardly a product of the past half-century. Shortly after her execution in 1536, Anne was already the subject of international mass-media speculation (Carles).

This chapter will probe early modern notions of creativity by considering the artistic activities, in and for England, of the most sought-after painter in seventeenth-century Europe – Peter Paul Rubens. The artist's busy workshop helped to satisfy the demand for his works, and as a result Rubens's English patrons, ranging from various dignitaries to Charles I himself, were the recipients of paintings with varying degrees of the master's own participation. An inquiry into Rubens's practice of delegating to studio assistants, and into the value placed by him and his British viewers on autography, will elucidate attitudes towards the manual aspects of creation. A related area of investigation will focus on the phenomenon of self-repetition in the artist's works for his English clients, some of which works were replicas of earlier compositions or reused motifs from previous inventions. Finally, a broader exploration of responses to self-replication, extending at times beyond the shores of England or the confines of painting, will bring to the fore the tensions inherent in early modern attitudes to art.

Replicas and Studio Hands

Although Rubens's stay in England as a diplomatic envoy dates to 1629–30, his relationship with English patrons had begun some thirteen years earlier when Sir Dudley Carleton, the English Ambassador to The Hague, had sought to trade a diamond chain for a hunt scene by the artist.

This book has its origins in an interdisciplinary conference of the same name, held at the University of Manchester in September 2008 as part of a four-year research project entitled ‘Musical Creativity in Restoration England’, which was funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council in the UK. The conference brought together a group of seventeenth-century specialists including those working in cultural studies, print culture, the history of ideas, and of course historians of art, architecture, theatre, literature and music, to explore how we can seek to understand what it meant to be creative in the early modern period in England. Te symposium revealed the wide variety of approaches to studying creativity being taken by scholars and research students across the humanities, and led to exciting and fruitful cross-fertilization of ideas between its participants, resulting in discussions that in some cases have led to long-lasting research collaborations.

Tis book presents a selection of twelve essays that were developed from the twenty papers given at the conference. In selecting this group, the editors have sought to include a representative sample of the research that was presented, while also aiming to ensure that the collection is accessible to a genuinely interdisciplinary readership. While music examples are used in some of the chapters, these are kept to a minimum, and are supported by audio samples available at www.alc.manchester. ac.uk/subjects/music/research/projects/musicalcreativity.

This essay grows from a concern with the old art-historical problem of how the perception of art, or in this case more specifically architecture, changes over time. It sets out to explore how verbal representations preserve clues about such changes in the way we see the world, while proposing that the dialogue between subject and object is perhaps more palpable in texts than it is in pictures. The protagonist is seventeenth-century diarist John Evelyn, who travelled in Italy between 1644 and 1646. The account of this journey forms part of his seminal Diary, which he compiled mainly retrospectively from the 1660s onwards. One of the main seventeenth-century English sources for historians of all fields and by some even regarded as having changed travel writing, Evelyn is nevertheless well known for having copied generous parts of his text from earlier guidebooks.2 In the following I will try to dismantle sentence by sentence one short passage in which he describes the city of Genoa. Comparing his text to other seventeenth-century guidebooks allows us to see not only what Evelyn copied, but also what he altered, what he added, and, more importantly, what these alterations and additions tell us about contemporary modes of perception and representation. The ensuing analysis raises questions about concepts of creativity and originality in the period while probing the ordering of vision and knowledge in the seventeenth century.

Introduction

Edward Phillips's attempt to define creation in 1671 highlights a number of issues that are central to developments in thinking about creativity, knowledge and artistic innovation during the seventeenth century. His idea of creating ‘something’ from ‘nothing’ implies, at one level, absolute novelty: a lack of precedence, a complete rupture with and effacement of a past state or experience; something appears where once there was emptiness or blankness. Simultaneously, however, the emphasis on ‘making’ and especially ‘forming’ suggests that there are materials to be moulded: existing matter to be reshaped into something new; Phillips suggests that creation has to be made from something, even as this ‘some-thing’ is described as ‘no-thing’. This ambivalence – the ‘as it were’ in the definition – hints at the multiple concepts and interpretations of creativity that existed in the seventeenth century.

In the early modern period – particularly in the realm of epistemology – creation was understood both in terms of reshaping, translating and reconfiguring that which exists and as the production of fresh entities ‘out of nothing’. Seventeenth-century theories of creativity seem to emanate from precisely this tension between novelty and precedent, between the purity of the new and the foundation of the old.

In Act II, Scene 3 of William Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, first performed as the seventeenth century opened, the knights Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek call for wine. Immediately after the arrival of the clown, Feste, Aguecheek asks for a song and his drinking companion a catch. Their merry midnight revels are interrupted by Maria, serving woman to their hostess (who is also Sir Toby's niece), following their performance of the three-voice catch ‘Hold thy peace’. ‘What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere?’, exclaims Maria; ‘If my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me.’ The puritanical Malvolio is even more horriied by their acoustical antics. ‘My masters are you mad?’, he asks on his arrival,

This brief scene, first brought to life approximately a decade before the earliest publication of English catches and over a century ahead of the greatest vogue for such canonical vocal part-songs, already encodes the most important aspects of the genre. As demonstrated by Shakespeare's three performers, the singing of catches was a form of participatory leisure entertainment for males of equal voice.

Over the past twenty-five years much ink has been spilt by literary scholars of the early modern period over issues relating to creativity, notions of authorship and the influence and impact of print technology. While Edmund Spenser's foray into print has been described as an act of ‘textual self-monumentalization, the publication of Ben Jonson's Workes in 1616 has been proclaimed, in Joseph Loewenstein's words, as ‘a major event in the history of what one might call the bibliographic ego’. At the turn of the seventeenth century English composers including William Byrd, Thomas Morley and John Dowland also chose actively to disseminate their works in single-author printed books on which their name was imprinted as ‘author’ and through which they, and others, were able to advertise their musical skills and reputations. Although the focus on interpreting figurations of authorship within the printed book in early modern England has remained primarily literary, the circumstances surrounding music printing in the final decades of the sixteenth century and the irst of the seventeenth created conditions in which the same issues pertaining to intellectual property arose for some composers, leading them to assert their own ‘bibliographic egos’ even before the 1616 literary landmark.

Jeremy L. Smith makes such a claim about Byrd's apparently close editorial involvement in the printing of his works, particularly the multiple editions of his Psalmes, Sonets and Songs, first published in 1588.