Burney’s claim that Charles Avison’s Essay on Musical Expression (1752) was virtually the only piece of British music criticism that had been produced by the closing years of the eighteenth century was obviously something of an exaggeration – one designed in this case to help establish Burney’s own critical authority in his General History of Music. Nevertheless, music criticism in Britain did develop more slowly than in some other European centres, particularly France and Germany, and it was only in the nineteenth century that dedicated music periodicals and magazines, equivalent to those that had been established in Germany in the 1720s, such as Mattheson’s Critica musica, began to be produced.

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.

The term ‘creativity’ did not come into common usage in the English language until towards the end of the nineteenth century, which makes it a potentially odd candidate for inclusion in the title of a book that focuses on the long seventeenth century. Yet the concept of creativity as we would understand it today – ‘the faculty of being creative; ability or power to create’ – can be traced back to the earliest humanity, and there is, of course, abundant evidence of what we would regard uncontroversially as creative activities that took place in early modern England. The fact that the seventeenth-century men and women who participated in such creativity would not have described these activities in the way we would do today is, in essence, the subject of this book: the essays in this collection seek to explore through specific case studies a wide range of ideas, beliefs and approaches to creativity that existed in seventeenth-century England, and to place them in the context of the prevailing intellectual, social and cultural trends of the period. In doing so, the book draws into focus the profound changes that were emerging in the understanding of human creativity in early modern society, transformations that would eventually lead to the development of a more recognizably modern conception of the notion of creativity.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the earliest reference to ‘creativity’ did in fact occur in the seventeenth century, in George Lawson's 1659 publication Theo-Politica: Or, A Body of Divinity.

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.