WoO 224 Cacatum non est pictum, Canon in B-flat major. Dreistimmig (Three voices)
Canon (B-flat major) based on the text of Gottfried August Bürger; Dediction: -NGAXII / 3 AGA-
Ca – ca tum non est pic – tum Ros – si – ni Ros – si – ni; ten bars.
WoO 224 Cacatum non est pictum, Canon in B-flat major. Dreistimmig (Three voices)
Canon (B-flat major) based on the text of Gottfried August Bürger; Dediction: -NGAXII / 3 AGA-
Ca – ca tum non est pic – tum Ros – si – ni Ros – si – ni; ten bars.
Origin and Edition: Written around 1820 in Vienna. GB-British Library Lbl, add. Ms. 29997 (SV 187), page 10 recto. The first edition was published posthumously in 2000 in Sieghard Brandenburg’s contribution to the Mitteilungsblatt der Wiener Beethoven-Gesellschaft.
Beethoven’s manuscript includes two different sketches of a playful canon on Rossini, the first of which is complete except for the underlying text, which is incomplete but can easily be reconstructed. The second version (a canon in a higher fourth) breaks off after five bars. Sieghard Brandenburg dates the sheet to around 1820 based on the watermark (Brandenburg/Entwürfe). It comes from a pocket-sized notebook but cannot yet be assigned to an existing volume.
Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868) arrived in Vienna on March 23, 1822, and stayed until July 22, 1822. The possibility of a meeting between him and Beethoven has often been discussed and was later confirmed by Walther Brauneis (Brauneis/Rossini). Beethoven’s circle was hostile to Rossini, as can be seen from the comments in the conversation books (BKh 1, p. 154; BKh 2, p. 322; BKh 8, p. 93). Although Beethoven also made disparaging remarks about Rossini’s music (“u dieser wicht von rossini von keinem wahren Meister der Kunst geacht[et],” BKh 7, p. 78, mid-January 1825), the composer did not hesitate to include an aria by Rossini in the Akademie of May 23, 1824.
Text: Gottfried August Bürger (1747-1794), dal poema „Neue weltliche hochteut-sche Reime: enthaltend die ebentheyerliche, doch wahrhaftige Historiam von der wunderschönen Durchlauchtigen Kaiserlichen Prinzessin Europa und einem uralten heydnischen Gözen, Jupiter item Zeus genannt, als welcher sich nicht entblödet, unter der Larve eines unvernünftigen Stieres an höchstgedachter Prinzessin ein crimen raptus, zu teutsch: Jungfernraub auszuüben. Also gesezet und an das Licht gestellet durch Mr. Jocosum Hilarium“, [Göttingen] 1777.
Beethoven was probably familiar with Joseph Haydn’s four-part canon on the same text (“Heerzigt das Dictum, Cacatum non est pictum”, Hob. XXVIIb No. 16), published by Breitkopf & Härtel in Leipzig in 1810. (We also include Haydn’s canon on the same text.) Beethoven himself added the name Rossini to the poem.
Doch ihr, kunstjungerlein!
Mögt meine Melodenen
Nur nicht flugs nach fallenen;
Sanft wird die Kunst gemein.
Beherzigt doch das dictum:
Cacatum non est pictum.
Wrote Mark Zimmer on Unheard Beethoven. site:
“Cacatum non est pictum” is an obscene Latin proverb, which means as much as “That what’s shat, is not painted”. What this exactly signifies is unclear. Some speculations are: “In what was being said, the bad things are left out”; “That what comes easily can’t have great value”; “One shouldn’t hang ones dirty linen in public”; “That what’s part of nature is no art”; “Nobody ever shat gold”. We would be happy to hear from anyone who can shed light on this matter or its apparently classical source!
The Beethoven sketch consists of three chunks. The first, 6 bars long, has only a single melodic line, and ends with a repeat sign. The second chunk of 4 bars has also just one voice. The last chunk, for two voices, is 5 bars long.
The solution for the canon is very easy to find: the second voice enters after 2 bars on the prime, the third voice after 4 bars, also on the prime. This results in a perfectly regular 3-part canon. The only problem with this solution is that bars 3-6 of the melody are rhythmically and melodically rather stiff. It is as if Beethoven has only roughly indicated what he intended to do for these 4 bars.
When we take a closer look at the 2nd chunk of the sketch, it becomes clear that it represents a more lively version for bars 3-6 of the first chunk. It’s not only harmonically almost identical to the bars it has to replace, it even takes care to avoid concealed fifths and other contrapuntal awkwardnesses when placed in context.
The third chunk of the sketch seems to represent another attempt by Beethoven to set the same text. The 2nd voice behaves like a fugue-answer, although it is incorrect, strictly speaking. It has a quaint, medieval quality, but it is impossible to speculate what Beethoven wanted to do with it.
The midi with the completion gives two versions of the Cacatum canon: the first is based exclusively on chunk 1 of our sketch. Then follows the same solution, but now with bars 3-6 replaced by the melody of chunk 2.
Solution by Willem. World premiere for the Unheard Beethoven.
And Rossini? The account of his meeting with Beethoven was reported by Edmond Michotte (1831–1914) in 1860 in his book La visite de R. Wagner à Rossini (Paris: Fischbacher, 1860). This account must be taken with caution, as its sole source is Rossini himself.
“I had already listened to some Beethoven quartets in Milan, and I need not tell you how deeply moved and impressed I was! I also knew some of his piano compositions. In Vienna, I attended for the first time the performance of one of his symphonies, the Eroica. That music overwhelmed me. I had one thought: to meet that great genius, to see him, even if only once. I spoke about it to Salieri, whom I knew to be in contact with Beethoven… To fulfill my desire, he thought it best to speak with Carpani, the Italian poet who was well-regarded by Beethoven; he was sure that with his help, he would succeed. Indeed, Carpani worked so persistently on the matter that he obtained Beethoven’s agreement to receive me. Do I need to say it? As I climbed the stairs leading to the humble dwelling of the great man, I had some difficulty controlling my emotions. When the door opened, I found myself in a kind of filthy, horribly disordered room. I especially remember that the ceiling, just under the roof, was covered with large cracks through which rain must certainly pour in torrents. The portraits of Beethoven that we all know generally reproduce his likeness fairly faithfully. But what no engraver could ever express is the indefinable sadness that emanates from his face, while beneath the thick eyebrows, like in deep caves, his eyes—though small—seem to pierce through you. His voice was soft and somewhat veiled. When we entered, without paying attention to us, he remained bent over a page of music he was finishing correcting. Then, raising his head, he said abruptly in fairly understandable Italian: ‘Ah, Rossini, are you the author of The Barber of Seville? I congratulate you; it is an excellent comic opera; I read it with pleasure and enjoyed it. If there is an Italian opera house, it will be performed. Never try to do anything other than comic operas; attempting another genre would mean forcing your destiny.’ Carpani, who was with me, immediately interrupted him, naturally scribbling in German and translating to me word for word; this was the only way to have a conversation with Beethoven. He wrote: ‘But Maestro Rossini has already composed many serious operas: Tancredi, Otello, Mosè; I myself sent them to him, recommending he examine them.’ Beethoven replied: ‘Indeed, I glanced through them, but you see, serious opera is not for Italians. To handle true drama, they lack sufficient musical knowledge; and how could they ever acquire it in Italy?’ I expressed to him all my admiration for his genius and my gratitude for having the chance to convey it to him… He replied with a deep sigh and these few words: ‘Oh! An unhappy man!’
After a pause, he asked me for some details about Italian theaters, famous singers, and whether Mozart’s works were frequently performed. He wanted to know if I was satisfied with the Italian company in Vienna. Then, wishing me a good performance and success for Zelmira, he stood up and accompanied us to the door, repeating: ‘Above all, do many Barbers.’ As I descended the stairs, I felt a painful impression thinking about the abandonment and misery in which such a great man was left to languish, and I could not hold back my tears. ‘But if it’s him,’ said Carpani, ‘he wants to live like this! He’s a misanthrope, a grumpy person who cannot keep a friend!’
That same evening, I attended a gala dinner at Prince Metternich’s house. Still shaken by that visit, by the gloomy word ‘unhappy’ that echoed in my ears, I felt somewhat confused seeing myself treated with such respect in that brilliant society, compared to Beethoven. I could not help but frankly express everything I thought about the behavior of the Court and the Viennese aristocracy toward the greatest musical genius of the time. I received the same response that Carpani had given me, and then I remarked that the state of deafness in which the unhappy man lived should inspire the deepest compassion, and that it was not generous to reproach him for certain weaknesses to justify refusing to help him. I added that if all the wealthy families of Vienna had contributed a certain amount, it would have been possible to ensure the great composer an income that would protect him from any need; but the proposal was not supported by anyone. I did not lose courage and tried to raise the necessary funds to buy him at least a modest home. I got some support, but the final result was quite mediocre; the general response was: ‘You don’t know the Maestro well; the day he owns a house, he will sell it; he will never settle in one place; he feels the need to change apartments every six months and servants every six weeks!’ And so, I was forced to abandon this second project as well.”
