The Italian tempo markings that are part of our musical vocabulary have been notoriously ambiguous for centuries. Part of this may be attributed to their inexactness (contrary to the precision of metronome markings), to their double use as terms of expression and of speed (as with adagio), to their changes in meaning over time, and to the occasional incorrect use of the Italian language, which is often a foreign tongue to many musicians. Andantino is one such instance of incorrect Italian. Meaning “a little andante,” the term is, strictly speaking, not a part of the Italian vocabulary, being found only in musical contexts. Despite its use since the eighteenth century, it is a term that is fraught with misinterpretation.
The problem most likely stems from the root andante itself; specifically, is andante a fast or a slow tempo? If fast, then the addition of the diminutive suffix “ino” entails a faster speed; if the converse, then it entails a slower one. There is generally no such misunderstanding when diminutive suffixes are added to other markings, such as the commonly encountered prestissimo and allegrissimo (faster than presto and allegro, respectively), allegretto (slower than allegro), or larghetto and adagietto (faster than largo and adagio, respectively). Presto, allegro, largo and adagio are unambiguous indications of speed; as a result, diminutive suffixes added to these terms are generally unequivocal.
One wonders who the first musician was to introduce the term andantino—probably not an Italian—and how the term gained currency in eighteenth-century Europe. Its time of origin seems to be the mid-eighteenth century, at some point in the course of Wolfgang Mozart’s lifetime. Of the important eighteenth-century treatises that addressed the meanings of Italian tempo indications, andantino was not mentioned in Sébastien de Brosard’s Dictionaire de musique of 1703, Alexander Malcom’s Treatise of Musick of 1721, James Grassineau’s Musical Dictionary of 1740, Johann Joachim Quantz’s Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte zu spielen of 1752, or Leopold Mozart’s Violinschule of 1756. Jean-Jacques Rousseau was one of the first theorists to mention it in his Dictionaire de musique of 1768, in which he described it as “an andante with less gaiety in the beat” (thus, slower than andante). Subsequent treatises by Türk (1789), Clementi (1801) and Hummel (1828) agreed with Rousseau, although J. B. Cartier’s L’art du violin of 1798 ranked it faster than andante and slower than allegro. (Cartier also listed allegretto as faster than allegro, which would imply that his interpretation of Italian diminutive suffixes was incorrect.) Of these theorists, only Clementi was a native Italian speaker.
The first musical usage of andantino, to my knowledge, was the second movement of Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg’s Partita in G Major of 1756, the year of Leopold Mozart’s Violinschule and Wolfgang Mozart’s birth. Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (though not Johann Sebastian Bach), Wolfgang Mozart and (less so) Joseph Haydn used the term on occasion, and evidence supports the claim that these composers understood the term to be slower than andante (meaning, for them, andante was a slow tempo). Consider, for example, the Andantino section from Mozart’s Fantasia in C Minor, K. 475 of 1785:
The problem most likely stems from the root andante itself; specifically, is andante a fast or a slow tempo? If fast, then the addition of the diminutive suffix “ino” entails a faster speed; if the converse, then it entails a slower one. There is generally no such misunderstanding when diminutive suffixes are added to other markings, such as the commonly encountered prestissimo and allegrissimo (faster than presto and allegro, respectively), allegretto (slower than allegro), or larghetto and adagietto (faster than largo and adagio, respectively). Presto, allegro, largo and adagio are unambiguous indications of speed; as a result, diminutive suffixes added to these terms are generally unequivocal.
One wonders who the first musician was to introduce the term andantino—probably not an Italian—and how the term gained currency in eighteenth-century Europe. Its time of origin seems to be the mid-eighteenth century, at some point in the course of Wolfgang Mozart’s lifetime. Of the important eighteenth-century treatises that addressed the meanings of Italian tempo indications, andantino was not mentioned in Sébastien de Brosard’s Dictionaire de musique of 1703, Alexander Malcom’s Treatise of Musick of 1721, James Grassineau’s Musical Dictionary of 1740, Johann Joachim Quantz’s Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte zu spielen of 1752, or Leopold Mozart’s Violinschule of 1756. Jean-Jacques Rousseau was one of the first theorists to mention it in his Dictionaire de musique of 1768, in which he described it as “an andante with less gaiety in the beat” (thus, slower than andante). Subsequent treatises by Türk (1789), Clementi (1801) and Hummel (1828) agreed with Rousseau, although J. B. Cartier’s L’art du violin of 1798 ranked it faster than andante and slower than allegro. (Cartier also listed allegretto as faster than allegro, which would imply that his interpretation of Italian diminutive suffixes was incorrect.) Of these theorists, only Clementi was a native Italian speaker.
The first musical usage of andantino, to my knowledge, was the second movement of Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg’s Partita in G Major of 1756, the year of Leopold Mozart’s Violinschule and Wolfgang Mozart’s birth. Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (though not Johann Sebastian Bach), Wolfgang Mozart and (less so) Joseph Haydn used the term on occasion, and evidence supports the claim that these composers understood the term to be slower than andante (meaning, for them, andante was a slow tempo). Consider, for example, the Andantino section from Mozart’s Fantasia in C Minor, K. 475 of 1785:
Following a turbulent allegro section, this andantino passage demands a slow tempo (though certainly not as slow as the opening Adagio) for the thirty-second notes to be articulated properly. For example, the performer must execute the thirty-second note following the double-dotted eighth-note rest at the end of the first measure in such a way that it is not perceived as a sixteenth note. A fairly slow tempo is thus necessary for this to be accomplished, perhaps slow enough for the eighth note to be the main beat.
However, at some point thereafter, the term entered a checkered period of convolution and confusion. Beethoven, a composer always concerned for indicating the proper tempo markings, was deeply troubled by the term and used it sparingly. His concern with it is seen in the frustration he expressed in an 1813 letter to his Edinburgh publisher, in which he requested that folk melodies sent to him for harmonization that carried the term andantino be accompanied by clarification as to whether they were faster or slower than andante. Through the nineteenth century, andantino somehow transformed from a slower andante to a faster andante (meaning, for nineteenth-century musicians, andante was a fast tempo), yet instances of confusion and misinterpretation persisted. Merely one example is the way in which nineteenth-century composers, following Beethoven’s lead, combined common tempo markings as a means for specifying more precise indications. We find frequent instances of the indication Allegretto quasi andantino in such nineteenth-century scores as Schubert’s Rondo in A Major for piano, D. 951 and the third movement of Brahms’ Symphony No. 2, Op. 73. Confusion deepens when the reverse is found (Andantino quasi allegretto), as in the second movement of Saint-Saëns’ Violin Concerto No. 3, Op. 61 and Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade. Which of the two is a faster tempo? Or are they two ways of expressing the same thing?
For better or worse, there is no English, French or German equivalent for andantino, which might explain why Claude Debussy used the term over the course of his career, even once French became his chosen language for musical indications. Andantino is the tempo specified in his “Menuet” from Suite bergamasque, and the more explicit Andantino con moto in Arabesque No. 1 and Ballade. The exquisite “Reflets dans l’eau” from Images I opens with the rather troubling term Andantino molto; does the qualifier molto imply a faster or a slower speed? Debussy was prone to using macaronic forms—which would suggest that the term conveyed a meaning that no French word could—as with the indications Andantino sans lenteur in the famous Rêverie and Andantino, doucement expressif in the third movement of the String Quartet, Op. 10. The latter, however, is accompanied by a metronome marking of eighth note equals 80, which in this instance demonstrates that andantino was a request for slowness and tranquility.
Surprisingly, the term, despite its ambiguity, has survived into the twentieth century, appearing in the scores of Sibelius, Stravinsky, Villa-Lobos and Hindemith. Despite the numerous examples that may be found of the its usage, andantino remains something of an enigma even to this day. It is a term whose very appearance on the page may imply something psychological to the experienced musician, yet whose true meaning defies a precise definition.
However, at some point thereafter, the term entered a checkered period of convolution and confusion. Beethoven, a composer always concerned for indicating the proper tempo markings, was deeply troubled by the term and used it sparingly. His concern with it is seen in the frustration he expressed in an 1813 letter to his Edinburgh publisher, in which he requested that folk melodies sent to him for harmonization that carried the term andantino be accompanied by clarification as to whether they were faster or slower than andante. Through the nineteenth century, andantino somehow transformed from a slower andante to a faster andante (meaning, for nineteenth-century musicians, andante was a fast tempo), yet instances of confusion and misinterpretation persisted. Merely one example is the way in which nineteenth-century composers, following Beethoven’s lead, combined common tempo markings as a means for specifying more precise indications. We find frequent instances of the indication Allegretto quasi andantino in such nineteenth-century scores as Schubert’s Rondo in A Major for piano, D. 951 and the third movement of Brahms’ Symphony No. 2, Op. 73. Confusion deepens when the reverse is found (Andantino quasi allegretto), as in the second movement of Saint-Saëns’ Violin Concerto No. 3, Op. 61 and Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade. Which of the two is a faster tempo? Or are they two ways of expressing the same thing?
For better or worse, there is no English, French or German equivalent for andantino, which might explain why Claude Debussy used the term over the course of his career, even once French became his chosen language for musical indications. Andantino is the tempo specified in his “Menuet” from Suite bergamasque, and the more explicit Andantino con moto in Arabesque No. 1 and Ballade. The exquisite “Reflets dans l’eau” from Images I opens with the rather troubling term Andantino molto; does the qualifier molto imply a faster or a slower speed? Debussy was prone to using macaronic forms—which would suggest that the term conveyed a meaning that no French word could—as with the indications Andantino sans lenteur in the famous Rêverie and Andantino, doucement expressif in the third movement of the String Quartet, Op. 10. The latter, however, is accompanied by a metronome marking of eighth note equals 80, which in this instance demonstrates that andantino was a request for slowness and tranquility.
Surprisingly, the term, despite its ambiguity, has survived into the twentieth century, appearing in the scores of Sibelius, Stravinsky, Villa-Lobos and Hindemith. Despite the numerous examples that may be found of the its usage, andantino remains something of an enigma even to this day. It is a term whose very appearance on the page may imply something psychological to the experienced musician, yet whose true meaning defies a precise definition.
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