Travale, a small hamlet of Montieri located in the Colline Metallifere (Metalliferous Hills), appears today as a barren and quiet village. However, it is thanks to a completely fortuitous episode that it has secured a prominent place in the linguistic and literary history of Italy. This event is owed to the work of a 12th-century notary from Volterra who, unknowingly, left us a precious record of the first incursions of the vernacular into the notarial sphere. It should be noted that the earliest attestations of the vernacular sometimes appear within official documents of the period, a practice emerging within a context still overwhelmingly dominated by Latin. The documentation from that time shows a prevalence of standard Latin formulas alongside vernacular words and phrases that unexpectedly emerge. The integration of Latin with the vernacular appears only rarely, but when it does, it is particularly significant: it is precisely this alternation—sometimes inextricable—that represents a milestone in linguistic evolution. In Italy, this phase occurred later than in other Romance-speaking areas, such as Gallo-Romance or Castilian, with an estimated delay of at least a century.
Among the most famous Tuscan testimonies of this period is the Postilla Amiatina, a vernacular-like annotation contained in a manuscript from 1087, preserved in the Abbey of San Salvatore on Monte Amiata. However, the evidence from Travale is just as significant. The year is 1158, and a territorial dispute arises between Count Ranieri di Ugolino Pannocchia and Bishop Galgano of Volterra over the ownership of several contested farmhouses between the courts of Travale and Gerfalco. In this context, the judge from Volterra, who drafted the document, chose to alternate between Latin and the vernacular, transcribing some phrases exactly as they were spoken by the witnesses called to testify.
Among the recorded testimonies, two episodes stand out as particularly interesting. The first is that of a certain Eringolo, who affirmed the possession of the Montanina estate by the court of Travale, stating that he had “preso pane e vino per li maccioni a Travale” (“taken bread and wine for the maccioni in Travale”). This phrase, written in the vernacular, is striking not only for its immediacy but also for the use of the term “maccioni”, a colourful Tuscan vernacular word used to refer to masons. Its inclusion in an otherwise predominantly Latin text represents a rare and valuable example of linguistic blending.
The second testimony—more famous and decidedly more curious—is the so-called “Lament of Travale.” This phrase is attributed to a man named Malfredo di Casa Magi, who, according to the witness Pietro, known as Poghino, was excused from guard duty in Travale following his peculiar protest: “Guaita guaita male, non mangiai ma mezo pane.”
(“Sentinel, do the watch poorly; I have eaten nothing but half a loaf of bread.”)
“Pogkino, qui Petrus dicitur, […] a […] Ghisolfo audivit quod Malfredus fecit la guaita a Travale. Sero ascendit murum et dixit: Guaita, guaita male; non mangiai ma mezo pane. Et ob id remissum fuit sibi servitium, et amplius non tornò mai a far guaita, ut ab aliis audivit.”
“Poghino, whose name is Pietro, […] heard from Ghisolfo that Malfredo stood watch in Travale. That evening, he climbed the wall and said: ‘Sentinel, do the watch poorly; I have eaten nothing but half a loaf of bread.’ And because of this, he was relieved of his duty, and thereafter, he never returned to stand guard, as he had heard from others.”
The Linguistic and Cultural Significance of the “Lament of Travale”
This vividly narrated episode provides a glimpse into everyday life and how humour and wit could influence official matters, easing conflicts or securing advantageous outcomes. Although the quotation of the phrase seems less immediate than the term maccioni, it suggests a possible connection to oral tradition, with tones reminiscent of sentinels’ chants. The importance of the Travale testimonies extends beyond the specific event itself. They belong to a period of cultural transition in which Latin, until then the official and universal language, began to give way to the vernacular as a means of expressing local realities. This marks a crucial phase in the development of the Italian language and other Romance languages: over time, the vernacular would gain literary prestige and become the primary vehicle of culture.
The uniqueness of the “Lament of Travale” also lies in its implicit poetic value. Although reported as a contextual phrase, its structure and musicality recall examples of oral literature found in other traditions. This element finds a possible echo in the compositions of the Provençal troubadours: in particular, the reference to the Provençal song Gaita be, gaiteta del chastel, attributed to Raimbaut de Vaqueiras and composed several years later, opens up interesting perspectives on the transregional nature of cultural influences during that era.
Another remarkable aspect of this document is its contribution to understanding everyday life and social dynamics. The details regarding military responsibilities, such as the guard duty in Travale, offer insights into how local authorities managed security and the organisation of small settlements. Moreover, the privilege obtained by Malfredo—being exempted from guard duty due to his wit—suggests a certain flexibility within the system, where social customs and respect for oral traditions could even influence legal decisions. The testimonies from Travale, therefore, are not only a linguistic document but also a window into a society in transition, where individual voices emerge with striking clarity.
The early, incidental writings of the Italian vernacular hold a timeless fascination, precisely because of their ability to capture the immediacy and freshness of popular speech, preserving the voice of the people. These fragments break away from official literary standards, echoing everyday life and spontaneous emotions, offering us a precious glimpse into the past. This enchantment did not go unnoticed even by iconic figures such as Pier Paolo Pasolini, who composed an unpublished piece intended to be set to music by Ennio Morricone. In this work, entitled Caput Coctu Show, Pasolini weaves together fragments of early vernacular literature—including the San Clemente inscription, the Postilla Amiatina, and the Lament of Travale—to give voice to a modern “posteggiatore”, or street performer, in Rome. This marginal character, through those ancient verses, regains poetic dignity and assumes a universal dimension.
“And I am also Ghisolfolo of Travale…
I speak a dialect from Mali.
That’s why you don’t understand me!
Guaita, guaita male!
The record, doctor!”