I. Friend Albert, all the troubadours compose tenzoni quite often and take sides in debates about love or something else also, when they like. But I am doing what no man ever did —a tenzone about what is naught. You would answer me a lot to a real subject, but I want you to answer to naught. So the tenzone is about naught.
II. Sir Aimeric, since you wish to make me answer to a real naught, I do not want any other debater but myself, assuredly. It seems to me that he would answer you reasonably who answers with what is naught. One naught is counterbalanced by the other. Wherefore to the naught to which you challenge me, how shall I answer? I’ll keep silent!
III. Albert, I don’t think that a silent answer is worth anything. A dumb man does not answer his lord; neither does he speak the truth nor lie. If you always keep silent, how will you answer? Anyway, I’ll speak, for I have challenged you. Its name is naught; therefore, if you name it, you will speak in spite of yourself; or you won’t answer either good or ill.
IV. Sir Aimeric, I do not hear you speak words of wisdom: you talk unwisely rather. One should reply with foolishness to folly, and with wisdom
to sense. So I make answer to “I don’t know what” like a man who has gotten himself into a cistern and who watches his own eyes and his own face. If he calls, he’ll be called by himself, for he doesn’t see anything else in it.
V. Albert, truly I am that man who speaks and watches his own face and hears the voice of the caller, since it was I who called you first. The echo (of the call) is naught, as I think. Therefore, you are —and please don’t let that vex you!— naught, if you answer; and if you admit that that is what you are, he who believes you about anything is crazy.
VI. Sir Aimeric, you do know entangling arguments, and people give you praise therefor. But most of them don’t understand you; and you don’t understand yourself either, as it seems. And you have gotten yourself into a course of reasoning that I will get out of, much as that may vex you; but you will remain entangled. Even though you mishandle me, I’ll answer you, —but I don’t say anything.
VII. Albert, what I tell you is true. So I tell you that one can see naught; for if you watch closely a river from a bridge, your eyes will tell you that you are in motion all the time and that the running water is still.
VIII. Sir Aimeric, this thing that you have undertaken is neither bad nor good; and you accomplish just as little as the mill with a wheel beside it, which moves all day and doesn’t go forward a bit.
