Chantecler
[Watching the Blackbird hopping about.] A light-hearted fellow!
Patou
[Same business.] Ye-e-es, but he lies heavy on our hearts. A bird who takes his exercise indoors!
Chantecler
You must own he is intelligent!
Patou
[In a longer, more hesitant growl.] Ye-e-e-es! But not so very! For his eye never brightens with wonder and admiration. He preserves before the flower—of whose stalk he sees more than of its chalice—the glance which deflowers, the tone which depreciates!
Chantecler
Taste, my dear fellow, he unmistakably has!
Patou
Ye-e-e-es! But not much taste! To wear black is too easy a way of having taste! One should have the courage of colours on his wing.
Chantecler
You will admit at least that he has an original fancy. No denying that he is amusing.
Patou
Ye-e-es—No! Why is it amusing to adopt a few stock phrases and make them do service at every turn? Why amusing to miscall, exaggerate, and vulgarise?
Chantecler
His mind has a diverting, unexpected turn—
Patou
Ready but cheap! I cannot think it particularly brilliant to remark, with a knowing wink, at sight of an innocent cow at pasture, “The simple cow knows her way to the hay!” Nor do I regard it as evidence of notable mental gifts to answer the greeting of the inoffensive duck, “The quack shoots off his mouth!” No, the extravagances of that Blackbird, who makes me bristle, no more constitute wit than his slang achieves style!