ELEONORA. That is a fault which I cannot overcome. And I even know what the birds say.
BENJAMIN. But they can't talk?
ELEONORA. Haven't you heard birds that people have taught to talk?
BENJAMIN. Oh, yes—that people have taught to talk!
ELEONORA. That is to say they can talk. And we find those that have taught themselves or are like that instinctively—they sit and listen without our knowing it and then they repeat these things afterward. Just now as I was coming along I heard two magpies in the walnut tree, who sat there gossiping.
BENJAMIN. How funny you are! But what were they saying?
ELEONORA. "Peter," said one of them, "Judas," said the other. "The same thing," said the first one. "Fie, Fie, Fie," said the other. But have you noticed that the nightingales only sing in the grounds of the deaf and dumb asylum here?
BENJAMIN. Yes, they do say that's so. Why do they do that?
ELEONORA. Because those who have hearing do not hear what the nightingales say: but the deaf and dumb hear it!
BENJAMIN. Tell me some more stories.