The Haricot-Weevil 



in a more explicit fashion, that the shepherds 

 of olden time had to do without the haricot. 



Ovid tells us, in a delightful passage, of 

 the manner in which Philemon and Baucis 

 welcomed the gods unawares as guests in 

 their humble cottage. On the three-legged 

 table steadied by means of a potsherd, they 

 served cabbage-soup, rancid bacon, eggs 

 turned for a moment over the hot cinders, 

 cornelian cherries preserved in brine, honey 

 and fruits. One dish is lacking amid this 

 rustic magnificence, an essential dish which 

 no Baucis of our country-side would ever 

 forget. The bacon-soup would have been 

 followed, inevitably, by a plateful of haricots. 

 Why does Ovid, the poet so rich in details, 

 fail to speak of the bean which would have 

 looked so well on the bill of fare? The 

 reply is the same: he cannot have known 

 of it. 



In vain do I go over the little that my 

 reading has taught me of rustic food in 

 ancient times: I have no recollection of the 

 haricot. The stew-pots of the vine-dresser 

 and the harvester tell me of the lupin, the 

 broad bean, the pea and the lentil; but they 

 never mention the bean of beans. 

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