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. 
271 
