The smallest leguminous seed, if barely bigger than a pin's head, nourishes its weevil; a dwarf which patiently nibbles it and excavates a dwelling; but the plump, delicious haricot is spared.
This astonishing immunity can have only one explanation: like the potato and the maize-plant, the haricot is a gift of the New World.

It arrived in Europe without the company of the insect which exploits it in its native country; it has found in our fields another world of insects, which have despised it because they did not know it.

Similarly the potato and the ear of maize are untouched in France unless their American consumers are accidentally imported with them.
The verdict of the insect is confirmed by the negative testimony of the ancient classics; the haricot never appears on the table of the Greek or Roman peasant.

In the second Eclogue of Virgil Thestylis prepares the repast of the harvesters:-- Thestylis et rapido fessis messoribus aestu Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentes.
This mixture is the equivalent of the _aioli_, dear to the Provencal palate.

It sounds very well in verse, but is not very substantial.