‘“What would you have me say?” asks the poet. “You place me in a great difficulty.... I do not know which sonnet I like best: they all cost me terrible pains to write.... Which do you yourself prefer?” ‘“How can I possibly make a choice, my dear master, out of so many jewels, each of which is perfectly beautiful? You flash pearls, emeralds and rubies before my astonished eyes; how can I decide to prefer the emerald to the pearl? The whole necklace throws me into an ecstasy of admiration.” ‘“Well, as for me, there is something of which I am prouder than of all my sonnets, something which has done more than my verses to establish my fame.” ‘I open my eyes wide: ‘“What is that?” I ask. ‘The master gives me a mischievous glance; then, with that fine light in his eyes which fires his youthful features, he exclaims, triumphantly: ‘“I have discovered the etymology of the word haricot.” ‘I was too much astounded even to laugh. ‘“What I tell you is perfectly serious.” ‘“My dear master, I knew your reputation for profound scholarship; but from that to imagining that you owed your fame to discovering the etymology of the word haricot: ah no, I should never have expected that! Can you tell me how you made the discovery?” ‘“With pleasure. It was like this: I found some particulars about haricots when searching through a fine sixteenth-century work on natural history, Hernandez’ De Historia plantarum novi orbis. The word haricot was unknown in France until the seventeenth century: we used to say fève or phaséol; in Mexican, ayacot. Thirty varieties of haricot were cultivated in Mexico before the conquest. They are called ayacot to this day, especially the red haricot, with black or violet spots. One day, at Gaston Paris’ house, I met a great scholar. On hearing my name, he rushed at me and asked if it was I who had discovered the etymology of the word haricot. He was absolutely ignorant of the fact that I had written poems and published Les Trophées....”’ What a glorious jest, to place the jewellery of his sonnets under the protection of a bean! I in my turn am delighted with the ayacot. How right I was to suspect that strange word haricot of being an American-Indian idiom! How truthful the insect was when it declared, in its own fashion, that the precious seed reached us from the New World! While retaining its first name, or something very nearly, the bean of Montezuma, the Aztec ayacot, found its way from Mexico to our kitchen-gardens.