When the preliminaries to the metamorphosis are completed, when the passage of escape is bored and furnished with its lid of superficial membrane, the female Chalcidian arrives in a busy mood. She inspects the peas, still on the vine, and enclosed in their pods; she auscultates them with her antennæ; she discovers, hidden under the general envelope, the weak points in the epidermic covering of the peas. Then, applying her oviscapt, she thrusts it through the side of the pod and perforates the circular trap-door. However far withdrawn into the centre of the pea, the Bruchus, whether larvæ or nymph, is reached by the long oviduct. It receives an egg in its tender flesh, and the thing is done. Without possibility of defence, since it is by now a somnolent grub or a helpless pupa, the embryo weevil is eaten until nothing but skin remains. What a pity that we cannot at will assist the multiplication of this eager exterminator! Alas! our assistants have got us in a vicious circle, for if we wished to obtain the help of any great number of Chalcidians we should be obliged in the first place to breed a multiplicity of Bruchidæ.
CHAPTER XIX
AN INVADER.—THE HARICOT-WEEVIL
If there is one vegetable on earth that more than any other is a gift of the gods, it is the haricot bean. It has all the virtues: it forms a soft paste upon the tongue; it is extremely palatable, abundant, inexpensive, and highly nutritious. It is a vegetable meat which, without being bloody and repulsive, is the equivalent of the horrors outspread upon the butcher's slab. To recall its services the more emphatically, the Provençal idiom calls it the gounflo-gus—the filler of the poor.
Blessed Bean, consoler of the wretched, right well indeed do you fill the labourer, the honest, skilful worker who has drawn a low number in the crazy lottery of life. Kindly Haricot, with three drops of oil and a dash of vinegar you were the favourite dish of my young years; and even now, in the evening of my days, you are welcome to my humble porringer. We shall be friends to the last.
To-day it is not my intention to sing your merits; I wish simply to ask you a question, being curious: What is the country of your origin? Did you come from Central Asia with the broad bean and the pea? Did you make part of that collection of seeds which the first pioneers of culture brought us from their gardens? Were you known to antiquity?
Here the insect, an impartial and well-informed witness, answers: "No; in our country antiquity was not acquainted with the haricot. The precious vegetable came hither by the same road as the broad bean. It is a foreigner, and of comparatively recent introduction into Europe."
The reply of the insect merits serious examination, supported as it is by extremely plausible arguments. Here are the facts. For years attentive to matters agricultural, I had never seen haricots attacked by any insect whatever; not even by the Bruchidæ, the licensed robbers of leguminous seeds.
On this point I have questioned my peasant neighbours. They are men of the extremest vigilance in all that concerns their crops. To steal their property is an abominable crime, swiftly discovered. Moreover, the housewife, who individually examines all beans intended for the saucepan, would inevitably find the malefactor.