The worker in the vineyard and the harvester have their lupins, broad beans, peas, and lentils, but never the bean of beans, the haricot.
The haricot has a reputation of another kind.

It is a source of flatulence; you eat it, as the saying is, and then you take a walk.

It lends itself to the gross pleasantries loved of the populace; especially when they are formulated by the shameless genius of an Aristophanes or a Plautus.

What merriment over a simple allusion to the sonorous bean, what guffaws from the throats of Athenian sailors or Roman porters! Did the two masters, in the unfettered gaiety of a language less reserved than our own, ever mention the virtues of the haricot?
No; they are absolutely silent concerning the trumpet-voiced vegetable.
The name of the bean is a matter for reflection.

It is of an unfamiliar sound, having no affinity with our language.