THE CIGALE LEAVES ITS BURROW 27 



removed in the absence of moisture ; as soon as it is 

 thrust aside it slips back again. The labour has no 

 visible result ; it is a labour of Sisyphus, always to be 

 commenced anew. On the fourth day the creature 

 succumbs. 



With the intestines full the result is very different. 



I make the same experiment with an insect which is 

 only beginning its work of liberation. It is swollen with 

 fluid, which oozes from it and moistens the whole body. 

 Its task is easy ; the overlying earth offers little resistance. 

 A small quantity of liquid from the intestines converts 

 it into mud ; forms a sticky paste which can be thrust 

 aside with the assurance that it will remain where it is 

 placed. The shaft is gradually opened ; very unevenly, to 

 be sure, and it is almost choked up behind the insect as 

 it climbs upwards. It seems as though the creature 

 recognises the impossibility of renewing its store of 

 liquid, and so economises the little it possesses, using 

 only just so much as is necessary in order to escape 

 as quickly as possible from surroundings which are 

 strange to its inherited instincts. This parsimony is so 

 well judged that the insect gains the surface at the end 

 of twelve days. 



The gate of issue is opened and left gaping, like a hole 

 made with an augur. For some little time the larva 

 wanders about the neighbourhood of its burrow, seeking 

 an eyrie on some low-growing bush or tuft of thyme, on 

 a stem of grass or grain, or the twig of a shrub. Once 

 found, it climbs and lirmly clasps its support, the head 

 upwards, while the talons of the fore feet close with an 

 unyielding grip. The other claws, if the direction of the 

 twig is convenient, assist in supporting it ; otherwise the 



