Yes, the Cigale, digging its chamber, the nucleus of the future shaft, seeks out the immediate neighbourhood of a small living root; it lays bare a certain portion, which forms part of the wall, without projecting.  This living spot in the wall is the fountain where the supply of moisture is renewed.  When its reservoir is exhausted by the conversion of dry dust into mud the miner descends to its chamber, thrusts its proboscis into the root, and drinks deep from the vat built into the wall.  Its organs well filled, it re-ascends.  It resumes work, damping the hard soil the better to remove it with its talons, reducing the debris to mud, in order to pack it tightly around it and obtain a free passage.  In this manner the shaft is driven upwards; logic and the facts of the case, in the absence of direct observation, justify the assertion.

If the root were to fail, and the reservoir of the intestine were exhausted, what would happen?  The following experiment will inform us:  a larva is caught as it leaves the earth.  I place it at the bottom of a test-tube, and cover it with a column of dry earth, which is rather lightly packed.  This column is about six inches in height.  The larva has just left an excavation three times as deep, made in soil of the same kind, but offering a far greater resistance.  Buried under this short column of powdery earth, will it be able to gain the surface?  If its strength hold out the issue should be certain; having but lately made its way through the hard earth, this obstacle should be easily removed.

But I am not so sure.  In removing the stopper which divided it from the outside world, the larva has expended its final store of liquid.  The cistern is dry, and in default of a living root there is no means of replenishing it.  My suspicions are well founded.  For three days the prisoner struggles desperately, but cannot ascend by so much as an inch.  It is impossible to fix the material 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.