After a few hours of hot sunlight the receptacle is full.
Let us look into the capsule through the narrow opening.

Nowhere else could you see such a mob of insects.

It is a delirious mixture of backs and bellies, wing-covers and legs, which swarms and rolls upon itself, rising and falling, seething and boiling, shaken by continual convulsions, clicking and squeaking with a sound of entangled articulations.

It is a bacchanal, a general access of delirium tremens.
A few, but only a few, emerge from the mass.

By the central mast or the walls of the purse they climb to the opening.