THE SMALLEST CIRCUS IN THE WORLD.
By C. F. Holder.
THE "GO-AS-YOU-PLEASE" RACE, AS SEEN THROUGH A MAGNIFYING GLASS. (SEE PAGE 535.)
In a former number of St. Nicholas the largest circus in the world was described, and the curious animal actors were shown in many of their tricks and performances. We now wish to exhibit another circus, the smallest in the world, the performers in which, numbering several hundreds, could all be carried about in a cherry-stone—in fact, a circus of fleas, of such remarkable intelligence that in their various feats they were quite equal to many of the larger trained animals with which we are familiar.
But before showing what the flea can do, let us look at its antecedents. We know that it is a wingless fly,—a cousin to the house-flies on one side, and to the crane-flies on the other; and a more knightly-looking little creature you can not possibly imagine. Under the microscope we see it covered with a rich polished armor resembling tortoise-shell. The head is small, and supports two antennæ or feelers, composed of five joints, and between these is the proboscis, a terrible affair. Upon close examination with a powerful glass, what an array of piercing and cutting blades are seen,—long, narrow, transparent knives, each edge armed with a double row of glistening points that extend outward and then are hooked backward! These are known as the mandibles, and fit closely together, concealing another and smaller blade that has a similar but single row of points. Besides all this, there are two cutting-blades; the under edges are as sharp as sharp can be, while the upper are thick and set with bristles. Do you wonder then that the flea is so sharp a biter?
On its armored head are two large eyes; and the entire body is seen to be made up of a series of elastic armor-like bands wonderfully jointed, and armed with bristling spines like the steel points on the armor of olden times. The legs are six in number, jointed in so remarkable a manner that they can be folded up one within another. When the flea makes its prodigious leaps, these six legs all unfold at once, hurling the little fellow high into the air.
The baby flea is produced from a minute egg that in six days hatches into a tiny worm. In about ten days, the worm changes into a chrysalis, and in twelve days more it appears a perfect flea, ready for warfare upon anything or anybody.
Who first discovered that the flea was susceptible to education and kind treatment is not known; but the fact remains that on their small heads there is a thinking-cap capable of accomplishing great results. In the selection of fleas for training, however, the same care must be taken as with human beings, as the greatest difference is found in them. Some are exceedingly apt scholars, while others never can learn, and so it is that great numbers of fleas are experimented with before a troupe is accepted. The Flea Circus here described was exhibited a few years ago and was composed of about two hundred of the most distinguished and intelligent fleas in the entire family.
One of the first lessons taught the flea, is to control its jumping powers, for if its great leaps should be taken in the middle of a performance, there would be a sudden ending to the circus. To insure against such a misfortune, the student flea is first placed in a glass phial, and encouraged to jump as much as possible. Every leap here made brings the polished head of the flea against the glass, hurling the insect back, and throwing it this way and that, until, after a long and sorry experience, and perhaps many head-aches, it makes up its mind never to unfold its legs suddenly again. When it has proved this by refusing to jump in the open air, the first and most important lesson is complete, and it joins the troupe, and is daily harnessed and trained, until, finally, it is pronounced ready to go on the stage or in the ring.
The famous Flea Circus was placed on an ordinary table, and resembled in size and shape a common dinner plate. A rim several inches high encircled the outer edge, and around the circle stood a number of small wooden boxes—the houses of the performers, and the stables for their carriages. The signal being given, the audience, consisting of one human being, would take in hand the large magnifying glass, hold it over the ring, and the performance would begin. At the word of command from the director, a very jolly, red-faced old gentleman, armed with a pair of pincers, a tiny trap-door in one of the wooden houses sprang open and a number of fleas filed out. They passed around the circle in a dignified manner, appearing through the glass about as large as wasps or bees. Each flea had a gold cord about its waist, and this was the grand entry always seen at the circus. Having completed the circuit, they returned to their quarters, and the performance proper commenced. Five fleas, each adorned with a different color, stepped from another house, and after running about here and there, and being admonished by the director, ranged themselves in a line, and at the word "go!" started on a rush around the circle; running into each other, rolling over and over, and making frantic leaps over one another. Only after half the course had been gone over, did they move in regular order, and strive fairly for the goal. In another moment, a large flea would have won the race had not two laggards almost at the last instant, as if made reckless by their evident risk of defeat, taken a desperate leap and landed far beyond the winning-post. Forthwith they were taken up in the pincers, and placed in solitary confinement in the glass phial, where it was supposed they had learned not to jump.
THE DANCE.
A dance was next announced and at a signal from the manager there came tumbling out from the third house probably the most ludicrous band of performers ever witnessed. Each dancer was in full regalia, like the ladies who ride the padded horses in the regular circus, their dresses of tissue paper being ornamented with purple, gold, and red hues. The glass was placed in position, the spectator looked through it, the performers were lifted in by the pincers, and the dance began—a mixture of the Highland-fling, the sailor's hornpipe, and a "regular" break-down.
THE HURDLE-RACE.
The little creatures bobbed up and down, now on one claw, now on all six, hopping, leaping, bowing, and scraping, moving forward and back, bumping into one another, now up, now down, until they seemed utterly exhausted, and several that had fallen down, and were kept by their voluminous skirts from getting up, had to be carried off by the aid of the ever-ready pincers.
Next came a hurdle-race. Hurdles of thin silver wire were arranged, over which two fleas were supposed to leap. One, however, was evidently very lazy or very cunning, as it won the last race by crawling under the wire.
A clown flea now appeared in the ring, and crawled about in a comical manner with a white clown's cap on its diminutive head. A moment later out came a number of fleas all harnessed with gold wire trappings, and the several vehicles were taken from the stables. There was a tally-ho coach, smaller than a very small pea, an Eskimo sled, about a quarter of an inch long, with wire runners, a trotting sulky, evidently made from hair or bristles, and other gorgeous equipages. The tally-ho team of four frantic fleas, evidently fiery steeds, was harnessed to the coach, and on the top were placed four phlegmatic fleas that had probably been booked as outsiders, while the insides were two others fleas, which, we are sorry to say, were obliged to get in through the window, and acted very much as if they wished to get out again. The other vehicles were each provided with a steed and rider, and then all were drawn up in a row. At the word of command, off they started pell-mell! The tally-ho leaders evidently jumped their traces at first, but finally they were off with a rush, running over the clown, knocking off his hat, and, for the moment, creating a dreadful panic. The sled team threw its driver, and the sulky ran away, the flea trotter actually leaping into the air, sulky and all. But order was soon restored, and as the track was arranged on the downhill principle, the racers made rapid time. In two minutes the circuit was completed, the tally-ho coming in ahead, without, however, its outside passengers, who were thrown off as the coach was rounding the curve, and at once crawled into the nearest place of refuge.
SIGNOR PULEX IRRITANICI ON THE TIGHT-ROPE.
The last act of this wonderful circus was perhaps the best. The manager arranged the stage by placing two very fine entomological pins about four inches apart, connecting them by a slender silver wire, and then announced that Signor Pulex Irritanici, the world-renowned tight-rope performer, would attempt his wonderful feat of dancing upon the wire at a "dizzy height" (compared to the size of the performer). The Signor was then brought out in a small bottle of cut-glass; his only ornament was a little jacket of tissue-paper. When fished out and placed upon the pin-head, he boldly started out upon the wire over which his little clawed toes seemed to fit. In the middle, and over the terrific abyss, he balanced up and down for a second, stood upon his longest legs, and then moved on, crossing in safety, and thus ending the circus, at least for that occasion.