Flea circuses have existed since the 16th century, but became embedded in popular culture during Victorian times. Travelling fairs would have a little flea circus in a tent, part of the collection of freaks and sideshows. In the 1830s, the most famous flea circus in the world belonged to L Bertolotto. Victorian society was in awe as his little critters danced, clothed in teeny dresses. A fleapit orchestra would fiddle away on tiny violins, gnats would play cards, and other precocious parasites would pull miniature coaches.
Today there are far fewer flea circuses. The demise of the travelling carnival means places for the tiny trained terrors to be shown are rarer. And the advent of fun-on-demand TV and internet culture means audiences don't have the patience to wait for the micro-stars to perform their acts.
There are three kinds of flea circus: flea taxidermy, where a miniature circus is staffed by dead fleas, dressed in minuscule but perfect costumes, or clothed to represent popular figures of the day. Next, and now more common, are the mechanised circuses, where miniature roundabouts spin, and the tiny carts are powered. These rely on the public's willingness to suspend their disbelief, and 'see' fleas where there are none.
Finally, and most impressive, are the traditional, 'real' circuses, where fleas are trained to do tricks. Walt Noon, who lives in California, built his first flea circus in 1997. As a magician, he admits that part of his act is "humbug", but he really trains live fleas to take part in it too.
"My fleas will kick small balls, walk a high wire. With some help they can climb a small ladder, swing on a trapeze bar, bounce on a dive board, dance, and swim in a pool," lists Walt, "although I remove the water as the circus is cruelty-free. I've also shown the strength of fleas by having them lift small objects like a match or a coin. Pull a chariot - just seeing a flea fitted with a tiny collar is an image that burns itself into your mind for life. But, then again, the audience seems to really light up when a flea is fired from a cannon as well!"
Fleas make ideal performing insects. They can jump 10in into the air - the human equivalent would be leaping over the Statue of Liberty. And they can repeat this feat over and over again, expending vast amounts of energy in short bursts. Unscrupulous circus owners in the past have trained fleas by using hotplates on the bottom of their cages, or gluing their performers to the floor. Walt is proud
of his treatment of his little critters, though, and trains them using more humane methods.
He says: "Classic training includes teaching a flea not to jump. This is key to all circus work. If your fleas are jumpers, you'll have an empty circus in no time. When a flea is first hatched, he is fed, then placed in a small glass vial, which is put on its side. Each time the flea detects motion, he jumps. Every time he jumps, he hits his head on the glass. After about two days of jumping, he gets the idea that a jump means a hit on the head, and you have a flea who won't jump, but will walk from place to place! Other training methods include teaching a flea to stand during loud noises, always an impressive demonstration, and training fleas to respond to sounds or vibrations."
Finding fleas isn't as easy as you might think. "I've been kicked out of more places on my search for larger and larger fleas than you can imagine," says Walt. "I've literally been chased off by angry natives, and told very angrily to keep my voice down when asking kennels, vets, and groomers if I could purchase their fleas.
At one point, in desperation, I took out ads offering per flea in the paper."
Walt is now experimenting with a synthetic dog, where his fleas can live and eat. He does, however, feed them himself, from his own veins. "I don't resent feeding time as I always reckon the fleas in their act have paid for my dinner, so I should be willing to provide theirs," he explains. "For one trip, I had a test tube taped to my arm with surgical tape, and my troupe inside, as it was the only way I could think to keep them alive for a show. I'm not sure I made a good impression with the producers showing up like that, but I'm certain I made an impression."
Despite some of Walt's act being an illusion, people often insist they can see fleas. He says, "It's honestly a strange psychological phenomenon. I work often as a magician, and I work very, very hard to create an illusion in my magic act that will convince someone that something impossible is true. Though hopefully they are delighted, they are rarely 'fooled' into thinking what I present is real magic. Yet if I point to two miniature swords being swung, and say my fleas are fighting, about half the audience will tell you with absolute conviction that they've seen which hand each flea is holding its sword in! Why it commands this strength of belief, I am still discovering."
On the other hand, some people will never believe the fleas Walt trains are real. He chuckles, "I've yet to convince my mother - and she was bitten by one of the fleas at the moment she was saying, 'You can't fool me, I know it's not real.'"
Check out Walt's flea circus online at Bizarremag.com. Buy a flea circus of your own, and read more about Walt, at Flea-circus.com
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