Small Wonders

and poor. These kinds of proclamations grace the enchanting advertisements of one of the oldest and most lucrative side show exhibits, the flea circus, depicting cartoon insects fencing one another or balancing on a tight rope. These inventive ads promised entertainment the likes of which had never been seen, or at least couldn't be seen without the help of a magnifying glass.

If the idea of a flea circus sounds too good to be true, that's because it is the concept of miniscule bugs swinging on the trappees or launching themselves from a tiny cannon forces the spectator to suspend disbelief to consider that the humble fleet, once the harbinger of the black death that killed half of Europe in the hundreds, could also be trained to perform daring feats in a venue no larger than a monopoly board. The truth is much darker. Please only live for a few months, so

they can't be trained. Instead, most ring leaders thread gold wires around their necks, which are then tied to various props for them to interact with. Please like ants can lift objects much larger than themselves, so they appear to be kicking or carrying things, when in reality they're just trying to find a way out. However, most Flee circus owners didn't go of that much trouble to make their

circuses seem authentic. Many simply wired up their dollhouse sized diving boards and carousels with electric mechanisms so that it only looked like they had trained fleas to perform, when in fact no fleas were present at all. The earliest known Flee circus was said to have debuted in London in the eighteen twenties, and since then they've become novelties, nothing more than wholesome entertainment for nostalgic audiences. But the use of tiny insects to demonstrate their ingenuity goes back

much further than the eighteen twenties. In fact, it dates all the way back to fifteen seventy eight and a man named Mark Scaliot. Mark was a blacksmith, and a darned good one at that. His work was renowned for its intricate detail and impeccable quality, but Mark really wanted to show the world what he could do. Swords and armor and the occasional piece of jewelry were fine, but Mark was capable of so much more. So he enlisted the help of the side show hosts Favor Britt Creepy

Crawley a Fleet. Mark work day and night crafting something no one else had seen, and if he did his job right, no one else would see. He constructed a miniature lock and to go with it, a key, all of which were constructed using only eleven pieces of iron, steel and brass strong on a chain made up of forty three links. All of it weighed no more than a grain of gold. And these weren't just sculptures to

demonstrate how small his work could get. The key he had constructed actually did function inside the lock, and he hung it all around the neck of a fleet. Yeah, a flee which had no problem moving around while wearing the necklace. Scolliot's work is said to have given birth to the modern flee circus, although it took a while.

Stories of his accomplishment, however, made the rounds for over a hundred years after he debuted his teeny tiny necklace and paved the way for people like Oswaldis nor Hingerists, who made six hundred fleece size dishes out of ivory. Pope Paul the fifth was said to have counted them all himself by hand using a special pair of glasses.

Or there was Johannes Ferarius, who built wooden cannons and carriages no bigger than a peppercorn, or Claudius Callus, who carved miniature birds designed to sit on the tops of trees and tweet as they reacted with the water flowing through the trunks. This was truly inventive and skilled work, done without the use of laser cut blades or the

technology we take for granted today. It became the basis for entire movements of miniature artwork, dioramas, and even Hollywood special effects, and all of it down to the molecule hung on the shoulders of one tiny flea. Some might call that curious. We put a lot of stock in numbers. I don't mean the ones that run our daily lives, like our four oh one case or the stock market.

I'm talking about the numbers we hold close to us, the lucky lottery numbers we play every week, and the not so lucky numbers we avoid because of superstition, triscade, decophobia. The fear of the number thirteen, for example, stems from jesus last supper with his twelve apostles just before the crucifixion. Thus it's cultural designation as an unlucky number, though many other cultures seem to see the number as a source of good luck and fortune. But do you know any

a phobia. You might not as its prominence. Is it nearly as widespread as the fear of the number thirteen. Any a phobia is the fear of the number nine, And for many classical composers throughout history, they had a good reason to worry. Over the course of his career, Ludwig von Beethoven com posed five piano concertos, one violin concerto, thirty two piano sonatas, sixteen string quartets, one mass, one opera,

and nine symphonies. He started composing his ninth Symphony in the fall of eighteen two, working tirelessly for the next two years in order to complete it for the Philharmonic Society of London. The ninth was his last symphony he created before his death in eighteen Anton Dvorak, born fourteen years after Beethoven's death, wrote a number of operas and chamber music pieces before his death in nineteen o four.

Among all those compositions nine symphonies. Franz Schubert, Jean Sibelius, Alexander Glazanov, Kurt Adderberg, and a whole host of others met similar fates. It didn't matter how many operas or choral pieces or canadas they wrote. Once they each reached their ninth symphony, the curtain fell for the last time.

The phenomenon had become so prominent in the nineteenth century, audiences and critics grew superstitious that anyone who dared to complete a ninth symphony would meet their death soon after. German composer Gustav Mahler, however, thought that he could beat the curse in an inventive way. Maller was born almost thirty years after Beethoven's death and composed dozens of works, including chamber music, piano suites, and yes symphonies. He was

well aware of the curse and its influence. In fact, death had weighed heavily on his mind and the years leading up to the composition of what would widely be considered his greatest work, The Song of the Earth, he had just resigned as director of the Vienna Court Opera House, his oldest daughter had passed away, and Maller himself had been diagnosed with severe heart defects. He had gone through the worst times of his life, and those experiences fueled him in the creation of a new work, his most

beautiful and inspiring to date. Maller began composing The Song of the Earth, his ninth symphony. Comprised of six songs, The piece was to be sung by two singers, with each person taking turns singing each of the many movements. He finished it one year later, but the Curse of the Ninth still hung over him like a fog. He

worried constantly. Then, because of his worry, he changed the title of his latest work, rather than numbering it the way he'd done for his eight previous symphonies, Maller subtitled it a Symphony for tenor alto and large orchestra without a number attached. He still technically remained a composer of only eight complete symphonies, quite the musical loophole. This left him free to focus on what would become his true ninth symphony, which he started composing around the same time

he was working on The Song of the Earth. After beginning work on his ninth symphony, the real official one, that is, he told his wife the danger is past. He'd successfully begun ten symphonies, counting the Song of the Earth. Unfortunately, he was too quick to celebrate. Fate had seen through his ruse. Only two movements into his new work, Maler's diagnosis caught up with him, and he died of heart failure.

As the composer Arnold Schoenberg once wrote in an essay shortly after Mahler's death, it seems that the ninth is a limit. He who wants to go beyond it must pass away. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by Visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky

in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore which is a podcast, book series and tele Asian show and you can learn all about it over at the World of Lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious. H