A History of Aeronautics | Page 7

outset. But the record of Cousin, who tells the story in his Histoire de
Constantinople, states that 'the weight of his body having more power
to drag him down than his artificial wings had to sustain him, he broke
his bones, and his evil plight was such that he did not long survive.'
Obviously, the Saracen was anticipating Lilienthal and his gliders by
some centuries; like Simon, a genuine experimenter--both legends bear
the impress of fact supporting them. Contemporary with him, and
belonging to the history rather than the legends of flight, was Oliver,
the monk of Malmesbury, who in the year 1065 made himself wings
after the pattern of those supposed to have been used by Daedalus,
attaching them to his hands and feet and attempting to fly with them.
Twysden, in his Historiae Anglicanae Scriptores X, sets forth the story
of Oliver, who chose a high tower as his starting-point, and launched
himself in the air. As a matter of course, he fell, permanently injuring
himself, and died some time later.
After these, a gap of centuries, filled in by impossible stories of
magical flight by witches, wizards, and the like--imagination was
fertile in the dark ages, but the ban of the church was on all attempt at
scientific development, especially in such a matter as the conquest of
the air. Yet there were observers of nature who argued that since birds
could raise themselves by flapping their wings, man had only to make
suitable wings, flap them, and he too would fly. As early as the
thirteenth century Roger Bacon, the scientific friar of unbounded
inquisitiveness and not a little real genius, announced that there could
be made 'some flying instrument, so that a man sitting in the middle
and turning some mechanism may put in motion some artificial wings

which may beat the air like a bird flying.' But being a cautious man,
with a natural dislike for being burnt at the stake as a necromancer
through having put forward such a dangerous theory, Roger added, 'not
that I ever knew a man who had such an instrument, but I am
particularly acquainted with the man who contrived one.' This might
have been a lame defence if Roger had been brought to trial as addicted
to black arts; he seems to have trusted to the inadmissibility of hearsay
evidence.
Some four centuries later there was published a book entitled Perugia
Augusta, written by one C. Crispolti of Perugia--the date of the work in
question is 1648. In it is recorded that 'one day, towards the close of the
fifteenth century, whilst many of the principal gentry had come to
Perugia to honour the wedding of Giovanni Paolo Baglioni, and some
lancers were riding down the street by his palace, Giovanni Baptisti
Danti unexpectedly and by means of a contrivance of wings that he had
constructed proportionate to the size of his body took off from the top
of a tower near by, and with a horrible hissing sound flew successfully
across the great Piazza, which was densely crowded. But (oh, horror of
an unexpected accident!) he had scarcely flown three hundred paces on
his way to a certain point when the mainstay of the left wing gave way,
and, being unable to support himself with the right alone, he fell on a
roof and was injured in consequence. Those who saw not only this
flight, but also the wonderful construction of the framework of the
wings, said--and tradition bears them out--that he several times flew
over the waters of Lake Thrasimene to learn how he might gradually
come to earth. But, notwithstanding his great genius, he never
succeeded.'
This reads circumstantially enough, but it may be borne in mind that
the date of writing is more than half a century later than the time of the
alleged achievement--the story had had time to round itself out. Danti,
however, is mentioned by a number of writers, one of whom states that
the failure of his experiment was due to the prayers of some individual
of a conservative turn of mind, who prayed so vigorously that Danti fell
appropriately enough on a church and injured himself to such an extent
as to put an end to his flying career. That Danti experimented, there is
little doubt, in view of the volume of evidence on the point, but the
darkness of the Middle Ages hides the real truth as to the results of his

experiments. If he had actually flown over Thrasimene, as alleged, then
in all probability both Napoleon and Wellington would have had air
scouts at Waterloo.
Danti's story may be taken as fact or left as fable, and with it the period
of legend or vague statement may be said to end--the rest is history,
both of genuine