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, notwi