d all that
Monge got from his experiment was the value of the scrap metal and the
satisfaction of knowing that Lana's theory could never be translated
into practice.

Robert Hooke is less conspicuous than either Borelli or Lana; his work,
which came into the middle of the seventeenth century, consisted of
various experiments with regard to flight, from which emerged 'a Module,
which by the help of Springs and Wings, raised and sustained itself in
the air.' This must be reckoned as the first model flying machine which
actually flew, except for da Vinci's helicopters; Hooke's model appears
to have been of the flapping-wing type--he attempted to copy the motion
of birds, but found from study and experiment that human muscles were
not sufficient to the task of lifting the human body. For that reason,
he says, 'I applied my mind to contrive a way to make artificial
muscles,' but in this he was, as he expresses it, 'frustrated of my
expectations.' Hooke's claim to fame rests mainly on his successful
model; the rest of his work is of too scrappy a nature to rank as a
serious contribution to the study of flight.

Contemporary with Hooke was one Allard, who, in France, undertook to
emulate the Saracen of Constantinople to a certain extent. Allard was a
tight-rope dancer who either did or was said to have done short gliding
flights--the matter is open to question--and finally stated that he
would, at St Germains, fly from the terrace in the king's presence. He
made the attempt, but merely fell, as did the Saracen some centuries
before, causing himself serious injury. Allard cannot be regarded as a
contributor to the development of aeronautics in any way, and is only
mentioned as typical of the way in which, up to the time of the Wright
brothers, flying was regarded. Even unto this day there are many who
still believe that, with a pair of wings, man ought to be able to fly,
and that the mathematical data necessary to effective construction
simply do not exist. This attitude was reasonable enough in an
unlearned age, and Allard was one--a little more conspicuous than the
majority--among many who made experiment in ignorance, with more or less
danger to themselves and without practical result of any kind.

The seventeenth century was not to end, however, without practical
experiment of a noteworthy kind in gliding flight. Among the recruits to
the ranks of pioneers was a certain Besnier, a locksmith of Sable, who
somewhere betwee