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