e arose an experimenter bolder than his fellows, who made some attempt to translate desire into achievement. And the spirit that animated these pioneers, in a time when things new were accounted things accursed, for the most part, has found expression in this present century in the utter daring and disregard of both danger and pain that stamps the flying man, a type of humanity differing in spirit from his earth-bound fellows as fully as the soldier differs from the priest.
Throughout medi?val times, records attest that10 here and there some man believed in and attempted flight, and at the same time it is clear that such were regarded as in league with the powers of evil. There is the half-legend, half-history of Simon the Magician, 深圳按摩会所招男学徒 who, in the third year of the reign of Nero announced that he would raise himself in the air, in order to assert his superiority over St Paul. The legend states that by the aid of certain demons whom he had prevailed on to assist him, he actually lifted himself in the air—but St Paul prayed him down again. He slipped through the claws of the demons and fell headlong on the Forum at Rome, breaking his neck. The ‘demons’ may have been some primitive form of hot-air balloon, or a glider with which the magician attempted to rise into the wind; more probably, however, Simon threatened to ascend and made the attempt with apparatus as
unsuitable as Bladud’s wings, paying the inevitable penalty. Another version of the story gives St Peter instead of St Paul as the one whose prayers foiled Simon—apart from the identity of the apostle, the 深圳桑拿技师 two accounts are similar, and both define the attitude of the age toward investigation and experiment in things untried.
Another and later circumstantial story, with similar evidence of some fact behind it, is that of the Saracen of Constantinople, who, in the reign of the Emperor Comnenus—some little time before Norman William made Saxon Harold swear away his crown on the bones of the saints at Rouen—attempted to fly round the hippodrome at Constantinople, having Comnenus among the great throng who gathered to witness the feat. The Saracen chose for his starting-point a tower in the midst of the hippodrome, and on the top
of the11 tower he stood, clad in a long white robe which was stiffened with rods so as to spread and catch the breeze, waiting for a favourable wind to strike on him. The wind was so long in coming that the 深圳桑拿按摩照片 spectators grew impatient. ‘Fly, O Saracen!’ they called to him. ‘Do not keep us waiting so long while you try the wind!’ Comnenus, who had present with him the Sultan of the Turks, gave it as his opinion that the experiment was both dangerous and vain, and, possibly in an attempt to controvert such statement, the Saracen leaned into the wind and ‘rose like a bird’ at the 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 深圳按摩会所日记 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 D?dalus, attaching them to his hands and feet and attempting to fly with them. Twysden, in his Histori? Anglican? 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 深圳桑拿贴吧 time later.
After these, a gap of centuries, filled in by impossible stories of magical flight b