That summer Saturday in Le Mans, France, not quite eight years into the new twentieth century, one American pioneer had at last presented to the world the miracle he and his brother had created on their own and in less than two minutes demonstrated for all who were present and to an extent no one yet had anywhere on earth, that a new age had begun.
In less than twenty-four hours it was headline news everywhere—“WRIGHT FLEW” (Le Matin); “MR. WILBUR WRIGHT MAKES HIS FIRST FLIGHT: FRENCH EXPERTS AMAZED BY ITS SMOOTHNESS” (Paris Herald); “MARVELOUS PERFORMANCE, EUROPEAN SKEPTICISM DISSIPATED” (London Daily Mail); “A TRIUMPH OF AVIATION” (Echo de Paris); “WRIGHT BY FLIGHT PROVES HIS MIGHT” (Chicago Tribune); “WRIGHT’S AEROPLANE ASCENDS LIKE A BIRD” (Dayton Journal).
“It was not merely a success,” said Le Figaro, “but a triumph . . . a decisive victory for aviation, the news of which will revolutionize scientific circles throughout the world.”
“The mystery which seemed inextricable and inexplicable is now cleared away,” declared Le Matin.
Wright flew with an ease and facility such that one cannot doubt those enigmatic experiments that took place in America; no more than one can doubt that this man is capable of remaining an hour in the air. It is the most extraordinary vision of a flying machine that we have seen. . . .
Wilbur Wright, wrote Joseph Brandreth of the London Daily Mail, had made “the most marvelous aeroplane flight ever witnessed on this side of the Atlantic.” The length of the flight was not what mattered, but that he had complete control and, by all signs, could have stayed in the air almost indefinitely.
Leaders of French aviation joined in the chorus of acclaim. “Not one of the former detractors of the Wrights dare question today the previous experiments of the men who were truly the first to fly,” announced the greatly respected publication L’Aérophile. Even the stridently skeptical Ernest Archdeacon, who had run on with so many negative comments while waiting in the grandstand, stepped forth at once to say he had been wrong. “For a long time, for too long a time, the Wright brothers have been accused in Europe of bluff. . . . They are today hallowed in France, and I feel an intense pleasure in counting myself among the first to make amends for the flagrant injustice.”
An exuberant Hart Berg wanted Wilbur to keep flying the next day, but Wilbur would have no part of it. As was explained in the French press, “Today, because it is Sunday, M. Wright, a good American, would not think of breaking the Sabbath.” The crowd that came to Hunaudières would have to be content with looking at the closed hangar.
On Monday, August 10, when the demonstrations resumed, more than two thousand people came to watch, including a number of Americans this time. Nearby inns and cafés were reaping “a harvest of money.” Those who had made the effort to attend were to be even more dazzled by what they saw than those who had been there two days before. It was another perfect summer day, but as the hours passed, with nothing happening, the heat became intense. Still no one left.
Sitting among the crowd was a French army captain in uniform carrying a camera. Previously told he was to take no photographs, he had given his word he would not. But shortly afterward he began using the camera and was spotted by Wilbur, who, “ablaze with anger,” climbed directly into the grandstand and demanded both the camera and the plates. At first the captain hesitated, offering excuses, but as reported in the papers, “Mr. Wright set his mouth firm, folded his arms and waited.” The captain handed over the camera and plates and left the field.
Perhaps it was the heat, or the stress he was under, or a combination of both that caused Wilbur to do what he did. Quite upset afterward, he said he was not in the habit of making trouble, but it had been too much for him when he saw the man deliberately break his word.
Wilbur’s performance that afternoon was surpassing. On one flight, heading too close to some trees, he had to turn sharply. As the correspondent for the Daily Mail reported, “In a flight lasting 32 seconds, he took a complete turn within a radius of thirty yards and alighted with the ease of a bird in the midst of the field.” It was “the most magnificent turning movement that has ever been performed by an aviator.”