AT THE ZENITH
I. ON THE 25TH OF MAY, 1917
The destiny of a Guynemer is to surpass himself. Part of his power,
however, must lie in the perfection of his weapons. Why could he not
forge them himself? In him, the mechanician and the gunsmith were
impatient to serve the pilot and the fighter. Nothing in the science of
aviation was unknown to him, and Guynemer in the factory was always the
same Guynemer. He worked with the same nervous tension when he
overhauled his machine-guns to avoid the too frequent and too
troublesome jamming, or when he improved the arrangement of the
instruments and tools in his airplane in accordance with his superior
practical experience, as when he chased an enemy. He wanted to compel
the obedience of matter, as he compelled the enemy to surrender.
In the Somme campaign he had forced down two airplanes in a single day,
and then four in two days. In Lorraine he was to do even better. At that
time, the beginning of 1917, the German aërial forces were very active
in Lorraine, but the city of Nancy paid no attention to them. In 1914
Nancy had seen the invading army broken against the mountain of Saint
Genevieve and the Grand Couronné; she had withstood a bombardment by
gigantic shells and visits from air squadrons, and all without losing
her good humor and her animation. She was one of those cities on the
front who are accustomed to danger, and who find in it an inspiration
for courage, for commerce, and even for pleasure which does not belong
to cities behind the lines. Sometimes people who were dining on the
Place Stanislas left their tables to watch some fine battle in the air,
after which they resumed their seats and their appetites, merely
replacing Rhenish by Moselle wines. Nevertheless, the frequency of
raids, and the destruction caused by bombs, began to make the existence
of both native and visiting Nancyites decidedly unpleasant. The Storks
Escadrille, which arrived in February, very promptly punished these
aërial brigands, by a police policy both rapid and severe. The enemy
airplanes which flew over Nancy were vigorously chased, and less than a
month later the framework of a good dozen of them, arranged in an
orderly manner around the statue of Stanislas Leczinski, reassured the
population and served as an interesting spectacle for the visitor who
could no longer have the pleasure of admiring, behind Lamour's gates,
the two monumental fountains consecrated to Neptune and Amphitrite, by
Guibal, and which were then covered by coarse sacks of earth.
Guynemer had contributed his share of these _spolia opima_. On March 16
he alone had forced down three Boches, and a fourth on the 17th. Three
victories in one day constituted a novel exploit. Navarre had achieved a
double victory on February 26, 1916, at Verdun, and Guynemer had the
same success on the Somme; in this campaign Nungesser had burned a
drachen and two airplanes in one morning; but three airplanes destroyed
in one day had never been seen before.
On that same evening Guynemer wrote to his family, and I transcribe the
letter just as it is, with neither heading nor final formula. The King
of Spain, in _Ruy Blas_, talks of the weather before he tells of the six
wolves he has killed; but the new Cid fought in all weathers and speaks
of nothing but his chase:
9 o'clock.--Rose from the ground on hearing shell explosions.
Forced down in flames a two-seated Albatros at 9.08.
9.20.--Attacked with Deuillin a group of three one-seated Albatros,
famous on the Lorraine front. At 9.26 I brought one down almost
intact: pilot wounded, Lieutenant von Hausen, nephew of the
general. And Deullin brought down another in flames at the same
time. About 9 o'clock Dorme and Auger had attacked and grilled a
two-seated plane. These four Boches were in a quadrilateral, the
sides of which measured five kilometers, four and a half
kilometers, three kilometers and three kilometers. Those who were
in the middle need not have bothered themselves, but they were
completely distracted.
14.30.--Forced down a two-seated Albatros in flames.
Three Boches within our lines for my day's work.... Ouf! G.G.
Guynemer, who had been promoted lieutenant in February and was to be
made captain in March, treated this Lieutenant von Hausen humanely and
courteously as soon as he had landed. In all his mentions up to that
time Guynemer had been described as a "brilliant chasing pilot"; he was
now mentioned as an "incomparable chasing pilot."
* * * * *
Early in April the Storks left Lorraine and went to make their nests on
a plateau on the left bank of the Aisne, back of Fismes. New events were
in preparation. After the German retreat to the Hindenburg line, the
French army in connection with the English army--which was to attack
Vimy cliffs (April 9-10, 1917)--was about to undertake that vast
offensive operation which, from Soissons to Auberive in Champagne, was
to roll like an ocean wave over the slopes of the Chemin des Dames, the
hills of Sapigneul and Brimont, and the Moronvillers mountain. Hearts
were filled with hope, and the men were inspired by a sacred joy. Their
sufferings and their wounds did not prevent the hearts of the soldiers
in that spring of 1917 from flowering in sublime sacrifices for the
cause of liberty.
As at the battle of the Somme, so at the battle of the Aisne our aërial
escadrilles were in close touch with the general staff and the other
arms of the service. Their success was no doubt dependent upon the
quality of the airplanes, and the factory output, and limited by the
enemy's power in the air. But though they were unable to achieve the
mastery of the air from the very first, they continued obstinately to
increase their force, and little by little their successes increased.
They had to oppose an enemy who had just accomplished an immense
improvement in his aviation corps.
In September, 1916, the German staff, profiting by the lessons of the
Somme campaign during which its aviation forces had been so terribly
scourged, resolved upon an almost complete reorganization of its
aëronautical service. Hindenburg's program arranged for a rehandling of
both the direction and the technical services. A decree dating from
November, 1916, announced the separation from the other services of the
Air Fight Forces (_Luftstreitkräfte_), which were to be placed under a
staff officer, the _Kommandeur der Luftstreitkräfte_. This new
_Kommandeur_, who was to superintend the building of the machines as
well as the training of the pilots, was Lieutenant General von Hoeppner,
with Lieutenant Colonel Tjomsen as an assistant. The squadrons,
numbering more than 270, were divided into bombing, chasing, patrolling
and field escadrilles, these last being intrusted with scouting,
photographing, and artillery work, in constant touch with the infantry.
Most of these novelties were servilely copied from French aviation. The
Germans had borrowed the details of _liaison_ service, as well as those
for the regulation of artillery fire, from the French regulations. The
commander of the aëronautical section of the Fifth German Army (Verdun)
said in a report that "a conscientious aviator was the only reliable
informant in action." And his supreme chief, the Kronprinz, commenting
upon this sentence, drew the following conclusions: "All this shows once
more that through methodical use of Infantry Aviation, the command can
be kept informed of developments through the whole battle. But the
necessary condition for fruitful work in the field lies in a previous
training carried on with the infantry, machine-guns, artillery, and
_liaison_ units. The task of the Infantry Flyer is apt to become more
difficult as the weather grows worse, and ground more deeply plowed up,
the enemy more pressing, or our own troops yielding ground. When all
these unfavorable circumstances are united, the Infantry Aviator can
only be effective if he has perfect training. So he must be in constant
contact with the other services, and the Infantry must know him
personally. At a pinch he ought to make himself understood by the
troops, even without any of the usual signals."
But these airplanes, while doing this special work, must be protected by
patrolling escadrilles. The best protection is afforded by the chasing
units, fitted to spread terror and death far afield, or to stop enemy
escadrilles bound on a similar errand. Here again, copying the French
services, Germany strengthened her chasing escadrilles during the whole
winter of 1916-1917, and by the following spring she possessed no less
than forty. Before the war she had given her attention almost
exclusively to heavy airplanes. French types were plagiarized: as the
Morane had been altered into the Fokker, the Nieuport became an
Albatros. Their one-seated 160 H.P. Albatros, with a Benz or Mercédès
fixed engine and two Maxim guns shooting through the propeller, was
henceforth the typical chasing machine. However, the powerful two-engine
Gothas (520 H.P.) and the Friedrichshafen and A.E.G. (450 H.P.) soon
made their appearance in bombing escadrilles.
At the same time, the defensive attitude adopted at the beginning of the
Somme campaign was repudiated. The order of the day became strong
concentration, likely to secure, at least in one sector, decided
superiority in the air, even if other sectors must be left destitute or
battle shirked. The flying men were never to be over-worked, so as to be
fresh in an emergency. The subordination of aviation to the other
services was evidently an inspiration from the French regulation saying:
"The aviation forces shall be always ready to attack, but in perfect
subordination to the orders of the commanding officers."
In spite of this _readiness to attack_, the enemy recommended prudence
in scouting and patrolling work. The airman was not to engage in a fight
without special orders. He seldom cruises by himself, and most often is
one of five. To one Boelcke, fond of high altitudes and given to
pouncing falconlike on his prey, like Guynemer, there are scores of
Richtofens who, under careful protection from other airplanes, circle
round and round trying to attract the enemy, and unexpectedly getting
behind him by a spiral or a loop. It should be said here that the German
controlling boards take the pilot's word concerning the number of his
victories instead of requiring, as the French do, the evidence of eye
witnesses. The high figures generously allowed to a Richtofen or a
Werner Voss are less creditable than the strictly controlled record of a
Guynemer, a Nungesser, or a Dorme.
The enemy expected in April, 1917, a massive attack from the French air
forces in the Aisne, and had taken measures to evade it. An order from
the staff of the Seventh Army says that all flying units shall be given
the alarm whenever a large number of French airplanes are sighted. The
German machines must return to camp at once, refusing combat except on
equal terms; and balloons must be lowered, or even pulled down to the
ground. If, on the contrary, the German machines took the offensive, the
order was that, at the hour determined upon, all available machines must
rise together to a low altitude, and divide into two distinct fleets,
the chasing units flying above the rest. These two fleets must then make
for the point of attack, gaining height as they go, and must engage the
enemy above the lines with the utmost energy, never giving up the
pursuit until they reach the French lines, when the danger from
anti-aircraft batteries becomes too great.
From this it is evident that the preference of German Aviation for
taking the offensive was not sufficient to induce it to offer battle
above the enemy lines, and the tendency of the staff was to group
squadrons into overpowering masses. The French had preceded their
opponents in the way of technical progress, but the Germans made up for
the inferiority, as usual, by method and system. The French were
unrivaled for technical improvements, and the training of their pilots.
Their new machine, the Spad, was a first-rate instrument, superior in
strength, speed, and ease of control to the best Albatros, and the
Germans knew that this inferiority must be obviated. All modern battles
are thus preceded by technical rivalry. The preparation in factories,
week after week, and month after month, ultimately results in living
machinery which the staff uses as it pleases.
Living machinery it is, but it is in appearance only that it seems to be
independent of man. A battle is a collective work, to which each
participant, from the General-in-chief to the road-mender behind the
lines, brings his contribution. Colossal though the whole seems, perfect
as the enormous machine seems to be, it would not work if there were not
behind it a weak man made of poor flesh. A humble gunner, the anonymous
defenders of a trench, a pilot who purges the air of the hostile
presence, an observer who secures information in good time, some poor
soldier who has no idea that his individual action was connected with
the great drama, has occasionally brought about wonderful results--as a
stone falling into a pool makes its presence felt to the remotest banks.
Amidst the fighters on the Aisne, Guynemer was at his post in the
Storks Escadrille. "All right! (sic) they tumble down," he wrote
laconically to his family. There were indeed some five tumbling down: on
May 25 he had surpassed all that had been done so far in aërial fights,
bringing down four German machines in that one day. His notebook states
the fact briefly:
8.30.--Downed a two-seater, which lost a wing as it fell and was
smashed on the trees 1200 meters NNE. of Corbeny.
8.31.--Another two-seater downed, in flames, above
Juvincourt.--With Captain Auger, forced another two-seater to dive
down to 600 meters, one kilometer from our lines.
Downed a D.F.W.[22] in flames above Courlandon.
Downed a two-seater in flames between Guignicourt and
Condé-sur-Suippes. Dispersed with Captain Auger a squadron of six
one-seaters.
[Footnote 22: The D.F.W. (_Deutsche Flugzeug Werke_) is a scouting
machine provided with two machine-guns, one shooting through the
propeller, the other mounted on a turret aft. It is thirty-nine feet
across the wings, and twenty-four in length. One Benz six-cylinder
engine of 200/225 H.P. Its speed at an altitude of 3000 meters supposed
to be 150 kilometers an hour. One of these machines has been on view at
the Invalides since July, 1917.]
Now, his Excellency, Lieutenant General von Hoeppner, _Kommandeur der
Luftstreitkräfte_, being interviewed two days later by newspaper men he
had summoned for the purpose, told them and through them told Germany
and, if possible, the whole world, that the German airplanes and the
German airmen were unrivaled. "As for the French aviators," he went on
to say remarkably apropos, "they only engage our men when they are sure
of victory. When they have doubts about their own superiority, they
prefer to desist rather than take any risks." This solemn lie the
newspaper men repeated at once in their issues of May 28.
A few months later one of these same reporters, reverting to the subject
of French aviation, took Guynemer himself to task in the _Badische
Presse_ for August 8, 1917, as follows: "The airman you see flying so
high is the famous Guynemer. He is the rival of the most daring German
aviators, an _as_, as the French call their champions. He is undoubtedly
to be reckoned with, for he handles his machine with absolute mastery,
and he is an excellent shot. But he only accepts an air fight when every
chance is on his side. He flies above the German lines at altitudes
between 6000 and 7000 meters, quite out of range of our anti-aircraft
artillery. He cannot make any observations, for from that height he sees
nothing clearly, not even troops on the march. He is exclusively a
chasing flyer bent on destroying our own machines. He has been often
successful, though he cannot be compared to our own Richtofen. He is
very prudent; always flying, as I said above, at an altitude of at least
6000 meters, he waits till an airplane rises from the German lines or
appears on its way home. Then he pounces upon it as a falcon might, and
opens fire with his machine-gun. When he only wounds the pilot, or if
our airman seems to show fight, Guynemer flies back to his own lines at
the incredible speed of 250 kilometers an hour, which his very powerful
machine makes possible. He never accepts a fair fight. Every man chases
as he can."
"Every man chases as he can." Quite so. To revert to that 25th of May,
the "very prudent" Guynemer, on his morning patrol, met three German
airplanes flying towards the French lines. They were two-seaters, less
nimble, no doubt, than one-seaters, but provided with so much more
dangerous arms. Naturally he could not think of attacking them, "not
feeling sure of victory," and "always avoiding a risky contest!" Yet he
pounced upon his three opponents, who promptly turned back. However, he
overtook one, began making evolutions around him, succeeded in getting
slightly below him, fired, and with his first volley succeeded in
bringing him down in flames north of Corbeny (northeast of Craonne).
The danger for a one-seater is to be surprised from behind. Just as
Guynemer veered round, he saw another machine flying after him. He again
fired upwards, and the airplane fell in flames, like the first, only a
few seconds having elapsed between the two fights. Guynemer then
returned to camp.
But he was excited by these two fights; his nerves were strained and his
will was tense. He soon started again. Towards noon a German machine
appeared above the camp itself. How had it been able to get there? This
is what the airmen down below were asking themselves. It was useless to
chase it, for it would take any of them longer to rise than the German
to escape. So they had to content themselves with looking up, some of
them searching the sky with binoculars. Everybody was back except
Guynemer, when somebody suddenly cried:
"Here comes Guynemer!"
"Then the Boche is done for."
Guynemer, in fact, was coming down upon his prey like lightning, and the
instant he was behind and slightly beneath him, he fired. Only one shot
from the machine-gun was heard, but the enemy airplane was already
spinning down, its engine going full speed, and was dashed into the
earth at Courlandon near Fismes. The pilot had been shot through the
head.
In the afternoon the very prudent Guynemer started for the third time,
and towards seven o'clock, above the Guignicourt market gardens (that is
to say, in the enemy lines), he brought down another machine in flames.
"Very prudent" is the last epithet one could have expected to see in
connection with the name of Guynemer. For he rarely came home without
bullet-holes in his wings or even in his clothes. The Boche, being the
Boche, had shown his usual respect for truth and generosity towards an
adversary.
Guynemer, when returning to camp after a victory, generally announced
his success by making his engine work to some tune. This time the
cadence was the tune of the _Lampions_. All the neighboring airplane
sheds understood, also the cantonments, parks, depots, dugouts, field
hospitals and railway stations; in a word, all the communities scattered
behind the lines of an army. This time the motor was singing so
insistently that everybody, with faces upturned, concluded that their
Guynemer had been "getting them."
In fact, the news was already spreading like wildfire, as news has the
mysterious capacity for doing. No, it was not simply one airplane he had
set ablaze; it was two, one above Corbeny, the other above Juvincourt.
And people had hardly realized the wonderful fact before the third
machine was seen falling in flames near Fismes. It was seen by hundreds
of men who thought it was about to fall upon them, and ran for shelter.
Meanwhile, Guynemer's engine was singing.
And for the fourth time it was heard again at twilight. Could it be
possible? Had Guynemer really succeeded four times? Four machines
brought down in one day by one pilot was what no infantryman, gunner,
pioneer, territorial, Anamite or Senegalese had ever seen. And from the
stations, field hospitals, dugouts, depots, parks and cantonments, while
the setting sun lingered in the sky on this May evening, whoever handled
a shovel, a pickaxe or a rifle, whoever laid down rails, unloaded
trucks, piled up cases, or broke stones on the road, whoever dressed
wounds, gave medicine or carried dead men, whoever worked, rested, ate
or drank--whoever was alive, in a word--stepped out, ran, jostled
along, arrived at the camp, got helterskelter over the fences, broke
into the sheds, searched the airplanes, and called to the mechanicians
in their wild desire to see Guynemer. There they were, a whole town of
them, knocking at every door and peeping into every tent.
Somebody said: "Guynemer is asleep."
Whereupon, without a word of protest, without a sound, the crowd
streamed out and scattered in the darkening fields, threading its way
back to the quiet dells behind the lines.
So ended the day of the greatest aërial victory.
II. A VISIT TO GUYNEMER
_Sunday, June 3, 1917._ To-day, the first Sunday of June, the women from
the neighboring villages came to visit the camp. Nobody is allowed to
enter, but from the road you can see the machines start or land. The day
was glorious, and the broad sun transfiguring these French landscapes,
with their elongated valleys, their wooded ranges of hills, and
generally harmonious lines suggested Greece, and one looked around for
the colonnades of temples.
Beyond the rolling country rose the Aisne cliffs, where the fighting was
incessant, though its roar was scarcely perceived.
Why had these villages been attracted to this particular camp? Because
they knew that here, in default of Greek temples, were young gods. They
wanted to see Guynemer.
The news had flown on rapid wings from hamlet to hamlet, from farm to
farm, of what had happened on the 25th, and on the next day Guynemer had
been almost equally successful.
Several aviators had already landed, men with famous names, but the
public cannot be expected to remember them all. Finally an airplane
descended in graceful spirals, landing softly and rolling along close to
the railings.
"_Guynemer!_"
But the pilot, unconscious of the worshiping crowd, took off his helmet,
disclosed a frowning face, and began discontentedly to examine his gun.
Twice that day it had jammed, saving two Germans. Guynemer was like the
painters of old who, by grinding their colors themselves, insured the
duration of their works. He resented not being able to make all his
weapons himself, his engine, his Vickers, and his bullets. At length he
seemed willing to leave his machine, and pulled off his heavy war
accouterment, which revealed a tall, flexible young man. As he rapidly
approached his tent, his every motion watched by the onlookers, a
private turned on him a small camera, with a beseeching--
"You'll permit me, _mon capitaine_?"
"Yes, but quick."
He was cross and impatient, and as he stopped he noticed all the eyes of
the women watching him ecstatically. He made a despairing gesture. His
frown deepened, his figure stiffened, and the snapshot was another
failure.
Hardly any of his portraits are like him. Does the fact that he was tall
and spare, almost beardless, with an amber-colored, oval face and a
regular profile, and raven-hair brushed backwards, give any idea of the
force that was in him? If his eyes, dark with golden reflections, could
have been painted, they might no doubt have given a more accurate notion
of him: his capacity for surveying all space, and his prompt decision,
were visible in them, as well as his carefulness and his courage. Their
glance was so direct, almost brutal, that it could be felt, so to speak,
physically; and yet it could suddenly express a cheerful, boyish nature,
or disclose his close attention to the technical problems which
everlastingly engrossed his mind.
Guynemer was very different from Navarre, with his powerful profile and
broad chest like an eagle in repose, and different from Nungesser, the
Nungesser before his wounds had so devastated his body that a medical
board wanted to declare him unfit, a decision which he heroically
resisted, adding to his thirty victories another triumph over physical
disability. Guynemer differed from them mentally, too, possessing
neither their instinct nor their intuitiveness. These he replaced with
scientific accuracy based on study, by a passion for flying, by method
allied to fervor, by violent logic. His power was nervous and almost
electric. The vicinity of danger drew sparks from him.
His most daring exploits were prepared by meditation beforehand, and he
never indulged in recklessness without having pondered and calculated.
His action was so swift that it might seem instinctive, but under
appearances the reasoning element was always present.
It was now late, but he was willing to talk to us about that wonderful
25th of May, for he had no objection to talking about his enemy-chasing;
on the contrary, he would tell us details with the same amusement as if
he related lucky plays at poker, and with the same knowing ways. There
was not the least shade of affectation or of posing in his narrative,
but he talked with the simplicity of a child. He told us that his third
encounter had been the most enjoyable. He was coming back to lunch, had
seen the impudent German soaring above the camp, had fired, and the man
had gone down dead. After this exceedingly brief account he laughed as
usual, a fresh laugh like a girl's, and his eyes closed. He said he was
sleepy; he had been out twice, and before he went again he wanted a
little rest.
* * * * *
I remember how bustling the camp looked! It was half-past six, and the
weather was wonderful, with not a cloud in the sky, for some floating
white flakes in the blue could not be called clouds. But these white
flakes began to multiply; they were, in fact, an enemy patrol, which had
succeeded in crossing the lines and was now above us. We counted two,
three, four machines, which the sparks of our exploding shells promptly
surrounded, while three French Spads rose at full speed to meet them.
As we stood watching and wondering if the enemy would accept the fight,
Guynemer suddenly appeared. He had been called, and now he and his
comrades, Captain Auger and Lieutenant Raymond, came running to their
machines. I watched Guynemer as he was being put into his leather suit.
His whole soul was in his eyes, which glared at one moving point in
space as if they themselves could shoot. Three of the German machines
had already turned back, but the remaining one went on, insolently
counting on his own power and speed. I shall never forget Guynemer, his
face lifted, his eyes illuminated as if hypnotized by this point in
space, his figure upright and stiffened like an arrow waiting to be
released by the bow. Before pulling down his helmet he gave the order:
"Straight at him."
The engines snorted and snored, the propellers began to move, the
machines rolled along, and suddenly were seen climbing almost
vertically. Up above the fight was beginning, and it seemed as if the
three starting airplanes could never reach in time the altitude of four
or five thousand meters at which it was taking place.
The attacking Spad was obviously trying to get its opponent within
firing range, but the German was a first-rate pilot and dodged without
losing height, banking, looping, taking advantage of the Frenchman's
dead angles, and striving to get him under his machine-gun. Round and
round the two airplanes circled, when suddenly the German bolted in the
direction of the Aisne cliffs. But the Spad partly caught up with him
and the aërial circling began anew, while two other Spads appeared--a
pack after a deer. The German cleverly took advantage now of the sun,
now of the evening vapors, but he was within range, and the tack-tack of
a machine-gun was heard. Guynemer and the other two were coming nearer,
when the Spad dropped beneath its adversary and fired upwards. The
German plunged, and we expected would sink, but he righted himself and
was off in an instant. However, this was Guynemer's chance: three shots,
not more, from his gun, and the German airplane crashed down somewhere
near Muizon, on the banks of the Vesle.[23]
[Footnote 23: This victory was not put down to Guynemer's account,
because another airman had shot first--which gives an idea of the French
controlling board's severity.]
One after another, the victorious birds came back to cover from every
part of the violet and rosy sky. But joy over their success must show
itself, and they indulged in all the fanciful caprioles of acrobatic
aviation, spinning down in quick spirals, turning somersaults, looping
or plunging in a glorious sky-dance. Last of these young gods, Guynemer
landed after one final circle, and took off his helmet, offering to the
setting sun his illuminated face, still full of the spirit of battle.
III. GUYNEMER IN CAMP
On the Somme Guynemer was one of the great French champions; on the
Aisne he became their king. No enemy could resist him, and his daring
appeared without bounds. On May 27 he attacked alone a squadron of six
two-seaters above Auberive at an altitude of 5000 meters, and compelled
them to go down to an altitude of 3600 meters. Before landing, he
pounced on another group of eight, scattering them and bringing down
one, completely smashed, with its fuselage linen in rags, among the
shell-holes in a field. He was like the Cid Campeador, to whom the Sheik
Jabias said:
...Vous éclatiez, avec des rayons jusqu'aux cieux,
Dans une préséance éblouissante aux yeux;
Vous marchiez, entouré d'un ordre de bataille;
Aucun sommet n'était trop haut pour votre taille,
Et vous étiez un fils d'une telle fierté
Que les aigles volaient tous de votre côté....
His feats exceeded all hopes, and his appearance in the sky fairly
frightened the enemy. On June 5, after bringing down an Albatros east of
Berry-au-Bac, he chased to the east of Rheims a D.F.W., which had
previously been attacked by other Spads. "My nose was right on him,"
says Guynemer's notebook, "when my machine-gun jammed. But just then the
observer raised his hands. I beckoned to him several times to veer
towards our lines, but noticing that he was making straight for his own,
I went back to my gun, which now worked, and fired a volley of fifteen
(at 2200 altitude). Immediately the machine upset, throwing the observer
overboard, and sank on Berru forest." However, Guynemer's day's work was
not done to his satisfaction after these two victories (his forty-fourth
and forty-fifth): he attacked a group of three, and later on a group of
four, and came back with bullets in his machine.
Meanwhile he had been made, on June 11, 1917, an Officer of the Legion
of Honor with the following citation:
A remarkable officer, a daring and dexterous chaser. Has been of
exceptional service to the country both by the number of his
victories and by the daily example of his never-flagging courage
and constantly increasing mastery. Careless of danger, he has
become, by the infallibility of his methods, the most formidable
opponent of German flyers. On May 25 achieved unparalleled success,
bringing down two machines in one minute, and two more in the
course of the same day. By these exploits has contributed to
maintaining the courage and enthusiasm of the men who, from the
trenches, have witnessed his triumphs. Forty-five machines brought
down; twenty citations; twice wounded.
This document, eloquent and accurate and tracing facts to their causes,
praises in Guynemer at the same time will-power, courage, and the
contagion of example. Guynemer loved the last sentence, because it
associated with his fights their daily witnesses, the infantrymen in the
trenches.
The badge of an Officer in the Legion of Honor was given to him at the
aviation camp on July 5 by General Franchet d'Esperey, in command of the
Northern Armies. But this solemn ceremony had not prevented Guynemer
from flying twice, the first time for two hours, the second flight one
hour, on a new machine from which he expected wonders. He attacked three
D.F.W.'s, and had to land with five bullets in his engine and radiator.
His new decoration was given him at four o'clock on a beautiful summer
afternoon. Guynemer's comrades were present, of course, and as pleased
as if the function had concerned themselves. The 11th Company of the 82d
Regiment of Infantry took its station opposite the imposing row of
squadron machines, sixty in number, which stood there like race horses
as if to take part in the fête. Guynemer's well-known airplane, the
_Vieux-Charles_, was the fifth to the left, its master having required
its presence, though it had been injured that very day. In front of the
aviation and regimental flags the young aviator stood by himself in his
black _vareuse_, looking slight and pale, but upright, with eyes
sparkling. At a little distance a few civilians--his own people, whom
the general had invited--watched the proceedings.
General Franchet d'Esperey appeared, a robust, energetic man, and the
following scene, described by one of the trench papers--the _Brise
d'entonnoirs_ of the 82d Infantry--took place: "The general stopped
before the young hero and eyed him with evident pleasure; then he
proclaimed him a gallant soldier, touched his two shoulders with his
sword, as they did to champions of past ages, pinned the _rosette_ on
his coat, and embraced him. Then to the stirring tune of
'_Sambre-et-Meuse_' the band and the soldiers marched in front of the
new officer who, the ceremony now being over, joined his relatives some
distance away."
General d'Esperey, looking over Guynemer's _Vieux-Charles_, noticed the
damaged parts.
"How comes it that your foot was not injured?" he asked, pointing to one
of the bullet-holes.
"I had just removed it, _mon général_," said Guynemer, with his usual
simplicity.
None of the airmen with whom Guynemer shared his joy ever forgot that
afternoon of July 5, 1917. The summer sun, the serene beauty of the
hills bordering the Aisne, the distant bass of the battle, lent to the
scene an enchanting but solemn interest. Tragic memories were in the
minds of all the bystanders, and great names were on their lips--the
names of retiring, noble, hard-working Dorme, reported missing on May
25, and of Captain Lecour-Grandmaison, creator of the three-seaters,
who, on one of these machines, brought down five Germans, but was killed
in a combat on May 10 and brought back to camp dead by a surviving
comrade. Guynemer's red _rosette_ meant glory to the great chasers, to
wounded Heurtaux, to Ménard and Deullin, to Auger, Fonck, Jailler,
Guérin, Baudouin, and all their comrades! And it meant glory to the
pilots and observers who, always together in the discharge of duty, are
not infrequently together in meeting death: to Lieutenant Fressagues,
pilot, and sous-lieutenant Bouvard, observer, who once fought seven
Germans and managed to bring one down; to Lieutenant Floret and
Lieutenant Homo, who, placed in similar circumstances, set two machines
on fire; to Lieutenant Viguier who, on April 18, had the pluck to come
down to twenty-five meters above the enemy's lines and calmly make his
observations; and to so many others who did their duty with the same
daring, intelligence, and conscientiousness, to the hundreds of more
humble airmen who, while the infantry says the sanguinary mass, throw
down from above, like the chorister boys in the _corpus Christi_
procession, the red roses of epics!
The whole Storks Escadrille had received from General Duchêne the
following _citation_: "Escadrille No. 3. Commander: Captain Heurtaux. A
brilliant chasing escadrille which for the past two years has fought in
every sector of the front with wonderful spirit and admirable
self-sacrifice. The squadron has just taken part in the Lorraine and
Champagne operations, and during this period its members have destroyed
fifty-three German machines which, added to others previously brought
down, makes a total of one hundred and twenty-eight certainly
demolished, and one hundred and thirty-two partly disabled."
This battle on the Aisne, with its famous climax at the Chemin des
Dames, began to slacken in July; and it was decided that the chasing
squadrons, including the Storks, should be transferred to one of the
British sectors where another offensive was being prepared. But before
leaving the Fismes or Rheims district, Guynemer was active. He had not
been given his new rank in the Legion of Honor to be idle: that was not
his way. On the contrary, his habit was to show, after receiving a
distinction as well as before, that he was worthy of it. On July 6 he
engaged five two-seaters, and brought down one in flames. The next day
his notebook records two more victories:
"Attacked with Adjutant Bozon-Verduraz, four Albatros one-seaters, above
Brimont. Downed one in flames north of Villers-Franqueux, in our own
lines. Attacked a D.F.W. which spun down in our lines at Moussy."
These victories, his forty-sixth, forty-seventh, and forty-eighth, were
his farewell to the Aisne. But these excessive exertions brought on
nervous fatigue. The escadrille had only just reached its new station,
when Guynemer had to go into hospital, whence he wrote his father on
July 18 as follows:
Dear Father:
Knocked out again. Hospital. But this time I'm flourishing. No more
wooden barracks, but a farmhouse right in the fields. I have a room
all to myself. Quite correct: I downed three Fritzes, one ablaze,
and the next day again great sport: mistook four Boches for
Frenchmen. At first fought three of them, then one alone at 3200 to
800 meters. He took fire. They will have to wait till the earth
dries so they can dig him out. An hour later a two-seater turned up
at 5500. He blundered, and fell straight down on a 75, which died
of the shock. But so did the passenger. The pilot was simply a bit
excited, for which he couldn't be blamed. His machine had not
plunged, but came down slowly, with its nose twirling, and I got
his two guns intact....
The _toubib_ (doctor) says I shall be on my feet in three or four
days. Don't see many Boches just now, but that won't last. I read
in a newspaper that I had been mobbed in a friendly manner in
Paris. I must be ubiquitous without knowing it. Modern science
brings about marvels, modern journalism also.
Raymond has two strings (officer's stripes) and the cross of the
Legion. Please congratulate him.
Good night, father.
Georges.
P.S. I, who get seasick over nothing at all, have just been out to
sea for the first time. The water was very rough, especially for a
little motor-boat, but I smiled serenely through it all. Wasn't I
proud!...
In fact, some newspaper had announced that Guynemer would carry the
aviation flag in the Parade of the Fourteenth of July in Paris, and this
was enough to persuade the crowd that some other airman was Guynemer.
Indeed, there had been talk of sending him to Paris on that solemn
occasion, but he had declined. He loved glory, but hated show, and he
had followed his squadron to Flanders, where he had taken to his bed.
The foregoing letter bears Guynemer's mark unmistakably. The son of rich
parents rejoicing over having a room to himself, after having renounced
all comfort from the very first day of his enlistment, and willing to
begin as _garçon d'aérodrome_; the joke about the German airplane sunk
so deep in the wet ground that it would have to be dug out, and the
surprise of the pilot; the delight over Raymond's promotion; the amusing
allusion to sea-sickness by the man who had no equal in air navigation,
are all characteristic details.
Sheik Jabias thus sums up his impressions after visiting the Cid in his
camp:
Vous dominiez tout, grand, sans chef, sans joug, sans digue,
Absolu, lance au poing, panache, au front....
And that Cid had never fought up in the air.
IV. GUYNEMER IN HIS FATHER'S HOUSE
To quote him once more, Sheik Jabias, after being dazzled by the Cid in
his camp, is supposed to see him in his father's castle at Bivar, doing
more humble work.
...Que s'est-il donc passé? Quel est cet équipage?
J'arrive, et je vous trouve en veste, comme un page,
Dehors, bras nus, nu-tête, et si petit garçon
Que vous avez en main l'auge et le caveçon,
Et faisant ce qu'il sied aux écuyers de faire,
--Cheick, dit le Cid, je suis maintenant chez mon père.
Those who never saw Guynemer at his father's at Compiègne cannot know
him well. Of course, even in camp he was the best of comrades, full of
his work, but always ready to enjoy somebody else's success, and
speaking about his own as if it were billiards or bridge. His renown
had not intoxicated him, and he would have been quite unconscious of it
had he not sometimes felt that unresponsiveness on the part of others
which is the price of glory: anything like jealousy hurt him as if it
had been his first discovery of evil. In Kipling's _Jungle Book_,
Mowgli, the man cub, noticing that the Jungle hates him, feels his eyes
and is frightened at finding them wet. "What is this, Bagheera?" he asks
of his friend the panther. "Oh, nothing; only tears," answers Bagheera,
who had lived among men.
One who, on occasion, told Guynemer _not to mind_ knows how deep was his
sensitiveness, not to the presence of real hostility, which he
fortunately never encountered, but even to an obscure germ of jealousy.
The moment he felt this he shrank into himself. His native exuberance
only displayed itself under the influence of sympathy.
Friendship among airmen is manly and almost rough, not caring for
formulas or appearances, but proving itself by deeds. To these men the
games of war are astonishingly like school games, and are spoken of as
if they were nothing else. When a comrade has not come back, and dinner
has to begin without him, no show of sorrow is tolerated: only these
young men's hearts feel the absence of a friend, and the casual visitor,
not knowing, might take them for sporting men, lively and jolly.
Guynemer was living his life in perfect confidence, feeling no personal
ambition, not inclined to enjoy honors more than work, ignoring all
affectation or attitudinizing, never politic, and naturally unconscious
of his own simplicity. Yet he loved and adored what we call glory, and
would tell anybody of his successes, even of his decorations, with a
childlike certitude that these things must delight others as much as
himself. His French honors were of course his great pride, but he highly
appreciated those which he had received from allied governments, too:
the Distinguished Service order, the Cross of St. George, the Cross of
Leopold, the Belgian war medal, Serbian and Montenegrin orders, etc. All
these ribbons made a bright show, and although he generally wore only
the _rosette_ of the Legion of Honor, he would sometimes deck himself
out in them all, or carry them in his pocket and occasionally empty them
out on a table, as at school he used to tumble out the untidy contents
of his desk in search of his task.
When he went to Paris to see to his machines, he first secured a room at
the Hôtel Edouard VII, and immediately posted to the Buc works. When he
had time he would invite himself to dinner at the house of his
schoolmate at the Collège Stanislas, Lieutenant Constantin. "Every time
he came," this officer writes, "some new exploit or a new decoration had
been added to his list. He never wore all his medals, his 'village-band
banner,' as he amusingly called them; but when people asked to see them,
he immediately searched his pockets and produced the whole disorderly
lot. When he became officer in the Legion, he appeared at my mother's
quite radiant, so that she asked him the reason of this unusual joy.
'Regardez bien, madame, there is something new.' The new thing which my
mother discovered was a tiny _rosette_ ornamenting his red ribbon."
This _rosette_ was so very small that nobody noticed it, and Guynemer
felt that he must complain to the shopman at the Palais Royal who had
sold it to him.
"Give me a larger one, a huge one," he said; "nobody sees this."
* * * * *
The tradesman spread a number of _rosettes_ on his counter, but Guynemer
only took back again the one of which he had complained, and went out
laughing as if the whole thing had been a good joke.
His officer's stripes gave him as much pleasure as his decorations.
Every time he was promoted, he wanted his stripes sewn on, not in a day
or an hour, or even five minutes, but immediately. He received his
captain's commission the same day he had been given the Distinguished
Service order, and he promptly went to see his friend, Captain de la
Tour, who was wounded in the hospital at Nancy. This officer had lost
three brothers in action, and loved Guynemer as if he had been another
younger brother. Indeed, Guynemer said later that La Tour loved him more
than any other did.
"Don't you see any change in me?" Guynemer asked.
"No, you're just as usual."
"No, there's a change!"
"Oh, I see; you mean your English order; it does look well."
"There's something else. Look closer."
La Tour at last discovered the three stripes on the cap and sleeves.
"What! Are you a captain?"
"Yes, a captain," and Guynemer laughed his boyish laugh.--This kid a
captain! So I am not an impressive captain, then? I haven't run risks
enough to be a captain, probably!--His laugh said all this.
Lieutenant Constantin also says in his notes: "Guynemer disliked walking
about Paris, because people recognized him. When he saw them turn to
look at him, he would grumble at the curse of having a face that was
public property. So he preferred waiting for evening, and then drove his
little white car up the Champs Elysées to the Bois. He enjoyed this
peaceful recreation thoroughly, and forgot the excitement of his life at
the front. Memories of our boyhood days came back to him, and he dwelt
on them with delight: 'Do you remember one day in _seconde_ when we
quarreled and fought like madmen? You made such a mark on my arm that it
is there yet.' He did not mind, but I was ashamed of having been such a
young brute. Another day, in May, 1917, coming home on leave I met
Georges just as he stepped out of his hotel, and as I had just been
mentioned in dispatches I told him about it. Immediately he dragged me
into a shop, bought a _croix de guerre_, pinned it on my _vareuse_, and
hugged me before everybody."
Guynemer had a genius for graciousness, and his imagination was
inexhaustible when he wished to please, but his temper was hot and
quick. One day he had left his motor at the door of the hotel, and some
practical joker thought it clever to leave a note in the car with this
inscription in large letters: AVIATORS TO THE FRONT! Guynemer did not
take the joke at all, and was boiling with rage.
His complete freedom from conceit has often been remarked. At a luncheon
given in his honor by the well-known deputy, Captain Lasies, he would
not say a word about himself, but extolled his comrades until somebody
said: "You are really modesty itself."
Whereupon another guest asked: "Could you imagine him bragging?"
Guynemer was delighted, and when the party broke up he went out with the
gentleman who had said this and thanked him warmly. "Don't you see how
little they understand? I don't say I am modest, but if I weren't I
would be a fool, and I should not like to be that. I know quite well
that just now some of us are getting so much admiration and so many
honors that one may get more than one's share. Whereas the men in the
trenches--how different it is with them!"[24]
[Footnote 24: _Journal des Débats_ for September 26, 1917.]
But it was inevitable that he should be lionized. People came to him
with albums and pictures. He wrote to his father that a Madame de B.
wanted something, just one sentence, in an album which was to be sold in
America. "I am to be alongside the Generalissimo. What on earth can I
write?"
An American lady who was also a guest at the Hôtel Edouard VII wanted to
have at any price some souvenir of the young hero. She ordered her maid
to bring away an old glove of Guynemer's which was lying on a chest of
drawers, and replace it by a magnificent bouquet. "This lady put me in a
nice dilemma," Guynemer explained, "as it was Sunday and there was no
way of getting any more gloves."[25]
[Footnote 25: Anecdote related in the _Figaro_ for September 29, 1917.]
He had no affectation, least of all the kind that pretends to be
ignorant of one's own popularity; but surely he cared little for
popularity. Here again he puts us in mind of a medieval poem. In
_Gilbert de Metz_, one of our oldest epics, the daughter of Anséis is
described seated at the window, "fresh, slim, and white as a lily" when
two knights, Garin and his cousin Gilbert, happen to ride near. "Look
up, cousin Gilbert," says Garin, "look. By our lady, what a handsome
dame!" "Oh," answers Gilbert, "what a handsome creature my steed is! I
never saw anything so lovely as this maiden with her fair skin and dark
eyes. I never knew any steed that could compare with mine." And so on,
while Gilbert still refuses to look up at the beautiful daughter of
Anséis. Also in _Girard de Viane_, Charlemagne, holding his court at
the palace of Vienne, has just placed the hand of the lovely Aude in
that of his nephew Roland. Both the girl and the great soldier are
silent and blushing while the date of the wedding is being discussed,
when a messenger suddenly rushes in: "The Saracens are in France! War!
war!" shout the bystanders. Then without a word Roland drops the white
hand of the girl, springs to arms, and is gone. So Guynemer would have
praised his Nieuport or his Spad as Gilbert praised his steed, and
_belle Aude_ herself could not have kept him away from the fight.
[Illustration: COMBAT]
One day his father felt doubts about the capacity of such a young man to
resist the intoxication of so much flattery from men and women.
"Don't worry," Guynemer answered, "I am watching my nerves as an acrobat
watches his muscles. I have chosen my own mission, and I must fulfil
it."
After his death, one of his friends, the one who spoke to him last, told
me: "He used to put aside heaps of flattering letters which he did not
even read. 'Read them if you like,' he said to me, and I destroyed them.
He only read letters from children, schoolboys and soldiers."
In _L'Aiglon_ Prokesch brings the mail to the Prince Imperial, and
handing him letters from women, he says:
Voilà
Ce que c'est d'avoir l'auréole fatale.
As soon as Prokesch begins to read them, the Prince stops him with the
words: "_Je déchire_." Even when a woman whom he has nicknamed "Little
Spring"--"because the water sleeping in her eyes or purling in her voice
has often cooled his fever"--announces her departure, hoping he may
detain her, he lets her go, whispering again like a refrain, "_Je
déchire_."
Did Guynemer deal with hearts as he dealt with the besieging letters, or
as the falcon of St. Jean l'Hospitalier dealt with birds?--No "Little
Spring," had her voice been ever so rill-like, could have detained him
when a sunny morning invited him skywards.
* * * * *
Safe from the admiring public, Guynemer would relax and breathe freely
with his people at Compiègne, where he became once more a lively, noisy,
indulged, but coaxing and charming boy, except when absorbed in work,
from which nothing could distract him. He spent hours in pasting and
classifying the snapshots he took of his enemies just before pulling the
trigger of his machine-gun and bringing them down. One of his greatest
pleasures when on leave was to arrange and show these photographs.
His eyes, which saw everything, were keen to detect the least changes in
the arrangement of his home, even when mere knickknacks had been moved
about. At each visit he found the house ornamented with some new trophy
of his exploits. He was delighted to find that a miniature barkentine,
which he had built with corks, paper, and thread when he was seven years
old, still stood on his mother's mantelpiece. Even at that age his
powers of observation had been evident, and he had forgotten no detail
of sails or rigging.
He had taken again so naturally his old place in the family circle that
his mother forgot once and called the tall, famous young man by his old
familiar name, "_Bébé_." She quickly corrected herself, but he said:
"I am always that to you, Mother."
"I was happier when you were little," she observed.
"I hope you are not vexed with me, Mother."
"Vexed for what?"
"For having grown up."
He was naturally full of the one subject that interested him, airplanes
and chasing, and he would go round the house collecting audiences.
Strange bits of narration could be overheard from different rooms as he
held forth:
"Then I _embusqued_ myself became a slacker...."
"What!"
"Oh! I _embusqued_ myself behind a cloud."
Or, "The light dazzled me, so I hid the sun with my wing."
He never forgot his sisters' birthdays, but he could not always give
them the present he preferred. "Sorry I could not present you with a
Boche."
He was hardly different when his mother received company: he was never
seen to play the great man. Only on one subject he always and instantly
became serious, namely, when the future was mentioned. "Do not let us
make any plans," he would say.
* * * * *
A page from one of my own notebooks will help to show Guynemer as I used
to see him in his home.
_Wednesday, June 27, 1917._--Compiègne. Called on the Guynemers. He
is fascination itself with his "goddess on the clouds" gait--as if
he remembered when walking that he could also fly--with his
incomparable eyes, his perpetual movement, his interior
electricity, his admixture of elegance and ardor, and with that
impulse of his whole being towards one object which suggests the
antique runner, even when he is for an instant in repose. His
parents and sisters do not miss a single gesture, a single motion
he makes. They drink in his every word, and his life seems to
absorb them. His laugh echoes in their souls. They believe in him,
are sure of him, sure of his future, and that all will be well.
Noticing this certitude, whether real or assumed, I could not help
stealing a glance at the frail god of aviation, made like the
delicate statuettes that we dread breaking. He talks passionately,
as usual, of his aërial fights. But just now one thought seems to
supersede every other. He is expecting a new machine, a magic
machine which he planned long ago, found difficult to get built,
and with which he must do more damage than ever.
Then he showed us his photographs with the white blotches of
bursting shells, or the gray wings of German airplanes. One of
these is seen as it falls in flames, the pilot falling, too, some
distance away from it. Thus the victim was registered, and the
memory of it made him happy.
I swallowed a question I was going to ask: What about
yourself--some day? because he looked so full of life that the
notion of death could never present itself to him. But he seemed to
have read my thoughts, for he said:
"You have plenty of time in the air, except when you fight, and
then you have no time at all. I've been brought down six times, and
I always had plenty of time to realize what was happening." And he
laughed his clear, boyish laugh.
As a matter of fact, he has been incredibly lucky. In one fight he
was hit three times, and each time the bullet was deadened by some
unexpected obstacle.
Finally I was shown photographs of himself, chronologically
arranged. Needless to say, it was not he who showed them. There was
the half-nude baby, with eyes already sparkling and eager, then the
schoolboy with the fine carriage of the head, then the lad fresh
from school with a singularly calm expression, and well filled-out
cheeks. A little later the expression appeared more mature and
tense, though still ingenuous. Later again there was a decidedly
stern look, with the face less oval and thinner. The rough fingers
of war had chiseled this face, and sharpened and strengthened it. I
looked from the picture to him, and I realized that, compared to
his former pictures, his expression had now indeed acquired
something terrible. But just then he laughed, and the laughter
conjured away all phantasies.
V. THE MAGIC MACHINE
As a tiny boy who had invented an enchanted bed for his sisters' dolls,
as a boy who, at Collège Stanislas, had rigged up a telephone to send
messages to the last forms in the schoolroom, or manufactured miniature
airplanes, as a recruit who, at Pau, had gladly accepted the work of
cleaning, burnishing, and overhauling engines, Guynemer had always shown
a passion for mechanics. Becoming a pilot, and later on a chaser, he
exhibited in the study and perfecting of his airplanes the same
enthusiasm and perseverance as in his flights. He was everlastingly
calling for swifter or more powerful machines, and not only strove to
communicate his own fervor to technicians, but went into minute details,
suggested improvements, and whenever he had a chance visited the
workshops and assisted at trials. Such trials are sometimes dangerous.
One of his friends, Edouard de Layens, was killed in this kind of
accident, and Guynemer was enraged that a gallant airman should perish
otherwise than in battle. He was in reality an inventor, though this
statement may cause surprise, and though it may not be wise at present
to bear it out by facts.
Every part of his machine or of his gun was familiar to him. He had
handled them all, taking them apart and putting them together again.
There are practical improvements in modern airplanes which would not be
there had it not been for him. And there is a "Guynemer visor."
Confidence and authoritativeness had not come to him along with glory,
for from the first he talked as one engrossed by his ideas, and it is
because he was thus engrossed that he found persuasive words to bring
others round to his views. But, naturally enough, he had not at first
the prestige which he possessed when he became Captain Guynemer, had
high rank in the Legion of Honor, and enjoyed world-wide fame. In his
'prentice days when, in workshops or in the presence of well-known
builders, he would make confident statements, inveigh against errors, or
demand modifications, people thought him flippant and saucy. Once
somebody called him a raw lad. The answer came with crushing rapidity:
"When you blunder, raw lads like myself pay for your mistakes."
It must be admitted that, like most people brought up with wealth, he
was apt to be unduly impatient. Delays or objections irritated him. He
wanted to force his will upon Time, which never admits compulsion, and
tried to over-ride obstacles. His peculiar fascination gradually won its
way even in workshops, and his appearance there was greeted with
acclamation, not only because the men were curious to see him, but
because they were in sympathy with him and had put his ideas to a
successful test. The workmen liked to see him sit in a half-finished
machine, and explain in his short, decisive style what he wanted and
what was sure to give superiority to French aviation. The men stopped
work, came round, and listened eagerly. This, too, was a triumph for
him. What he told them on such occasions he had probably whispered to
himself many times before when, on rainy days, he would sit in his
airplane under the hangar, and think and talk to himself, while
strangers wondered if he was not crazy.
However, he had made friends with well-known engineers, especially Major
Garnier of Puteaux and M. Béchereau of the Spad works. These two,
instead of dismissing him as a snappish airman continually at variance
with the builder, took his inventions seriously and strove to meet his
requirements. When M. Béchereau, after long delays, was at last
decorated for his eminent services, the Secretary of Aëronautics, M.
Daniel Vincent, came to the works and was going to place the medal and
red ribbon on the engineer's breast, when he saw Guynemer standing near.
He graciously handed the medal over to the airman, saying:
"Give M Béchereau his decoration; it is only fair you should."
In September, 1916, Guynemer had tried at the front one of the first two
Spads. On the 8th he wrote to M. Béchereau: "Well, the Spad has had her
_baptême du feu_. The others were six: an Aviatik at 2800, an L.V.G. at
2900, and four Rumplers jostling one another with barely 25 meters in
between at 3000 meters. When the four saw me coming (at 1800 on the
speedometer) they no doubt took me for a meteorite and funked, and when
they got over it and back to their shooting (fine popping, though) it
was too late. My gun never jammed once." Here he went into
technicalities about his new machine-gun, but further on reverted to the
Spad: "She loops wonderfully. Her spin is a bit lazy and irregular, but
deliciously soft." The letter concludes with many suggestions for minor
improvements.
His correspondence with M. Béchereau was entirely devoted to a study of
airplanes: he never wandered from the subject. Thus he collaborated with
the engineer by constantly communicating to him the results of his
experience. His machine-gun was the great difficulty. "Yesterday," he
wrote on October 21, 1916, "five Boches, three of them above our lines,
came within ten meters of the muzzle of my gun, and impossible to shoot.
Four days ago I had to let two others get away. Sickening.... The
weather is wonderful. Perhaps the gun will work now." In fact, a few
days later he wrote exultingly, having discovered that the jamming was
due to cold and having found an ingenious remedy.
_November 4, 1916._ Day before yesterday I bagged a Fokker
one-seater biplane. It was two meters off, but as it tumbled into a
group of our Nieuports, the controlling board would not give the
victory to anybody. Yesterday got an Aviatik ten meters off;
passenger shot dead by the first bullet; the plane, all in rags,
went down in slow spirals and must have been knocked flat somewhere
near Berlincourt. Heurtaux, who had seen it beginning to fall,
brought one down himself ten minutes later, like a regular ball.
On November 18 next, after going into particulars concerning his engine
which he wanted made stronger, he told M. Béchereau of his 21st and 22d
victories:
As for the 21st, it was a one-seater I murdered as it twirled in
elegant spirals down to its own landing ground. No. 22 was a 220
H.P., one of three above our lines. I came upon it unawares in a
somersault. Passenger stood up, but fell down again in his seat
before even setting his gun going. I put some two hundred or two
hundred and fifty bullets into him twenty meters away from me. He
had taken an invariable angle of 45° on the first volley. When I
let him go, Adjutant Bucquet took him in hand--which would have
helped if he hadn't already been as full of holes as a strainer. He
kept his angle of 45° till about 500 meters, when he adopted the
vertical, and blazed up on crashing to the ground....
The Spad ravished him. It was the heyday of wonderful flights on the
Somme. Yet he wanted something even better; but before pestering M.
Béchereau he began with an inspiring narrative.
_December 28, 1916._ I can't grumble; yet yesterday I missed my
camera badly. I had a high-class round with an Albatros, a fine,
clever fellow, between two and ten meters away from me. We only
exchanged fifteen shots, and he snapped my right fore-cable--just a
few threads still held--while I shot him in the small of his back.
A fine spill! (No. 25).
Now, to speak of serious things, I must tell you that the Spad 150
H.P. is not much ahead of the Halberstadt. The latter is not
faster, I admit, but it climbs so much more quickly that it
amounts to the same thing. However, our latest model knocks them
all out....
The letter adds only some recommendations as to the necessity for more
speed and a better propeller.
But much more important improvements were already filling his mind. He
had conceived plans for a magic airplane that would simply annihilate
the enemy, and as he would doggedly carry on a fight, so he ruminated,
begged, and urged until his idea was realized. But he was forced to
practice exhausting perseverance, and on several occasions the lack of
comprehension or sympathy which he encountered infuriated him. Yet he
never gave up. It was not his way in a workshop, any more than in the
air; and when, after some ten months' struggling, trying, and frequent
beginning over again, he saw himself at last in possession of the
wonderful machine, he rejoiced as a warrior may after forging his own
weapons.
In January, 1917, he wrote to M. Béchereau urging him to make all
dispatch: "Spring will soon be here, and the Germans are working like
niggers. If we go to sleep, it will be '_couic_' for us." Henceforth his
correspondence, sometimes rather dictatorial, with the engineer was
entirely devoted to the magic airplane,--its size, controls, wing-tips,
tank, weight, etc. The margins of his letters were covered with
drawings, and every detail was minutely discussed. In February he wrote
to his father as if he had been a builder: "My machine surpasses all
expectations, and will soon be at work. In Paris I go to bed early and
rise ditto, spending all day at Spad's. I have no other thought or
occupation. It is a fixed idea, and if it goes on I shall become a
perfect idiot. When peace is signed, let nobody dare to mention a weapon
of any kind in my presence for six months."
He thought himself within reach of his goal; but unexpected obstacles
would come in his way, and it was not till July 5, 1917--the same day on
which he received the _rosette_ of the Legion of Honor from General
Franchet d'Esperey at the Aisne Aviation Camp--that he could at last try
the long-dreamed-of, long-hoped-for airplane. But in a fight against
three D.F.W.'s, the splendid new machine got riddled with bullets, he
had to land, and everything had to be begun over again. But Guynemer was
not afraid of beginning over again, and in fact he was to give the
airplane another chance in Flanders, and to see all his expectations
fulfilled. The 49th, 50th, 51st and 52d victories of Guynemer were due
to the magic airplane.
He managed to impose his will on matter, and on those who adapt it to
the warlike conceptions of man, as he imposed it on the enemy. Then,
spreading out his wings on high, he might well think himself
invincible.