nt-Simon
concerning some personage of the court of Louis XIV: "The glances of his
eyes were like blows"--pierced the sky like arrows, when his practiced
ear had heard the harsh hum of an enemy motor. In advance he condemned
the audacious adversary to death, seeming from a distance to draw him
into the abyss, like a sorcerer.)

After examining his machine he put on his fur-lined _combinaison_ over
his black coat, and his head-covering, the _passe-montagne_, fitting
tightly over his hair, and framing the oval of his face, and over this
his leather helmet. Plutarch spoke of the terrible expression of
Alexander when he went to battle. Guynemer's face, when he rose for a
flight, was appalling.

What did he do in the air? His flight journals and statements tell the
story. On each page, a hundred times in succession, and several times on
a page, his flight notebooks contain the short sentences which seem to
bound from the paper, like a dog showing its teeth: "I attack ... I
attack ... I attack...." At long intervals, as if ashamed, appears the
phrase: "I am attacked." On the Somme more than twenty victories were
credited to him, and to these should be added, as in the case of Dorme,
others taking place at too great distances to receive confirmation. In
the first month of the Somme battle, on September 13, 1916, the Storks
Escadrille, Captain Brocard, was mentioned before the army: "Has shown
unequaled energy and devotion to duty in the operations of Verdun and
the Somme, waging, from March 19 to August 19, 1916, 338 combats,
bringing down 36 airplanes, 3 drachen, and compelling 36 other badly
damaged airplanes to land." Captain Brocard dedicated this mention to
Lieutenant Guynemer, writing under it: "To Lieutenant Guynemer, my
oldest pilot, and most brilliant Stork. Souvenir of gratitude and
warmest friendship." And all the pilots of the escadrille, in turn, came
to sign it. His comrades had often seen what he did in the air.

When Guynemer came back and landed, what a spectacle! Although a victor,
his face was not appeased. It was never to be appeased. He never was
satisfied, never waged enough battles, never burned or destroyed enough
enemies. When he landed he was still under the influence of nervous
effort, and seemed as if electrified by the fluid still passing through
his frame. However, his machine bore traces of the struggle: four
bullets in the wing, the body, and the elevator. And he himself was
grazed by the miss