For the nature of his correspondence is somewhat surprising. Read
superficially, it must seem extremely monotonous; but when better
understood, it indicates the writer's sense of oppression, of
hallucination, of being bewitched. From that moment Guynemer had only
one object, and from its pursuit he never once desisted. Or, if he did
desist for a brief interval, it was only to see his parents, who were
part of his life, and whom he associated with his work. His
correspondence with them is full of his airplanes, his flights, and then
his enemy-chasing. His letters have no beginning and no ending, but
plunge at once into action. He himself was nothing but action. Only
that? the reader will ask. Action was his reason for existing, his
heart, his soul--action in which his whole being fastened on his prey.
A long and minutiose training goes to the making of a good pilot. But
the impatient Guynemer had patience for everything, and the self-willed
Stanislas student became the hardest working of apprentices. His
scientific knowledge furnished him with a method, and after his first
long flights his progress was very rapid.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86