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 missiles, his combinaison scratched and the end of his glove torn.  By what miracle had he escaped?—­He had passed through encircling death as a man leaps through a hoop.

His method was one of the wildest temerity and impetuosity, and can be recommended to nobody.  The number and strength of the enemy, so far from repelling, attracted him.  He flew to vertiginous heights, and taking his place in the sunshine, watched and waited.  In an attack he did not make use of the aerial acrobatic maneuvers with which, however, he was perfectly familiar.  He struck without delay,—­what is known in fencing as the cut direct.  Without trying to maintain his machine within his adversary’s dead angles, he fell on him as a stone falls.  He shot as near to the enemy as he could, at the risk of being shot first himself, and even of interlocking their machines, though in that respect the sureness of his maneuvering sufficed to disengage him.  If he failed to take the enemy by surprise, he did not quit the combat as prudence exacted; but returned to the charge, refusing to unhook his clutch from the enemy airplane, and held him, and wanted him, and got him.

His passion for flying never diminished.  On rainy days, when it was unreasonable and useless to attempt to fly, he wandered around the sheds where the winged horses took their repose.  He could not resist it:  he entered, and mounted his own machine, settling himself in his cock-pit and handling the controls, holding mysterious conferences with his faithful steed.

In the air, he had a higher power of resistance than the most robust men.  This frail, sickly Guynemer, twice refused by the army because of feebleness of constitution, never gave up.  In proportion as the requirements of aviation became more severe, as the higher altitudes reached made it more exhausting, Guynemer seemed to prolong his flights to the point where overwork and nervous depression compelled him to go away and take a little rest—­which made him suffer still more.  And suddenly, before he had taken the necessary repose, he threw it off like ballast, and returning to camp, reappeared in the air, like the falcon in the legend of Saint Julien the Hospitaller:  “The bold bird rose straight in the air like an arrow, and there could be seen two spots of unequal size which turned and joined, and then disappeared in the heights of heaven.  The falcon soon descended, tearing some bird to pieces, and returned to his perch on the gauntlet, with his wings quivering."[21] Thus the victorious Guynemer came back, quivering, to the aviation field.  Truly, a god possessed him.