THE MENTOR 1918.11.01, No. 166,
Guynemer
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
NOVEMBER 1 1918
SERIAL NO. 166
THE
MENTOR
GUYNEMER
THE WINGÈD SWORD
OF FRANCE
By HOWARD W. COOK
DEPARTMENT OF
BIOGRAPHY
VOLUME 6
NUMBER 18
TWENTY CENTS A COPY
THE SKYMAN SUPREME
By Commandant Brocard, of the “Stork Squadron”
For more than two years all of us have seen him cleaving
the heavens above our heads, the heavens lighted up
by shining sun or darkened by lowering tempests, bearing
upon his poor wings a part of our dreams, of our faith in
success, of all that our hearts held of confidence and hope.
“Guynemer was a powerful idea in a frail body, and I
lived near him with the secret sorrow of knowing that some
day the idea would slay the container.
“Poor boy! All the children of France, who wrote to him
daily, to whom he was the marvelous ideal, vibrated with all
his emotions, lived through his joys and suffered his dangers.
He will remain to them the living model hero, greatest in all
history. They love him as they have learned to love the
purest glories of our country.
“Guynemer was great enough to have done that which he
did without seeking recompense save in the silent consciousness
of having done his full duty.”
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NOVEMBER 1st, 1918.VOLUME 6NUMBER 18
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GEORGES GUYNEMER, WHEN HE BEGAN HIS FLIGHTS
GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE
His Ancestry and Childhood
ONE
Not only modern, but ancient French records glorify
the name of Guynemer. In the time of Roland and
Charlemagne, there was a Guinemer that performed
noble deeds. An eleventh-century history of the
Crusades extols the name of a Guinemer of Boulogne. The
Treaty of Guérande, which terminated in 1365 a war of succession
in Brittany, bore the signature of
Geoffroy Guinemer among thirty knightly
signers. In 1464 the old and honorable
name was first spelled with a y by Yvon
Guynemer, a man of arms in the service
of his country.
Bernard Guynemer, great grandfather
of Georges, was an instructor in jurisprudence
in Paris during the Revolution, and
was later made president of the Tribunal
of Mayence. A son, Auguste, who lived
to be ninety-three, left to posterity a remarkable
collection of memoirs of the
Revolution, the Empire, and the Restoration.
One of his brothers, an officer in
Napoleon’s army, was killed at the siege of
Vilna in 1812; another, a naval officer,
died of wounds received at Trafalgar. A
fourth brother named Achille became the
grandfather of Georges, and it was his
exploits, among all the tales of his forbears,
that the youthful grandson loved
best to read about. One venturous anecdote
of the child Achille became part of
family history, and in its revelation of
mature purpose and utter poise under confounding
circumstances recalls instances
of the boyhood of the future Ace of Aces.
When the small Achille arrived one morning
at his school in Paris he found it closed.
The mistress, he was told, had been taken
away, summoned before the Revolutionary
Tribunal. When he inquired where
this Tribunal was, he was laughingly informed,
and straightway he set out to find
it. When the eight-year-old appeared in
the court room alone, he was received by
assembly and judges with amazement,
then with raillery, but, in no wise disconcerted,
he continued up the imposing
aisle to the place where the mighty Robespierre
sat. Humorously, Robespierre met
his request that his teacher be allowed to
return to her classes by remarking that
the child’s need of her could not be great,
as doubtless she had taught him little in
the past. In his desire to refute the injustice,
the boy begged permission to recite
his lessons for the day. When he had finished,
Robespierre impulsively took him
in his arms and embraced him. Then he
gave into his charge the school mistress,
and permitted them both to depart.
Seven years later, Achille Guynemer was
a volunteer in the army that invaded
Spain. In 1812, he was taken prisoner;
later he escaped, and in 1813, at the age of
twenty-one, he was decorated with the
Cross of the Legion of Honor. His grandson,
who strongly resembled his early portraits,
received the same honor when he
was a few months younger.
Of the four sons of the president of the
Tribunal of Mayence, only one, Achille,
had descendants. The son of the latter
was Paul Guynemer, a French army officer
and military historian, and his only son
was Georges, the young chieftain of the sky.
Even as a very little boy, Georges carried
his head with pride and set his ambitions
high. Adored by his mother and sisters,
he was a constant object of solicitude because
of ill health. When he was of school
age he received instruction from the governess
of his sisters. Very young he showed
evidences of those qualities of honor, truth
and bravery that earned him in later
years all the honors France could bestow.
Very young he fell under the spell of Joan
of Arc, she who was wounded in Compiègne,
the home of his boyhood, and he
clamored for stories of her and of others of
his country’s warriors.
An indifferent pupil in the grammar-school
at Compiègne, he was placed in
Stanislas Military College, his father’s
Alma Mater. A group photograph of the
students represents Georges as a boy of
twelve, pale, thin, with dark, wilful eyes
lighted by smouldering fires of dream and
ambition. As a student he was quick and
intelligent, but he was mischievous and
headstrong under discipline. In play he
preferred warlike games, and invariably
chose parts that gave him opportunities
to attack, which he did with agility and
vigor, often to the discomfiture of older opponents.
One of his teachers wrote a
sketch of his school-boyhood that betrays
many outstanding traits of the Guynemer
of the future. In playground battles he
had no desire to command; he liked above
all to fight, and to fight alone. He attacked
the strongest, without consideration
for any advantage they might have
of weight, height or numbers. Even as a
boy, he excelled by adroitness, suppleness
of maneuver, and will-to-win.
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GUYNEMER AND HIS FAITHFUL GUNNER, GUERDER
GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE
His Youth and Apprenticeship
TWO
Though hampered by illness and enforced vacations,
Guynemer graduated from Stanislas College in his
fifteenth year with honors. In the autumn he re-entered
the school for a further course of study. His
leisure hours were passed installing miniature telephones, and
experimenting with paper airplane models. His ability for
invention and mechanics was marked. All
the sciences held interest for him, but he
had special liking for chemistry and mathematics.
He was fond of reading, but his
choice of books fell solely on those that
dealt with war, chivalry and adventure.
One of young Guynemer’s intimates was
Jean Krebs, whose father was a pioneer in
the development of aerostatics and aviation.
He was then director of the great
Panhard automobile works, and on Sundays
the two youths spent hours studying
motor parts. With their fellow students
at the college they were often taken to
visit technical establishments after school.
Georges was always to be found beside the
one that explained the operations of the
machinery. When they were permitted to
attend automobile and airplane exhibitions,
his delight was boundless. Keen,
excited, agitated, he passed from one exhibit
to another, commenting, interrogating,
and incidentally filling his pockets
with catalogues and pamphlets about the
different makes of cars and planes. While
still at school he fashioned a small airplane,
which he launched with glee over
the heads of his companions.
At that time (1910), the eyes of Europe
were on the sky. Blériot had crossed the
Channel; Paulhan had soared to a record
height of over four thousand feet. It was
the ambition of all French youth to fly.
With Guynemer the desire was an obsession.
From the aerodrome near Compiègne
he secretly made his first flight,
crouched behind an obliging pilot, cramped
and uncomfortable, but ecstatically happy.
So determined was he to follow the profession
of the air that pleasures of world
travel, enjoyed for months in the fond
companionship of his mother and sisters,
served in no way to distract him from his
purpose. “What career shall you adopt?”
his father inquired, when they returned.
And Georges answered, as if it were the
most natural thing in the world, “I shall
be an aviator.” His parent protested that
aviation was not a career, but a sport. The
boy was obstinate. He confessed that his
life was already dedicated to this passion.
That on the morning he had first seen a
birdman fly above the college of Stanislas,
he had been possessed by a sensation he
could not explain. “I felt an emotion so
deep it seemed sacred,” he told his father.
“I knew then that I must ask you to let
me become an aviator.”
Refused admission to the École Polytechnique
because the professors believed
him too frail to finish the courses, he was
taken with his family to Biarritz on the
coast of France, and there rumors came
to them of the war, in the month of July,
1914. War was declared August second.
The following day Georges presented himself
for medical examination at Bayonne,—was
rejected, and when he tried still
other times, was rejected again. Finally
his persistence, his devotion to France, his
resolve to serve her in the way he felt he
could be of the most value, won him the
reward of acceptance in the training school
at Pau.
In January, 1915, Guynemer received
his first lessons as a student-aviator, after
having studied two months as a mechanic.
On February first, according to his own
narrative, his apprenticeship as a pilot
took on aerial character. “I drove a ‘taxi,’
and then the following week I mounted an
airplane, going in straight lines, turning
and gliding, and on March tenth I made
two flights lasting twenty minutes in daylight.
At last I had found my wings. I
passed the examination the next day.”
Once, Guynemer barely escaped being
scratched from the list of military aviators
at the school of Avord, because a head
pilot complained that he was imprudent in
making flights that were too difficult for one
of his experience, and because he persisted
in flying when the weather was unfavorable.
When he had flown for six months, he
was sent one day on a photographing mission.
The enemy discovered him. A rain
of shells fell on his plane. Keeping on
amid the deluge, Guynemer made not a
single turn to escape the attacks. For an
hour he went straight toward his objective
until his observer gave the signal
to return. Even then the pilot continued
to drive on toward the guns that were trying
to beat him down, and, handing his
personal photographic apparatus to his
companion, asked him to take some pictures
of the mortar attacking the airplane.
From that day, no one in the
squadron doubted the future of this youth,
“this eagle of the birdmen, this young
Frenchman with the face of a woman and
the heart of a lion.”
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COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD
GUYNEMER AT THE WHEEL
GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE
Pioneer Airmen in France
THREE
Fernand Forest, a countryman of Guynemer’s
invented, thirty years ago, an explosion motor
whose operations formed the basis of many subsequent
experiments in petrol engines. And it was a
Frenchman, Clement Ader, who was the first to fly with a motor-driven
flying machine. For a time Ader experimented under the
patronage of the French Ministry of War,
but he was eventually deprived of Governmental
sanction and assistance because he
was deemed visionary, and his inventions
impractical. However, the machine in
which he made several flights in the year
1897, the “Avion,” was later one of the
treasured exhibits of the first Aeronautical
Salon, and was placed beside the airplanes
of Wilbur Wright, Delagrange and
Blériot “as convincing proof that to France
belonged the honor of making the first flying
machine.” It is related that when
Ader first found himself leaving the ground
for a test flight, “he was so taken by surprise
that he nearly lost his senses.”
Charles C. Turner, author of “Marvels
of Aviation,” narrates the early adventures
of Alberto Santos-Dumont, the rich
young Brazilian who arrived in Paris in
1898 for the purpose of having a navigable
balloon made there. Already the name
Zeppelin had received passing notice in
French and English newspapers, but most
people refused to believe reports of his inventions,
and those of Santos-Dumont,
concluding that they were both mad.
Santos-Dumont, “the man who initiated
the modern airship movement in France
and made the first officially observed airplane
flight in Europe,” flew around the
Eiffel Tower and over the roofs and treetops
of startled Paris in his small spherical
balloons, propelled by gasoline motor, and
in 1902 made flights over the Mediterranean.
In Paris he built the first airship
station ever constructed. In 1903, his
maneuvers above the French army review
of July fourteenth led to negotiations with
the French Minister of War, to whom the
young Brazilian made the offer “to put his
aerial fleet at the disposition of France in
case of hostilities with any country except
the two Americas.” He explained, “It is
in France that I have met with all my
encouragement; in France and with French
material I made all my experiments. I
excepted the two Americas because I am
an American.”
Santos-Dumont, who had astounded the
world by the success of his airship experiments,
was also the pioneer aviator in
France, when he became convinced of the
practicality of the heavier-than-air machine.
When Delagrange, Blériot and
the Wright brothers leapt into fame,
Santos-Dumont continued quietly to study
and contrive, and in 1909 he brought out
the “Demoiselle,” a small airplane on
whose design he claimed no patent rights,
offering it to the world as a gift of his invention.
Between the years 1907 and 1910 many
unknown inventors and mechanics won
renown through their aerial accomplishments.
Outbursts of fervor greeted every
fresh success in air endeavor. On wings
the patriotism of France soared to
heights of exaltation. Lethargy gave way
to enthusiasm. Voisin, Blériot, Delagrange,
Latham, Paulhan, Védrines became
national heroes. If a popular aviator
flew a winning race, crowds attended
his steps and surrounded his hotel. If one
was injured, a sympathetic assembly gathered
outside the hospital where he lay, and
extras were issued by the daily journals as
to his condition. Annual airplane meets
and exhibitions had the patronage of the
French Government. Experts were constantly
occupied in making mechanical
improvements in the motor, steering gear
and wings of the wondrous new machines
that had intrigued the imagination, the
very soul of awakened France.
Though France owes a debt to American
inventors, always generously acknowledged,
French aviators quickly attained
supremacy on the continent. When the
war came, the country was already dotted
with aerodromes and airplane factories,
and hundreds of trained aviators and
mechanicians were ready to take the air
for their beloved France.
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GUYNEMER BROUGHT DOWN BY A BOCHE, BUT WITHIN FRENCH LINES
GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE
The Flying Storks
FOUR
At the time of Guynemer’s death he was commander
of the Flying Storks, a squadron of high-record
fighting aviators whose feats have for over three
years been the sensation of the Allied front. The
original membership comprised ten pilots, some of whom had
already attained national renown. Approximately fifty warriors
that have carried its emblem down
the highways of the air have been killed,
wounded, or reported missing. Three
squadron chiefs, Captain Auger, Lieutenant
Peretti and Captain Guynemer, have
fallen in aerial battles; three other chiefs
have been gravely wounded—Commandant
Brocard, Captain Heurteaux and
Lieutenant Duellin. The prowess of The
Storks may be gauged by the statement
that fourteen members of this famous escadrille,
(only one of ten score flying organizations
attached to the French army),
brought down a third of all the German
planes destroyed before January, 1918, or
two hundred in less than three years.
This is the official count. Many more
enemy planes met defeat from their guns,
but without the required number of official
witnesses.
“Les Cicognes” (The Storks) were organized
in April, 1915, by Commandant
Brocard, now retired from active fighting.
The first machine adopted by the corps
was the Nieuport-3, on whose side was
painted a stork with spread wings. In
1917, Spad models supplanted the Nieuports
in the service of The Storks.
The official records of a dozen Aces of the
squadron are given: Captain Guynemer,
53 enemy planes downed; Lieutenant René
Dormé, 24; Captain Alfred Heurteaux, 21;
Lieutenant Duellin, 19; Captain Armand
Pinsard, 16; Lieutenant Jean Caput, 15;
Lieutenant Tarascon, 11; Lieutenant
Mathieu de la Tour, 11; Captain Albert
Auger, 7; Lieutenant Gond, 6; Lieutenant
Borzecky, 5; Adjutant Herrison, 5.
Captain Heurteaux, chief of the corps
from December, 1916, until he was
wounded in September of the following
year, rivaled the marksmanship of Guynemer
when he downed a hostile plane
with a single bullet. Heurteaux, in the
words of an appreciative chronicler of The
Storks, “used to amuse himself in the
midst of battle by politely bowing and
waving ironic greetings to his encircling
enemies. This open contempt for them
increased their hatred, he explained, and
tempted them to shake their fists at him
in reply, thus often exposing them in their
blind fury to his superior adroitness in
maneuvering and attack.”
A grave young pilot named René Dormé
became so skilful in handling his machine
that the superb Guynemer regarded his
ability as greater than that of any of his
fellows. Dormé was also a remarkable
shot. In four months he was victor over
twenty-six enemy planes, fifteen of which
were officially witnessed as they fell. The
end of René Dormé is veiled in mystery.
Following a fierce combat high in the
clouds on May 25, 1917, he pursued his
opponents above German territory. Later,
observation balloons reported that a
French airplane had come to earth across
the enemy lines and had been consumed
by fire, which indicated to their practised
vision that the pilot had been able to set
his plane ablaze before it was seized by
German captors. Though the enemy subsequently
announced Dormé’s death, the
report, for certain suspicious reasons, has
been given little credence. “Second only
to the crushing loss of Guynemer, France’s
idol,” has his passing been mourned by
fellow aviators and by the nation. As a
discriminating observer of The Storks has
stated, “While both were lads of excessive
modesty, Guynemer’s air tactics were far
more spectacular than those of Dormé,
Guynemer was perhaps the better marksman
of the two, but Dormé, he conceded,
was the better pilot. Dormé’s dodging
maneuvers were celebrated throughout
France.”
It was on the day of Dormé’s disappearance
that Guynemer achieved the Magic
Quadruple, besides defeating two more
planes that fell far within the German
lines. Guynemer the avenger! Guynemer
the miraculous knight of the air! Less
than four months later he fell as Dormé
fell, on hated enemy soil. And, in turn,
his death was avenged by the famous
French Ace, René Fonck of Escadrille
Nieuport-103, who within two weeks slew
the Hun airman that had brought to earth
the Wingèd Sword of France.
“He was our friend and our master, our
pride and our protection. His loss is the
most cruel of all those, so numerous, alas,
that have emblazoned our ranks. Nevertheless,
our courage has not been beaten down
with him. Our victorious revenge will be
hard and inexorable.” These are the words of
Lieutenant Raymond, Guynemer’s successor
as Commandant of The Flying Storks.
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GUYNEMER AFTER A BOCHE VICTORY
GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE
Hunting in the Air, by Captain Georges Guynemer
Translated from the French
FIVE
The public as a rule has a false idea of hunting and
the hunters. They very easily imagine that we are
’way up there at our ease, directing events, and that
the nearer we are to heaven the more we are invested
with Divine Power. I cannot express in words the enervation
that I feel sometimes while listening to the inept remarks
addressed to me in the form of compliments,
and which I am compelled to accept
with a smile, which is almost a bite.
I want to shout out to the speaker: “But,
my poor fellow, you ought not to speak
about this subject, for you know nothing
whatever about it. You do not understand
the first word of it all, and you can
hardly believe how little your eulogies
please me, under the circumstances.”
But if I answered in this way, no one
would think of honoring my sincerity, or
my desire to spread sane ideas—rather all
would declare that I was a rude fellow,
pretentious and a swaggerer, or something
worse.
This is the reason that I listen, remain
dumb, and let the enervation gnaw at me.
Some tell me: “It is better to leave to
hunting that mysterious atmosphere which
serves as an aureole to the Ace. If the layman
were to become competent to judge,
he would possibly no longer hold the same
admiration for the hunters.” You will
admit that this suggestion is not very flattering
to us. In fine, according to this
suggestion, we are interesting to them only
because they know nothing about our work.
They say of me: “Guynemer is a lucky
dog.”
Certainly, I am a lucky dog, for I have
added up forty-nine (this was written
before the grand total was made) victories
and am still alive, and I might have been
killed during my first fight. If we talk
this way, every person alive today is
lucky; for he might have died yesterday.
But I might astonish some persons considerably
if I answered: “It’s a good
thing that I was a lucky dog, for I have
been brought down by the enemy on seven
different occasions.”
I know that they will rejoin that this
was really luck, for I managed to escape
death. But, was it luck that day, when,
carried along by the great speed of my
Nieuport, I rushed right past a Boche,
giving him a chance to puncture an arm
and wound me in the jaw? Was that luck,
my fall of 3,000 meters after a shell had
passed through a wing of the machine?
And how many episodes there are of a similar
character! Certainly, I do not wish to
pretend that the question of chance,
which I call Providence, does not intervene
in war. But between that and the
assurance that every act is guided by a
manifestation of a good star—there is a
world of difference. And if I dispute this
opinion so sharply, as far as it concerns
me, it is not, certes, because I am annoyed,
but, on the contrary, because I believe
that it is rendering a poor service to say
that we succeed in any human activity
through luck.
Yet if we will only eliminate this factor
we shall recognize the fact that neither
that unfortunate Dormé nor I are instances
of the effect of chance upon the
career of airplane-hunters. He was surnamed
“Invulnerable” because he almost
always came back from his cruises without
a scratch. We were almost astounded
if his airplane bore the mark of a single
bullet. With me, on the contrary, I had
the special faculty of coming back with
missiles all over my machine.
Why was there this difference? We
had almost the same methods of attack.
We proceeded along uniform principles,
approaching the enemy to point-blank distance.
What then? The reason is plain:
Dormé was better at maneuvering than I.
He called upon his skill to help him at the
moment of attack, and when he judged
that he was not sure of success, he went
into a spin and broke away from the duel.
I, on the contrary, used the normal method
of flying, never having recourse to acrobatics,
unless it was the last means to be
employed. I stayed close to my adversary,
as if I were possessed. When I held him,
I would not let him go. These two systems
have their advantages and their defects,
which should not astonish you, for
perfection is not of this world.
I can draw but one conclusion from these
two methods of fighting, and it is of capital
importance.
It is that hunting in the air must be done
according to the temperament and character
of each individual hunter. If it show
itself as individual prowess, all the better.
This must be cried out aloud, for many
young men come to the squadron with
false ideas and arrested wills, planning to
bring down Boches in the style of Dormé
or Heurteaux. It is deplorable. Nothing is
to be expected of the man who relies upon
his memory in attacking an airplane. He
may recall the way that some Ace acted
under similar circumstances. He may attain
a measure of success, but he will
never be a real scout.
He who has in him the quality of a
champion is the pilot who has recourse to
his own initiative, to his own judgment, to
his own personal equation.
PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 6, No. 18. SERIAL No. 166
COPYRIGHT, 1918. BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.
GUYNEMER, THE ACE OF ACES
GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE
A Tribute, by Premier Georges Clemenceau
Translated from the French
SIX
“How difficult it is to find a little black point through
a rift in the clouds, which, found again soon afterwards
in the field of blue, is about to wrap itself in
a mist of white smoke, and seems to be celebrating
in its own honor, but is only Death’s messenger. That is
Guynemer, far up there, or some other of ‘The Storks’ under
attack by German shrapnel. This war,
beyond the range of vision, in the tragic
infinity of space, watched by all the world!
“He who was able to place himself in the
first rank of that band of messengers from
the earth to the heights, in response to the
wingèd beings that the heavens sent us
long ago, fully merits to live among us as a
symbol of one of the greatest efforts of the
human will.
“There, all alone, in the very highest, in
the imperturbable calm of absolute self-possession,
waiting for nothing but a succession
of unerring motions gauged by
correctness of eyesight and promptness of
bold decisions, on the edge of a bottomless
abyss ready to swallow everything, without
the supreme aid of a look or the hand of
a friend—is that not something far above
all the historic beauty of the greatest sacrifices
for the noblest causes—something
as it were of a miraculous concentration of
superhumanity? To face every day the
sublime adventure, in the sun, in the wind,
in the rain, to pursue the enemy and seize
upon the decisive moment that will place
him at the mercy of the cannonading,
beneath the fugitive angle which is offered
suddenly, and will never occur again, to
begin, and begin again, every day, and to
always come back victorious. Thus lived
Guynemer, now borne away in a great
apotheosis, amid the acclamations of his
companions in glory.
“Guynemer, born to civil life like so
many of his companions, when William
II of Germany decided that the hour
had come for France to demonstrate what
she had preserved of that nobility of
blood in which her history had been
moulded—Guynemer, without a word, resolved
to lift his France to the highest!
And upon that day when his destiny was
achieved, all of us bear witness that he
acted upon his resolution.
“One day, it was granted me to clasp
that hand in which not a quiver revealed
the control of the supreme power of nerves
and courage. Eyes of lovable youth! A
gentle smile of timidity! Simple, quiet
replies, gestures disguising the consciousness
of great hours incessantly lived
over! In the greatest heart lies the purest
simplicity.”
PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 6, No. 18. SERIAL No. 166
COPYRIGHT, 1918. BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.
THE MENTOR—DEPARTMENT OF BIOGRAPHY
SERIAL NUMBER 166
GEORGES GUYNEMER
The Wingèd Sword of France
By HOWARD W. COOK
Entered as second-class matter March 10, 1913, at the postoffice at New York, N.Y., under the act of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1918,
by The Mentor Association, Inc.
MENTOR
GRAVURES
GUYNEMER WHEN
HE BEGAN HIS
FLIGHTS
GUYNEMER AND
HIS FAITHFUL GUNNER,
GUERDER
GUYNEMER AT THE
WHEEL
MENTOR
GRAVURES
GUYNEMER
BROUGHT DOWN
BY THE BOCHE
GUYNEMER AND A
BOCHE VICTORY
GUYNEMER, THE
ACE OF ACES
By courtesy of the Century Co. From the drawing by Madame J.C. Breslau.
GEORGES GUYNEMER
NOTE—The following article is based on Guynemer’s own records and the account of his exploits published by his
close friend and authorized reporter, Jacques Mortane.
GUYNEMER WHEN SIX YEARS OLD
When the history of the World War is finally written, one of
the names conspicuous in its pages will be that of Georges
(jorje) Guynemer (gee-ne-mare). The name of Guynemer has
become synonymous with brave deeds and symbolical of the
great spiritual glory that belongs to France. Guynemer has
been called “The Ace of Aces” and “The Wingèd Sword of
France”; but these names express only in part the characteristics of a
world-famous hero whose life, as Clemenceau (klem’-ahng-so) so aptly
terms it, “even though short, was a sufficiently beautiful adventure.”
Guynemer’s part in the World War is over. His own active chapter is
done, but his spirit lives on in the hearts of every allied airman.
Guynemer, born in December, 1894, was the son of a retired officer. As
a boy he was agile and ambitious in sports, though of slender build
and somewhat delicate. He was especially fond of mechanical toys and
miniature airplanes, and even in the early school days, when flying was
looked upon more as a sport than an actual military
factor, Georges declared to his father his ambition to
become an aviator.
GUYNEMER AT TEN YEARS OF AGE
And then came the war. The youth, who because
of physical weakness was refused admission to the
army no less than five times, was finally accepted at
the age of twenty, on November 23, 1914. Then began
a career that in a few short years was destined to
make the name of Georges Guynemer immortal.
Guynemer’s First Victory
In describing his first meeting with the Boche
(bosh) on July 19, 1915, to his friend, Jacques
Mortane, Guynemer said:
“I was on a two-seated ‘Parasol’ with Guerder, my mechanic, as passenger. I
had promised myself for some time to undertake a pursuit in my airplane, but I had
always been ordered on reconnaissances or photographic missions, and that kind of
work did not suit me at all. It is always set aside for the newcomers in the squadrons,
and I wanted to show that grit was not the exclusive possession of the older men.”
A Boche had been sighted at Coeuvres (koev-r), and Guynemer took
flight with Guerder and was soon in pursuit of the enemy. As the Boche’s
plane was faster there was no possibility of catching him. Nevertheless,
the joy of finding a first adversary made Guynemer eager to attempt
anything. From a great distance he fired at his opponent—possibly without
any hope of hitting him, but steadily nevertheless. He pursued him
as far as the Coucy aerodrome, where he saw him alight.
This displeased Guynemer greatly. He had gone out
to “get” a Boche and had to go back empty-handed.
“There we were,” he said, “with these sad thoughts, when suddenly
another black point appeared on the horizon. As we came
nearer, the point became larger and was soon plain, as a Boche.
He was moving towards the French lines, thinking only of what
he might find ahead. He did not dream that on his track were two
young fellows determined not to return to the squadron without
performing their task, two young fellows who believed that to
return to headquarters without a Boche would mean derision.
“It was not until Soissons (swahs-sohng) was reached that we
came up with him, and there the combat took place. During the
space of ten minutes everybody in the city watched the fantastic duel
over their heads. I kept about fifteen meters from my Boche—below,
back of and to the left of him, and, notwithstanding all his twistings,
I managed not to lose touch with him. Guerder fired 115 shots, but
could not fire precisely, as his gun jammed continually. On the
other hand, in the course of the fight my companion was hit by one
bullet in the hand and another ‘combed’ his hair. He answered
with his rifle, shooting well. We began to ask ourselves how this
duel was going to end, but at the 115th shot fired by Guerder I
saw the pilot fall to the bottom of his car, while the ‘look-out’
raised his arms in a gesture of despair, and the plane did a nose
spin, and plunged down into the abyss in flames. He fell between
the trenches. I hastened to land not far away.
“At last I was able to live my dream! I, who had so long desired to join in the
fighting, had managed to gain a victory. What shall I say about the reception given
me by the troops on the ground—ovations, congratulations, all under the vengeful
cannon of the enemy. I have beaten down other Boches since that time, but when I
think over my aerial duels my recollections always fly back to that first one.”
Official recognition came to Guynemer the next day when the Military
Medal was awarded him for being “a pilot full of spirit and boldness.”
In considering Guynemer’s personal accounts of his various flights, it
is evident that the Ace, while not inspired by the same craving for
combat that Major Bishop acknowledges, was a hero of unusually high-pitched
nerves, inspired with dreams of battle, and whose quests for the
Boche were insatiable.
Guynemer talked much concerning his “will.” It was his will to get
into service in spite of his five rejections and being compelled to enter as
a mechanic. He would scorn an observer’s work and become a hunter.
He would make his score larger and larger. He would fly regardless of
climatic conditions or his own health, going up even when convalescing
from injuries. And it was this will which doubtless made him the terror
of his enemies and the glory of France.
Among the first duties assumed by an airman when he is learning the
mastery of his machine is that of reconnoitering. But Guynemer, fast
becoming specialized in pursuit, soon stopped all reconnoitering and
found himself assigned to a single-seated airplane. It was on February
3, 1916, that in the course of a single flight he succeeded in getting his
first official “double.”
A PAGE FROM GUYNEMER’S NOTE BOOK OF FLIGHT
Showing record of his first victory, July 19, 1915
He was making his usual round in the Roy section just before noon,
and was about to end his flight, when he saw an airplane in the distance.
“The game was coming to me,” he said. All he had to do was not to let
it escape. Guynemer gave chase and soon caught up with it. The
enemy did not seem to wish to avoid the fight. Possibly he had
not seen Guynemer at all.
Being faster than he,
Guynemer got behind him,
opening fire at 100 meters,[A]
and, as he fired at rapid
intervals, his cartridges
were soon exhausted. At
that instant a cloud of
smoke, which increased
rapidly, made a sinister
tail to the Boche, who
dived, severely wounded.
He fell, however, within
his own lines, and Guynemer
could not follow him
to earth. It was certainly
one enemy less, but Guynemer’s total record was not improved.
[A] A meter is a little more than a yard in length—exactly stated, 39.37 inches.
Fortune, however, favored him. “I was coming back,” he said, “thinking over
the methods of fighting, considering how I had attacked, asking myself whether I
would not have done better to approach from some other direction, when at almost
11.30 I found another hunting plane. Yes, I had made a mistake just now, when I
opened fire from so far away—I should have waited. At 100 meters we cannot be
sure of the aim. My method, which up to this time always consisted in attacking
almost point-blank, seemed to me much better. It is more risky, but everything lies
in maneuvering so as to remain in the dead angle of fire. Certainly it is rather difficult,
but nevertheless it can be mastered with skill.
“While going over these things to myself I had come near enough to the Boche without
running any great danger. At 20 meters I fired. Almost at once my adversary tumbled in
a tail-spin. I dived after him, continuing to fire my weapon. I plainly saw him fall in his
lines. That was all right, no
doubt about him. I had my fifth!
I was really in luck, for less than
ten minutes later another plane,
sharing the same lot, spun downward
with the same grace, taking
fire as it fell through the clouds.
“The second day afterwards,
before Frise, in a new tête-à-tête
with a hunting Boche, I leaped
forward, caught up with him,
got in back of him, a little
below to avoid his fire, and
at 15 meters fired 45 cartridges.
He swayed sadly, in the shock
of death, which I was beginning
to be able to diagnose, then
fell like a stone, taking fire on
the way. He must have been
burned up between Assevillers
and Herbecourt. Although he
was really my seventh Boche, he alone gained me the honor of a special mention.”
GUYNEMER BEING DECORATED WITH THE ROSETTE OF THE
LEGION OF HONOR
Guynemer (in dark uniform) has just received the Rosette
Guynemer’s fifth citation rewarded him for this exploit, and declared
him a hunting pilot with audacity and energy for any adventure.
According to Guynemer’s own testimony, one of the most difficult
things an airman of the Allies has to do is to compel the Boche to accept
a duel, not that the latter lacks courage, but rather that he prefers not
to run the risk of being brought down. As a result of forcing engagements,
Guynemer seldom returned from a flight without a wound of
some sort or other. On several occasions his garments were drilled with
holes, his clothing more than once taking on the appearance of a sieve.
This was the youth who in less than eight months from the downing of
his fifth Boche had been awarded seven palms for his war cross.
Guynemer and His Parents
Like Nungesser, Dormé (dor-may) and Triboulet (trib-oo-lay),
Guynemer would not rest when he had left the hospital convalescent
from some of his more serious wounds, and it is by signs like these that
we find the souls of great
heroes who know nothing
about “vacations,” even
for their health, so long as
others are fighting. Guynemer
was not strong and
should have rested after
his stay in the hospital.
His parents begged him to rest, so Guynemer compromised by agreeing to
establish himself near his family at Compiègne (kom-pee-ane), where at
the same time he could serve France. Not far from his paternal home,
at Vauciennes (vo-see-enn), his Baby Nieuport rested in a hangar, ready
to carry him into those great open spaces to search for the enemy whenever
the atmosphere permitted.
GUYNEMER READY FOR FLIGHT
One of the hero’s sisters was entrusted with the task of studying the
atmosphere at dawn each day to see if it were “Boche weather.” And
as soon as it was light enough, slyly, like a boy planning mischief against
the orders of his elders, the Second Lieutenant Ace came down from his
room and mounted his Nieuport for a prospective fray.
He was convinced that no one in the house suspected his escapades
except his sister. How little he understood the hearts of a father and
mother! Father Guynemer has told of the anxieties, the worries lived
through during that convalescence. The boy had gone. Would he come
back? Would some hateful enemy appear on the way and prevent his
return to the bosom of his family? The minutes of anxiety were as long
as centuries. As for the loving Mother Guynemer, she did not dare
show her son that she was undeceived by his stratagems, nor did she wish
him to see her when she watched him fly away. Through the blinds, with
tear-dimmed eyes, she watched him depart in the service of his country.
When she saw her boy draw far away, she returned to her household
duties—but not until Georges’ machine had become a tiny speck.
GUYNEMER AND MACHINE AFTER 3,000-METER TUMBLE
Here is one of the most
moving pages in the hero’s
life—this feigned ignorance
on the part of the parents,
the plotting of brother and
sister. Guynemer, face to
face with his family, pretended
that he would run no
danger. He insisted on his
own prudence. Nothing serious
could happen to him, because
he avoided all risks.
But as soon as he began to
turn the conversation upon
the subject which was all his life, the comforting words which he had
spoken were at once contradicted by the many adventures and varied
anecdotes which he recalled. No peril had been too great for him. He
played with danger, and looked for it.
A Fall of 3,000 Meters
Guynemer hated the word “luck,” perhaps because he was accused
of having so much of it, and when his Spad was struck by a shell
3,000 meters from the earth, the airman
falling the entire distance, he
repudiated the suggestion that his
was a lucky star!
This phenomenal escape took place
on September 23, 1916, Guynemer
having just finished an exploit
humorously set down by his friend
Mortane as follows: “Put an egg in
boiling water when the Ace of Aces
begins a battle; you wait until he has
downed three Boches, you take out the
egg, and it is done to a turn. What
a triumph for the restaurant menus!”
While contemplating the immensity
of the azure heavens at an altitude
of 3,000 meters above the earth,
Guynemer suddenly felt a shell strike
one of the wings of his airplane with
all its force. The left wing was torn
to shreds, the canvas sent floating in
the wind, as the airman and his
machine began a descent.
GUYNEMER FACE TO FACE WITH A DEFEATED BOCHE
“My apparatus fell,” said Guynemer,
“broke apart, crumpled up in the abyss,
unable to bear me any longer. I really felt
the call of death and I seemed to be hastening
towards it. It seemed that there was
nothing to prevent my crashing to the earth. A tail-spin, terrible, fearful, began
at 3,000 meters and continued to 1,600 meters.
“I felt as if I were indeed lost, and all that I asked of Providence was that I should
not fall in enemy territory. Never that! They would have been too happy. Can
you think of me buried with my victims? But I was powerless to exert my will, my
airplane refused to obey.
“At 1,600 meters I tried anyway. The wind had driven me almost over our lines.
I was already half-happy. Now I dreamed of being interred with sympathetic comrades
following my body. That was not a fine dream, but at least it was better than
the other.
“I had no longer to fear the pointed helmets. But, nevertheless, I felt all that
death might be, and it was not a pleasant thought. The fall continued. The steering
gear would not respond to my tugging. Nothing worked. I tried it to the right, to
the left, pulling, pushing, but got no result. The comet did not slow a bit, I was
drawn invincibly towards the earth where I was about to be crushed.
“There it was! One last brutal effort, but in vain. I closed my eyes, I saw the
earth, I was plunging towards it at 180 kilometers[A] an hour, like a plummet. A terrible
crashing, a great noise, I looked around. There was nothing left of my Spad.
“How did it happen that I was still alive? I asked myself, but I felt that it was
so, and that was enough. However, I think that it was the straps which held me in
my seat that had saved me. Without them I would have been thrown forward or
would have broken some bones. On the contrary, they were dug deep into my shoulders,
a silent proof, doubtless, that I should give them full consideration. Had it not
been for them I would certainly have been killed.”
[A] A kilometer is a thousand meters, or 3,280 feet, 10 inches.
GUYNEMER’S FAVORITE AIRPLANE, VIEUX CHARLES (OLD CHARLES), ON EXHIBITION IN PARIS
Infantrymen hurried to the spot to pick up the pieces. Finding Guynemer
not only alive, but unhurt
except for a bruised knee, they
conducted him home in triumph,
singing the “Marseillaise”
at the top of their voices.
Guynemer went to view the
remains of the Boche that he
had brought down first. The
pilot had on his body a card,
almost burned up, on which a
feminine hand had written
these words: “I hope that you
will bring back many victories.”
A Quadruple Victory
GUYNEMER WITH THE MILITARY MEDAL AND “LEGION OF HONOR”
The Magic Quadruple,—the
successive defeat of four
airplanes, was Guynemer’s
achievement, one of
which was downed in
one minute, on May 25,
1917, according to the
following schedule:
1st airplane, 8.30,
2nd airplane, 8.31, 3rd
airplane, 12.01, 4th
airplane, 6.30.
THE DEBRIS OF THREE AIRPLANES BROUGHT DOWN BY GUYNEMER IN ONE DAY
Four airplanes
beaten down on one day
by the same aviator was
a record. On February
26, 1916, Navarre secured his first “double.” Nungesser, on the Somme,
destroyed a balloon and two airplanes on a single morning. But by his
quadruple victory Guynemer exceeded these two earlier records and the one
established by himself in the Lorraine when he brought down three
airplanes in one day. On the morning of May 25th Guynemer saw
three enemy airplanes flying in concert toward French lines. He pounced
upon them, and they took to flight. He attacked one of them, maneuvering
to get him in the line of fire, then fired, and after the first shots the
enemy machine dived and fell in flames.
Meanwhile the danger for the single-seated machine was surprise from
the rear. While he was attacking in front, it was necessary for Guynemer
to watch the rear. Guynemer turned, and saw a second adversary
coming full at him, trying to reach him. But he had fired already from
above downward, and hit him with an explosive bullet. Like the first,
this airplane took fire. The victories of Guynemer were lightning-like,
requiring only a few seconds of fighting.
GUYNEMER BROUGHT DOWN BY A SHELL FROM A HEIGHT OF
OVER 9,000 FEET
His only injury was a bruised knee
Towards noon an audacious German airplane flew over the aviation
field. French squadrons have taught the enemy respect for their lines
and the unfortunate fellow who ventures above them seldom returns home.
It was something of a mystery
how this one had
broken through the barrage.
But to ascend to the sky
after him and to reach him,
no matter how speedy the
machine, required several
minutes, time enough for
the enemy to flee, his mission
accomplished. All of
the machines had come
down except the one driven
by Guynemer.
Guynemer came upon
his adversary like a whirlwind. He fired. Only one shot from his machine-gun
was heard. The airplane fell, the propeller revolving at full speed,
and dug itself into the earth. Guynemer had killed the pilot with a
bullet in the head.
That evening Guynemer went out for the third time. It was about
seven o’clock, over the gardens of Guignicourt (geen-ye-koor), that a
fourth machine, beaten down by him, fell in flames.
And as the young conqueror came down at sunset, he executed
all kinds of fancy figures in the air to announce his victory to his
comrades,—all the turns, and twists and loopings of which he was so
great a master.
LAST PAGE OF GUYNEMER’S FLIGHT-BOOK
Recording his final departure
But some facts must be added as a sequence to the official announcements.
The first airplane brought down was a two-seater, one of whose
wings was broken in descent; it fell into the trees near Corbeny.
The second, another two-seater,
fell on fire near
Juvincourt. The third
was also brought down
afire near Courlandon.
Finally, the fourth, also
set on fire, dropped between
Condé-sur-Suippes
(sweep) and Guignicourt.
Add to this that, on that
same day, Guynemer had
collaborated with Captain
Auger (the slain Ace) in
putting to flight a group
of six single-seaters.
It was the quadruple
that brought Captain
Guynemer the Rosette of the Legion of Honor with this commendation:
“An élite officer, a fighting pilot as skillful as audacious. He has rendered glowing
service to the country, both by the number of his victories and the daily example
he has set of burning ardor and even greater mastery increasing from day to
day. Unconscious of danger, on account of his sureness of method and precision of
maneuvers, he has become the most redoubtable of all to the enemy. On May 25,
1917, he accomplished one of his most brilliant exploits, beating down two enemy
airplanes in one minute, and gaining two more victories on the same day. By all of
his exploits he has contributed towards exalting the courage and enthusiasm of those
who, from the trenches, were the witnesses of his triumphs. He has brought down
forty-five airplanes, received twenty citations and been seriously wounded twice.”
One of the most conspicuous virtues of Guynemer was his extreme
modesty. He wore his crosses and medals not from love of show, declaring
that while it was sweet to know one was celebrated, that glory was
accompanied by many drawbacks.
“You no longer belong to yourself,” said Guynemer, “you belong to everybody.
To be well known is to see around you all the time a number of persons who never
cared for you before but have suddenly assumed a pseudo-friendship for you. All at
once they find out that you are a charming conversationalist, an infinitely fine soul,
and more of the same kind of gush. Their object is to go out with you, and to take
you to see their people. And when they look at you they imagine that you admire
them. Such is the misfortune of renown! You no longer know where sincerity begins,
whether they are pleasant to you out of friendship or vanity. We are apt to become
unjust to those who do not deserve it, and confide in others who deserve it still less.”
The Last Flight
ON THE EVE OF HIS DEATH, SEPTEMBER 10, 1917
Guynemer—on the further side of the airplane—was obliged to land at a Belgian aerodrome for repairs
It was on August 20, 1917, that Guynemer, piloting “Old Charles,”
achieved his last official triumph,—a German plane, which crashed to
earth at Poperinghe, Belgium. A few days after this Guynemer took
command of the Stork Squadron. Thus the difficult task of guiding the
administrative work of The Storks fell upon the shoulders of this young
soldier. With these new duties he might have abstained from flying.
But this would not have been like Guynemer. He flew from five to six
hours each day. On September 11th, notwithstanding the bad weather,
Guynemer started upon a cruise with Second Lieutenant Verduraz.
After furrowing space for a long time without success, for atmospheric
conditions kept the Boches on the earth, the two pilots at last saw a two-seater
which appeared to be lost in the clouds. The hero darted forward,
attacked, but his gun missed fire. He maneuvered for position
again without even trying to dodge the answering fire, so sure was he of
himself in dealing with this Boche. A single two-seater was but a trivial
thing to him.
Second Lieutenant Bozon Verduraz had gone towards other fights
with the conviction that his comrade would, without a doubt, come out
of the duel victorious; but he found nothing there when he returned.
Guynemer, the hero of dreams, had vanished in mystery.
And here above Poelcapelle the career of this most brilliant pilot
of the air was terminated, after he had added up 755 hours of airplane
flight!
The censor forbade the announcement of Guynemer’s disappearance,
but the news was passed from mouth to mouth. Guynemer? Every
one deemed him invulnerable—no one believed that he could be killed.
But many days afterward came the news from a German source. The
Ace of Aces had been beaten down near the cemetery of Flemish Poelcapelle.
Two soldiers had been present at the place of the catastrophe.
One wing of the Spad had been broken. The pilot lay there, killed, with
a bullet in his head, and one leg broken. On him was found his commission,
which made it possible to identify the body.
The district in which Guynemer had ended his career in a burst
of glory was being hammered by the English artillery. Attacks
followed. The Allies looked for his grave in the cemetery of Poelcapelle
when they took it. But they never succeeded in finding
it. It was learned later
that, on account of the incessant
danger, the Germans
had not been able to remove
the remains to inter
them. The soul of Guynemer
in the Great Beyond
had the supreme satisfaction
of knowing that the
body was not defiled by his
enemy.
Lieutenant Weisemann,
the German airman who
had brought Guynemer’s
career to a close, survived
his success but a few days.
GUYNEMER’S PILOT CARD, REPRODUCED IN “DIE WOCHE”
(THE WEEK) OF BERLIN, AFTER HIS DEATH
SUPPLEMENTARY READING
GUYNEMER, THE ACE OF ACES. A Record
of His Achievements.
By His Friend, Jacques Mortane
EPIC OF THE AIR
Article in The Living Age, June 8, 1918
GEORGES GUYNEMER, KNIGHT OF THE
AIR.
A Biography, Translated from the
French of Henry Bordeaux.
GEORGES GUYNEMER, ACE OF ACES
Literary Digest, October 13, 1917
⁂ Information concerning the above books may be had on application to the Editor of The Mentor.
THE OPEN LETTER
A year has passed since Guynemer gave
his life for France, and his story is now
history. During the year other skymen
have made great records: some of them
may accomplish supreme achievements in
the future. But there is a certain halo
of romance about the young Sir Galahad
of the Sky that distinguishes
him and
gives him a place
of his own.
Moreover, there
are special considerations
to be
taken into account
in reckoning up
Guynemer’s
achievements.
While other airmen
of the World War
have been credited
officially with a
greater number of
victories, it is a
recognized fact
among Parisian
journalists and
Guynemer’s own
associates among
“The Storks,” that
Guynemer was victor
over perhaps
twice as many
Boche planes as the fifty-three accredited
him by the French Militaire.
The French system of accounting downed
airplanes has been extremely exacting.
The French insist that the aviator must
send his victim to destruction in sight of
two official observers. In Guynemer’s
case this rigorous method of checking up
official records was strongly emphasized
because of his world-astonishing prowess.
When Guynemer’s friends protested, he
only smiled—and downed more Boches.
English and German officials, have been
more lenient in giving official credit to
their airmen. A German scores if he simply
sends a bullet through his adversary’s
motor, compelling descent. Germany,
with her idolatry of all things German-done,
accredits Captain Baron von Richthofen
with something more than a hundred
victories. Major William A. Bishop of the
English flying forces, according to his own
story recently published, downed seventy-two
enemy planes in confirmed victories
during the year 1917. The rigid system
of official accounting by the French
is shown in the
case of Lieutenant
Nungesser, the second
French Ace
cited for the Legion
of Honor. Also in
the officially accredited
victories
of Lieutenant René
Fonck, recognized
as the greatest
French air fighter
since Captain
Guynemer, Fonck
is credited with
bringing down
more than sixty
enemy airplanes—six
of them in one
day in the course
of two patrols.
While Georges
Guynemer received
nearly every honor
that the French
Government had
in its power to bestow for the services rendered
his country, the fifty-three airplanes
he officially destroyed meant more in the
period between 1915 and 1917 than the
downing of many more planes thereafter;
for it was Guynemer who led French warfare
in the air from defeat to victory, and
who was supremely successful despite the
mechanical shortcomings of the airplanes
that were in use when he entered the service.
The story of Guynemer and his wondrous
exploits forms one of the great
dramatic chapters of the World War, and
it will go down the years as a record of
poetic heroism to be read for the inspiration
of future generations of youth. There
are many brilliant airmen. Guynemer was
more than that; he
was a dedicated soul.
W. D. Moffat
Editor
In the Pantheon
That classic mausoleum for famous
Frenchmen in Paris, the following inscription
has been set up to perpetuate
the memory of Guynemer:
“Captain Guynemer, commander
of Squadron No. 3, died on the field
of honor September 11, 1917. A
hero of legendary power, he fell in
the wide heaven of glory, after three
years of hard fighting. He will long
remain the purest symbol of the
qualities of the race: indomitable
in tenacity, enthusiastic in energy,
sublime in courage. Animated with
inextinguishable faith in victory, he
bequeathes to the French soldier the
imperishable remembrance which
will exalt the spirit of sacrifice and
the most noble emulation.”
THE ONGOING
MARY SIEGRIST.
By permission of the New York Times.
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