He loved Chaucer, particularly the Miller’s Tale from « The Canterbury Tales ». Prof. Renoir was very profane and loved to describe the sex scenes in lavish detail. He peppered his talks with many stories, often choosing not to teach, but simply to tell stories, most of which I have sadly forgotten. Alain had a very dramatic flare for embellishing his readings with tales of his adventures with his father, Jean, and as a soldier, in France before the Nazi invasion, and as an American in Africa during World War II.

Here is one I do recall:

During the war, he was driving through the desert in Tunisia in a jeep. He stopped at a gas station for fuel and refreshments, paid in cash, and went on his way down the road. Then it struck him that the world had changed, and there were no more exotic places.

« Here I was in the middle of the god-damned Sahara desert, driving an American car on a paved road, wearing western clothing, conducting business on the side of the road like I’m stopping in at a shitty little 7-11, when I should be riding on camelback, drinking wine from a gourd, and dressed in flowing robes like fucking Lawrence of Arabia! The frontier was gone! There are no more places where I can escape civilization! »

As a joke, he once lectured a hapless graduate student how Shakespeare had been such a great influence on Chaucer in his rendition of « Troilus and Criseyde. » (Chaucer died 154 years before Shakespeare was born.) This grad student later repeated, in all seriousness, this nonsensical analysis to her thesis committee. They were not amused by the joke.

Alain once invited me to his home and showed me his collection of Auguste Renoir paintings, including one that his grandfather painted of his father, Jean, as a little boy. (He had to keep the paintings secret to avoid paying taxes on them.)

Prof. Renoir taught me two languages, Old and Middle English. I took his graduate course on Beowulf and we read it the whole way through. My Old English textbooks are upstairs today next to my bed. As an advisor, he helped me with my research on the Caedmon poet and my comparisons to Milton’s work.

He rarely remembered his students. A couple of years after I took his courses, I came to him for a recommendation to graduate school, but he had no idea who I was. (He told me not to take it personally.) He asked what type of grades I got. I said « B, B+ ». He told me to write my own recommendation, mention that I was an « A » student, and he would sign the letter. Later when I got the signed letter back, he had written a new one full of glowing comments, few of which I deserved. I lost the letter a long time ago along with my original diploma and other treasured papers. But I was grateful for the gesture.

He was a colorful, flamboyant, and heroic man. I loved him very much. He is greatly missed.

Scott Lloyd
Brown University
Providence, Rhode Island