DOI article:
Turner, Reggie: A chef-d'œuvre
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38746#0241
A Chef-cTCEuvre
By Reginald Turner
as I, his literary executor, arrange and destroy his papers, I
jr\ realise at last and to the full the tragedy of Alan Herbert's
life. If ever man lived for his art, he did ; all that he had, or
health and strength, of means and leisure, he gave to what he be-
lieved that art demanded of him. And art was no cant word to him.
By talking of it he dazzled no clique, he became no lion of tea
parties, he gained no undeserved renown. Sincerity, in all the
plainness of that austere word, guided his actions and his
thoughts. He possessed all the prejudices which so many of his
kind affect, and for those prejudices he was ready to suffer. I have
known him ill for a week from the hand-shake of a professional
journalist, though several of his intimate friends were occasional
contributors, to the evening papers. Having known him all my
life, I never took him quite seriously. At school and at home I
had never detected anything abnormal in him, but, as boyhood is
not critical of character, this is not surprising ; and I must confess
that his parents, pastors and masters, who were all grown-up,
thought him unremarkable. I never thought about him till my
third year at Oxford. He was in his second year, and though I had
seen him frequently while he was yet a freshman, I had never had
cause to separate him, in my mind, from any of the other men I
The Yellow Book—Vol. XI. p knew.
By Reginald Turner
as I, his literary executor, arrange and destroy his papers, I
jr\ realise at last and to the full the tragedy of Alan Herbert's
life. If ever man lived for his art, he did ; all that he had, or
health and strength, of means and leisure, he gave to what he be-
lieved that art demanded of him. And art was no cant word to him.
By talking of it he dazzled no clique, he became no lion of tea
parties, he gained no undeserved renown. Sincerity, in all the
plainness of that austere word, guided his actions and his
thoughts. He possessed all the prejudices which so many of his
kind affect, and for those prejudices he was ready to suffer. I have
known him ill for a week from the hand-shake of a professional
journalist, though several of his intimate friends were occasional
contributors, to the evening papers. Having known him all my
life, I never took him quite seriously. At school and at home I
had never detected anything abnormal in him, but, as boyhood is
not critical of character, this is not surprising ; and I must confess
that his parents, pastors and masters, who were all grown-up,
thought him unremarkable. I never thought about him till my
third year at Oxford. He was in his second year, and though I had
seen him frequently while he was yet a freshman, I had never had
cause to separate him, in my mind, from any of the other men I
The Yellow Book—Vol. XI. p knew.