Ronald A. Knox - Off the Record

Knox, Ronald Arbuthnott, 1888-1957

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OFF THE RECORD

BY RONALD KNOX

O

SHEED AND WARD

NEW YORK 1954

NIHIL OBSTAT: EDUARDUS MAHONEY, S.T.D. CENSOR DEPUTATUS

imprimatur: [ eduardus myers

ARCHIEPISCOPUS BEROEENSlS ET COADIUTOR WESTMONASTERIENSIS

WESTMONASTERII, DIE IOA AUGUSTI, 1953

COPYRIGHT, 1954, BY SHEED AND WARD, INC. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 54-6138 MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

One of the commonest excuses we plead for the neglect of our correspondence is that we cannot remember So-and-sos initials, that we have lost his address, or that he might be offended if we put the wrong letters after his namewe must wait till the opportunity arises for checking up on these important details. Conversely, for that strange portion of mankind which writes letters with alacrity, the mere sight of a mans name and initials in cold printin a newspaper, on a hoardingis an invitation to write to him. And those of us whose names are apt to appear in this way are familiar with the silting up of correspondence from strangers which is the result of it. The faddists, the fanatics, the lunaticsthey are a matter of course; so are the kind old ladies who urge you to make your peace with God. But there are other communications less easily answered; from people who have forgotten the name of a book, or cannot find the source of a quotationyou, of course, will know; the very man! Questions which might more reasonably have been addressed to a second-hand bookseller, to a scholastic agency, or to a Church newspaper take their toll of ones leisure and ones patience. Well, why not?

But among those unfamiliar handwritings we knit our brows over at breakfast-timePaignton? Do I

know anybody at Paignton?some are those of genuine enquirers. People, I mean, who have come across some theological difficulty which threatens to cloud their convictions and disturb their composure of mind; they dont know anybody who would be able to help them, or perhaps the subject is one they would sooner discuss through the post and with a stranger. Sometimes they begin with a pathetic rigmarole of self-introduction, You wouldnt remember, but you did once meet a cousin of mine when you were lecturing at Harrogate; sometimes they simply throw themselves on your good nature. Is it good nature, or shame at being so ill-natured, or just the desire to show off, that makes you sit down and write that thousandword letter, just when you have told an editor you are too busy to turn round? In my case, as often as not, the questions I am called upon to solve are those of people who are finding their way, but with difficulty, into the Church; and the memory of a laceration you have experienced is calculated to arouse pity. All the same, was it worth while to spread yourself like that for the benefit of one correspondent you will never hear of again? If you had humoured the editor, what you wrote would have met many eyes, touched, perhaps, many hearts.... Occasionally, with this in mind, I have had the forethought to slip a carbon sheet into my typewriter; why not have the document on record? For one thing, there is an advantage in being able to quote what you actually did say, in the event of being taxed with some misquotation of it. And, I confess, I had it at the back of my mind that if any

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body wanted to put together some memoir of me when I am dead, it would be convenient for them to find the stuff lying about in a drawer. Anyhow, there was no harm done; carbon paper is cheap.

As I say, I only did this occasionally, and on no principle. But the other day, when I was searching for some document in an old drawer, a temptation came over me. Quite a number of these typewritten sheets confronted me; many of them faded, after the depressing fashion of typewriter ink. By some trick of the imagination, a faded piece of typescript always gives you the feeling that the thing writteneven if you wrote it yourselfis dated. The style belongs to your bad period; the colloquialisms are of yesterday. Was it not an excess of piety to bequeath these documents, faded as they were and destined to fade yet more dismally, to a biographer who had only an imaginary existence? Why not yield them up now, a trifle shopsoiled but still readable, as a sop to my publisher? And I tidied out the drawer.

Not without some hesitations, I admit; was there not, here, some violation of confidence? In law, to be sure, my position was unassailable; in law, I understand, the piece of paper which you transmit to your correspondent belongs to him, but the copyright of what you have set down remains in your possession. My carbon sheets had never left the paternal roof; they were mine, and the copyright went with them. But had not the addressees some right to be consulted? I consulted three or four of them, with whom I was still in contact, and all agreed that there was no harm in publishing my

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letters, for the benefit of other would-be enquirers whom the same scruples might have assailed. I hope that I may take these two or three as representative of some three dozen others, whose addresses are lost to me. Every care has been taken to obliterate not only the names of my correspondents but any allusions which would make identification possible. Every mans case is an A.B. case, and as A. or B. I hope they will not mind recognizing themselves, if they do still recognize themselves, in print.

Beyond obliterating these personal landmarks, I have not done much to alter the text of the letters as it stood. Thank you for your letter has been cut out, and Yours sincerelypieces of realism which grow wearisome by repetition. A few phrases which might pass muster in a private communication, but would be frowned upon as flippant or ill-considered in a published document, have gone the same way. A few quotations have been filled in, a few ambiguous allusions expanded. But for the most part the letters stand as I wrote them. 'Even when we are writing to strangers we get some glimpse of their quality, of their atmosphere. And if the reader finds himself, now and again, protesting that this is not the sort of letter he would like to get, let him remember that he was not the person who got it.