Ronald Knox

Ronnie Knox’s circle was so select and circumspect at Eton, Oxford or amongst English writers that few in America will fully enjoy Evelyn Waugh’s biography (Monsignor Ronald Knox, Little, Brown, $5.00). Ronnie was tiptop scholar of his generation in Latin and Greek and Biblical English, but he was a satirist, a detective novelist and a wit. Though he had no elocution, the Church used him like a prima donna in the pulpit. He became a recluse and translated the Vulgate Bible in ten years. It would have made St. Jerome’s lion sit up and paw his admiration. Ronnie was shy and refused to be a lion, hence his refusal of tempting offers in America and of visits to Rome. As the rebirth of Newman in thought, diction and, oddly enough, features, he was afraid that the Vatican would change his headgear or the color of his buttons. He accepted an Apostolic Pro-notaryship which is one of the consolation prizes the Church deals out to failed—bishops.

He came from an Anglican Bishop’s litter (but what a brood!), including an editor of Punch, an atheist Fellow of Kings, Cambridge, a High Church priest and finally Ronnie. If Newman shook Oxford with a single tract, Ronnie convulsed it with a parody of Dryden’s satire Absalom and Achitophel, only Ronnie called it Absolute and Abitofhell. And so through life. He believed that Catholic propaganda should be made by humor and satire. He resembled Swift but poured oil, not vinegar. He made no enemies, for his hobby was collecting friends. His beautiful collection of Eton and Oxford friends was massacred by the First War. He never recovered and avoided a career.

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Sir Shane Leslie

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Ronnie Knox’s circle was so select and circumspect at Eton, Oxford or amongst English writers that few in America will fully enjoy Evelyn Waugh’s biography (Monsignor Ronald Knox, Little, Brown, $5.00). Ronnie was tiptop scholar of his generation in Latin and Greek and Biblical English, but he was a satirist, a detective novelist and a wit. Though he had no elocution, the Church used him like a prima donna in the pulpit. He became a recluse and translated the Vulgate Bible in ten years. It would have made St. Jerome’s lion sit up and paw his admiration. Ronnie was shy and refused to be a lion, hence his refusal of tempting offers in America and of visits to Rome. As the rebirth of Newman in thought, diction and, oddly enough, features, he was afraid that the Vatican would change his headgear or the color of his buttons. He accepted an Apostolic Pro-notaryship which is one of the consolation prizes the Church deals out to failed—bishops.

He came from an Anglican Bishop’s litter (but what a brood!), including an editor of Punch, an atheist Fellow of Kings, Cambridge, a High Church priest and finally Ronnie. If Newman shook Oxford with a single tract, Ronnie convulsed it with a parody of Dryden’s satire Absalom and Achitophel, only Ronnie called it Absolute and Abitofhell. And so through life. He believed that Catholic propaganda should be made by humor and satire. He resembled Swift but poured oil, not vinegar. He made no enemies, for his hobby was collecting friends. His beautiful collection of Eton and Oxford friends was massacred by the First War. He never recovered and avoided a career.