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Authors: Agatha Christie
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I had no friends here.”
A faint ironical smile touched his lips.
How deeply, I wondered, had his disability affected him? Had the loss of unfettered movement, of liberty to explore the world, bitten deep into his soul? Or had he managed to adapt himself to altered circumstances with comparative equanimity - with a real greatness of spirit.
As though Venables had read my thoughts, he said:
“In your article you questioned the meaning of the term 'greatness' - you compared the different meanings attached to it - in the East and the West. But what do we all mean nowadays, here in England, when we use the term 'a great man'?”
“Greatness of intellect, certainly,” I said, “and surely, moral strength as well?”
He looked at me, his eyes bright and shining.
“Is there no such thing as an evil man, then, who can be described as great?” he asked.
“Of course there is,” cried Rhoda. “Napoleon and Hitler and oh, lots of people. They were all great men.”
“Because of the effect they produced?” said Despard. “But if one had known them personally, I wonder if one would have been impressed.”
Ginger leaned forward and ran her fingers through her carroty mop of hair.
“That's an interesting thought,” she said. “Mightn't they, perhaps, have seemed pathetic, undersized little figures. Strutting, posturing, feeling inadequate, determined to be someone, even if they pulled the world down round them?”
“Oh, no,” said Rhoda vehemently. “They couldn't have produced the results they did if they had been like that”
“I don't know,” said Mrs Oliver. “After all, the stupidest child can set a house on fire quite easily.”
“Come, come,” said Venables. “I really can't go along with this modern playing down of evil as something that doesn't really exist. There is evil. And evil is powerful. Sometimes more powerful than good. It's there. It has to be recognised - and fought. Otherwise -” he spread out his hands. “We go down to darkness.”
“Of course I was brought up on the devil,” said Mrs Oliver, apologetically. “Believing in him, I mean. But you know he always did seem to me so silly. With hoofs and a tail and all that. Capering about like a ham actor. Of course I often have a master criminal in my stories - people like it - but really he gets harder and harder to do. So long as one doesn't know who he is, I can keep him impressive. But when it all comes out, he seems, somehow, so inadequate. A kind of anticlimax. It's much easier if you just have a bank manager who's embezzled the funds, or a husband who wants to get rid of his wife and marry the children's governess. So much more natural - if you know what I mean.”
Everyone laughed and Mrs Oliver said apologetically:
“I know I haven't put it very well - but you do see what I mean?”
We all said that we knew exactly what she meant.
The Pale Horse
Chapter 6
It was after four o'clock when we left Priors Court. After a particularly delicious lunch, Venables had taken us on a tour of the house. He had taken a real pleasure in showing us his various possessions. A veritable treasure house the place was.
“He must be rolling in money,” I said when we had finally departed. “Those jades - and the African sculpture - to say nothing of all his Meissen and Bow. You're lucky to have such a neighbour.”
“Don't we know it?” said Rhoda. “Most of the people down here are nice enough - but definitely on the dull side. Mr Venables is positively exotic by comparison.”
“How did he make his money?” asked Mrs Oliver. “Or has he always had it?”
Despard remarked wryly that nobody nowadays could boast of such a thing as a large inherited income. Death duties and taxation had seen to that.
“Someone told me,” he added, “that he started life as a stevedore but it seems most unlikely. He never talks about his boyhood or his family.” He turned towards Mrs Oliver. “A Mystery Man for you.”
Mrs Oliver said
A faint ironical smile touched his lips.
How deeply, I wondered, had his disability affected him? Had the loss of unfettered movement, of liberty to explore the world, bitten deep into his soul? Or had he managed to adapt himself to altered circumstances with comparative equanimity - with a real greatness of spirit.
As though Venables had read my thoughts, he said:
“In your article you questioned the meaning of the term 'greatness' - you compared the different meanings attached to it - in the East and the West. But what do we all mean nowadays, here in England, when we use the term 'a great man'?”
“Greatness of intellect, certainly,” I said, “and surely, moral strength as well?”
He looked at me, his eyes bright and shining.
“Is there no such thing as an evil man, then, who can be described as great?” he asked.
“Of course there is,” cried Rhoda. “Napoleon and Hitler and oh, lots of people. They were all great men.”
“Because of the effect they produced?” said Despard. “But if one had known them personally, I wonder if one would have been impressed.”
Ginger leaned forward and ran her fingers through her carroty mop of hair.
“That's an interesting thought,” she said. “Mightn't they, perhaps, have seemed pathetic, undersized little figures. Strutting, posturing, feeling inadequate, determined to be someone, even if they pulled the world down round them?”
“Oh, no,” said Rhoda vehemently. “They couldn't have produced the results they did if they had been like that”
“I don't know,” said Mrs Oliver. “After all, the stupidest child can set a house on fire quite easily.”
“Come, come,” said Venables. “I really can't go along with this modern playing down of evil as something that doesn't really exist. There is evil. And evil is powerful. Sometimes more powerful than good. It's there. It has to be recognised - and fought. Otherwise -” he spread out his hands. “We go down to darkness.”
“Of course I was brought up on the devil,” said Mrs Oliver, apologetically. “Believing in him, I mean. But you know he always did seem to me so silly. With hoofs and a tail and all that. Capering about like a ham actor. Of course I often have a master criminal in my stories - people like it - but really he gets harder and harder to do. So long as one doesn't know who he is, I can keep him impressive. But when it all comes out, he seems, somehow, so inadequate. A kind of anticlimax. It's much easier if you just have a bank manager who's embezzled the funds, or a husband who wants to get rid of his wife and marry the children's governess. So much more natural - if you know what I mean.”
Everyone laughed and Mrs Oliver said apologetically:
“I know I haven't put it very well - but you do see what I mean?”
We all said that we knew exactly what she meant.
The Pale Horse
Chapter 6
It was after four o'clock when we left Priors Court. After a particularly delicious lunch, Venables had taken us on a tour of the house. He had taken a real pleasure in showing us his various possessions. A veritable treasure house the place was.
“He must be rolling in money,” I said when we had finally departed. “Those jades - and the African sculpture - to say nothing of all his Meissen and Bow. You're lucky to have such a neighbour.”
“Don't we know it?” said Rhoda. “Most of the people down here are nice enough - but definitely on the dull side. Mr Venables is positively exotic by comparison.”
“How did he make his money?” asked Mrs Oliver. “Or has he always had it?”
Despard remarked wryly that nobody nowadays could boast of such a thing as a large inherited income. Death duties and taxation had seen to that.
“Someone told me,” he added, “that he started life as a stevedore but it seems most unlikely. He never talks about his boyhood or his family.” He turned towards Mrs Oliver. “A Mystery Man for you.”
Mrs Oliver said
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