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STAR OVER BETHLEHEM

including

THE ROAD OF DREAMS

and

POEMS

by

Agatha Christie

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Star over Bethlehem first published in Great Britain by Collins 1965

Poems first published in Great Britain by Collins 1973

The Road of Dreams first published in Great Britain by Geoffrey Bles 1924

Copyright © 1924, 1965 and 1973 by Agatha Christie Mallowan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

ISBN 978-0-00-728421-4

EPub Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9780007423804

Version: 2017-04-13

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Star Over Bethlehem’s Contents

A Greeting

Star over Bethlehem

A Wreath for Christmas

The Naughty Donkey

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh

The Water Bus

In the Cool of the Evening

Jenny by the Sky

Promotion in the Highest

The Saints of God

The Island

Poems’s Contents

Volume I

A Masque from Italy

The Players

The Comedy of the Arts

The Prologue: Sung by Columbine

Harlequin’s Song

Pierrot’s Song to the Moon

Pierrette Dancing on the Green

Columbine’s Song

Pulcinella

The Song of Pierrot by the Hearth

The Last Song of Columbine

Pierrot Grown Old

Epilogue: Spoken by Punchinello

Ballads

The Ballad of the Flint

Elizabeth of England

The Bells of Brittany

Isolt of Brittany

Dark Sheila

Ballad of the Maytime

The Princess Sings

Dreams and Fantasies

The Dream Spinners

Down in the Wood

The Road of Dreams

Heritage

The Wanderer

The Dream City

A Passing

Other Poems

Spring

Young Morning

Hymn to Ra

A Palm Tree in the Desert

World Hymn 1914

Easter 1918

To a Beautiful Old Lady

Wild Roses

Love Passes

Progression

There Where My Lover Lies

Volume II

Things

Beauty

The Water Flows

The Sculptor

A Wandering Tune

Places

Ctesiphon

In Baghdad

An Island

The Nile

Dartmoor

To a Cedar Tree

Calvary

Love Poems and Others

Count Fersen to the Queen

Beatrice Passes

Undine

Hawthorn Trees in Spring

The Lament of the Tortured Lover

What Is Love?

To M.E.L.M. in Absence

Remembrance

A Choice

My Flower Garden

Enchantment

Jenny by the Sky

Verses of Nowadays

From a Grown-up to a Child

I Wore My New Canary Suit

Racial Musings

Picnic 1960

About the Publisher

STAR OVER BETHLEHEM

STAR OVER BETHLEHEM

and other stories

by

Agatha Christie Mallowan

Decorations by

Elsie Wrigley

For Hydie

A Greeting

Praise to the Yule Log!

Leap, Flames, merrily.

Hail to the Wassail Bowl!

Bubble,Wine, rosily!

In the Manger lies the Child;

Asses, Oxen, braying, lowing,

Cackling Hens and Cocks a’crowing.

Overfull the Inn to-night,

Up above a star shines bright,

Shepherds kneel beside their fold,

Wise Men bring their gifts of Gold,

Angels in the Sky above

Trumpet forth God’s gift of Love.

Waken, children, one and all,

Wake to hear the trumpet call,

Leave your sleeping, ’tis the Day,

Christmas, glorious Christmas Day!

Star over Bethlehem

Mary looked down at the baby in the manger. She was alone in the stable except for the animals. As she smiled down at the child her heart was full of pride and happiness.

Then suddenly she heard the rustling of wings and turning, she saw a great Angel standing in the doorway.

The Angel shone with the radiance of the morning sun, and the beauty of his face was so great that Mary’s eyes were dazzled and she had to turn aside her head.

Then the Angel said (and his voice was like a golden trumpet):

‘Do not be afraid, Mary....’

And Mary answered in her sweet low voice:

‘I am not afraid, Oh Holy One of God, but the Light of your Countenance dazzles me.’

The Angel said:‘I have come to speak to you.’

Mary said:‘Speak on, Holy One. Let me hear the commands of the Lord God.’

The Angel said: ‘I have come with no commands. But since you are specially dear to God, it is permitted that, with my aid, you should look into the future....’

Then Mary looked down at the child and asked eagerly:

‘Into his future?’

Her face lit up with joyful anticipation.

‘Yes,’ said the Angel gently.‘Into his future . . . Give me your hand.’

Mary stretched out her hand and took that of the Angel. It was like touching flame – yet flame that did not burn. She shrank back a little and the Angel said again:

‘Do not be afraid. I am immortal and you are mortal, but my touch shall not hurt you. . . .’

Then the Angel stretched out his great golden wing over the sleeping child and said:

‘Look into the future, Mother, and see your Son. . . .’

And Mary looked straight ahead of her and the stable walls melted and dissolved and she was looking into a Garden. It was night and there were stars overhead and a man was kneeling, praying.

Something stirred in Mary’s heart, and her motherhood told her that it was her son who knelt there. She said thankfully to herself: ‘He has become a good man – a devout man – he prays to God.’ And then suddenly she caught her breath, for the man had raised his face and she saw the agony on it – the despair and the sorrow . . . and she knew that she was looking on greater anguish than any she had ever known or seen. For the man was utterly alone. He was praying to God, praying that this cup of anguish might be taken from him – and there was no answer to his prayer. God was absent and silent. . . .

And Mary cried out:

‘Why does not God answer him and give him comfort?’

And she heard the voice of the Angel say:

‘It is not God’s purpose that he should have comfort.’

Then Mary bowed her head meekly and said: ‘It is not for us to know the inscrutable purposes of God. But has this man – my son – has he no friends? No kindly human friends?’

The Angel rustled his wing and the picture dissolved into another part of the Garden and Mary saw some men lying asleep.

She said bitterly:‘He needs them – my son needs them – and they do not care!’

The Angel said: ‘They are only fallible human creatures . . .’

Mary murmured to herself: ‘But he is a good man, my son. A good and upright man.’

Then again the wing of the Angel rustled, and Mary saw a road winding up a hill, and three men on it carrying crosses, and a crowd behind them and some Roman soldiers.

The Angel said:‘What do you see now?’

Mary said:‘I see three criminals going to execution.’

The left hand man turned his head and Mary saw a cruel crafty face, a low bestial type – and she drew back a little.

‘Yes,’ she said,‘they are criminals.’

Then the man in the centre stumbled and nearly fell, and as he turned his face, Mary recognised him and she cried out sharply:

‘No, no, it cannot be that my son is a criminal!’

But the Angel rustled his wing and she saw the three crosses set up, and the figure hanging in agony on the centre one was the man she knew to be her son. His cracked lips parted and she heard the words that came from them:

‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’

And Mary cried out: ‘No, no, it is not true! He cannot have done anything really wrong. There has been some dreadful mistake. It can happen sometimes.There has been some confusion of identity; he has been mistaken for someone else. He is suffering for someone else’s crime.’

But again the Angel rustled his wings and this time Mary was looking at the figure of the man she revered most on earth – the High Priest of her Church. He was a noble-looking man, and he stood up now and with solemn hands he tore and rent the garment he was wearing, and cried out in a loud voice:

‘This man has spoken Blasphemy!’

And Mary looked beyond him and saw the figure of the man who had spoken Blasphemy – and it was her son.

Then the pictures faded and there was only the mud-brick wall of the stable, and Mary was trembling and crying out brokenly:

‘I cannot believe it – I cannot believe it.We are a God-fearing straight-living family – all my family. Yes, and Joseph’s family too. And we shall bring him up carefully to practise religion and to revere and honour the faith of his fathers. A son of ours could never be guilty of blasphemy – I cannot believe it! All this that you have shown me cannot be true.’