L’ombre de Peter Pan que Madame Darling va déposer dans un tiroir est une idée que l’on retrouve tout aussi bien avec le thème des enfants dans des boîtes (Petite Mary et Un Baiser pour Cendrillon, et de manière moins explicite dans Tommy le sentimental, lorsqu’il est fait état des tiroirs qui ne peuvent s’ouvrir car la poignée est à l’intérieur !). Une lignée de mères vierges, de femmes-enfants naît de la plume de Barrie : Mary, Grizel, Wendy, Cendrillon et, dans une autre mesure, Mary Rose – puisqu’elle est mère mais demeure une enfant, non accessible à la corruption physique tant qu’elle demeure sur l’île enchantée.

Cendrillon est plus proche de la Petite Mary que de la Wendy de Peter Pan.

En ce moment, et ce jusqu'à mon départ imminent pour l'Écosse, des mises à jour quotidiennes sur le site Barrie, qui est en refonte depuis un moment et qui grandit, lui aussi, de manière imperceptible. Je vous recommande, par exemple, ce texte de présentation de l'oeuvre barrienne, dans les archives.

Si une âme charitable pouvait m'aider à créer un flux RSS digne de ce nom pour mon site Barrie, je lui en serais éternellement reconnaissante. [Ajout du 18 avril : tout fonctionne, en fait.]

Vous rendez-vous compte que, bientôt, je vais au pays de mon bien-aimé? L'Écosse, le pays des fées, des légendes, des pierres de Logan, le pays de ma jeunesse éternelle.

Je me retire sur la pointe des pieds et vous laisse en compagnie de Kilmeny (de James Hogg - 1770–1835) dont la Mary Rose de Barrie porte l'empreinte tout autant que Brigadoon via Barrie... Admirez la langue. Cela nous change de l'anglais standard ou bâtard. Traduire un tel texte... Mon Dieu, je n'oserais pas m'y essayer. Je reculerais devant l'impossible. La langue, l'écossais, y est trop riche, trop "goûteuse" et trop belle, selon moi, pour y poser le bout du doigt.

BONNIE Kilmeny gaed up the glen;

But it wasna to meet Duneira's men,

Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 5

And pu' the cress-flower round the spring;

The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye,

And the nut that hung frae the hazel tree;

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', 10

But lang may she seek i' the green-wood shaw;

Lang the laird o' Duneira blame,

And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame!

When many a day had come and fled,

When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 15

When mess for Kilmeny's soul had been sung,

When the bedesman had pray'd and the dead bell rung,

Late, late in gloamin' when all was still,

When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,

The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, 20

The reek o' the cot hung over the plain,

Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;

When the ingle low'd wi' an eiry leme,

Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame!

'Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? 25

Lang hae we sought baith holt and den;

By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree,

Yet you are halesome and fair to see.

Where gat you that joup o' the lily scheen?

That bonnie snood of the birk sae green? 30

And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen?

Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?'

Kilmeny look'd up with a lovely grace,

But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;

As still was her look, and as still was her e'e, 35

As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,

Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.

For Kilmeny had been, she knew not where,

And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;

Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, 40

Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew.

But it seem'd as the harp of the sky had rung,

And the airs of heaven play'd round her tongue,

When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,

And a land where sin had never been; 45

A land of love and a land of light,

Withouten sun, or moon, or night;

Where the river swa'd a living stream,

And the light a pure celestial beam;

The land of vision, it would seem, 50

A still, an everlasting dream.

In yon green-wood there is a waik,

And in that waik there is a wene,

And in that wene there is a maike,

That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane; 55

And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane.

In that green wene Kilmeny lay,

Her bosom happ'd wi' flowerets gay;

But the air was soft and the silence deep,

And bonnie Kilmeny fell sound asleep. 60

She kenn'd nae mair, nor open'd her e'e,

Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye.

She 'waken'd on a couch of the silk sae slim,

All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim;

And lovely beings round were rife, 65

Who erst had travell'd mortal life;

And aye they smiled and 'gan to speer,

'What spirit has brought this mortal here?'—

'Lang have I journey'd, the world wide,'

A meek and reverend fere replied; 70

'Baith night and day I have watch'd the fair,

Eident a thousand years and mair.

Yes, I have watch'd o'er ilk degree,

Wherever blooms femenitye;

But sinless virgin, free of stain 75

In mind and body, fand I nane.

Never, since the banquet of time,

Found I a virgin in her prime,

Till late this bonnie maiden I saw

As spotless as the morning snaw: 80

Full twenty years she has lived as free

As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye:

I have brought her away frae the snares of men,

That sin or death she never may ken.'—

They clasp'd her waist and her hands sae fair, 85

They kiss'd her cheek and they kemed her hair,

And round came many a blooming fere,

Saying, 'Bonnie Kilmeny, ye're welcome here!

Women are freed of the littand scorn:

O blest be the day Kilmeny was born! 90

Now shall the land of the spirits see,

Now shall it ken what a woman may be!

Many a lang year, in sorrow and pain,

Many a lang year through the world we've gane,

Commission'd to watch fair womankind, 95

For it 's they who nurice the immortal mind.

We have watch'd their steps as the dawning shone,

And deep in the green-wood walks alone;

By lily bower and silken bed,

The viewless tears have o'er them shed; 100

Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep,

Or left the couch of love to weep.

We have seen! we have seen! but the time must come,

And the angels will weep at the day of doom!

'O would the fairest of mortal kind 105

Aye keep the holy truths in mind,

That kindred spirits their motions see,

Who watch their ways with anxious e'e,

And grieve for the guilt of humanitye!

O, sweet to Heaven the maiden's prayer, 110

And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair!

And dear to Heaven the words of truth,

And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth!

And dear to the viewless forms of air,

The minds that kyth as the body fair! 115

'O bonnie Kilmeny! free frae stain,

If ever you seek the world again,

That world of sin, of sorrow and fear,

O tell of the joys that are waiting here;

And tell of the signs you shall shortly see; 120

Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be.'—

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,

And she walk'd in the light of a sunless day;

The sky was a dome of crystal bright,

The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: 125

The emerald fields were of dazzling glow,

And the flowers of everlasting blow.

Then deep in the stream her body they laid,

That her youth and beauty never might fade;

And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie 130

In the stream of life that wander'd bye.

And she heard a song, she heard it sung,

She kenn'd not where; but sae sweetly it rung,

It fell on the ear like a dream of the morn:

'O, blest be the day Kilmeny was born! 135

Now shall the land of the spirits see,

Now shall it ken what a woman may be!

The sun that shines on the world sae bright,

A borrow'd gleid frae the fountain of light;

And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 140

Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun,

Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair,

And the angels shall miss them travelling the air.

But lang, lang after baith night and day,

When the sun and the world have elyed away; 145

When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom,

Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!'—

They bore her away, she wist not how,

For she felt not arm nor rest below;

But so swift they wain'd her through the light, 150

'Twas like the motion of sound or sight;

They seem'd to split the gales of air,

And yet nor gale nor breeze was there.

Unnumber'd groves below them grew,

They came, they pass'd, and backward flew, 155

Like floods of blossoms gliding on,

In moment seen, in moment gone.

O, never vales to mortal view

Appear'd like those o'er which they flew!

That land to human spirits given, 160

The lowermost vales of the storied heaven;

From thence they can view the world below,

And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow,

More glory yet unmeet to know.

They bore her far to a mountain green, 165

To see what mortal never had seen;

And they seated her high on a purple sward,

And bade her heed what she saw and heard,

And note the changes the spirits wrought,

For now she lived in the land of thought. 170

She look'd, and she saw nor sun nor skies,

But a crystal dome of a thousand dyes:

She look'd, and she saw nae land aright,

But an endless whirl of glory and light:

And radiant beings went and came, 175

Far swifter than wind, or the linkèd flame.

She hid her e'en frae the dazzling view;

She look'd again, and the scene was new.

She saw a sun on a summer sky,

And clouds of amber sailing bye; 180

A lovely land beneath her lay,

And that land had glens and mountains gray;

And that land had valleys and hoary piles,

And marlèd seas, and a thousand isles.

Its fields were speckled, its forests green, 185

And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen,

Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay

The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray;

Which heaved and trembled, and gently swung,

On every shore they seem'd to be hung; 190

For there they were seen on their downward plain

A thousand times and a thousand again;

In winding lake and placid firth,

Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth.

Kilmeny sigh'd and seem'd to grieve, 195

For she found her heart to that land did cleave;

She saw the corn wave on the vale,

She saw the deer run down the dale;

She saw the plaid and the broad claymore,

And the brows that the badge of freedom bore; 200

And she thought she had seen the land before.

She saw a lady sit on a throne,

The fairest that ever the sun shone on!

A lion lick'd her hand of milk,

And she held him in a leish of silk; 205

And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee,

With a silver wand and melting e'e;

Her sovereign shield till love stole in,

And poison'd all the fount within.

Then a gruff untoward bedesman came, 210

And hundit the lion on his dame;

And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless e'e,

She dropp'd a tear, and left her knee;

And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled,

Till the bonniest flower of the world lay dead; 215

A coffin was set on a distant plain,

And she saw the red blood fall like rain;

Then bonnie Kilmeny's heart grew sair,

And she turn'd away, and could look nae mair.

Then the gruff grim carle girn'd amain, 220

And they trampled him down, but he rose again;

And he baited the lion to deeds of weir,

Till he lapp'd the blood to the kingdom dear;

And weening his head was danger-preef,

When crown'd with the rose and clover leaf, 225

He gowl'd at the carle, and chased him away

To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray.

He gowl'd at the carle, and geck'd at Heaven,

But his mark was set, and his arles given.

Kilmeny a while her e'en withdrew; 230

She look'd again, and the scene was new.

She saw before her fair unfurl'd

One half of all the glowing world,

Where oceans roll'd, and rivers ran,

To bound the aims of sinful man. 235

She saw a people, fierce and fell,

Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell;

Their lilies grew, and the eagle flew;

And she herkèd on her ravening crew,

Till the cities and towers were wrapp'd in a blaze, 240

And the thunder it roar'd o'er the lands and the seas.

The widows they wail'd, and the red blood ran,

And she threaten'd an end to the race of man;

She never lened, nor stood in awe,

Till caught by the lion's deadly paw. 245

O, then the eagle swink'd for life,

And brainyell'd up a mortal strife;

But flew she north, or flew she south,

She met wi' the gowl o' the lion's mouth.

With a mooted wing and waefu' maen, 250

The eagle sought her eiry again;

But lang may she cower in her bloody nest,

And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast,

Before she sey another flight,

To play wi' the norland lion's might. 255

But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw,

So far surpassing nature's law,

The singer's voice wad sink away,

And the string of his harp wad cease to play.

But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye, 260

And all was love and harmony;

Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away,

Like flakes of snaw on a winter day.

Then Kilmeny begg'd again to see

The friends she had left in her own countrye; 265

To tell of the place where she had been,

And the glories that lay in the land unseen;

To warn the living maidens fair,

The loved of Heaven, the spirits' care,

That all whose minds unmeled remain 270

Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.

With distant music, soft and deep,

They lull'd Kilmeny sound asleep;

And when she awaken'd, she lay her lane,

All happ'd with flowers, in the green-wood wene. 275

When seven lang years had come and fled,

When grief was calm, and hope was dead;

When scarce was remember'd Kilmeny's name,

Late, late in a gloamin' Kilmeny came hame!

And O, her beauty was fair to see, 280

But still and steadfast was her e'e!

Such beauty bard may never declare,

For there was no pride nor passion there;

And the soft desire of maiden's e'en

In that mild face could never be seen. 285

Her seymar was the lily flower,

And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;

And her voice like the distant melodye,

That floats along the twilight sea.

But she loved to raike the lanely glen, 290

And keepèd afar frae the haunts of men;

Her holy hymns unheard to sing,

To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.

But wherever her peaceful form appear'd,

The wild beasts of the hill were cheer'd; 295

The wolf play'd blythly round the field,

The lordly byson low'd and kneel'd;

The dun deer woo'd with manner bland,

And cower'd aneath her lily hand.

And when at even the woodlands rung, 300

When hymns of other worlds she sung

In ecstasy of sweet devotion,

O, then the glen was all in motion!

The wild beasts of the forest came,

Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, 305

And goved around, charm'd and amazed;

Even the dull cattle croon'd and gazed,

And murmur'd and look'd with anxious pain

For something the mystery to explain.

The buzzard came with the throstle-cock; 310

The corby left her houf in the rock;

The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew;

The hind came tripping o'er the dew;

The wolf and the kid their raike began,

And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; 315

The hawk and the hern attour them hung,

And the merle and the mavis forhooy'd their young;

And all in a peaceful ring were hurl'd;

It was like an eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane. 320

Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene;

There laid her down on the leaves sae green,

And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.

But O, the words that fell from her mouth

Were words of wonder, and words of truth! 325

But all the land were in fear and dread,

For they kendna whether she was living or dead.

It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;

She left this world of sorrow and pain,

And return'd to the land of thought again. 330

Fairies,

good and bad. 1

AFREET or EFREET, one of the Jinn tribe, of which there are five. (See Story of the Second Calendar.)

APPARITION. A ghost.

ARIEL. (See ARIEL.)

BANSHEE or BENSHEE, an Irish fairy attached to a house. (See BANSHEE.)

BOGGART. (Scotch.) A local hobgoblin or spirit.

BOGIE or BOGLE, a bugbear (Scotch form of bug). (See BOGIE.)

BROWNIE, a Scotch domestic fairy; the servants’ friend if well treated. (See BROWNIE.)

BUG or BUGBEAR, any imaginary thing that frightens a person. (Welsh, bwg.) (See BUG.)

CAULD LAD (The), the Brownie of Hilton Hall. (See CAULD LAD.)

DJINN, JIN, or GINN (Arabian). (See JIXX.)

DUENDE (3 syl.), a Spanish house-spirit. (See DUENDE.)

DWARF, a diminutive being human or superhuman. (Anglo-Saxon, dweorg.)

DWERGER, DWERGUGH, or DUERGAR, Gotho-German dwarfs, dwelling in rocks and hills. (Anglo-Saxon, dweorgh.)

ELF (plu. ELVES), fairies of diminutive size, supposed to be fond of practical jokes. (Anglo-Saxon, œlf.) (See ELF.)

ELLE-MAID or ELLE-WOMAN, ELLE-FOLK, of Scandinvia.

ESPRIT FOLLET, the house-spirit of France.

FAIRY or FAERIE (plu. FAIRIES), a super-natural being, fond of pranks, but generally pleasing. (German and French, fee.)

FAMILIAR (A), an evil spirit attendant on witches, etc. (See FAMILIAR.)

FATA, an Italian fay, or white lady.

FATES, the three spirits (Clotho, Lachsis, and Atrpos) which preside over the destiny of every individual. (Latin, fata.)

FAY (plu. FAYS), same as Fairy (q.v.).

FEAR DEARG (The), i.e. Red Man. A house-spirit of Munster.

GEXII (plu.). The sing. genie and genius. Eastern spirits, whether good or bad, who preside over a man or nation. “He is my evil [or good] genius.” (Latin, genius.) (See GENIUS.)

GHOST, the immaterial body or noumenon of a human being. Supposed to be free to visit the earth at night-time, but obliged to return to its Hads at the first dawn.

GHOUL, a demon that feeds on the dead. (Persian.)

GNOME (1 syl.), the guardian of mines, quarries, etc. (Greek, , a Cabalistic being.) (See GNOMES.)

GOBLIN or HORGOBLIN, a phantom spirit. (French, gobelin; German, kobold.)

GOOD FOLK. (The). The Brownies or house-spirits.

GUARDIAN-ANGEL, an angelic spirit which presides over the destiny of each individual.

HABUNDIA, queen of the White Ladies.

HAG (A), a female fury. Milton (Comus 445) speaks of “blue meagre hags.”

HAMADRYAD, a wood-nymph. Each tree has its own wood-nymph, who dies when the tree dies.

HOBGOBLIN. (See above, GOBLIN.) Hob is Robin, as Hodge is Roger.

HORNS or HORNIE, the Devil. (See HORNIE.)

IMP, a puny demon or spirit of mischief. (Welsh, imp.)

JACK-A-LANTERN, a bog or marsh spirit who delights to mislead

JINN or GINN, (See JINN.) These Arabian spirits were formed of “smokeless fire.”

KELPIE (2 syl.). In Scotland, an imaginary spirit of the waters in the form of a horse. (See KELPIE.)

KOBOLD, a German household goblin, also frequenting mines. (German, kobold.) (See KOBOLD.)

LAM’IA (plu. LAM’LÆ), a hag or demon. Keats’s Lamia is a serpent which had assumed the form of a beautiful woman, beloved by a young man, and gets a soul. (Latin, Lamia.) (See LAMIA.)

LAMIES, African spectres, having the head of a woman and tail of a serpent. (See LAMIES.)

LAR (plu. LARES) (2 syl.), Latin household deitles. (See LARES.)

LEPRECHAUN, a fairy shoemaker.

MAB, the farles’ midwife. Sometimes incorrectly called queen of the fairies. (Welsh, mab.) (See MAB.)

MANDRAKE. (See MANDRAKE.)

MERMAID, a sea-spirit, the upper part a woman and the lower half a fish.

MERROWS, both male and female, are spirits of the sea, of human shape from the waist upwards, but from the waist downwards are like a fish. The females are attractive, but the males have green teeth, green hair, pig’s eyes, and red noses. Fishermen dread to meet them.

MONACIELLO or LITTLE MONK, a house-spirit of Naples.

NAIAD (plu. NAIADES [3 syl.] or NAIADS [2 syl.]), water-nymphs. (Latin.) (See NAIADS.)

NIS or NISSE (2 syl.), a Kobold or Brownie. A Scandinavian fairy friendly to farmhouses. (Contraction of Nicolaus.)

NIX (female, NIXIE), a water-spirit. The nix has green teeth, and wears a green hat: the nicie is very beautiful.

OSERON, king of the fairies.

OGRE [pronounce og’r], an inhabitant of fairyland said to feed on infant children. (French.)

ORENDS, mountain nymphs. (Greek, oros.)

OUPHE (2 syl.), a fairy or goblin,

PERI, a Persian fairy. Evil peris are called “Deevs.”

PIGWIDGEON, a fairy of very diminutive size.

PIXY or PIXIE (also pisgy, pisgie), a Devonshire fairy, same as Puck.

POUKE (1 syl.), same as Puck. (See POUKE.)

PUCK, a merry little fairy spirit, full of fun and harmless mischief. (Icelandic and Swedish, puke.) (See PUCK.)

ROBIN-GOODFELLOW, another name for PUCK.) (See ROBIN … .)

SALAMANDER, a spirit which lives in fire. (Latin and Greek, salamandra.) (See SALAMANDRA.)

SHADES, ghosts.

SPECTRE, a ghost.

SPOOK (in Theosophy), an elemental.

SPRITE, a spirit.

STROMKARL, a Norwegian musical spirit, like Neck. (See STROMKARL.)

SYLPH, a spirit of the air; so named by the Rosicrucians and Cabalists. (Greek, silphe; French, sylphids.) (See SYLPHS.)

TRITON, a sea deity, who dwells with Father Neptune in a golden palace at the bottom of the sea. The chief employment of tritons is to blow a conch to smooth the sea when it is ruffied.

TROLL, a hill-spirit. Hence Trolls are called Hill-people or Hill-folk, supposed to be immensely rich, and especially dislike noise. (See TROLLS.)

UN’DINE (2 syl.), a water-nymph. (Latin, unda.) (See UNDINE.)

URCHIN properly means a hedgehog, and is applied to mischievous children and small folk generally. (See URCHIN.)

VAMPIRE (2 syl.), the spirit of a dead man that haunts a house and sucks the blood of the living. A Hungarian superstition. (See VAMPIRE.)

WERE-WOLF (Anglo-Saxon, wer-wulf, manwolf), a human being, sometimes in one form and sometimes in another. (See WERE-WOLF.)

WHITE LADIES OF, NORMANDY. (See WHITE LADIES.)

WHITE LADY (The) of the royal family of Prussia. A “spirit” said to appear before the death of one of the family. (See WHITE LADY.)

WHITE LADY OF AVENEL (2 syl.), a tutelary spirit.

WHITE LADY OF IRELAND (The), the banshee or domestic spirit of a family.

WHITE MERLE (The), of the old Basques. A white fairy bird, which, by its singing, restored sight to the blind.

WIGHT, any human creature, as a “Highland wight.” Dwarfs and all other fairy creatures.

WILL-O’-THE-WISP, a spirit of the bogs, whose delight is to mislead belated travellers.

WRAITH (Scotch), the ghost of a person shortly about to die or just dead, which appears to survivors, sometimes at a great distance off. (See WRAITH, HOUSEHOLD SPIRITS.)

Brownie : The house spirit in Scottish superstition. He is called in England Robin Goodfellow. At night he is supposed to busy himself in doing little jobs for the family over which he presides. Farms are his favourite abode. Brownies are brown or tawny spirits, in opposition to fairies, which are fair or elegant ones. (See FAIRIES.) 1

“It is not long since every family of considerable substance was haunted by a spirit they called Browny, which did several sorts of work and this was the reason why they gave him offerings … on what they called Browny’s stone.”—Martin: Scotland.

«Quel détective pouvais-je engager ? Je passai en revue les détectives que j’avais rencontrés et admirés pendant mes lectures. Il y avait Sherlock Holmes, le seul et l’unique : je ne serai jamais capable de rivaliser avec lui. Il y avait Arsène Lupin : était-ce un criminel ou un détective ? De toute façon, ce n’était pas mon type. Rouletabille dans Le Mystère de la chambre jaune : voici le genre de héros que j’aimerais inventer. Un personnage inédit. Qui engager ? Un écolier ? Plutôt difficile. Un scientifique ? Que savais-je des scientifiques ? Soudain, je songeai à nos réfugiés belges. (…) Pourquoi ne pas faire de mon détective un belge ? pensai-je. Il y en avait de toutes sortes, de ces réfugiés. Et pourquoi pas un officier de police réfugié ? Un officier de police à la retraite ? Un qui ne soit pas trop jeune. Quelle erreur commettai-je là ! Le résultat, c’est que mon détective fictif doit être bien plus que centenaire à l’heure actuelle. Je me décidai donc pour un détective belge. Je le laissai progressivement s’installer dans son rôle. Il aurait été inspecteur, de sorte qu’il posséderait une certaine connaissance en matière de crimes. Il serait méticuleux, très ordonné, me dis-je tandis que je rangeais moi-même pas mal de choses qui traînaient dans ma chambre.»

«Puisqu’il devait être petit, Hercules serait pour lui un bon prénom.»

« Mais, Ariadne, ma chérie, dit-il, tout cela est très bien, mais avec cette moustache et tout le reste, comment peut-on le prendre au sérieux ? Vous affirmez réellement qu’il est compétent ?»

« Dites-moi, pourquoi ce prénom, Hercule ? - Vous voulez dire mon nom de baptême ? - A peine un nom de baptême, rechigna l’autre. Tout à fait païen. Mais pourquoi ? C’est ce que je veux savoir. Une idée fantasque de votre père ? Un caprice de votre mère ? Des raisons familiales ? Si je me souviens bien, car ma mémoire n’est plus ce qu’elle était, vous aviez un frère nommé Achille , n’est-ce pas ? (…) - Seulement un petit laps de temps. Le Docteur Burton s’éloigna avec tact de ce sujet. (…) Songez à cette conversation imaginaire. Votre mère et feue Madame Holmes , assises en train de coudre ou bien de tricoter : "Achille, Hercule, Sherlock, Mycroft…" Poirot ne parvenait pas à partager l’amusement de son ami. - Dois-je comprendre que, quant au physique, je ne ressemble pas à un Hercule ? Le regard du Docteur Burton examina de part en part Hercule Poirot : sa personne proprette affublée de pantalons rayés, d’une veste noire comme il faut, d’un pimpant nœud papillon. Son regard remonta des chaussures chics en cuir jusqu’à son crâne d’œuf et à l’immense moustache qui ornait le dessus de sa lèvre. »

« Ce qu’il y a de risible (…) c’est une certaine raideur de mécanique là où l’on voudrait trouver la souplesse attentive et la vivante flexibilité d’une personne. »

« L’idée est chose qui grandit, bourgeonne, fleurit, mûrit, du commencement à la fin du discours. Jamais elle ne s’arrête, jamais elle ne se répète. Il faut qu’elle change à chaque instant, car cesser de changer serait cesser de vivre. Que le geste s’anime donc comme elle ! Qu’il accepte la loi fondamentale de la vie, qui est de ne se répéter jamais ! Mais voici qu’un certain mouvement du bras ou de la tête, toujours le même, me paraît revenir périodiquement. Si je le remarque, s’il suffit à me distraire, si je l’attends au passage et s’il arrive quand je l’attends, involontairement je rirai. Pourquoi ? Parce que j’ai maintenant devant moi une mécanique qui fonctionne automatiquement. Ce n’est plus de la vie, c’est de l’automatisme installé dans la vie et imitant la vie. C’est du comique. »

« Vous savez ce que vous m’évoquez ? dit Mrs Oliver. Un ordinateur. Vous vous programmez vous-même. C’est bien comme ça qu’ils disent ? Vous ingurgitez toutes ces données tout le long de la journée et vous attendez de voir ce qui va en sortir ensuite. - Vous tenez une bonne idée, dit Poirot, intéressé. Oui, oui, je joue le rôle de l’ordinateur. On le remplit d’informations… - Et supposez que toutes les réponses obtenues soient fausses ? dit Mrs Oliver. - C’est impossible ! dit Hercule Poirot. Les ordinateurs ne se trompent pas. - Ils sont supposés agir de la sorte, dit Mrs Oliver, mais vous seriez surpris de savoir ce qui se produit parfois ! (…) Je sais qu’il existe un adage selon lequel "L’erreur est humaine". Mais l’erreur d’un homme n’est rien en comparaison de ce dont est capable un ordinateur quand il s’y met. »

« (…) le détective lui-même est incapable de faire des confidences autobiographiques (…) le détective se tait parce que tout destin est muet pour lui. Son mutisme s’explique non par l’engagement absolu de l’existence, mais par l’absence d’existence propre à l’engagement rationnel, absence qui lui interdit la parole (…) C’est pourquoi il est accompagné du confident qui chante ses louanges et qui arrache la résolution des cas à l’obscurité dont l’entoure son caractère impersonnel. » (S. Kracauer)

« Je devrais peut-être, madame, vous en dire un peu plus à mon sujet. Je suis Hercule Poirot. (…) Je suis, ainsi que vous le savez peut-être, dit Poirot, un détective. Il se frappa la poitrine. Peut-être le plus célèbre détective au monde. » «Je suis Hercule Poirot. Je suis le grand, l’unique Hercule Poirot. »

«Hercule Poirot, mon invention belge, était accrochée à mon cou, fermement attaché là, comme le vieil homme de la mer. »

«Qu’est-ce que j’en sais ? dit Mrs Oliver avec humeur. Est-ce que je connais les raisons pour lesquelles j’ai un jour inventé cet homme répugnant ? Je devais être folle. Pourquoi un finlandais [On pourrait se dire : pourquoi un Belge ?] alors que je ne sais rien de la Finlande ? Pourquoi un végétarien ? [Très amusante réflexion, si l’on reprend le début dudit roman, qui expose les ennuis de Poirot quant à l’alimentation !]Pourquoi possède-t-il tous ces tics idiots [La relation avec Poirot est claire comme de l’eau de roche !] ? Ces choses arrivent et c’est tout. Vous essayez quelque chose et les gens semblent l’apprécier. Alors, vous continuez. Ets avant de vous rendre compte où vous en êtes arrivé, vous vous retrouvez lié pour la vie avec quelqu’un du genre de cet exaspérant Sven Hjerson [ou Hercule Poirot…Il est très vraisemblable qu’Agatha Christie ait développé une certaine haine à l’encontre d’Hercule Poirot, comme son meurtre le laisse penser.] Et les gens vous écrivent même pour vous signifier à quel point ils sont convaincus que vous l’adorez. L’adorer, lui ? Si je rencontrais, dans la vrai vie, cet échalas de Finlandais, amateur de crudités, je commettrais un meurtre [On peut dire qu’elle l’a fait, littérairement parlant] à côté duquel tous ceux que j’ai inventés jusqu’à ce jour ne seraient rien. Robin Upward la contempla avec un profond respect. « Vous savez, Ariadne, savez-vous que cela pourrait être une idée merveilleuse ? Un véritable Sven Hjerson. Et ce serait vous qui le tueriez. Vous en feriez un livre qui serait votre chant du cygne. Il ne serait publié qu’après votre mort. [Ceci est très troublant, surtout quand on songe que la réalité a rattrapé la fiction. En effet, Agatha Christie avait mis au coffre un Poirot et un Marple inédits à ne publier qu’après sa mort, même si les conditions n’ont pas été tout à fait respectées…] - Pas de risque ! dit Mrs Oliver. Et l’argent ? Le salaire du crime, je le veux maintenant ! [Ce cynisme plus ou moins avéré est possiblement celui de Mrs Christie.]»