CHAPTER VIII
Mina Murray’s Journal.
14 August.—On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seems to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard to get her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea or dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun, low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness; the red light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself:—
“His red eyes again! They are just the same.” It was such an odd expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare at her, and saw that she was in a half-dreamy state, with an odd look on her face that I could not quite make out; so I said nothing, but followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat, whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was a little startled myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes like burning flames; but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary’s Church behind our seat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I called Lucy’s attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herself with a start, but she looked sad all the same; it may have been that she was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to it; so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little stroll myself; I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home—it was then bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen—I threw a glance up at our window, and saw Lucy’s head leaning out. I thought that perhaps she was looking out for me, so I opened my handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any movement whatever. Just then, the moonlight crept round an angle of the building, and the light fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy with her head lying up against the side of the window-sill and her eyes shut. She was fast asleep, and by her, seated on the window-sill, was something that looked like a good-sized bird. I was afraid she might get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she was moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily; she was holding her hand to her throat, as though to protect it from cold.
I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly; I have taken care that the door is locked and the window securely fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps; but she is paler than is her wont, and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like. I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it is.
Dracula’s second time (that we know of) feeding on Lucy. But before that, he’s seen out in the sunlight. The idea that vampires are unable to go into the sunlight, or that they are destroyed by it, is a later invention. The unauthorised 1922 German adaptation of Dracula, Nosferatu, is usually credited with inventing that particular now-ubiquitous trope.
So, why is Dracula only active at night back in Transylvania ? Is it because the locals know about his existence, or is there some kind of ancient curse weighing on him that forbids him from going out during the day ? Maybe a protective spell cast by the locals ? Or is it simply because night is the only time he can hunt for food ? Also, is he more powerful in Transylvania, in his native soils ? Does he lose strenght when he’s far from home, but gain more freedom of movement in return ?
Although not destroyed by sunlight, he has more power at night. This is an idea that will be explored at more length later in the book, once van Helsing joins the cast.
Trying to get my bearings… Mina talks about the steps up from the West Pier.
I think that’s somewhere in that green patch between the “East Terrace” and “Battery Parade” streets to the left of the image. (source). I think during that sunset they were there, looking across the river at the East Cliff. here’s a pic of the East Cliff, with the old chapel, as seen from the west side of town (i.e. this is the view they would have seen, but it woulda been bathed in red from the sun setting behind them)
if you look at the high-res source you can see the walkway up there to the right, and the cemetery to the left. dunno where their “seat” was, I’m guessing at the top of the cliff somewhere.
and by her, seated on the window-sill, was something that looked like a good-sized bird.
Dracula can only enter a home if he is invited in. Lucy made a mistake here by opening her window to him, even in his bat form…
I don’t believe Lucy is doing this consciously and of her own free will, but under the influence of Dracula’s mesmerism.
Interestingly, it seems that Dracula cannot have himself invited in by this mesmerism, which is why he has to stay outside and get her to come to the window.
