Copyright 1994 Carolyn Gage DAPHNE, REBECCA, AND THE PERILS OF PASSING The du Mauriers had their own

secret code: "nim" for urinating, "wain" for "embarrassing," "Cairo" for sex, "menace" for an attractive person - and "Venetian" for homosexual. This secret language was initiated by Gerald du Maurier, Daphne's father, one of London's most popular matinee idols.

Gerald taught his three daughters a secret languageand a language of secrets. Not only did he indulge in numerous extramarital affairs, but he also exhibited sexually inappropriate behaviors towards his middle daughter, Daphne.

There was no word for "incest" in the du Maurier code, but Daphne, in selfdefense, invented a language of her own: "Eric Avon" was the name she gave herself, dressing in boys' shorts, shirts, and ties and acting out a rich fantasy life as a boy throughout the years of her childhood, until that terrible day when "Robert" arrived"Robert" being her code name for

menstruation.

1937 finds our heroine in Egypt at the age of thirty, playing the conventional role of the dutiful officer's wife to Tommy Browning, and raising their two daughters, whom she fervently wished had been boys. But Daphne is also writing, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderly again."

These are, of course, the opening lines of du Maurier's most famous novel, Rebecca. Could "Manderly" be code for "Venice?"

Daphne Du Maurier: The Secret Life of the Renowned Storyteller by Margeret Forster has been "wain" for many members of the du Maurier clan. Forster brings to light du Maurier's self-described lesbian orientation, revealing the lesbian affair she had at eighteen with "Ferdy," a teacher from her French boarding school. She also reveals du Maurier's frustrated midlife courtship of Ellen Doubleday, the American publisher's wife.

In an attempt to exorcise this obsession with Ellen, du Maurier wrote her second most famous novel, My Cousin Rachel, and the play September Tide, originally titled Mother. In the London production, Gertrude Lawrence played the lead, which had been modeled after Ellen, and during the course of the run, the daughter of Gerald du Maurier found the world of fantasy

once again crossing over the footlights into real life, this time with Gertrude in the role of her lover.

Forster's intriguing biography sheds a new light on both Rachel and Rebecca, as creations of a closeted and homophobic lesbian author. Rebecca was written during the period of time between Ferdy and Gertrude, when the glamour of romance had begun to fade from du Maurier's fairytale and absentee marriage, and when her incompetencies as a homemaker and mother were becoming more conspicuous.

In a coup of mystery writing, du Maurier managed to personify both of her nemeses in Rebecca: the impeccable, socially-correct wife and the utter sexual deviant who could not bring herself to submit to the tyrannies of domestic life. The one is unmasked and the other murdered - enabling the nameless narrator (referred to only as "the second Mrs. De Winter") to patch up her marriage with the wronged husband and live happily ever after - except for those troublesome and recurrent dreams of Manderly...

My Cousin Rachel, written thirteen years later, at the end of du Maurier's infatuation with Ellen and at the beginning of her affair with Gertrude, tells a

different story. The narrator has become well-defined and male, and the character of Rachel remains an enigma. The question of whether her death was an accident or a suicide is never resolved. At mid-life and in the throes of a "Venetian" affair, du Maurier is no longer so certain about the moral imperative of respectability.

After the death of Gertrude, however, du Maurier never again ventured to Venice. She gave herself with a vengeance to the maintenance of the facade of her life with Tommy, whose later years were wracked with alcoholism and nervous disorders which were only diagnosed in the vaguest terms.

In fact, Tommy, or "Boy" as he was known in the army, had his own closet. In 1915, at the age of eighteen, he had been sent as a new officer to the trenches of France. After a mere two months, he had been returned home for "nervous exhaustion." "Boy" had fought in no major battles, he had not gone out on any raids, nor had he even been involved in "skirmishes." He was neither shell-shocked nor wounded. At a time when only the most severe casualties were excused from service, "Boy" had been declared unfit and returned home.

"Nervous exhaustion" was a serious stigma for a new officer, especially for one who had not even seen battle and who had been fit enough to compete as a high-hurdler in the Olympics. Every month for eight months, "Boy" had to appear before a board of army doctors to prove his fitness to rejoin his battalion.

This period of sick leave seems to have been a turning point in his life, for when he returned to France, Tommy quickly gained a reputation for being fearless in action. Perhaps having tasted the living death of public disgrace, he had lost his fear of the real thing. At Gauche Wood, he led a charge across an open field under five hours of shelling and machine gun fire. Of seventeen officers, Tommy was the only one who survived the slaughter. Like so many veterans, he was to be plagued with nightmares for the rest of his life - but he had won his medal and the title of hero. "Boy" decided to make the army his career, serving later in the Second World War.

There seems to be a parallel in Tommy Browning's repression of his instinctual horror of war and Daphne's repression of her desire for independence and sexual intimacy with women. In a society with rigidly

prescribed gender roles, real life becomes relegated to a kind of backstage secrecy, while the correct roles are ceremoniously played out on the public stage.

This is the split, the mystery, and the horror that animate du Maurier's better short stories and novels. We are indebted to Margaret Forster for a biography that has illuminated the secret source of Daphne du Maurier's imaginative power.