Emily Chesley: The Penultimate Years .... Chapter 1

After the tumult and gastrointestinal distress of the previous decade, the slow pace of suburban Clichy[1] was a welcome balm to Emily. Setting up housekeeping in a modest redbrick walkup on the banks of the River Seine, she began to work in earnest on her memoir, Speculations.

Each morning, as part of her rigorous writing routine, she rose at dawn to perform both her ablutions and the "flexibility" exercises she had learned from her Kama Sutra instructor, Mukergee Mehta Vulpha. Then, suitably scrubbed and "relaxed," she settled into the slightly-less pretzel-like lotus position with her notebook to harness her inner fires and capture for posterity the events, characters and motivations that had shaped and driven her multitudinous and far-ranging activities.

Typically, Emily wrote until noon, prepared a large platter of sausage and other delicacies for her luncheon, and then meditated in bed for thirty minutes.

In the afternoons, Emily engaged in moderate physical activity, which her old acquaintance and correspondent Dr. Alexander Fleming[2] had assured her would help maintain both her gastric good health and her girlish figure. At first, Emily had hoped to ride her bicycle each day. However, she quickly found that while the cobble-stoned streets of Clichy provided an undeniably interesting ride, they did little to aid the digestion. Seeking alternative physical pursuits, she discovered that the smooth, repetitive and abdominally-focused motion of rowing was helpful in every respect.

Within weeks of making this discovery, Emily purchased a small rowboat, and could frequently be seen pulling herself along the languid curves of the Seine . She was such a regular sight on the river that she became the subject of the second last painting by France 's leading Exhibitionist painter, Claude Didore, titled "La vieille famme dans la petite bateau."^{^[3]}

Glowing from her rowing, and pleased with her progress on Speculations, Emily nonetheless felt somewhat isolated in tiny Clichy. Desiring human interaction and intellectual congress, she invited her butcher - the only local man she felt truly understood her - over for what she later described in her journal as "a little sherry and a lot of chin-wagging." By all accounts, the evening went well; the butcher returned the next night, bringing a bottle of red wine, a rib-eye roast and his cousin. By the end of the week, half of Clichy 's male population, including the entire Town Council, had discovered the joy of engaging in philosophical discourse with the witty and worldly Emily as she reclined on a plush velvet sofa. As a side benefit, her liquor cabinet and larder were well-stocked for the winter.

Of course, the women of Clichy were insanely jealous, and picketed nightly in front of her front window, but this did not faze Emily. Each evening, she was surrounded by men who craved her cranial capacity, savoured her septuagenarian sagacity, and reveled in her ribald recitations. Once again, she had made her mark on society. Although there is debate in the libraries of the land, 4 out of 5 Chesleyan scholars agree that this period was the inspiration for the subtitle of Emily's memoir Speculations, "What More Could a Girl Want?"

Scholarly hairs have also been split about how this informal discussion group subsequently became known as "The Pomegranate Club." Some have suggested that this name was inadvertently bestowed by the local Catholic priest who, when he wasn't pouring Emily another glass of wine, averred that some might find the group "rather seedy." Others place the blame at the feet of the disgruntled local women who took to calling their men "a bunch of fruits." Either way, the name quickly became ingrained in local lore, and the revelry of Emily's front parlour "brain brothel" segued into literary history in her next novel, The Pomegranate (1928, Big Banger Press).

Between her literary endeavours, her physical training and the cerebral stimulation of the Pomegranate Club, Emily was almost as busy as she had been in the autumn of 1919. However, she still found time for political pursuits.

On August 27, 1928 Emily cycled to Paris to attend the signing of the Kellogg-Briand Pact, which outlawed war. Having served in the trenches and seen the horrific reality of battle, Emily was fully supportive of the sentiment expressed by the 65 signatory countries. However, as she reportedly said to Frank Kellogg, the US Secretary of State, in the queue for croissants, "War is like a cockroach: we may agree that it is ugly and undesirable, and we may decree that it shall not be welcome in our kitchen cupboards, but we cannot stop it from popping by for a meal." Apparently, the hungry Kellogg entirely missed the point of this poignant analogy, and suggested that Emily should "Run away and make me lunch, woman."[4]

Unsurprisingly, Emily responded irately to Secretary Kellogg's peremptory dismissal. In addition to peppering the shocked diplomat with nautical invective and half-chewed croissant, she wrenched his unlit pipe from between his lips and stormed from the banquet hall. Academics remain unconvinced that this brief episode was the sole cause of her subsequent fashion actions, but all concur that this was the last time anyone saw Emily Chesley dressed as a woman. Instead, she was only ever seen with her hair cut short, wearing a dark single-breasted wool suit and smoking a large pipe. Shortly thereafter, Emily was the subject of the last painting by Claude Didore, "Le vieux homme dans la petite bateau."[5]

1928 was memorable for more than the misbegotten Kellogg-Briand Pact and Emily Chesley's newfound taste in men's fashion. In that year of adventure, learning, and discovery, Emily had many congratulatory telegrams to send. To explorer Richard Byrd, setting out in Emily's footsteps to reach the South Pole: "Been there, done that." To anthropologist Margaret Mead, finally publishing "Coming of Age in Samoa" after 44 excruciating years of research: "About bloody time." And to her old friend Dr. Alexander Fleming on his discovery of penicillin: "Well done, Sandy . save a dose for the old girl."

Of course, Emily received her share of laudatory messages after the runaway success of The Pomegranate. By the end of 1928, sales of Emily's new novel had risen from brisk to spectacular, and her entire oeuvre was in demand by discerning readers throughout Europe. Unfortunately, a small number of "Emily-enthusiasts"[6] were not content to limit themselves to reading her works, instead insisting on seeking out the author personally. The narrow streets of Clichy quickly became clogged by the same kinds of sycophants, toadies, flatterers and assorted creeps that had overpopulated Gertrude Stein's salon at 27 Rue de Fleurus. Finding her own parlour increasingly chock-a-block with posers and unwanted hangers-on, Emily felt she had no choice but to move The Pomegranate Club to a location further from Paris.

[1] 30 minutes by bicycle from the outskirts of Paris.

[2] Chesley and Fleming met at the Front during WW1. See "Wenches in the Trenches."

[3] "Old woman in dinghy."

[4] Clearly, he had never heard of the medical concerns of Britain's Lord Mimsy Gorcharp, else he would have been more precise and ordered Emily to "make lunch for me," rather than what might have been interpreted as "make lunch of me."

[5] "Old man in dinghy." Didore finished this painting and immediately died.

[6] Also known as "Chesley-chasers."

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