In those far-off days, when the news reached our ears through a faintly nasal vacuum-tube radio, Geneviève Tabouis, in her gravelly voice, foretold political disasters. She always opened her commentary with the phrase that became legendary: “Attendez-vous à savoir.” — “Expect to know.”
And we, obedient and wide-eyed, expected everything… especially the worst.
Geo Trouvetou — also known as Jean — decided he would emancipate himself from the family receiver and build his own crystal radio set.
Let’s say that every evening it operated at full volume… or nearly so.
The experiments — and above all the necessary components — took time to assemble. But what exactly is galena? Where does one find it? And that famous antenna — how do you build one without turning the garden into an experimental field? The mysteries of contacts and waves seemed endless. Yet, one by one, problems were solved, and the secrets of radio waves gradually yielded.
I can still see the small wooden board, the coil, the grounding attempts, and that slender metal wire scratching against the galena crystal. With each tiny adjustment, almost, a different sound, another voice… We were capturing the world without leaving our chairs.
And Jean — where on earth did he find all that information, in our forgotten corner of humanity?
I can still feel those heavy black Bakelite headphones pressing against my ears. I doubt I ever heard an official broadcast — more likely shortwave signals from private transmitters. And yet, what a miracle it felt like.
Sounds. Voices. Fragments of the entire world… emerging from a small, shiny black stone.
Astounding, wasn’t it?
The previous article mentioned our family tree. Like 1.5 million French citizens, I too succumbed to the temptation of a genealogical DNA test. At the time, MyHeritage offered an impressive database. Today, that is no longer truly possible in France — unless one sends a small vial of saliva traveling to more accommodating neighboring countries. Genetic tourism clearly has a future.
France does not reject genetics; it merely seeks to prevent a world in which DNA becomes a marketing commodity, a tool of discrimination, or a source of social destabilization. It prioritizes the protection of individuals and their privacy. A noble intention… even if it complicates life for those who wonder why their family sometimes resembles a European summit.
A recent legislative proposal suggests softening this position in response to the quest for origins, supported by this striking argument:
“There is something worse than being born anonymous —
it is dying anonymous.”
Spoken by an eighty-year-old woman, these words resonate. They remind us of the ethical urgency of accessing one’s origins — and of guaranteeing that right in practice, not merely in principle.
Because the questions persist.
Why did my father, the son of Italian immigrants, possess eyes of impeccable blue — worthy of a Viking lost in Piedmont?
What traces have wars and migrations left behind?
From where came the freckles and blazing red hair of my older brother Jean — a capillary mystery still unsolved?
My mother would sometimes remark that a certain classmate bore a striking resemblance to our Spanish friends. Noticing my astonished expression, she would recall a time when Spanish troops were stationed in the region. I did not yet understand that military history can leave… lasting impressions.
The time has come to tell a story that aligns rather closely with my genetic inheritance.
Long ago, a land nestled among mountains — between the Alps, the Jura, and the Vosges — belonged to the House of Savoy, a dynasty originating in Piedmont. Formed in the sixteenth century, the Duchy of Savoy controlled the Alpine passes between France and Italy. And whoever controlled those routes controlled commerce, armies, and all manner of exchanges… including human ones.
Around this province gravitated powerful neighbors:
to the west, France;
to the south and east, Piedmont and the Italian states;
beyond them, the Spanish Habsburgs and Austria.
In 1536, Francis I invaded Savoy to secure control of the Alpine routes. Pragmatic, Savoy adjusted its alliances according to circumstance: sometimes opposing France, sometimes allied with Spain or Austria for protection.
In the seventeenth century, Franco-Savoyard conflicts intensified, often with Spanish and Austrian support — largely because Charles Emmanuel I harbored a few territorial ambitions. Nothing personal. Simply a desire to enlarge the household.
In the eighteenth century, incorporated into the Kingdom of Sardinia, Savoy became entangled in the major European wars opposing France, Austria, and Spain. Soldiers crossed the mountain passes. Villages watched armies file through. The inhabitants lived according to the rhythm of conflict.
Yet Savoy was not merely a battlefield. It was also a crossroads — a meeting place of Latin and Alpine cultures.
Over time, peoples mingled:
Piedmontese from Italian valleys,
Spaniards present through wars and alliances,
Portuguese who arrived later through labor migrations.
Our family inherited part of that blending — as my DNA analysis suggests. At least in part.
As for my older brother’s red hair, that will be the subject of a future chapter in this genetic saga. Every epic deserves its mystery.
Another discovery on MyHeritage, under the naturalization category: our grandmother, Marguerite BARI.
And yet another: the 1931 French census listing our father and his siblings.
Next week, you will learn the peculiar saga of the genes responsible for red hair, the (somewhat romanticized) era of their arrival on French soil, the saga of blue eyes — and, of course, a few of our childhood adventures.
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