Joséphine Le Petit

Throughout the night, the wind and rain fought one another like gods of Olympus. Like a horde of horses charging at full gallop, the storm devastated everything in its path. The newspaper kiosk crashed against the florist’s façade like a mere straw blown by the wind. Trees twisted beneath the repeated assaults. The noise was unimaginable — sinister, powerful — enough to make one fear the worst. Rain poured down in torrents, soaking the earth. Water rushed through the streets ; the ground had no time to absorb it, and cellars and ground floors were flooded.

This morning, calm has returned. In the streets, sweepers, woodcutters, and glaziers are hard at work repairing the damage caused by this catastrophe. I was truly frightened, yet no branch nor stone shattered the windows of our building. I let the curtain fall back over the window and settle myself before the fireplace. Warmth slowly envelops me as I drift into my memories.

Desvres earthenware

My thoughts carry me back to the home of Joséphine LE PETIT in Paris. Since the death of her father Étienne in 1849, she has lived with her mother Joséphine and her younger brother Hector, who is only eleven years old. She is the only daughter in the family. Her grief is immense, yet she must remain strong for her mother. I sit in one of the armchairs near the window. The sounds of the street reach me only faintly through the heavy velvet curtains. The room lies in darkness, though no one seems concerned by it. Hector, tormented by hunger, joins us. The ladies emerge from their sorrowful silence ; one lights the lamps while the other goes into the kitchen to warm the remains of luncheon. I set the table. Madame LE PETIT returns carrying a tureen made of Desvres earthenware, from which a delicious aroma escapes. Quickly, everyone takes their place.

The conversation becomes cheerful as we allow ourselves to be charmed by Hector’s lively storytelling. A born narrator, he transforms his schoolboy adventures into epic tales. Once the meal is finished and the dishes washed and put away, we move into the small sitting room. Hector wishes us good evening and returns to his bedroom.

Just GERALDY

In this family, artistic talent runs through the blood. Joséphine has sung since childhood, but she lacks proper training. She has heard that the tenor Just GERALDY gives lessons in Paris, yet she hesitates : should she ask her mother to pay for such instruction? It is also to gather information about this gentleman that they invited me to visit.

“So, my dear Rose, were you able to learn anything about Monsieur GERALDY?”

Manuel Vicente del Popolo Rodriguez (Garcia)

“Yes, Madame. I contacted several of my acquaintances, all of whom praised this great singer. He was born in Germany in 1808, though his family later settled in Saint-Étienne. He appears to have followed his parents’ wishes, for he earned an engineering diploma in 1827. Yet he never abandoned his dream. Three years later, he began studying singing with Manuel GARCIA (1775–1832). Highly gifted, Monsieur GERALDY now divides his time between Brussels and Paris. He is both a renowned tenor and an esteemed teacher.”

“Thank you, Rose… but can I truly afford to spend such sums upon a dream?”

“Joséphine, tell me about your plans.”

“To learn singing properly and eventually teach it. I have sung for as long as I can remember. In Boulogne-sur-Mer, my teacher encouraged me along this path. It was he who first spoke to me about Monsieur GERALDY.”

“Teaching singing! That would allow you to earn a respectable living for yourself and your family. What do you think, Madame LE PETIT?”

“You are right, Rose. Joséphine doubts herself, yet she possesses a wonderful voice and a natural authority. I have no doubt she could succeed.”

“You have both convinced me. I shall send him a telegram tomorrow.”

I return to the present and smile at the thought of Joséphine. I rise, take a cup of coffee, and gaze out of the window. The streets have been cleared. I have remained indoors far too long. I go outside, hail a carriage, and make my way to the beach.

The sea has regained a relative calm, though debris from its fury during the night still litters the shore. I look towards the horizon. One ray of sunlight plunges into the sea while the clouds around it take on metallic colours. Yet the sky darkens once more, covered in endless shades of grey. Another gust of wind, and the entire landscape changes again. The air has grown chilly. One last glance at this sea with its thousand changing faces, and I return home.

This story has been passed down through the LE PETIT family. Catherine’s grandmother spoke to her about the artistic gift running through her husband’s family, and her cousin Patrick later told her the very same story : Joséphine gave singing lessons until illness confined her to her bed.

She died on the 31st of December 1871 at the age of fifty-three, at 89 Rue Myrha in Paris. Yet upon her death certificate, she is described as having “no profession”?! After the death of her daughter, Joséphine LE PETIT returned to live in Boulogne-sur-Mer, while Hector remained in Paris and married Anne JARRI in 1873.