01. Birth, Mont du lac, 1828-1833

I was born in the village of Pont on the 5th of July, 1828. My name Abram Isaac was after an uncle of my father, who was established in Naples, and reputed to be rich. Henri was to carry on the name of my father. Louis was the name of a brother of my father and a brother of my mother. [Berney: I was named Henri Louis Abram Isaac. DW: Abraham Isaac Henri Louis Rochat]

My father's name was David Henri ; his father, who died before my birth, was named Simeon , son of Pierre Moise.

I was born physically weak, but the faculties of intelligence were developed early, which further weakened the forces of my body.

In 1829 my father bought the house at Mont du Lac , and there I passed the first years of my life. When I was two years old, a brother, whom they named Louis, was born, but he died at the end of seven months. I clearly recall that little brother and his burial.

I was of an affectionate disposition, and the memory of those first years of my life are very precious to my heart.

I was then, the eldest -- the only living child -- and consequently was the object of much affection from my family and relatives. My father was a man of kindly disposition, esteemed by all for his benevolent character. I never once saw him angry. He was pale in complexion. Like mine, his eyes were of a deep blue, and his hair was dark. Several of his teeth were missing, and he wore sideburns. He had learned to speak German in Reinach.

It seems to me that I still see him, especially at evening time, as he worked at his bench. There were four such benches, and a lamp of glass in the center, giving light for four persons.

My father sang very well -- with a voice of tender quality. This is a song I remember his having sung to me:

Voyez cette neige qui brille

Là haut sur cex monts sourcilleux

C'est là, je dis près d'une fille,

Ou je vivais le plus heureux.

Quittez ces riantes campagnes,

Cherchez le plus obscur séjour

Jusques au sommet des montagnes,

Partout vous trouvez l'amour

Le coeur des filles se laisse prendre,

Bien plus bite que le chamois

Il est trompeur, mais il est tendre;

Il va répétant dans ces bois:

Quittez ces rianted campagnes,

Cherchez le plus obscur séjour

Jusques au sommet des montagnes,

Partout vous trouvez l'amour.

See the snow so sparkling

The height on the smiling mountains

It is there, I say, near a girl,

Where I live the happiest.

Leaving the pleasant countryside,

Looking for the most obscure place

Up on the summit of the mountains,

On all sides you find love.

The heart of the girls allows one to leave,

Moreover (bite)? like a chamois

He is deceived, but he is tender;

He is going to repeat in those woods:

(Repeat the last four lines above)

trans by Don Bourgeois Sep 2005

We had two cows. My father, mounting me upon his shoulder and giving me the switch, permitted me to drive the animals, speaking with me all the while with tenderness and kindness. As far back as I can remember, he took me from my bed each morning, and without completely dressing me, took me to the table on which lay the Bible. Out of this book he taught me to spell. Indeed, I cannot remember not having known the letters, nor not being able to read the word, "God."

My mother was short-waisted and a little stooped . Her figure was a little like Mathilde . She was very active, and had a brisk walk as she went about her housework. The noise of her footsteps announced the energy which was hers. I loved her less than my father- for I considered her harsh; but, when she struck me on the back, all I had to do was to hunch a bit -- and all was over. My father punished me but once; and that was with a strap [tire pied]. I cried for a long time and could not be comforted, because the blow had come from my father.

I enjoyed visiting the homes of the Moisets, the Oliviers , and at my Uncle Samuel's x; but I was filled with fear at Charles', who was a bad neighbor. All the other inhabitants of the little village were worthy, honorable folks who lived peaceably together. Thus my early years were happy ones.

Sometimes when I was sick, my [maternal] grandfather, Jean Rodolphe, came to get me. At other times he came for me even when I was well. My father let me go regretfully. One must believe that I was appreciated.

One time my grandfather came for me when the lake was so high that the waters covered the road through the village. We went by boat from the foot of the hill to just in front of his home. In rowing, he sang me this song:

La jeune Louison,

Qui rèvait seulette

Au fond du vallon, Chantait la chanson:

Gay, gay, faut passer l'eau!

Il est si doux, l'air qu'ice l'on respire!

Gay, gay, faut passer l'eau!

Chagrin d'amour n'entre pas en bateau.

De la jeune enfant

Les peines secrètes

Venaient d'un amant, Qui fut inconstant.

Gay, gay, tout en vôgant,

Le batchier consolait la pauvrette

Gay, gay, faut en vôgant

Chagrin d'amour s'enfuit au gré du vent!

Young Louison dreaming alone

In the valley, sang the song

Merry, merry, go on the water

The air we breathe is so mild

Merry, merry go on the water

You cannot take love sorrows in the boat

The deep sorrow of the young girl

Came from an unfaithful lover

Merry, merry, go on the water

Love sorrow go away with the wind!

Trans. Jules Berney 1994

My grandfather never again sang that song for me; but I never forgot the words, not the strangely exciting little boat journey over the high water. These, amongst the many incidents of my childhood, were deeply engraved in my memory.

My grandfather was a man of the old school. He had black eyes, a Roman nose; and his face reflected the hard work which had always been his. He was not a talker, understood nothing of joking, never read a paper, and never mixed into any discussion. With his equals he was silent; with his family he was domineering, and if anyone dared differ, he frowned darkly. As husband and father, he had always been feared; but with me he was very amiable. On his little domain of 8 poses he kept two cows. The meagerness of his revenue had made him very parsimonious. Sometimes, however, he went to the tavern, and then when he had drunk a glass, he sang, his songs rolled forth, almost always on the wars of the Low Countries, which gives me the impression that they were composed during the reign of Louis XIV. His voice fitted that genre of song better than any other.

My grandmother was a sickly little woman, with one shoulder higher than the other. Her expression seemed always to be one of sadness and fatigue. She lived in fear of her husband, and she cringed before him.

My Uncle Rodolphe was hunch-backed, and his feet were deformed. He worked at watchmaking, and lived with his parents. He was not a great talker, but his expression was open and kindly. I very much liked my Uncle Rodolphe.

In 1833 my father remodeled our house, and I thus found myself surrounded by carpenters, which I much enjoyed. I liked the idea of having a new house, for this period of house alteration was one of general gaiety. The day that the framework was raised was a great holiday to me. At suppertime we had wine and songs.

Christmas night of 1833 there was a great fire at l'Abbaye. I still remember how our room was lit up. My father went to lend his aid. He started out at the pump, then afterwards, feeling very tired and covered with perspiration, he abandoned the pump to carry water. The night was excessively cold and his clothing froze still. At length, overwhelmed with cold and fatigue, he drank a little wine; but could not warm himself. He returned home in the morning and took to his bed. The cold had settled on his lungs, and he died 21 Jun 1834, at the age of 30 years.

The death of my father left a great void. Our little village had lost the most amiable and most respected of its citizens; my mother had lost the tenderest of husbands, and I had lost the best of fathers.

My Grandmother Simone [Simeon] wept most piteously, and wore mourning for him the rest of her life.

I well remember seeing my father sick. He had had himself moved to his mother's in Pont for a change of climate; but there, daily losing strength, he became hopeless and on June 21st, he died. The day was one of those lovely days of the mountains -- the air fresh, the sunshine radiant. My father requested that they put him out in the open. I see him now on his bed. He said several words to my Uncle Louis [Charles Louis Alexander Rochat], and then his voice was gone. Seeing me close to his bed, he turned to me. I began weeping and was led away. A few minutes later my father died. His passing was peaceful and painless.

George had been born the 20th of May, so my mother found herself with the responsibility of three children.

The household of my father's family was composed of his mother and of my two uncles, George and Louis, both of whom had attained to manhood. My Uncle Louis was a baker [boulanger] and also a tanner of kid [chevrotin]. He seemed to be a good worker and must have earned a fair amount of money; but all that family had a passion for wine and for good eating. In our mountains this passion leads to poverty and to laziness. The worker has no time for thinking about his appetite. It is the lazy who are gourmands. Hence my father's family did nothing for us, in spite of the fact that my father had always helped them as far as his kindly heart and limited purse would allow.

My mother was a woman of energy and did not permit herself to be overwhelmed by her desperate situation. My father had left some debts, but his books showed that much was owed him, for he made many shoes -- especially for the people of Chenit. But since the money could not be readily collected, my mother decided to sell part of our little property to cover the debts. First there were the fields, then my father's tools; and to these was added some of our household furniture as well. [ajouter les menbles quelle avait eu à son mariage.] All was put in and all sold, but at excessively low prices.

There we were. Here we were established, without debt, the rightful claimant of the home of Mont du Lac, all remodeled and with a large garden . [Nous voici donc établis, sans dette, ayant la maison du Mont du Lac toute remise à neuf, et un assez grand jardin.]

Since I had now reached school age, I went to live with my grandfather. [Jean Rodolfe Rochat, L’Abbaye?] Thus ends the first chapter of my life.