Monsieur de Champ, your very name evokes
A world of pleasure in a world of folks,
Whether they say de Champ or say de Shomp,
De Shom, de Shamp, de Tchaimpp, or simply slump
To the preposterous plural of des Champs
(Pour vous on ne peut plus déconcertant!)
Yet whatsoever their pronunciation
They see yourself behind the appellation
Just as we see yourself behind your beard
Which we revere because of what’s revered
And loved behind it. Back of beard and name,
Back of your noble stance and well-groomed frame,
Back of the mobile face which helped us find
Our own elastic though undisciplined,
We see the spirit setting all in motion
And clasp the hand that helped to span an ocean.
Some knew you only through the courteous way
You always bowed when wishing them Good-day,
But their experience though rich was poor
Compared with that of those you wished Bonjour!
C’est dire vos élèves, leurs enfants,
Et leurs petits-enfants, Monsieur de Champ:
One thinks of all the ba bé bi bo bu
That you coaxed forth from that reluctant crew,
Of all the ears your sound analysis
Improved for analysing what sound is,
One thinks how, thanks to you, communication
Has been enhanced in our bilingual nation,
For children’s children’s children of your students
Come back to us the better for the prudence
With which you taught their parents. Not that you
Confined your work to labial and dental
For back of these you showed this fundamental:
That sound however perfect must make sense
And that however well one know a tense
Intention must inform its application.
So paradigms were given recitation:
Allant, allé, je vais, j’allais, j’irai,
Que j’aille, and these were beautiful to say,
And beautifully, monsieur, you made us say them,
But better still you taught us to employ them
And best of all you taught us to enjoy them
Till even the most timid, full of fears,
Knew there could really be French Without Tears.
For in your office lined with books and pictures
One seemed so far from anything like lectures
In that informal circle round your table
Where, like the good magician in the fable,
You waved a wand, que dis-je, votre pipe!
Qui faisait embarquer toute l’équipe
Pour un voyage au pays des merveilles,
Paris, Lyon, Carcassonne ou Marseille.
C’était charmant – et c’était instructif,
A combination almost past belief.
Yet while you marshalled sound and sense together
You never left us wondering as to whether
You had your own opinion on a matter,
And, having patiently endured our chatter,
We still can hear you: Vous avez raison.
Peut-être. C’est possible. or Mais non!
Just as we see your eyebrows rising yet
To Sapristi! or Saperlipopette!
Ainsi était l’aimable professeur
Pour un chacun, jeunes filles en fleur
Et jeunes gens, donneur avec largesse
De français, de sagesse, et d’allégresse.
Your colleagues, they knew better than to think
Your essays just corrected with red ink
In your impeccable calligraphy,
They knew the uncounted hours so generously
Devoted to an almost thankless task,
Though it, not thanks, was all you used to ask,
Pursuing it for half a century
With a punctilious punctuality
Our clocks might envy and our students try.
With deep regret, monsieur, we see you go,
Yet you have left us more than you can know
And far far more than we could ever tell,
Donc nous vous souhaitons tous en ribambelle,
Connaissances, amis, collègues et enfants,
Bon voyage, monsieur – papa – de Champ!Robert Finch