Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 18 - Section III
III. Deschamps.
Jean Deschamps, Sieur de Bourniquel, born 1667 at Bergerac in Perigord, became a refugee in Geneva in 1685. He removed into Germany about 1699, and from that date till 1729 was the French pasteur at Butzow in the Duchy of Mecklenburg. He died in the beginning of 1730 when about to remove to Berlin, in which city he had intended to settle, having received an appointment from the King of Prussia. His wife née Lucrece de Mafiée, was a refugee lady from Dauphiny whom he married in Geneva; she survived him till December 1739, leaving out of eight children, five survivors, Gabriel, Jacques (who succeeded his father at Berlin), Jean, Antoine, and Sophie.
Of these the third, Jean, born at Butzow, 27th May 1709, and educated at Geneva and Marbourg, and for many years a litterateur and courtier at Berlin, ultimately adopted England as his country. At Marbourg he had been a pupil of the famous Wolfius (Christian Wolff), and in 1736 he had obtained the notice of the Prince-Royal by his translation into French of Wolff’s Logic. On the accession of this Prince (Frederick the Great) to the throne in 1740, he appointed Deschamps tutor to the young princes, brothers of His Majesty. At what dates he studied theology and obtained ordination to the Christian Ministry I am not informed, but in the title-page of his “Cours Abrégé de la Philosophie Wolfienne,” published in 1743, he styled himself “Ministre du St. Evangile à la Cour de S. M. le Roi de Prusse, et Précepteur de LL., AA., RR., Messeigneurs les Princes Henri et Ferdinand, Frères du Roi.” It is supposed that he offended Frederic by his righteous and vigorous attacks on Voltaire in the above-named work; at all events, a series of discouragements led to his departure from Berlin, which took place 7th June 1746, and after a tour through Holland he arrived in England on 25th March 1747. In the hope of securing an introduction to remunerative employment he began his labours in London by executing a translation of Lyttelton’s brochure, entitled “Observations on the Conversion and Apostleship of St. Paul,” and thereupon was permitted to call on the author (who was not elevated to the peerage till 1757). He has described the interview, which I copy as a picture of the feelings of a refugee in the great metropolis, just arrived, and in his thirty-eighth year. The statesman (then a Lord of the Treasury) received him one morning at about ten o’clock.
“He received me in his dressing-gown and night-cap, saluted me very coldly, and having settled himself in an elbow-chair, ordered that one should be placed for me near to him and to the fire; he allowed me to pay my compliments, to which he replied only by an inclination of the head, and began to buckle his shoes, draw on his stockings, and adjust his garters. Hereupon I shewed him my manuscript and asked him for an explanation of a passage that puzzled me. He forthwith discontinued the operations about his legs, and taking my manuscript, he said, ‘Sir, you do much honour to my work by wishing to translate it into French; I cannot think it worthy of your so doing?’ He then explained to me the passage in question, and spoke to me of his Persian letters, which had been very badly rendered into French, and much wished it could be translated anew, besides which he had added to the original work more than a third. Conversation went on for some time in this manner, and when I saw that his legs were completed and his barber ready in his turn to enter upon his office, I thought it right to resign to him a head which his operations were about to reduce to silence . . . . About fifteen days after, he sent to beg my attendance. I went at the hour appointed, and was received with much more politeness. He assumed a gracious air, thanked me for the trouble I had taken, and asked me if I wished him to tell me freely what I thought. ‘Most willingly, sir,’ replied I, ‘for that very reason I have shewn you my translation.’ Then rising, and taking a tone both emphatic and sententious, he made me this very obliging speech, ‘Sir, I find that you know neither English nor French; your style is harsh; in many places you make me say absurd things; in one word, I think that if you print this manuscript, you will do credit neither to me nor to yourself.’ So polite a compliment mortified me less than it excited in me pity for the weakness of a man who believed himself capable of judging of what he did not understand, for he spoke French indifferently and by no means correctly. . . . . I retained my self-possession, and, without the least feeling of anger, said calmly, ‘Sir, it may be that I have in some places misconceived the meaning of your expression; but, as to my language, I flatter myself that I am tolerably well acquainted with it, so has the public judged of my works; and if there be harsh passages in my translation of your work, they are those passages which I have translated literally, in order that the force of the original may not be lost?’ At these words he regarded me fixedly, and replied in a softened tone, that truly he did not so perfectly understand our language as to judge with certainty; he could, however, assure me that I had not exactly conveyed his ideas; for example (continued he), ‘you make me say to the friend to whom I dedicate the work, that he has had the goodness (a eu la bonté) to applaud it, and find it worthy of being published. I do not so say, but that he has approved the design I had of publishing it.’ ‘Sir,’ I replied, in a tone of irony, ‘I must beg your pardon for having given to your words a too polished tone of expression. Amongst us French, all polite people speak in this manner, and the words a eu la bonté convey no expression of a favour bestowed, but are simply a compliment which leads to no consequence.’ ‘Ah, well,’ replied he, ‘we English are unceremonious people, and do not love compliments, and you will oblige me by leaving that out.’ We subsequently examined some other passages, upon which his remarks were about as well founded, and I would have withdrawn my manuscript; but he begged I would leave it with him a little time longer, that he might examine it more at leisure, and we parted good friends. He thanked me again and again for the trouble I had taken, and said that an individual like myself conferred too great honour on his work. Truly these English are an odd race of people!”
Owing to some accidents, the translation of Lyttelton’s tract was not published till 1750. In 1749 Mr. Deschamps was about to settle at Cassel as Professor of Philosophy, but he was retained in London by receiving the appointment of one of the ministers of the French Church in the Savoy, where he received Anglican ordination from the Bishop of Llandaff. On 4th April 1753 he married, at Mile End Chapel, Judith, daughter of Daniel Chamier, Esq. Sir Abraham Janssen presented him to the living of Pillcsdon in Dorsetshire in August 1756. The death of the Rev. John Deschamps took place on 23rd August 1765. His widow died at Winchester on 27th December 1801, aged eighty. Their son assumed the name of Chamier on the death of the last male representative of that refugee family, and is the ancestor of the present English family of Chamier.