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Nineteen years after his death, John Ozell, translator on a large scale of French, Italian, and Spanish authors, revised Motteux's edition, which he published in five volumes in 1737, adding Le Duchat's notes; and this version has often been reprinted since. The continuation by Motteux, who was also the translator of Don Quixote, has merits of its own. It is precise, elegant, and very faithful.
In 1709 he made five hundred guineas by furnishing the spectacle for Motteux's opera of 'Tomyris, Queen of Scythia'. When these papers were written he was thriving upon the Masquerades, which he brought into fashion and made so much a rage of the town that moralists and satirists protested, and the clergy preached against them.
George Kelly's, which appeared in 1769, "printed for the Translator," was an impudent imposture, being nothing more than Motteux's version with a few of the words, here and there, artfully transposed; Charles Wilmot's was only an abridgment like Florian's, but not so skilfully executed; and the version published by Miss Smirke in 1818, to accompany her brother's plates, was merely a patchwork production made out of former translations.
Motteux's solicitors wrote immediately to inform him of his accession to their late client's wealth. It being one of Mr. The Prince Consort happened about this time to be in quest of a suitable country seat for his present Majesty; and Sandringham, through the adroit negotiations of Lord Palmerston, became the property of the Prince of Wales.
Motteux's first love, or one of them, had been Lady Cowper, then Lady Palmerston. Lady Palmerston's youngest son was Mr. Spencer Cowper. Mr. Motteux died a year or two after the above event. He made a codicil to his will, and left Sandringham and all his property to Mr. Spencer Cowper. Mr. Spencer Cowper was a young gentleman of costly habits.
Indeed, he bore the slightly modified name of 'Expensive Cowper. As an attache at Paris he was famous for his patronage of dramatic art or artistes rather; the votaries of Terpsichore were especially indebted to his liberality. At the time of Mr. Motteux's demise, he was attached to the Embassy at St. Petersburg. Mr.
Urquhart's, without taking liberties with Rabelais like Fischart, is not always so closely literal and exact. Nevertheless, it is much superior to Motteux's.
To attempt to improve the humour of "Don Quixote" by an infusion of cockney flippancy and facetiousness, as Motteux's operators did, is not merely an impertinence like larding a sirloin of prize beef, but an absolute falsification of the spirit of the book, and it is a proof of the uncritical way in which "Don Quixote" is generally read that this worse than worthless translation worthless as failing to represent, worse than worthless as misrepresenting should have been favoured as it has been.
Nothing, unless indeed the coarse buffoonery of Phillips, could be more out of place in an attempt to represent Cervantes, than a flippant, would-be facetious style, like that of Motteux's version for example, or the sprightly, jaunty air, French translators sometimes adopt.
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