almost certain not to have divined the true meaning; but in offering some sort of translation even of these portions I have acted upon a principle to which I attach the greatest importance: even a wrong idea is better than no idea at all, and progress in translation can only come by presenting to the critics some definite objective to tilt at. I have been at pains to study my predecessors very closely, and may therefore hope to have avoided, as a rule, modifications of the kind which the Germans compactly call Verschlimmbesserungen.
To those without knowledge of the Egyptian language some explanation why texts of this sort occasion so great difficulty may be of interest. The meaning of the large majority of the words employed is either already known, or else can be elicited through comparison with other examples; but not the precise nuances of meaning, only the kind of meaning, its general direction and its approximative emotional quality. Taking into consideration the further facts that the absence of any indication of the vowels makes the distinction between the various verb-forms very difficult, and that Egyptian dispenses almost entirely with such particles as "but" "because" "when" "though," it will become evident that texts of a purely moralizing character, where there is no concrete background against which the appropriateness of this or that rendering shows up unmistakably, must present extraordinary difficulties. The only basis we can have for preferring one rendering to another, when once the exigencies of grammar and dictionary have been satisfied—and these leave a large margin for divergencies,—is an intuitive appreciation of the trend of the ancient writer's mind. A very precarious basis, all will admit. Nevertheless, the number of moralizing texts which we now possess is not inconsiderable, and everywhere like thoughts crop up and mutually confirm one another. Some confidence that we have succeeded in fathoming an old Egyptian sentiment may often be gained by noting how well the same sentiment, expressed in different but similar words, fits into other contexts. By slow degrees we are acquiring a fair working knowledge of the psychology of these ancient folk.
The tale is a simple one, and may be left to explain itself. But not so the individual sentences within it. To make these intelligible to the modern mind it would often be necessary to depart so far from literal translation as to lose all the flavour of the original. I have, with few exceptions, preferred to be literal at all hazards, and if the result be inelegant, I would point out that my purpose has been linguistic and psychological, rather than aesthetic. Those who, not unreasonably, object to footnotes will find plenty to complain of here; but the alternative, explanatory glosses interrupting the translation itself at every instant, would in my opinion have been infinitely worse. The tale of the Eloquent Peasant challenges comparison with the story of Sinuhe, not only because both texts appear to have enjoyed popularity at Thebes during the Twelfth and following Dynasties, but also because the manuscripts are the work of the same scribes and have now found a resting-place in the same museum. But whereas the simplicity of the story of Sinuhe, its conciseness, its variety of mood and its admirable felicity of expression make it a great literary masterpiece, the same praise cannot be given to the tale of the Eloquent Peasant. The narrative portions are indeed straightforward and unobjectionable, but the nine petitions addressed to Rensi are alike poverty-stricken as regards the ideas, and clumsy and turgid in their expression. The metaphors of the boat and of the balance are harped upon with nauseous insistency, and the repetition of the same words in close proximity with different meanings[1] shows that the author was anything
- ↑ Examples: irt nwdw in B 1, 92. 100. 107; sbn, see below p. 14, n. 1; swꜣ, B 1, 117. 119. 6
