Schiltberger no doubt dictated his adventures soon after his return to his native country, because in the concluding chapter he explains “how and through what countries I have come away”. The various incidents of his career in the East are recorded without method, and were evidently related just as the recollection of them occurred to him, so that the attempt to follow in his footsteps, with any precision, becomes a hopeless task; and irregularly interspersed with his narrative, are descriptions of places and events, that he learnt from hearsay only, not having been either a spectator or participator. This inconsistent and incongruous style, again, betokens the man wanting in instruction; but every page affords evidence of the intelligence, veracity, modesty, and high principles of the honest-minded Bavarian; indeed the whole, so straightforward, truthful, and certainly useful, will compare favourably with the most trustworthy of mediæval writers, not excepting even Marco Polo. “Notwithstanding a few historical and geographical errors,” says Hammer, “this book of Travels remains a precious monument of the history and topography of the middle ages, of which Bavarians may be as justly proud as Venice is of her Marco Polo.”[4] There is nothing to show that Schiltberger was a reading man, or that he availed himself of the writings of others, except in one instance, in which it can scarcely be doubted that he had recourse to some authority when giving the dimensions of the walls of Babylon, which coincide so exactly with what is found recorded in Herodotus. How otherwise could the poor slave have traced and verified such measurements?
Schiltberger has wisely distinguished what he heard from what he himself saw, and therefore does not hesitate to indulge in the recital of the marvellous and ridiculous, without, however, the least touch of humour or criticism. A battle was fought between serpents and vipers, near Samsoun on the Black Sea coast; not whilst he was in the city, but “during the time I was with Bajazet”. Entering with childlike pleasure into the fullest particulars on the Castle of the Sparrow-hawk, he takes care to say, that when one of his companions wanted to visit it and see the virgin who resided there, nobody could be found to show the way, because the castle was hidden by trees, and the Greek priests also forbade approach to it. Then there is the story of the destruction of the mirror at Alexandria, related in the most perfect simplicity, and, as is his custom, without a word of comment; but that the Pope’s conduct was iniquitous in the sight of good Schiltberger is very certain, for he seeks to excuse his lesson of dissimulation to the priest, on the plea that all was done “for the sake of the Christian faith”. _Vera sunt vera et falsa sunt falsa; sed si ecclesia dicit vera esse falsa et falsa esse vera, falsa sunt vera et vera sunt falsa._ If Bellarmine was really the first to pen these lines, verily it was no new precept that he was promulgating. Another instance of Schiltberger’s appreciation of the truth is to be found in his relation of the tale of the saintly man in Khorasan, who had attained his three hundred and fiftieth year. “So the Infidels said,” are the words added. Such is the manner in which Schiltberger treats these and all the other absurd inventions to which he listened in his leisure hours.