Margery | Page 2

large letters: "The Book of my Life." Then followed a long passage in
crude verse, very much to this effect.
"What we behold with waking Eye Can, to our judgment, never lie,
And what through Sense and Sight we gain. Becometh part of Soul and
Brain. Look round the World in which you dwell Nor, Snail-like, live
within your Shell; And if you see His World aright The Lord shall
grant you double Sight. For, though your Mind and Soul be small, If
you but open them to all The great wide World, they will expand Those
glorious Things to understand. When Heart and Brain are great with
Love Man is most like the Lord above. Look up to Him with patient
Eye Not on your own Infirmity. In pious Trust yourself forget For
others only toil and fret, Since all we do for fellow Men With right
good Will, shall be our Gain. What if the Folk should call you Fool
Care not, but act by Virtue's Rule, Contempt and Curses let them fling,
God's Blessing shields you from their Sting. Grey is my Head but
young my Heart; In Nuremberg, ere I depart, Children and
Grandchildren, for you I write this Book, and it is true."
MARGERY SCHOPPER.
Below the verses the text of the narrative began with these words: "In
the yere of our Lord M/CCCC/lx/VI dyd I begynne to wrtre in thys
lytel Boke thys storie of my lyf, as I haue lyued it."
It was in her sixty-second year that the writer had first begun to note
down her reminiscences. This becomes clear as we go on, but it may be
gathered from the first lines on the second page which begins thus:
"I, Margery Schopper, was borne in the yere of our Lord M/CCCC/IV

on a Twesday after 'Palmarum' Sonday, at foure houris after mydnyght.
Myn uncle Kristan Pfinzing was god sib to me in my chrystening. My
fader, God assoyle his soul, was Franz Schopper, iclyped the Singer.
He dyed on a Monday after 'Laetare'--[The fourth Sunday in Lent.]--
Sonday M/CCCC/IV. And he hadde to wyf Kristine Peheym whyche
was my moder. Also she bare to hym my brethren Herdegen and Kunz
Schopper. My moder dyed in the vigil of Seint Kateryn M/CCCC/V.
Thus was I refte of my moder whyle yet a babe; also the Lord broughte
sorwe upon me in that of hys grace He callyd my fader out of thys
worlde before that ever I sawe the lyght of dai."
These few lines, which I read in the little antiquary's shop, betrayed me
to my ruin; for, in my delight at finding the daily journal of a German
housewife of the beginning of the fifteenth century my heart
overflowed; forgetting all prudence I laughed aloud, exclaiming
"splendid," "wonderful," "what a treasure!" But it would have been
beyond all human power to stand speechless, for, as I read on, I found
things which far exceeded my fondest expectations. The writer of these
pages had not been content, like the other chroniclers of her time and of
her native town-such as Ulman Stromer, Andres Tucher and their
fellows--to register notable facts without any connection, the family
affairs, items of expenditure and mercantile measures of her day; she
had plainly and candidly recorded everything that had happened to her
from her childhood to the close of her life. This Margery had inherited
some of her father's artistic gifts; he is mentioned in Ulman Stromer's
famous chronicle, where he is spoken of as "the Singer." It was to her
mother, however, that she owed her bold spirit, for she was a Behaim,
cousin to the famous traveller Behaim of Schwarzbach, whose mother
is known to have been one of the Schopper family, daughter to
Herdegen Schopper.
In the course of a week I had not merely read the manuscript, but had
copied a great deal of what seemed to me best worth preservation,
including the verses. I subsequently had good reason to be glad that I
had taken so much pains, though travelling about at the time; for a cruel
disaster befel the trunk in which the manuscript was packed, with other
books and a few treasures, and which I had sent home by sea. The ship

conveying them was stranded at the mouth of the Elbe and my precious
manuscript perished miserably in the wreck.
The nine stitched sheets, of which the last was written by the hand of
Margery Schopper's younger brother, had found their way to
Venice--as was recorded on the last page--in the possession of
Margery's great-grandson, who represented the great mercantile house
of Im Hoff on the Fondaco, and who ultimately died in the City of St.
Mark. When that famous firm was broken up the papers were separated
from their