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EMBLEMA CXLVIII.

Philautia.

Self-satisfaction.

Quòd nimium tua forma tibi Narcisse placebat,
In florem, & noti est versa stuporis olus.[1]
Ingenii est marcor, cladesque Philautia: doctos
Quae pessum plures datque deditque viros:
Qui veterum abiecta methodo, nova dogmata quaerunt,
Nilque suas praeter tradere Phantasias.

Because your beauty gave you too much satisfaction, Narcissus, it was turned both into a flower and into a plant of acknowledged insensibility. Self-satisfaction is the rot and destruction of the mind. Learned men in plenty it has ruined, and ruins still, men who cast off the method of teachers of old and aim to pass on new doctrines, nothing more than their own imaginings.

Link to an image of this page  Link to an image of this page  [O4v f95v]

Das CXLVIII.

Eigen Lieb.

Das du Narcis also vergafft
An deinr farb bist gwesn und verhafft
Daß bist worden zum Rößlin toll
Welches jederman kennet wol
Eigen Lieb ist Glehrter Leut seucht
Verderbnuß abnemmen on deucht
Dardurch ir vil seind gangn zu grundt
Und gehn darzu auch noch all stundt
Welche der alten weiß und lehr
Verwerffen und nemmen neuw her
Und lehrnen nur ir fantasey
Sonst ist nichts hinder in danns gschrey.

Notes:

1.  For the story of Narcissus, see Ovid, Metamorphoses, 3.344ff. On the flower, see Pliny, Natural History, 21.75.128: “there are two kinds of narcissus... The leafy one ... makes the head thick and is called narcissus from narce (‘numbness’), not from the boy in the story.” (cf. ‘narcotic’).

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    EMBLEMA CXLVI.

    Mentem non formam plus pollere.

    Intelligence matters, not beauty

    Fox holding a mask
    [Click on image to enlarge]

    Link to an image of this page  Link to an image of this page  [O3r f94r]

    Ingressa vulpes in Choragi pergulam,
    Fabrè expolitum invenit humanum caput
    Sic eleganter facricatum [=fabricatum] , ut spiritus
    Solùm deesset, caeteris vivisceret:
    Id illa cùm sumpsisset in manus ait:
    Hoc[1] quale caput est, sed cerebrum non habet.[2]

    A fox, entering the store-room of a theatrical producer, found an actor’s mask, skilfully shaped, so finely fashioned that the spirit alone was missing, in all else it seemed alive. Taking it up, the fox addressed it - What a head is this, but it has no brain!

    Das CXLVI.

    Das Gemüt ist uber die gestalt.

    Ein Füchßlin schluff in ein Werckstat
    Eins Kunstreichen Bildhauwers drat
    Darinn es fandt schön außpoliert
    Eines Menschen Haupt und geziert
    Also lieblich daß anderst nicht
    Mangelt, dann daß es war erticht
    Und hett kein Geist sonst wer es gsein
    Als wer es lebendig und fein
    Diß das Füchßlin in sein Füß fast
    Und hin und wider wol betast
    Sprach es, was ist es für ein Kopff
    Hat es doch kein Hiren im Schopff?

    Notes:

    1.  Textual variant: ‘O’.

    2.  See Phaedrus, Fables 1.7 (also in iambic senarii); Aesop, Fables 43.

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