“This,” said she, producing a hyacinth, “has the power to endow the person of its possessor with the brightest and most captivating beauty. Admiration will follow their footsteps, and the homage of crowds be paid to their charms. But even you, my children, uninformed as you are, must know that beauty at best is but a fading flower, and the adoration it excites equally transitory. If in those who derive it from this gift, it be accompanied with modesty and humility, it will insure to them all the happiness and gratification that a consciousness of the power to please must naturally confer. But if, on the contrary, it renders them vain, haughty, and unfeeling, demanding universal admiration, and jealous of all who have any claim to share it with them; regardless of the pain they inflict on those whose affections they have seduced, or glorying in the victims of their coquetry, they will find this coveted beauty the source of shame and mortification. Then will the bright tint of this admired flower turn to a sickly and disgusting hue, and the late beauteous person share its fate.
“But here,” continued the fairy, taking up one of the lilies, “is my best and most valuable gift. This modest flower will neither change its hue or lose its fragrance. The person who wisely chuses this, will enjoy the inestimable blessing of content in whatever situation they are placed. No envy will torment their heart at the prosperity of others; no repining at their own less exalted lot; their wishes will be bounded by the sphere in which they move, and care or disappointment be a stranger to their breast.
“And now,” she added, “it remains for you all to make your election; remember my words, and prove by your prudence what influence they have had upon you.” “Ah,” cried Adrian, “how can I hesitate? poor and destitute as we are left, it is fortune I know that is wanting to re-instate us in ease and independence, and to secure us the respect of the world. But, gracious fairy, do not, I beseech you, think me capable of making an ill use of the wealth you will bestow upon me. Believe me, the greatest pleasure I feel in the thoughts of possessing it, is the power it will give me of assisting others, and making all around me happy.” “Rash boy,” answered Felicia, “how can you pretend to judge of what your feelings and conduct will be in a situation so wholly new to you? The obscurity in which you have lived, has ill fitted you to encounter the snares and temptations of an interested world. You will be the prey of designers, and repent when too late of the inconsiderate choice you have made. But now, Amaranthé, for your decision.” Amaranthé felt a little awkward in declaring her choice, after what the fairy had said; but at length, in some confusion, replied, “I have always longed to be handsome. My governess has told me such pretty stories of beautiful ladies, and of their being so followed and admired, and every body being desirous to serve and please them, that I am sure they must be the happiest of all creatures.” “Your governess was very foolish,” said the fairy; “she had better have told you of the heart-aches and discontent that generally fall to the lot of beauties.” “How can that be?” inquired the astonished girl, “surely being courted and caressed by others, must make one anxious to please and oblige in return. I should be too happy to be proud and ill-natured.” Poor Amaranthé spoke the truth at the time. Her innocent mind was unacquainted with the failings, that the fairy had stated as being usually attendant on beauty. Having never met with competitors, she had not experienced the grievances of rivalship or jealousy; and vanity and coquetry were hardly known to her by name.
“I perceive,” said the offended fairy, “you are as opinionated as your brother. I fear the time may come when you will both repent not having paid more regard to my admonitions. And which of these, my gentle Claribel, (turning to her,) shall I present to you?” Claribel timidly answered, “I am not ambitious of riches, they would but embarrass me; neither do I covet beauty—to be an object of general notice, would to me be only distressing. A contented mind must surely be the greatest of all blessings: at least, I can neither imagine or desire a greater. I shall therefore gratefully accept one of your favourite flowers,” looking at the lilies.
“Amiable girl,” exclaimed the fairy, “there is no fear of your ever repenting of your choice. How may your cousins wish they had partaken of your prudence; but it is not yet too late to repair their error. I give you,” addressing Adrian and Amaranthé, “the remainder of the evening to consider of what I have said. Before you retire to rest, your choice must be finally fixed, for to-morrow it will be irrevocable.” With these words, she and the flower-basket disappeared in a moment from their sight.
They remained for some minutes motionless, almost doubting their senses, or whether such an extraordinary visitation had really occurred to them; at length, arousing from their stupor, they agreed to seek Ursula, and relate the adventure to her.
The joy of the poor governess almost exceeded that of her pupils. “Ah,” cried she, “it is indeed the sweet fairy Felicia; well do I know her. Do not you remember my children, that I once nearly betrayed the secret of her existence to you? Benigna is, as she says, an excellent fairy, but terribly strict in her notions. She was the friend and guardian of my dear lady from her infancy; but your father could not endure what he called her severity, or forgive her opposition to his marriage with your mother. All intercourse ceased between them; and Felicia was obliged to withdraw her protection from your father. This gave him a disgust to the whole race of fairies, and he would not suffer you to know that he had ever had any connexion with them.”
The simple Ursula could not disapprove the choice of Adrian and Amaranthé. To see him surrounded with splendour, and her with admirers, would gratify the fondest wishes of her heart. Gabriel was now summoned to the conference. He by no means agreed with Ursula in her approbation. “Alas, my dear, young master,” said he to Adrian, “it was riches that proved the bane of your father’s happiness and comfort. He mistook the court that was paid him while in possession of them, for the real respect and good will that he fancied was his due, though to say truth he took no other means of obtaining them. When his fortune was gone, his pretended friends soon followed; and that occasioned the reserve and moroseness with which you must have observed his temper was tinctured. Inexperienced as you are in the world, wealth may prove but a treacherous snare; and as the fairy wisely says, you will probably fall a prey to wicked designers.” “A truce, I beseech you,” cried the impatient Adrian, “with these dismal forebodings. Neither you nor the fairy can make me believe, that being happy myself, and having the power to make others so, can prove my destruction. Depend upon it, old man,” continued he, with an arch smile, and laying his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, “when you begin to reap the advantages of my fortune, which you shall certainly do, you will be vastly glad that I did not listen to your preaching!” Gabriel shook his head with a look of distrust. “And what, my sweet young lady,” addressing Amaranthé, “can beauty do for you? I remember your dear mother the fairest of the fair, and yet her lot in life was far from a happy one.” “O dear Gabriel,” interrupted she, “you are ten times more disagreeable than the fairy. Here is the very thing offered to me that I have all my life been wishing for, and then I am told I must not accept of it. What evil can attend being handsome? I shall like to look at myself in the glass; I shall like to see other people looking at me; shall be pleased and happy all the day long; and what harm is there in that?”
“Well,” said Gabriel with a sigh, “I am still of opinion that your cousin has made the wisest choice.” “O yes, the wisest choice for Claribel, doubtless. As long as she may go creeping unnoticed about the world, taking no trouble herself, or being troubled by others, that is all she desires. I have no notion of such tame satisfaction.” To this Claribel only answered by a smile.
They all retired at the usual hour to their beds, but to Adrian and his sister it was not to rest. The thoughts of what the morrow would produce kept them waking the greater part of the night. Soon as the sun darted his first rays into the chamber, Adrian sprang from his bed, and looking eagerly around, discovered the desired rose appearing with luxuriant glow upon the toilet before him. Enraptured, he hastened to seize his prize, when he perceived a folded paper lying by it, in which on opening, he found these lines: