On the example of Tsvetaeva’s daughter, we show why you can not refuse gifts of fate

Each of us. There's a choice to make in life., and not alone. That's what's at the root. could change fateFor generations. Liability Here's the key word. But do not let those who do not want to take responsibility for their lives think that everything will turn out by itself. Absence choice - that's a choice, too. But the results are different. Ariadne Efron, daughter of Marina Tsvetaeva, accepted the challenge.



GettyImages We were very impressed at the newsroom story This woman. In many ways mystical, but true to the last word. Ariadne Efron made the choice consciously at the time. We don't know if she repented of it on the slope of life. But she lived a decent life, overcoming many obstacles. That was her choice.

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The daughter of Marina Tsvetaeva Perhaps Heaven gave her a chance to escape a tragic life. Everyone has the right to choose their own path. This is it. The Incredible Story of Ariadne Efron in the retelling of Elena Korkina, a biographer of the family of Marina Tsvetaeva.

When I attended the Louvre Art School, we were taught the history of painting by an elegant old lady named De Coster. She was the granddaughter or granddaughter of Thiel Ulenspiegel author Charles De Coster.

When she introduced herself to us at the first class, I asked, “Are you a relative, madam?..” and she just shone. The French read little, and it was the first time in her life when someone remembered her famous ancestor. And, of course, after that, she felt the most heartfelt sympathy for me. Sometimes books play an amazing role in our lives. "Ulenspiegel" was the favorite book of my adolescence. Had I not caught him, had I not known him, there would have been no further history, amazingly right!



GettyImages And one day she came up to me after class and asked me to stay for a conversation.
Mademoiselle," she said, "our school has a philanthropist, an Englishman, his name is Mr. Wadington. I've never met him, I only know him by correspondence. His late wife many years ago, that was before me, studied here for a while. And in memory of her, Mr. Wadington pays for the course of some capable student of ours, who is constrained in means. This year, another boarding school graduated. I recently received a letter from him asking me to recommend him a capable student, and I chose you, Mademoiselle.

I wrote him about you, about your background, about your abilities, about your poor health. And today I got his answer. He is now in the south of France, where he usually spends his summers. That letter. Read it, Mademoiselle.

I take and read how Mr. Wadington thanks Madame De Coster for recommending la belle Ariane, and for the time being asks her, that is, me, to convey his invitation to rest for a month, or as long as she can, in his house near Marseille, to strengthen her poor health by fresh air and sea bathing. The sea, though far from Mr. Wadington's house, but at its service will be a car with a chauffeur.



GettyImages - Oh, of course I'm coming!

I kissed the fragile Madame Ulenspiegel, pressed the unfinished letter to my chest and rushed home.

When I showed the letter to my mother and told her that I had already agreed, she said,

- You're crazy!

- Why?

- If you go to Marseille, you might end up somewhere else.

- Like where?

- Anywhere, in Algeria, in a brothel.

- Oh-oh! Well, then I'm definitely coming!

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And I wrote to Mr. Wadington that I gratefully accept his invitation.

And so I get out of the carriage at a small station, before I get to Marseille, and I get out with my briefcase and I look around in a new place, and there comes a man next to me:

- Is Mademoiselle Mr Wadington's guest?

And somehow... surprised, is he looking at me? That's a little too careful.

It turned out to be the driver of the car sent for me. And all the way I was chatting about the weather, about the sea, about Paris, and he looked at me so strangely from time to time that it even bothered me.

Finally, we arrived at the gates of the stone fence of a huge park, as I thought. He honked, the gates opened, and we drove into this park and past the alley of tall rose bushes drove up to the house.

It was an old stone two-storey huge house under a tiled roof with narrow windows, they were blinds, and others were closed and shutters – so live in the south of France in the summer, keeping the coolness in the house.

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The turn of the fate of Ariadne Efron At the porch met two - a man and a woman. When they saw me, they were both stunned, not taking their eyes off me. I sat in the car until the driver walked around the car and opened the door. I went out to see them.

- Hello, I said, feeling completely idiotic.

- Hello, Mademoiselle! the man responded and took my suitcase from the driver.

- Welcome, Mademoiselle! the woman also found the gift of speech and made an inviting gesture. Come on, we'll take you to your rooms.

And as we walked through the halls and corridors, stairs and passages, the woman looked at me now and then with even a kind of horror.

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"What's on my face? Maybe I got dirty on the train? I'm going to get some powder in the room and look at it.

They took me to the wonderful rooms on the second floor, showed me everything I needed.
- Where is Mr. Wadington? he asked.

- You'll see him before lunch. He will be waiting for you in the big room with the fireplace we passed through. We have lunch at five. Get out of the way, Mademoiselle.

I was alone. Having decomposed my unwise things, taken a shower and made sure that there were no stains on my face and nothing unusual, I began to inspect my possessions. One room was a lovely bedroom. Wooden bed, dresser, toilet table, chair, narrow wardrobe. Everything was wonderfully cleaned - bed, linen, blanket, curtains, bed mat, napkin and a bouquet of roses on the dresser. Through the blinds, I saw a huge, up to the horizon, park.

The second room was large, corner, with two windows, with a tall bookcase full of books and albums, which I gazed greedily through the glass. At one window stood a large oak table, a tall chair and a wooden shelf. And it turned out to be a treasure trove! On the shelf there was a whole art shop: boxes with watercolor paints, chests with a set of gouaches, wooden pencil cases with pastels, packs and feet of different varieties of paper.

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I looked at it all and could not believe my eyes. You could spend your whole life here! I looked at the clock, it was an hour before lunch. I sat on a high chair at this wonderful desk, took the paper out of the pack, and started rolling an enthusiastic letter home.

At ten to five, I went downstairs. In the huge hall with the fireplace was already light from the open shutters. There was no one in it. I went to the windows to admire the view, then looked around and, seeing a large portrait on the wall, approached him. And stunned. I looked at this portrait the way all the servants looked at me in the morning, almost in horror. It was pastel, very good.

And that portrait was of me. But not the me I just saw in the mirror, but I'm in the future when I'm thirty. I couldn't take my eyes off the portrait. In the shock of all my feelings, I saw my future, I read in this person all the feelings I had not yet experienced, in the eyes of this woman I saw the fascinating mystery of everything I was going to experience.

I woke up from the clock fight and turned around. By the fireplace stood a tall gray man in black. It was Mr Wadington.
Mr Wadington's wife died very young of a very transient illness. She was an artist, an amateur. She took private lessons, studied at the Louvre school.

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The most amazing thing is that no one suspected our incredible similarity until I arrived. Because Madame de Coster has never seen Mr Wadington or his wife.

The first time he saw me in the hall of his house at the portrait of his late wife (and this was her self-portrait), he almost lost his feelings. Like he told me later. And he was a very staunch man, a former officer in the British Navy. At that moment he experienced a miracle, he saw that Heaven and the dead wife sent him a daughter. That is how he understood it, for with a striking resemblance I was half the age of the woman in the portrait.

I lived there for two weeks, I remember.

Mr Wadington offered me to move with him to England, where he would arrange a guardianship, make me the heir to his entire fortune, I would live in London, I would be given monthly allowances from which I could help my family. I will take engraving lessons (which I dreamed of and lacked funds for) from the best English masters.

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Well, everything else you can imagine, maybe you can't.

And I, of course, refused and went home, into my life.

When I came to school in the fall, I found out that Mr. Wadington had paid for the last two semesters of my studies, so I had the education I had.

Think about how my life could have been different if I accepted Mr Wadington’s offer. Amazing, isn't it?

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How Marina Tsvetaeva's daughter lived after returning to the USSR After returning to the Soviet Union daughter Ariadne was waiting for a test. She came first from the family, followed by her daughter returned father and mother, Sergei Efron and Marina Tsvetaeva. At first, Ariadne worked in the editorial office of the Revue de Moscou magazine. But soon, her parents were arrested, and then she was accused of espionage.

In 1939. Ariadne Ephron Sentenced to 8 years of camps. Two years later, she learned that her father had died in custody and her mother had taken her own life in Tatarstan.

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Efron served her entire sentence. She was arrested again in 1949 and sentenced to life imprisonment in Krasnoyarsk Krai. All she spent in Stalinist camps 16 years. She was forced to be rehabilitated in 1955, as there was no crime committed by Efron.

Daughter of Marina Tsvetaeva She worked as a translator of prose and poetry, a memoirist, an artist and even an art critic. Ariadne died at 62 from a massive heart attack.

I think this great woman atoned for many sins kind of. That was her choice. May it remain in our memory as an example of dedication, acceptance and love.

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Read more about the life of another wonderful woman, by the way, their fates with the heroine of today’s article are somewhat similar.

What is the percentage of people who have received chanceCan we use it? What's in the way? Tell me in the comments.

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