Princess Lyudmila threw herself into her work. She dispatched envoys to bring to her the best scientists and artists, the most distinguished writers and academics, and the finest intellectuals. They together would create magnificent plans and programs to implement beauty in the everyday life of the people—especially through education. For it was clear to her that one has to start with young minds not yet molded by reality…
Some of these envoys she sent abroad to search for beauty and light there, as she herself did by traveling to exotic kingdoms like India and Nepal, many days ride by horseback. More important still, she reached out to the people. In her speeches she tirelessly and enthusiastically explained how they could benefit from the creative powers of spiritual change that each of them possessed within themselves—it only needed to be awakened. Everywhere the princess went she was met by enthralled masses of people; it was a sign that she was speaking straight to their souls. It was so evident to her that her subjects and her country needed a spiritual renaissance, and she often wondered how it was that nobody had understood this before her.
Among all these frantic activities she found time to marry, divorce, remarry, and have two children. However, she expressed the desire for her private life to be kept out of the public arena….
The ambitious princess, the apple of the king’s eye, was capable of rising even higher above the harshness of reality. She wanted to present the little kingdom of Bulgaria to the world, as this was the home of great Thracian treasures, and of beautiful orthodox icons. Under her supervision and command, exhibitions sprang up and traveled around the world. The king had to squeeze money from his subjects, but that was never a problem when a higher cause demanded of them such a sacrifice. The most important of her many projects was the celebration of the thirteen hundredth anniversary of Bulgarian statehood. But the neighboring Great Soviet Empire was not really pleased with Lyudmila’s barely concealed nationalist projects. They thought that the planned celebration was a daring display of Bulgarian national identity. As if Bulgaria were an independent kingdom and not merely one of its many satellites! Such an act was dangerous, because it could inspire other Eastern European satellites to think that they, too, could have an identity (and life!) separate from the Great Soviet Empire. That simply could not be allowed. Especially because there were signs that the princess might be the next in line for the throne and—according to spy reports of the time—she was but a dangerous lunatic.
A cunning plan was put into action. Lyudmila’s lover, Alex, was one of the Soviets’ many men in Sofia. They wanted to install him in power after the king’s death. They instructed Alex to talk Lyudmila into an attempt to overthrow King Todor I, whereupon he would take over power. But her pride was hurt: She had envisioned this position for herself! When the plan was discovered (perhaps thanks to her hurt pride?), the king went mad with fury. Yet he forgave his daughter, as he knew that her heart was full of love for him, for his kingdom, the whole world, and even the universe. “My dear child, all in good time! The throne will not escape you. You have proven to me that you are worthy of it,” he told his daughter. Lyudmila was relieved. Being the harmonious creature that she was, she did some more yoga stretches and meditated a bit upon the divine and eternal—and for her, the matter was settled.
But not for Alex, who understood that his Politburo career, if not his life, was at stake. What was to be done? He contacted his patrons, and they came up with yet another devious plan. Of course, in such medieval states, the custom was simply to resolve such complications with murder. But they did not put it so bluntly to Alex. In the meantime, who knows, he might have been influenced by all this light and beauty blah-blah of the princess. The Soviet secret police, the KGB, gave him a small crystal vial in a red velvet box. Allegedly, Alex was told that it was a magic potion. Once Lyudmila opened and smelled it, she would fall in love again and help him to the throne.
When Lyudmila, busy with preparations for the anniversary exhibition, received his gift, she was very pleased. She took it as a sign of remorse. Being a woman, she could not resist but to open the bottle right away, believing that it was a perfume. The sweet fragrance enveloped her. He still loves me, she thought, before her spirit left her body, only to become one with the universe—as she herself would have put it. She was thirty-nine years old… When the servants entered her chamber, her body was gone. No one noticed the small green frog that jumped through the window into the garden.
After her disappearance, darkness fell upon the kingdom. It lasted for the next eight years, when a new light descended upon Bulgaria, this time from the West.
“I think that we Bulgarians were blessed with her in a strange way. She had the power to do more bad things than she did. That is why I like the idea that she did not die of poison (which is only one of the many versions of her death), but rather turned into a small, fragile green frog—into a little animal, that is,” I told Evelina. “Ah, yes, how very typical of Bulgaria! Unlike in other fairy tales, in this one the princess turns into a frog and not the other way around. I like your interpretation! “ exclaimed Evelina, not really knowing much about the said Princess Lyudmila.
But she really did behave more like a princess than a party bureaucrat. Regardless of whether she was allowed (or not) to behave differently because she was protected by her omnipotent father, the truth is that she was educated, intelligent, and ambitious. Bringing a whiff of modernity to Bulgarian art and culture was a very positive attempt.
Even if her ideas were often very, very strange.
Take her “national program for aesthetic education,” as part of the “construction of a mature socialist society.” As much as she tried to put it into practice, her directions were vague and abstract. No wonder, because it was not an easy task to link “development according to the law of the spiral” with development according to the dominating laws of economic determination in Marxism: The material world represents the “base,” while the “fluffy” stuff of culture, beauty, and spirit belongs to the “superstructure.”
Or take her rhetoric. Her rhetoric was delightfully fuzzy and deceptive. Here is a quote from a 1980 analysis by the journalist Jordan Kerov, which Evelina found somewhere for me (I think she called the place the “Internet,” but I don’t know where it is situated):
Lyudmila Zhivkova’s opening speech at the 1979 “Banner of Peace Assembly” in Sofia, for example, contained the following words or concepts taken directly from the oriental mystics or from their occidental proponents: harmony, harmonious development of man, and perfection, etc. (occur 33 times); light, celestial light, brightness, etc. (35 times); the Universe, the Planet, the Galaxy, Endlessness, the Infinite, the Eternal, Nature etc. (33 times); Beauty, Truth, etc. (38 times); Wisdom (19 times); creative powers, dreams, aspirations, etc. (36 times); and Spirit, vibrations, energy, blessing, etc. (16 times).
Lyudmila Zhivkova also uses phrases like the “effulgent purposefulness,” the “sonorous vibration of the seven-stage harmony of the Eternal,” and the “vibrations of the electrons.” All this she managed to put together in a speech lasting only about 15 minutes and, which is the most amazing, addressed to children of up to 14 years of age.