Vasil Levski is probably the most remarkable person in the new Bulgarian history. He is truly a hero in every sense of the word. His dedication to the liberation of Bulgaria and his will for self-sacrifice stand out to show the strength of his spirit and the uniqueness of his character.
He was born on 18th July 1837 under the name Vasil Kunchev, but it was years later when people started calling him “Levski”, which is similar to “lion” in the Bulgarian language. According to the stories he was granted that name when he managed to make an impossible jump over a precipice.
Levski shared the belief that the Bulgarians had to rely primarily on themselves rather than external forces. The death of his associates Hadji Dimitar (Do you remember the Bulgarian literary piece used for the common story?) and Stefan Karadzha finally convinced him that preconditioning is necessary for the triumph of the Bulgarian rebellion .He managed to build up a network of secret organizations, widely spread throughout the country that were to prepare the people to defend themselves. In order to do that he mastered perfectly the art of disguise. He was so good at it that even the Turkish couldn’t recognize him.
Vasil Levski is a truly extraordinary man. He is one of those people that appear when they are needed. He is what we call ‘a hero’, because only a hero can embrace a cause, dedicate himself to it and value it more than his own life.
The Apostle in Danger
A short story about Vasil Levski
By Ivan Vazov - One of the greatest Bulgarian Writers (1850-1921)
The place, where The King’s palace of 1871 stands today, used to be the Turkish Town Hall of Sofia (Konak) with its nasty, uneven wall buildings with their verandas, with their narrow-stoned paths entering a stone yard, with its large wooden gate. Two guards were on duty. A mosque stood to the left of the buildings, and to the right there was a large green willow with its branches drooping to the ground. The tree was the only thing one could enjoy here.
In a beautiful June day, several zaptiehs (Turkish policemen) came out of the massive gate of the Turkish Town Hall, talked for a short time and quickly scattered in various directions.
One of them, known as Ali Chaush –a Turk with black, bearded, rough and puffy face headed the main street, which is The Trade Street He walked through the noisy crowd of shoppers who were buying food and other stuff. Ali Chaush was looking closely at some people’s faces.
When he arrived at the inn of Traykovich, he looked at the owner and at the place examining everything. Next he touched his revolver instinctively, made sure the weapon is in its place, and entered the inn.
At the same time a zaptieh was approaching him. Ali Chaush stopped by the gate of the inn and waited.
“What did you learn?” He asked him quietly.
“I looked around carefully, but couldn’t find such a person,” answered the policeman, as he was cleaning the sweat from his clean shaven neck with a handkerchief.
“Did you look closely enough? Did you remember well?” Added Ali Chaush. “He’s about 25 years old, blond, gray-eyed, skinny, average height and he’s wearing a black jacket. Go to the other inn now. Look at the eyes carefully: gray, very gray”, scolded Ali Chaush firmly. His eyes were watching closely the passers by and the people who entered and went out of the inn.
“It’s clear, Ali Chaush,” nodded the zaptieth and went out.
This talk was about Vasil Levski, who they had been trying to capture for a long time.
At that time the apostle came to Sofia from Plovdiv, dressed as a wool trader, organizing a committee, which became historically famous later for robbery of the Turkish Treasury in The Arabakonak Passage in the Balkan Mountain.
The Turkish police in Sofia was on the alert for chasing Levski after a message from Plovdiv. A great number of zaptiehs were after him. Ali Chaush, the most quick-witted and smartest of them, was in charge of the mission. He was giving the necessary instructions to the other policemen, and was repeating the precise description of the face and the clothes of the outlaw, Levski.
So Levski was in great danger, always bold and reckless, convinced of the feebleness of the Turkish police. He had got away of his enemies countless times. Neither he nor his friends suspected he had been followed here in Sofia.
The sharp eyes of Ali Chaush stared at The cafe of Ilchov, which was right next to The inn of Traykovich, and he went to the cafe, before entering the inn.
There were four people: a well-built, fat Bulgarian who was wearing French clothes, sitting on the bench and smoking; Ilcho, the owner, who was sharpening a razor; his apprentice was shaving a customer, who was sitting with turned back to the door. The client was with blond hair and black russet coat. He was Vasil Levski.
Ali Chaush greeted the fat Bulgarian who was smoking, went to the café owner and whispered a question in his ear: “Is there a trader in the inn?’ The Turk described the appearance and clothes of Levski.
“I don’t know, Ali Chaush, I don’t interfere in the inn’s business.” and continued his work quietly as he didn’t know Levski. The owner neither knew Levski nor cared to understand why Ali Chaush was looking for such a person.
“A gray, dried up man.” Ali Chaush repeated and mechanically cast his eyes over Levski, whose back was only seen. Although this talk was in a low voice, it was heard by the other people in the cafe.
The whole body of the apprentice started to tremble; the razor was shaking in his hand. He was in deadly fear. Poor Boy! He knew he was shaving Levski.
The face of the fat Bulgarian, Hristo Kovachev, had changed even more! He was as white as a sheet. He was a friend of Levski and now he understood the Apostole was done.
Levski's face, reflected in the mirror, stayed quiet. No fear or any emotion could be seen on him. This necessary non human self-control didn’t leave him even in the most terrible dangers in his life. Ali Chaush sat on the bench and lit a cigarette.
“How are you doing, Hristo Effendi*? Have you been sick?” Asked Ali Chaush the fat man as he looked at his pale face.
“Yes ... No! It’s the heat”, the dizzy Kovachev mumbled.
“Boy! If you don’t hold the razor in the correct position, you will cut me, scolded Levski strictly. The Turk turned to the black jacket of the Apostle accidentally, and began to discuss some little business with Hristo Kovachev.
“This wicked man waits the apprentice to finish shaving to look Levski in the face. He’s lost,” thought Kovachev. In this crucial moment the calmness and the coolness of the Apostle cheered him up, he had an inspiration, and remembered that Ali Chaush had a weak point – he liked drinking. So he offered him a glass of rakia. The Turk accepted.
He drank the whole glass of 25 grams of rakia at once, munching on the drink with his wet lips.
“Rakia makes you cool in hot weather,” added Kovachev. “Do you want some more?”
And without waiting for a response, he brought a new glass of 25 grams. The Turk drank it, too.
To distract Ali Chaush’s attention completely, Kovachev told him stories about women. The Turk liked them and drank two more glasses of rakia.
“It’s right time to leave, without being noticed,” thought Kovachev as he had a glance to Levski. The Apostole stood up as he was fixing his tie in front of the mirror. Kovachev was terrified when he saw Levski facing Ali Chaush and paying the boy. Chaush accidentally turned and looked at him. The gray, clear, calm eyes of the Apostle met the eyes of Ali Chaush. Kovachev couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Cheers!“ he greeted Levski politely.
“Cheers!” the Turk greeted Levski, too, but didn’t pay much attention to him now as he was interested in the stories.
Levski greeted back and went out of the door.
Half an hour later Ali Chaush remembered his mission, left the café and came into the inn to continue the quest.
At the same time three zaptiehs were carrying five people arrested, who looked like Levski. And all the five were blonde with black jackets! Kovachev was standing in front of the café and seemed embarrassed by the Turkish nonsense to arrest innocent people.
At the same time a ragged gipsy passed by the café of Ilchov. He was leading a horse and a cart with coal.
“Don’t you want to buy some coal for winter? I’m selling it cheap,” the gipsy cried. Kovachev looked at him petrified. It was Levski! He shouted and looked around timidly.
“You don’t want! It’s your choice”. And the gipsy set off.
* A title of nobility (Arabic/Turkish)
** Rakia is a strong alcoholic drink made of grapes, brandy
***Bulgaria was under the Turkish yoke for 5 centuries and some years before it was liberated by the Russian soldiers there was a rebellion against the Turks, which was unsuccessful. Vasil Levski was one of the organizers of this event but was hanged before the uprising started.
