A Tale from Legend — "Lula" the Babylonian

There, where the metropolis of the Babylonians rose on the bank of the Euphrates, surging along in the serenity of its majestic surge, there crouched a temple — to Venus — to which strangers made pilgrimage on one particular day of every year, to perform on its evening the rites of worship after their abominable fashion...

The temple candles were nearly spent, having burned since the beginning of night; the darkness was about to lift before the lights of dawn, and the religious ceremony had not yet begun. The women stood humbly before the goddess in two long facing rows, obscure lights flashing in their eyes at one moment, thick darknesses veiling their sight at others...

And the men were scattered there in half-circles, filling the corners, their faces grim, anger having taken full hold of them; they were seized by a fit of rancor against "Lula," the Babylonian girl with the wide dark eyes and the abundant hair and the stately mien — who had not yet come, though she ought to have come before everyone, because she was the ward of the high priest, because she was pious of heart and noble of nature, and because... her tender youth was the target of all eyes and hearts.

One of them said: Coquetry has some part in Lula's lateness.

Another muttered: No — behind this second absence I see some grave matter.

And another said: What harm is it to us if this fool of a girl is not present in the temple, when not one other of the women of Babylon has stayed away?!

At that moment the priest cried out: Let my daughter be accursed if she does not come this very hour.

A low, stammering voice was heard: She is ill, my lord, and begs you to excuse her from coming tonight.

That was the voice of her faithful servant, who had come at that hour to make her excuses to the priest — after he had sent for her — but the priest answered him in a thundering voice whose echoes rang through the space of the temple: No — she must come now, though her very soul were rising to her throat!

The newcomer slipped toward the door with bowed head, and the people held their breath, as if awed by this situation, new of its kind — or as if their fury against Lula had turned all at once into solicitude for her and love of her.

The minutes passed one upon another; the fragrance of incense spread through the reaches of the temple; and at last the door opened, and in it appeared Lula with her slender figure, muffled in a dark weave so that only the upper part of her face could be seen, a witheredness showing in her heedless eyes. The chants began to rise in quiet and reverence, and the men began to pass in ordered files between the two rows of women, two lines of cords stretched between the two parties. And the men set about choosing whichever women struck the place of desire in their souls...

One of them stopped before Lula, poised and reverent; and when her eyes and his met, he felt as though sparks were flying from hers, and sensed that she was commanding him to respect her will. But an active force from the depths of his soul — or, more truly, a palpable weakness in the depths of that soul — overcame all his noble powers, made him shut his eyes to those sparks and forget that will and not turn aside for it; and with the swiftness of lightning his arms stretched out to pull her violently toward him. But her slender hands were quicker to thrust him back, and to slap him; and her weary feet were quicker to flee from him.

But whither?? She stopped in one of the corners of the temple, panting under her burdens, the veil fallen away from her; and she appeared like a statue holding much of the meaning of the powers of rebellion and defiance!

The temple rang with voices; some of the people were scandalized, and others admired; and Lula listened to the words of condemnation raining down upon her without taking in any of them.

Let the transgressor be stoned. Let the infidel be imprisoned. Let her be a lesson to rebellious girls like her. Let her be torn to pieces at the feet of the angry gods.

Yet no hand reached out to do Lula harm — and had one reached out, Lula would have felt no pain, no humiliation, no wrong. For she was listening with the fullness of her spirit to a voice stronger than all those voices together, which had taken possession of her feeling, lit her brow with a holy light, and driven her, with a force she had no power to resist, to climb upon one of the statues, from which she looked out over the agitated throng; then she cried with the full force of her womanhood:

What have I done, O you people!!?

Is it because I condemn a vile custom you have borrowed from your fathers and your forefathers?

Is it because I scoff at a worship you perform by way of sin and debauchery?

Is it because I believe that the gods cannot be pleased with such shameful deeds, which they never ordained?

Is it because I guard my pure body from being soiled by the filth of this lechery?

Is it because I wish to enjoy my personal liberty, and will take no step until I have consulted my reason and set my principles straight?

O people, you are astray. These blind traditions, which you inherit without any thought or deliberation, will write across the record of this civilization of yours a brand of shame that the bowing down of this city will not erase. As for the goddess Venus, she asks of you nothing but pure blossoms, that they may become pure fruits — untouched by the hands of defilement, unstained by the animality of man!

O you! Here is my body — imprison it; here is my flesh — tear it to pieces. But my free spirit you shall never reach, for it is in the sanctuary of truth, in the sanctuary of liberty, in the sanctuary of peace.

And Lula fell silent, as though the beatings of her heart lay between the words; and she looked at the people, and behold, they were silent, standing in awe of her revolt, gazing up at her with believing eyes; and her words — for all their simplicity and innocence — had almost worked like magic upon their souls, had not the priest, whom she loved more than a dutiful son loves his father, risen, shouting to the people and pointing his hand at her:

— She is a woman — she is blind temptation — so woe to whoever listens to her.

Had Lula not been a woman, this anthem of rebellion would have remained upon the lips of every Babylonian man and woman.

And Babylon, and Athens, and Corinth would have remained to this day the cradle of civilization, the pilgrim-goal of philosophers, and the lodestar of conquerors' eyes.

But Lula is a woman...

And woman, in the law of man — the man of yesterday, and the man of today, and the man of tomorrow — is a beautiful child, but a wicked one; and therefore, alongside its care, one must at times employ its chastisement; and if the matter grows intractable, then its crushing and its extermination — this in exceptional, critical cases, since doing without it is impossible — alas!

And the centuries passed, one following upon another, and history turned its massive pages; and behold, the twentieth century stands forth on the last page of them, teeming with wonders and marvels — or with upheavals whose like history never recorded before.

Here is a very small word breathed out by the lips of life: and behold, she is this playful little girl — a child with the gaiety of children, their jesting and their winsomeness, and you love them — but when death snatches away the person dearest to her, she turns aside from their path to stand before death through the long hours, asking it why it dared single out her mother from among the mothers of all the girls of her own age; and when she receives no answer to her question, she turns to life — and how little she knows of it — and asks it why it left her alone, without taking her in its mercy. And when she despairs of an answer, she goes to people — kin, companions, teachers, strangers — to ask them thousands of questions; but all of these give her what neither quenches her burning nor sates her hunger, nor reaches in her soul what she herself would reach in it. Oh, the forlorn girl!

Her young stem ripens; but soon enough she is kept from returning to school, and she stands heedless, dazed, asking:

— But why does my brother remain free and at large?
— Because, girl, he is a boy!
— And is a girl some tasty morsel, that one must fear she will be devoured?!
— No — the traditions require of her reserve and seclusion.
— The traditions! Why do you cling to them, when God has sent down no authority for them?!
— What a chattering rebel you are! Do you want to change the order of the universe?
— No — I want you to free yourselves from these worn-out fetters that drag you centuries backward.
— But you will accomplish nothing, for you are a girl, and a girl...!!
— Is condemned to obedience: whatever man ordains for her, so be it; and whatever he withholds from her, or withholds her from, she must respect and hold sacred!
— And by what right?
— By right of the belief prevailing among mankind since the beginning of the world.
— And the proof??
— That certain civilized nations, to this very day, deny woman political rights, while they have not denied them to men!!
— And why? Because she is a woman... because she is blind temptation, and woe to whoever listens to her.

Lula the Babylonian is stoned a second time and torn apart at the feet of ignorance and injustice.

But the voice of liberty, crying out in her forever, will raise her up alive, her strength renewed, to struggle and to fight.