Justine (Chapter 2)

Justine, realizing that now, more than ever, she was at last alone in the world, threw herself down upon the pathway, and, folding her hands to heaven began to despair. She realized, sure enough, that a tender stripling such as herself, a young girl whose way through the world would be sore-beset by those constant twin wolves at the door—hunger and want, must guard herself against the many cruel whims and artful deceptions of other predators, of the two-legged variety.

To this end, the pitiable creature slunk to the door of a local dressmaker, a woman who had always shown friendliness to her late mother, and seemed to hold her in great regard. Said Justine to herself, "Yes! There is no way that kindly soul would turn the child of her mistress' loins out of doors. Why, I don't know why I didn't think of her before!"

To her horror, though, the pitiable Justine soon found that friendship shines brightest when the circumstances surrounding it accord it easy purchase. Otherwise—

"Drat! I don't have room and board for every wayward tramp that happens upon my step! Away with you!"

And, closing the door violently in Justine's face, the mad old woman disappeared.

Justine rent the coarse fabric of her dress, exclaiming, "Oh Heavens! This woman was once the bosom boon of my baby heart! Now, she despises me! But why? Does friendship only accord homage to those whose favors it requires the least of? Are people merely concerned, then, with themselves and their own comfort and survival in the face of foul misfortune?"

It appeared to Justine, perhaps for the first time that, indeed, maybe it did.

But she was not to be deterred. Her belly rumbled hungrily, and she knew it must be satisfied forthwith. She took herself, then, to the home of a politician and reformer, a man known as a "hero of the slums." She thought, at least here is someone that will be sympathetic to the plight of a poor, destitute, orphaned girl.

She appeared at his door dressed in the coarse, ragged dress that adorned her delicate form. She wore an immense bonnet, which framed her head prettily, and a circle of gauze about her throat. Her bosom, though small, swelled beneath the silken fabric of her dress, and the image, on the whole, was to the old lech, intoxicating.

"Oh, sir!" cried Justine. "You see before you an orphan, lost on her way in a wicked, cruel, and decidedly harsh world, a world that is contemptuous of common decency! My parents, sir, died when I needed them most, leaving me naught but a crust of beggar's bread to assuage the pangs of my belly. Oh, you, kind sir, who is a friend of the people—take pity on me! Where shall I go! What shall I do? What's to become of me?"

The devious old lecher took in the supple young form of the fragile waif, and, his lips salivating under the lubricity of his perverted imaginings, he told her, forthwith, "This country is too overburdened with paupers, wretches and orphaned waifs. It would be better to let you die like a starving hound in the streets. But, I'll tell you what—" And here, he bent close to her, and said, "If you work hard cleaning the kitchen here, you'll never lack for a crust of bread with which to fill your belly! Sound like a bargain?"

And with that, the debauched old rake gave her a rather too worldly kiss, sending Justine recoiling in horror, as she knew full well what his lewd and suggestive gesture meant.

"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed. "I ask nothing from you, neither charity nor alms. All I wanted was a little advice. You would have me purchase it, though, at too steep a price!"

And with that, she fled to a rooming house, her small inheritance all she had to offer the landlady, who was a thick, round and vulgar creature.

"I know of a man who can help you," she said, her tongue lolling in her stupid, toothless maw. "He's named Dubourg, and he's one of the richest men in the city."

Unsuspecting, Justine made her way to the door of Dubourg, whom she found lounging, lewdly, in an old green robe. Compelled to wait for him in his antechamber, Justine prepared herself for the interview, reciting the sad litany of her life from the moment her father had died by his own hand.

"Sir, you see before you a young woman barely grown to adulthood, yet already I have experienced the misfortunes of a cruel and heartless world! I've been told you're a compassionate man, one that can help me. Oh, please, take pity on a forlorn girl cast adrift on the churning maelstrom of an unhappy fate!"

And, casting herself on her knees, Justine threw her hands up to her face in a pitying, imploring gesture. Dubourg, for his part, seemed a little confused as to what Justine could possibly want with him.

Dubourg asked her, genuinely curious, if she were a "good girl." She answered, "If I were not pure, virtuous, chaste, would misfortune dog my heels so relentlessly? I sometimes wonder."

Dubourg answered, "Then, by what right do you have to expect the rich to aid you, if you will not, in return, serve them?"

Justine was rather proud, a result of her privileged upbringing, and often blanched at menial jobs. However, she answered, experiencing not a little confusion "How would you have me serve them, sir? I want only to do that which is proper."

Dubourg laughed, shifting himself upon his settee so that the monstrous engine with which he exercised and indulged his libertine whims was exposed for Justine's sight.

"You silly girl," he began. "You are far too pretty, spoiled, and weak to employ as a maid or scullery wench. Better by far that you get on with the business of learning how to please men, who despise virtue when it is presented to them in a package of loveliness, and tied with a ribbon of abstinence. When a man like me does something, promotes the interest or general welfare of some pauper, or feeds an orphan, or clothes some ragged beggar, it is always because he expects something in return. In your case, I suppose you can already guess what that something might be."

"But then, sir, you aver that there is no pity, no real charity among men?"

Dubourg replied to this entreaty, "Precious little, in fact. It is a thing often spoken of, seldom demonstrated. At least, not by those who understand that pity was, is, always, simply a manifestation of pride. And, since pride is nothing more than an illusory emotion, void of substance, the wealthy have slaked off the pity for fallen and tragic women, instead giving vent to their darker flirtations, insomuch as they have decided it is better to reap the pleasures brought with physical charms than those afforded by the winning of social prestige. Hence, what a girl such as yourself should, if she so wishes to improve her lot in life, do is become a 'kept woman.' The wealthy will very rarely aid the unfortunate, unless she be willing to indulge their personal whims; sympathy and compassion pale in comparison to the thrilling sensation that comes with indulging physical pleasure."

At hearing these sophistries, Justine recoiled in disgust. Throwing her hands to her head, she exclaimed, "Sir! Under such a harsh philosophy, the poor and unfortunate must surely perish!"

Dubourg swept his hands as if to embrace the air.

"And what difference does it make if they do? This country, as I have already averred, is teeming with ragged, smelly, dirty and starving human vermin. The country doesn't want them. What difference does a few, more or less, make?"

"Then," cried Justine, a little mystified at his reasoning, "it would be better if they were simply smothered in the cradle!"

"Of course!" agreed Dubourg wholeheartedly. "And such was the custom in ancient Greece. Such is the custom in China, today, which has no room and no will to feed their weak and deficient bastards. Instead they, indeed, smother the offspring. Orphans, cripples, and bastards only burden the State. There are already too many. But, tell me: Why waste your precious time worrying over your misfortune and suffering, when it is in your own power to remedy such a situation?"

"And," asked Justine, "Messeur, should I go about remedying my situation?"

Dubourg rose from the bed, answering haughtily.

"By casting off the shackles of that insane virtue which will lead you nowhere but to the poor house, prison, or grave. Now—"

And he went to the door.

"If you cannot offer me anything more than tears, while you implore me for pity and compassion, both sentiments perfectly nauseous to me—get out! I detest vagabonds, vagrants, and beggars!"

And Justine was just getting up to leave when, suddenly, the besotted old lecher slammed shut the door again, and, swearing that he would tear pleasure from the bosom of pain, began to fondle and abuse Justine; who, inflamed with courage, suddenly, by his savage assault, threw open the door herself, and ran from his home, exclaiming, "Brute! Dastard! Fiend! May heaven punish you like the beast that you are! You are not worthy to breathe the air that keeps your body alive!"

Justine ran, on watery legs, all the way home to her landlady, to inform the woman of the beastly way she had been treated.

Yet, to her surprise, her landlady replied thusly:

"You stupid wench! Do you suppose men of wealth and breeding put themselves out to help every wayward waif that comes along begging with her hand held out, if, for their troubles, they should receive nothing in return? Perish the thought. Why, it is a testament to his restraint that he didn't treat you far, far worse; goodness knows you'd deserve it! Why, if it had been me in his shoes, I damn well would have demanded satisfaction from you before ever letting you out my door. But, listen: if you do not take the help I offer you, there is no pity to be had for you! A person can starve on pity, sure enough. Now, pay me what you owe me or—OFF TO JAIL."

And Justine, weeping, fell once more to her knees, exclaiming, "Oh, have mercy on me, dear lady! I cannot risk ending up in jail. If you go to him, and assure him of my compliance, I will be forever in your debt!"

To which the landlady replied, "You're deep enough in my debt already. But here, I'll go to him and see if we can smooth this over. I'll wager he'll be in a damned perturbed state, sure enough. But, I'll assure him you promise to be a 'good little girl,' from now on."

And with that, the landlady went to Dubourg, who was, indeed, in a foul mood, and who took much coaxing to be talked into allowing Justine a further audience.

When Justine arrived, it was to find Messeur Dubourg in a highly-excited state, as "The cries and protestations of the unwilling object of our desire, only serve, like a grand symphony, to heighten that desire, and sweeten the nectar of our carnal bliss."

"Now," he began, "your landlady, loathsome creature that she is, is the sole party responsible, and the one you can thank, for your even being allowed to come here again. Take off your things, and I swear before God that, if you show even the slightest resistance to me, I've two men in the chamber outside waiting to drag you to a tree out yonder, and hang you from the uppermost branch."

Justine, falling to her knees yet again, implored him to have pity, asking him, "Will you find pleasure amid tears and disgust? Oh, do not force me to surrender that which is a thousand times more precious to me than food or air! Be generous, and aid me without first trying to rob me of that which I hold most dear! Heaven itself would bow its head in shame at the hatred and disgust I would proffer you, at the commencement of your crime, and the sight of my sorrow! Would that sorrow not fill you with remorse?"

Alas, Justine could not hope to squelch the carnal desires of a man whose very appetites were inflamed by her protestations. Dubourg arose, his massive engine exposed, and grew inflamed by Justine's resistance, tearing away her shift, and exposing those delicate parts wherein the supplicant at the Temple of Venus should blow the incense of his offering. Her every twist and turn beneath his leering grasp filled him, thrilled his ardor to the point of lunacy, and he began to fondle and pinch, and nibble and bite and suck in a strange and ecstatic manner.

If messeur had been less an excitable individual, able to forestall his eagerness, to defer his gratification while, volcano-like, the sweet serum of passion swelled within, he might well have stolen Justine's virtue in one fell swoop.

As it was, his eagerness betrayed him, causing the mechanism of his desire to fall decidedly limp, putting an end to that which, by dint of circumstance, should have commenced the completion of his aims.

Instead, Justine was spared the hideous completion of his desires and, chastened, she fled the abode of the libertine rake hell, never to return, but all the wiser for having been there.