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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:36:20 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:36:20 -0700 |
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diff --git a/11231-h/11231-h.htm b/11231-h/11231-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..08ea166 --- /dev/null +++ b/11231-h/11231-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2054 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> +<meta charset="UTF-8"> +<title>Bartleby, The Scrivener | Project Gutenberg</title> + +<style> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11231 ***</div> + +<h1>Bartleby, The Scrivener</h1> + +<h5>A STORY OF WALL-STREET.</h5> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Herman Melville</h2> + +<hr> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p> +I am a rather elderly man. The nature of my avocations for the last thirty +years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an +interesting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom as yet nothing that I +know of has ever been written:—I mean the law-copyists or scriveners. I +have known very many of them, professionally and privately, and if I pleased, +could relate divers histories, at which good-natured gentlemen might smile, and +sentimental souls might weep. But I waive the biographies of all other +scriveners for a few passages in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener of +the strangest I ever saw or heard of. While of other law-copyists I might write +the complete life, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done. I believe that +no materials exist for a full and satisfactory biography of this man. It is an +irreparable loss to literature. Bartleby was one of those beings of whom +nothing is ascertainable, except from the original sources, and in his case +those are very small. What my own astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, <i>that</i> +is all I know of him, except, indeed, one vague report which will appear in the +sequel. +</p> + +<p> +Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit I make +some mention of myself, my employés, my business, my chambers, and general +surroundings; because some such description is indispensable to an adequate +understanding of the chief character about to be presented. +</p> + +<p> +Imprimis: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with a +profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. Hence, though I +belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, even to turbulence, +at times, yet nothing of that sort have I ever suffered to invade my peace. I +am one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses a jury, or in any way +draws down public applause; but in the cool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a +snug business among rich men’s bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. All +who know me, consider me an eminently <i>safe</i> man. The late John Jacob +Astor, a personage little given to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation in +pronouncing my first grand point to be prudence; my next, method. I do not +speak it in vanity, but simply record the fact, that I was not unemployed in my +profession by the late John Jacob Astor; a name which, I admit, I love to +repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and rings like unto +bullion. I will freely add, that I was not insensible to the late John Jacob +Astor’s good opinion. +</p> + +<p> +Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, my +avocations had been largely increased. The good old office, now extinct in the +State of New York, of a Master in Chancery, had been conferred upon me. It was +not a very arduous office, but very pleasantly remunerative. I seldom lose my +temper; much more seldom indulge in dangerous indignation at wrongs and +outrages; but I must be permitted to be rash here and declare, that I consider +the sudden and violent abrogation of the office of Master in Chancery, by the +new Constitution, as a—premature act; inasmuch as I had counted upon a +life-lease of the profits, whereas I only received those of a few short years. +But this is by the way. +</p> + +<p> +My chambers were up stairs at No.—Wall-street. At one end they looked +upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft, penetrating +the building from top to bottom. This view might have been considered rather +tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape painters call +“life.” But if so, the view from the other end of my chambers +offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing more. In that direction my windows +commanded an unobstructed view of a lofty brick wall, black by age and +everlasting shade; which wall required no spy-glass to bring out its lurking +beauties, but for the benefit of all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to +within ten feet of my window panes. Owing to the great height of the +surrounding buildings, and my chambers being on the second floor, the interval +between this wall and mine not a little resembled a huge square cistern. +</p> + +<p> +At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had two persons as +copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy. First, Turkey; +second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut. These may seem names, the like of which are +not usually found in the Directory. In truth they were nicknames, mutually +conferred upon each other by my three clerks, and were deemed expressive of +their respective persons or characters. Turkey was a short, pursy Englishman of +about my own age, that is, somewhere not far from sixty. In the morning, one +might say, his face was of a fine florid hue, but after twelve o’clock, +meridian—his dinner hour—it blazed like a grate full of Christmas +coals; and continued blazing—but, as it were, with a gradual +wane—till 6 o’clock, P.M. or thereabouts, after which I saw no more +of the proprietor of the face, which gaining its meridian with the sun, seemed +to set with it, to rise, culminate, and decline the following day, with the +like regularity and undiminished glory. There are many singular coincidences I +have known in the course of my life, not the least among which was the fact, +that exactly when Turkey displayed his fullest beams from his red and radiant +countenance, just then, too, at that critical moment, began the daily period +when I considered his business capacities as seriously disturbed for the +remainder of the twenty-four hours. Not that he was absolutely idle, or averse +to business then; far from it. The difficulty was, he was apt to be altogether +too energetic. There was a strange, inflamed, flurried, flighty recklessness of +activity about him. He would be incautious in dipping his pen into his +inkstand. All his blots upon my documents, were dropped there after twelve +o’clock, meridian. Indeed, not only would he be reckless and sadly given +to making blots in the afternoon, but some days he went further, and was rather +noisy. At such times, too, his face flamed with augmented blazonry, as if +cannel coal had been heaped on anthracite. He made an unpleasant racket with +his chair; spilled his sand-box; in mending his pens, impatiently split them +all to pieces, and threw them on the floor in a sudden passion; stood up and +leaned over his table, boxing his papers about in a most indecorous manner, +very sad to behold in an elderly man like him. Nevertheless, as he was in many +ways a most valuable person to me, and all the time before twelve +o’clock, meridian, was the quickest, steadiest creature too, +accomplishing a great deal of work in a style not easy to be matched—for +these reasons, I was willing to overlook his eccentricities, though indeed, +occasionally, I remonstrated with him. I did this very gently, however, +because, though the civilest, nay, the blandest and most reverential of men in +the morning, yet in the afternoon he was disposed, upon provocation, to be +slightly rash with his tongue, in fact, insolent. Now, valuing his morning +services as I did, and resolved not to lose them; yet, at the same time made +uncomfortable by his inflamed ways after twelve o’clock; and being a man +of peace, unwilling by my admonitions to call forth unseemly retorts from him; +I took upon me, one Saturday noon (he was always worse on Saturdays), to hint +to him, very kindly, that perhaps now that he was growing old, it might be well +to abridge his labors; in short, he need not come to my chambers after twelve +o’clock, but, dinner over, had best go home to his lodgings and rest +himself till teatime. But no; he insisted upon his afternoon devotions. His +countenance became intolerably fervid, as he oratorically assured +me—gesticulating with a long ruler at the other end of the +room—that if his services in the morning were useful, how indispensable, +then, in the afternoon? +</p> + +<p> +“With submission, sir,” said Turkey on this occasion, “I +consider myself your right-hand man. In the morning I but marshal and deploy my +columns; but in the afternoon I put myself at their head, and gallantly charge +the foe, thus!”—and he made a violent thrust with the ruler. +</p> + +<p> +“But the blots, Turkey,” intimated I. +</p> + +<p> +“True,—but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! I am getting +old. Surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not to be severely urged +against gray hairs. Old age—even if it blot the page—is honorable. +With submission, sir, we <i>both</i> are getting old.” +</p> + +<p> +This appeal to my fellow-feeling was hardly to be resisted. At all events, I +saw that go he would not. So I made up my mind to let him stay, resolving, +nevertheless, to see to it, that during the afternoon he had to do with my less +important papers. +</p> + +<p> +Nippers, the second on my list, was a whiskered, sallow, and, upon the whole, +rather piratical-looking young man of about five and twenty. I always deemed +him the victim of two evil powers—ambition and indigestion. The ambition +was evinced by a certain impatience of the duties of a mere copyist, an +unwarrantable usurpation of strictly professional affairs, such as the original +drawing up of legal documents. The indigestion seemed betokened in an +occasional nervous testiness and grinning irritability, causing the teeth to +audibly grind together over mistakes committed in copying; unnecessary +maledictions, hissed, rather than spoken, in the heat of business; and +especially by a continual discontent with the height of the table where he +worked. Though of a very ingenious mechanical turn, Nippers could never get +this table to suit him. He put chips under it, blocks of various sorts, bits of +pasteboard, and at last went so far as to attempt an exquisite adjustment by +final pieces of folded blotting paper. But no invention would answer. If, for +the sake of easing his back, he brought the table lid at a sharp angle well up +towards his chin, and wrote there like a man using the steep roof of a Dutch +house for his desk:—then he declared that it stopped the circulation in +his arms. If now he lowered the table to his waistbands, and stooped over it in +writing, then there was a sore aching in his back. In short, the truth of the +matter was, Nippers knew not what he wanted. Or, if he wanted any thing, it was +to be rid of a scrivener’s table altogether. Among the manifestations of +his diseased ambition was a fondness he had for receiving visits from certain +ambiguous-looking fellows in seedy coats, whom he called his clients. Indeed I +was aware that not only was he, at times, considerable of a ward-politician, +but he occasionally did a little business at the Justices’ courts, and +was not unknown on the steps of the Tombs. I have good reason to believe, +however, that one individual who called upon him at my chambers, and who, with +a grand air, he insisted was his client, was no other than a dun, and the +alleged title-deed, a bill. But with all his failings, and the annoyances he +caused me, Nippers, like his compatriot Turkey, was a very useful man to me; +wrote a neat, swift hand; and, when he chose, was not deficient in a +gentlemanly sort of deportment. Added to this, he always dressed in a +gentlemanly sort of way; and so, incidentally, reflected credit upon my +chambers. Whereas with respect to Turkey, I had much ado to keep him from being +a reproach to me. His clothes were apt to look oily and smell of eating-houses. +He wore his pantaloons very loose and baggy in summer. His coats were +execrable; his hat not to be handled. But while the hat was a thing of +indifference to me, inasmuch as his natural civility and deference, as a +dependent Englishman, always led him to doff it the moment he entered the room, +yet his coat was another matter. Concerning his coats, I reasoned with him; but +with no effect. The truth was, I suppose, that a man of so small an income, +could not afford to sport such a lustrous face and a lustrous coat at one and +the same time. As Nippers once observed, Turkey’s money went chiefly for +red ink. One winter day I presented Turkey with a highly-respectable looking +coat of my own, a padded gray coat, of a most comfortable warmth, and which +buttoned straight up from the knee to the neck. I thought Turkey would +appreciate the favor, and abate his rashness and obstreperousness of +afternoons. But no. I verily believe that buttoning himself up in so downy and +blanket-like a coat had a pernicious effect upon him; upon the same principle +that too much oats are bad for horses. In fact, precisely as a rash, restive +horse is said to feel his oats, so Turkey felt his coat. It made him insolent. +He was a man whom prosperity harmed. +</p> + +<p> +Though concerning the self-indulgent habits of Turkey I had my own private +surmises, yet touching Nippers I was well persuaded that whatever might be his +faults in other respects, he was, at least, a temperate young man. But indeed, +nature herself seemed to have been his vintner, and at his birth charged him so +thoroughly with an irritable, brandy-like disposition, that all subsequent +potations were needless. When I consider how, amid the stillness of my +chambers, Nippers would sometimes impatiently rise from his seat, and stooping +over his table, spread his arms wide apart, seize the whole desk, and move it, +and jerk it, with a grim, grinding motion on the floor, as if the table were a +perverse voluntary agent, intent on thwarting and vexing him; I plainly +perceive that for Nippers, brandy and water were altogether superfluous. +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate for me that, owing to its peculiar +cause—indigestion—the irritability and consequent nervousness of +Nippers, were mainly observable in the morning, while in the afternoon he was +comparatively mild. So that Turkey’s paroxysms only coming on about +twelve o’clock, I never had to do with their eccentricities at one time. +Their fits relieved each other like guards. When Nippers’ was on, +Turkey’s was off; and <i>vice versa</i>. This was a good natural +arrangement under the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Nut, the third on my list, was a lad some twelve years old. His father +was a carman, ambitious of seeing his son on the bench instead of a cart, +before he died. So he sent him to my office as student at law, errand boy, and +cleaner and sweeper, at the rate of one dollar a week. He had a little desk to +himself, but he did not use it much. Upon inspection, the drawer exhibited a +great array of the shells of various sorts of nuts. Indeed, to this +quick-witted youth the whole noble science of the law was contained in a +nut-shell. Not the least among the employments of Ginger Nut, as well as one +which he discharged with the most alacrity, was his duty as cake and apple +purveyor for Turkey and Nippers. Copying law papers being proverbially dry, +husky sort of business, my two scriveners were fain to moisten their mouths +very often with Spitzenbergs to be had at the numerous stalls nigh the Custom +House and Post Office. Also, they sent Ginger Nut very frequently for that +peculiar cake—small, flat, round, and very spicy—after which he had +been named by them. Of a cold morning when business was but dull, Turkey would +gobble up scores of these cakes, as if they were mere wafers—indeed they +sell them at the rate of six or eight for a penny—the scrape of his pen +blending with the crunching of the crisp particles in his mouth. Of all the +fiery afternoon blunders and flurried rashnesses of Turkey, was his once +moistening a ginger-cake between his lips, and clapping it on to a mortgage for +a seal. I came within an ace of dismissing him then. But he mollified me by +making an oriental bow, and saying—“With submission, sir, it was +generous of me to find you in stationery on my own account.” +</p> + +<p> +Now my original business—that of a conveyancer and title hunter, and +drawer-up of recondite documents of all sorts—was considerably increased +by receiving the master’s office. There was now great work for +scriveners. Not only must I push the clerks already with me, but I must have +additional help. In answer to my advertisement, a motionless young man one +morning, stood upon my office threshold, the door being open, for it was +summer. I can see that figure now—pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, +incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby. +</p> + +<p> +After a few words touching his qualifications, I engaged him, glad to have +among my corps of copyists a man of so singularly sedate an aspect, which I +thought might operate beneficially upon the flighty temper of Turkey, and the +fiery one of Nippers. +</p> + +<p> +I should have stated before that ground glass folding-doors divided my premises +into two parts, one of which was occupied by my scriveners, the other by +myself. According to my humor I threw open these doors, or closed them. I +resolved to assign Bartleby a corner by the folding-doors, but on my side of +them, so as to have this quiet man within easy call, in case any trifling thing +was to be done. I placed his desk close up to a small side-window in that part +of the room, a window which originally had afforded a lateral view of certain +grimy back-yards and bricks, but which, owing to subsequent erections, +commanded at present no view at all, though it gave some light. Within three +feet of the panes was a wall, and the light came down from far above, between +two lofty buildings, as from a very small opening in a dome. Still further to a +satisfactory arrangement, I procured a high green folding screen, which might +entirely isolate Bartleby from my sight, though not remove him from my voice. +And thus, in a manner, privacy and society were conjoined. +</p> + +<p> +At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long +famishing for something to copy, he seemed to gorge himself on my documents. +There was no pause for digestion. He ran a day and night line, copying by +sun-light and by candle-light. I should have been quite delighted with his +application, had he been cheerfully industrious. But he wrote on silently, +palely, mechanically. +</p> + +<p> +It is, of course, an indispensable part of a scrivener’s business to +verify the accuracy of his copy, word by word. Where there are two or more +scriveners in an office, they assist each other in this examination, one +reading from the copy, the other holding the original. It is a very dull, +wearisome, and lethargic affair. I can readily imagine that to some sanguine +temperaments it would be altogether intolerable. For example, I cannot credit +that the mettlesome poet Byron would have contentedly sat down with Bartleby to +examine a law document of, say five hundred pages, closely written in a crimpy +hand. +</p> + +<p> +Now and then, in the haste of business, it had been my habit to assist in +comparing some brief document myself, calling Turkey or Nippers for this +purpose. One object I had in placing Bartleby so handy to me behind the screen, +was to avail myself of his services on such trivial occasions. It was on the +third day, I think, of his being with me, and before any necessity had arisen +for having his own writing examined, that, being much hurried to complete a +small affair I had in hand, I abruptly called to Bartleby. In my haste and +natural expectancy of instant compliance, I sat with my head bent over the +original on my desk, and my right hand sideways, and somewhat nervously +extended with the copy, so that immediately upon emerging from his retreat, +Bartleby might snatch it and proceed to business without the least delay. +</p> + +<p> +In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating what it +was I wanted him to do—namely, to examine a small paper with me. Imagine +my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving from his privacy, +Bartleby in a singularly mild, firm voice, replied, “I would prefer not +to.” +</p> + +<p> +I sat awhile in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties. Immediately it +occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby had entirely +misunderstood my meaning. I repeated my request in the clearest tone I could +assume. But in quite as clear a one came the previous reply, “I would +prefer not to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prefer not to,” echoed I, rising in high excitement, and crossing +the room with a stride. “What do you mean? Are you moon-struck? I want +you to help me compare this sheet here—take it,” and I thrust it +towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him steadfastly. His face was leanly composed; his gray eye dimly +calm. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the least +uneasiness, anger, impatience or impertinence in his manner; in other words, +had there been any thing ordinarily human about him, doubtless I should have +violently dismissed him from the premises. But as it was, I should have as soon +thought of turning my pale plaster-of-paris bust of Cicero out of doors. I +stood gazing at him awhile, as he went on with his own writing, and then +reseated myself at my desk. This is very strange, thought I. What had one best +do? But my business hurried me. I concluded to forget the matter for the +present, reserving it for my future leisure. So calling Nippers from the other +room, the paper was speedily examined. +</p> + +<p> +A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being +quadruplicates of a week’s testimony taken before me in my High Court of +Chancery. It became necessary to examine them. It was an important suit, and +great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged I called Turkey, +Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, meaning to place the four copies in +the hands of my four clerks, while I should read from the original. Accordingly +Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had taken their seats in a row, each with his +document in hand, when I called to Bartleby to join this interesting group. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby! quick, I am waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +I heard a slow scrape of his chair legs on the uncarpeted floor, and soon he +appeared standing at the entrance of his hermitage. +</p> + +<p> +“What is wanted?” said he mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“The copies, the copies,” said I hurriedly. “We are going to +examine them. There”—and I held towards him the fourth +quadruplicate. +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to,” he said, and gently disappeared behind the +screen. +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments I was turned into a pillar of salt, standing at the head of +my seated column of clerks. Recovering myself, I advanced towards the screen, +and demanded the reason for such extraordinary conduct. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Why</i> do you refuse?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to.” +</p> + +<p> +With any other man I should have flown outright into a dreadful passion, +scorned all further words, and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But +there was something about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in +a wonderful manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him. +</p> + +<p> +“These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor saving to +you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. It is common +usage. Every copyist is bound to help examine his copy. Is it not so? Will you +not speak? Answer!” +</p> + +<p> +“I prefer not to,” he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me +that while I had been addressing him, he carefully revolved every statement +that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay the irresistible +conclusions; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed with +him to reply as he did. +</p> + +<p> +“You are decided, then, not to comply with my request—a request +made according to common usage and common sense?” +</p> + +<p> +He briefly gave me to understand that on that point my judgment was sound. Yes: +his decision was irreversible. +</p> + +<p> +It is not seldom the case that when a man is browbeaten in some unprecedented +and violently unreasonable way, he begins to stagger in his own plainest faith. +He begins, as it were, vaguely to surmise that, wonderful as it may be, all the +justice and all the reason is on the other side. Accordingly, if any +disinterested persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for +his own faltering mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Turkey,” said I, “what do you think of this? Am I not +right?” +</p> + +<p> +“With submission, sir,” said Turkey, with his blandest tone, +“I think that you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nippers,” said I, “what do <i>you</i> think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I should kick him out of the office.” +</p> + +<p> +(The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being morning, +Turkey’s answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms, but Nippers +replies in ill-tempered ones. Or, to repeat a previous sentence, Nippers’ +ugly mood was on duty and Turkey’s off.) +</p> + +<p> +“Ginger Nut,” said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my +behalf, “what do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, sir, he’s a little <i>luny</i>,” replied Ginger Nut +with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +“You hear what they say,” said I, turning towards the screen, +“come forth and do your duty.” +</p> + +<p> +But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity. But once +more business hurried me. I determined again to postpone the consideration of +this dilemma to my future leisure. With a little trouble we made out to examine +the papers without Bartleby, though at every page or two, Turkey deferentially +dropped his opinion that this proceeding was quite out of the common; while +Nippers, twitching in his chair with a dyspeptic nervousness, ground out +between his set teeth occasional hissing maledictions against the stubborn oaf +behind the screen. And for his (Nippers’) part, this was the first and +the last time he would do another man’s business without pay. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but his own +peculiar business there. +</p> + +<p> +Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy work. His +late remarkable conduct led me to regard his ways narrowly. I observed that he +never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any where. As yet I had never +of my personal knowledge known him to be outside of my office. He was a +perpetual sentry in the corner. At about eleven o’clock though, in the +morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut would advance toward the opening in +Bartleby’s screen, as if silently beckoned thither by a gesture invisible +to me where I sat. The boy would then leave the office jingling a few pence, +and reappear with a handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in the hermitage, +receiving two of the cakes for his trouble. +</p> + +<p> +He lives, then, on ginger-nuts, thought I; never eats a dinner, properly +speaking; he must be a vegetarian then; but no; he never eats even vegetables, +he eats nothing but ginger-nuts. My mind then ran on in reveries concerning the +probable effects upon the human constitution of living entirely on ginger-nuts. +Ginger-nuts are so called because they contain ginger as one of their peculiar +constituents, and the final flavoring one. Now what was ginger? A hot, spicy +thing. Was Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all. Ginger, then, had no effect upon +Bartleby. Probably he preferred it should have none. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance. If the +individual so resisted be of a not inhumane temper, and the resisting one +perfectly harmless in his passivity; then, in the better moods of the former, +he will endeavor charitably to construe to his imagination what proves +impossible to be solved by his judgment. Even so, for the most part, I regarded +Bartleby and his ways. Poor fellow! thought I, he means no mischief; it is +plain he intends no insolence; his aspect sufficiently evinces that his +eccentricities are involuntary. He is useful to me. I can get along with him. +If I turn him away, the chances are he will fall in with some less indulgent +employer, and then he will be rudely treated, and perhaps driven forth +miserably to starve. Yes. Here I can cheaply purchase a delicious +self-approval. To befriend Bartleby; to humor him in his strange willfulness, +will cost me little or nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will eventually +prove a sweet morsel for my conscience. But this mood was not invariable with +me. The passiveness of Bartleby sometimes irritated me. I felt strangely goaded +on to encounter him in new opposition, to elicit some angry spark from him +answerable to my own. But indeed I might as well have essayed to strike fire +with my knuckles against a bit of Windsor soap. But one afternoon the evil +impulse in me mastered me, and the following little scene ensued: +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, “when those papers are all copied, I will +compare them with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to.” +</p> + +<p> +“How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish vagary?” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey and Nippers, +exclaimed in an excited manner— +</p> + +<p> +“He says, a second time, he won’t examine his papers. What do you +think of it, Turkey?” +</p> + +<p> +It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler, his +bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers. +</p> + +<p> +“Think of it?” roared Turkey; “I think I’ll just step +behind his screen, and black his eyes for him!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, Turkey rose to his feet and threw his arms into a pugilistic +position. He was hurrying away to make good his promise, when I detained him, +alarmed at the effect of incautiously rousing Turkey’s combativeness +after dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down, Turkey,” said I, “and hear what Nippers has to +say. What do you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justified in immediately +dismissing Bartleby?” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his conduct quite +unusual, and indeed unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may only be a +passing whim.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” exclaimed I, “you have strangely changed your mind +then—you speak very gently of him now.” +</p> + +<p> +“All beer,” cried Turkey; “gentleness is effects of +beer—Nippers and I dined together to-day. You see how gentle <i>I</i> am, +sir. Shall I go and black his eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +“You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey,” I +replied; “pray, put up your fists.” +</p> + +<p> +I closed the doors, and again advanced towards Bartleby. I felt additional +incentives tempting me to my fate. I burned to be rebelled against again. I +remembered that Bartleby never left the office. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, “Ginger Nut is away; just step round to +the Post Office, won’t you? (it was but a three minute walk,) and see if +there is any thing for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>will</i> not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>prefer</i> not.” +</p> + +<p> +I staggered to my desk, and sat there in a deep study. My blind inveteracy +returned. Was there any other thing in which I could procure myself to be +ignominiously repulsed by this lean, penniless wight?—my hired clerk? +What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable, that he will be sure to refuse +to do? +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby!” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” in a louder tone. +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” I roared. +</p> + +<p> +Like a very ghost, agreeably to the laws of magical invocation, at the third +summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I prefer not to,” he respectfully and slowly said, and mildly +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, Bartleby,” said I, in a quiet sort of serenely severe +self-possessed tone, intimating the unalterable purpose of some terrible +retribution very close at hand. At the moment I half intended something of the +kind. But upon the whole, as it was drawing towards my dinner-hour, I thought +it best to put on my hat and walk home for the day, suffering much from +perplexity and distress of mind. +</p> + +<p> +Shall I acknowledge it? The conclusion of this whole business was, that it soon +became a fixed fact of my chambers, that a pale young scrivener, by the name of +Bartleby, and a desk there; that he copied for me at the usual rate of four +cents a folio (one hundred words); but he was permanently exempt from examining +the work done by him, that duty being transferred to Turkey and Nippers, one of +compliment doubtless to their superior acuteness; moreover, said Bartleby was +never on any account to be dispatched on the most trivial errand of any sort; +and that even if entreated to take upon him such a matter, it was generally +understood that he would prefer not to—in other words, that he would +refuse pointblank. +</p> + +<p> +As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His +steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except +when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind his screen), his +great stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances, made +him a valuable acquisition. One prime thing was this,—<i>he was always +there;</i>—first in the morning, continually through the day, and the +last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most +precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes to be sure I could not, +for the very soul of me, avoid falling into sudden spasmodic passions with him. +For it was exceeding difficult to bear in mind all the time those strange +peculiarities, privileges, and unheard of exemptions, forming the tacit +stipulations on Bartleby’s part under which he remained in my office. Now +and then, in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business, I would +inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his finger, say, +on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was about compressing +some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual answer, “I +prefer not to,” was sure to come; and then, how could a human creature +with the common infirmities of our nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming +upon such perverseness—such unreasonableness. However, every added +repulse of this sort which I received only tended to lessen the probability of +my repeating the inadvertence. +</p> + +<p> +Here it must be said, that according to the custom of most legal gentlemen +occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there were several keys +to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the attic, which person weekly +scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my apartments. Another was kept by Turkey +for convenience sake. The third I sometimes carried in my own pocket. The +fourth I knew not who had. +</p> + +<p> +Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, to hear a +celebrated preacher, and finding myself rather early on the ground, I thought I +would walk around to my chambers for a while. Luckily I had my key with me; but +upon applying it to the lock, I found it resisted by something inserted from +the inside. Quite surprised, I called out; when to my consternation a key was +turned from within; and thrusting his lean visage at me, and holding the door +ajar, the apparition of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and otherwise +in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was sorry, but he +was deeply engaged just then, and—preferred not admitting me at present. +In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps I had better walk round +the block two or three times, and by that time he would probably have concluded +his affairs. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the utterly unsurmised appearance of Bartleby, tenanting my law-chambers +of a Sunday morning, with his cadaverously gentlemanly <i>nonchalance</i>, yet +withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me, that +incontinently I slunk away from my own door, and did as desired. But not +without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery of +this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness chiefly, +which not only disarmed me, but unmanned me, as it were. For I consider that +one, for the time, is a sort of unmanned when he tranquilly permits his hired +clerk to dictate to him, and order him away from his own premises. Furthermore, +I was full of uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my +office in his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a +Sunday morning. Was any thing amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the +question. It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral +person. But what could he be doing there?—copying? Nay again, whatever +might be his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He +would be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to +nudity. Besides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that +forbade the supposition that he would by any secular occupation violate the +proprieties of the day. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, my mind was not pacified; and full of a restless curiosity, at +last I returned to the door. Without hindrance I inserted my key, opened it, +and entered. Bartleby was not to be seen. I looked round anxiously, peeped +behind his screen; but it was very plain that he was gone. Upon more closely +examining the place, I surmised that for an indefinite period Bartleby must +have ate, dressed, and slept in my office, and that too without plate, mirror, +or bed. The cushioned seat of a rickety old sofa in one corner bore the faint +impress of a lean, reclining form. Rolled away under his desk, I found a +blanket; under the empty grate, a blacking box and brush; on a chair, a tin +basin, with soap and a ragged towel; in a newspaper a few crumbs of ginger-nuts +and a morsel of cheese. Yes, thought I, it is evident enough that Bartleby has +been making his home here, keeping bachelor’s hall all by himself. +Immediately then the thought came sweeping across me, What miserable +friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed! His poverty is great; but his +solitude, how horrible! Think of it. Of a Sunday, Wall-street is deserted as +Petra; and every night of every day it is an emptiness. This building too, +which of week-days hums with industry and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer +vacancy, and all through Sunday is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; +sole spectator of a solitude which he has seen all populous—a sort of +innocent and transformed Marius brooding among the ruins of Carthage! +</p> + +<p> +For the first time in my life a feeling of overpowering stinging melancholy +seized me. Before, I had never experienced aught but a not-unpleasing sadness. +The bond of a common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraternal +melancholy! For both I and Bartleby were sons of Adam. I remembered the bright +silks and sparkling faces I had seen that day, in gala trim, swan-like sailing +down the Mississippi of Broadway; and I contrasted them with the pallid +copyist, and thought to myself, Ah, happiness courts the light, so we deem the +world is gay; but misery hides aloof, so we deem that misery there is none. +These sad fancyings—chimeras, doubtless, of a sick and silly +brain—led on to other and more special thoughts, concerning the +eccentricities of Bartleby. Presentiments of strange discoveries hovered round +me. The scrivener’s pale form appeared to me laid out, among uncaring +strangers, in its shivering winding sheet. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby’s closed desk, the key in open sight +left in the lock. +</p> + +<p> +I mean no mischief, seek the gratification of no heartless curiosity, thought +I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too, so I will make bold to look +within. Every thing was methodically arranged, the papers smoothly placed. The +pigeon holes were deep, and removing the files of documents, I groped into +their recesses. Presently I felt something there, and dragged it out. It was an +old bandanna handkerchief, heavy and knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a +savings’ bank. +</p> + +<p> +I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I +remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals he had +considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading—no, not +even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, at his pale +window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never +visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated +that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee even, like other men; +that he never went any where in particular that I could learn; never went out +for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined +telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the +world; that though so thin and pale, he never complained of ill health. And +more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of pallid—how shall +I call it?—of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about +him, which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his +eccentricities, when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental +thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, +that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries +of his. +</p> + +<p> +Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered fact +that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not forgetful +of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a prudential feeling began +to steal over me. My first emotions had been those of pure melancholy and +sincerest pity; but just in proportion as the forlornness of Bartleby grew and +grew to my imagination, did that same melancholy merge into fear, that pity +into repulsion. So true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point +the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain +special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that +invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It +rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic +ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is +perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense bids the +soul rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the scrivener was the +victim of innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his +body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his soul I could not +reach. +</p> + +<p> +I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning. +Somehow, the things I had seen disqualified me for the time from church-going. +I walked homeward, thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I resolved +upon this;—I would put certain calm questions to him the next morning, +touching his history, etc., and if he declined to answer them openly and +unreservedly (and I supposed he would prefer not), then to give him a twenty +dollar bill over and above whatever I might owe him, and tell him his services +were no longer required; but that if in any other way I could assist him, I +would be happy to do so, especially if he desired to return to his native +place, wherever that might be, I would willingly help to defray the expenses. +Moreover, if, after reaching home, he found himself at any time in want of aid, +a letter from him would be sure of a reply. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning came. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, gently calling to him behind his screen. +</p> + +<p> +No reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, in a still gentler tone, “come here; I am +not going to ask you to do any thing you would prefer not to do—I simply +wish to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon this he noiselessly slid into view. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me, Bartleby, where you were born?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me <i>any thing</i> about yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what reasonable objection can you have to speak to me? I feel +friendly towards you.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not look at me while I spoke, but kept his glance fixed upon my bust of +Cicero, which as I then sat, was directly behind me, some six inches above my +head. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your answer, Bartleby?” said I, after waiting a +considerable time for a reply, during which his countenance remained immovable, +only there was the faintest conceivable tremor of the white attenuated mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“At present I prefer to give no answer,” he said, and retired into +his hermitage. +</p> + +<p> +It was rather weak in me I confess, but his manner on this occasion nettled me. +Not only did there seem to lurk in it a certain calm disdain, but his +perverseness seemed ungrateful, considering the undeniable good usage and +indulgence he had received from me. +</p> + +<p> +Again I sat ruminating what I should do. Mortified as I was at his behavior, +and resolved as I had been to dismiss him when I entered my offices, +nevertheless I strangely felt something superstitious knocking at my heart, and +forbidding me to carry out my purpose, and denouncing me for a villain if I +dared to breathe one bitter word against this forlornest of mankind. At last, +familiarly drawing my chair behind his screen, I sat down and said: +“Bartleby, never mind then about revealing your history; but let me +entreat you, as a friend, to comply as far as may be with the usages of this +office. Say now you will help to examine papers to-morrow or next day: in +short, say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little +reasonable:—say so, Bartleby.” +</p> + +<p> +“At present I would prefer not to be a little reasonable,” was his +mildly cadaverous reply. +</p> + +<p> +Just then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed suffering +from an unusually bad night’s rest, induced by severer indigestion than +common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Prefer not</i>, eh?” gritted Nippers—“I’d +<i>prefer</i> him, if I were you, sir,” addressing +me—“I’d <i>prefer</i> him; I’d give him preferences, +the stubborn mule! What is it, sir, pray, that he <i>prefers</i> not to do +now?” +</p> + +<p> +Bartleby moved not a limb. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Nippers,” said I, “I’d prefer that you would +withdraw for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntarily using this word +“prefer” upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I +trembled to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and seriously +affected me in a mental way. And what further and deeper aberration might it +not yet produce? This apprehension had not been without efficacy in determining +me to summary means. +</p> + +<p> +As Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly and +deferentially approached. +</p> + +<p> +“With submission, sir,” said he, “yesterday I was thinking +about Bartleby here, and I think that if he would but prefer to take a quart of +good ale every day, it would do much towards mending him, and enabling him to +assist in examining his papers.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you have got the word too,” said I, slightly excited. +</p> + +<p> +“With submission, what word, sir,” asked Turkey, respectfully +crowding himself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing, +making me jostle the scrivener. “What word, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer to be left alone here,” said Bartleby, as if +offended at being mobbed in his privacy. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That’s</i> the word, Turkey,” said +I—“that’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>prefer</i>? oh yes—queer word. I never use it myself. But, +sir, as I was saying, if he would but prefer—” +</p> + +<p> +“Turkey,” interrupted I, “you will please withdraw.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh certainly, sir, if you prefer that I should.” +</p> + +<p> +As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his desk caught a glimpse +of me, and asked whether I would prefer to have a certain paper copied on blue +paper or white. He did not in the least roguishly accent the word prefer. It +was plain that it involuntarily rolled from his tongue. I thought to myself, +surely I must get rid of a demented man, who already has in some degree turned +the tongues, if not the heads of myself and clerks. But I thought it prudent +not to break the dismission at once. +</p> + +<p> +The next day I noticed that Bartleby did nothing but stand at his window in his +dead-wall revery. Upon asking him why he did not write, he said that he had +decided upon doing no more writing. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how now? what next?” exclaimed I, “do no more +writing?” +</p> + +<p> +“No more.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is the reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not see the reason for yourself,” he indifferently replied. +</p> + +<p> +I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and +glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in copying +by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me might have +temporarily impaired his vision. +</p> + +<p> +I was touched. I said something in condolence with him. I hinted that of course +he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; and urged him to embrace +that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise in the open air. This, however, +he did not do. A few days after this, my other clerks being absent, and being +in a great hurry to dispatch certain letters by the mail, I thought that, +having nothing else earthly to do, Bartleby would surely be less inflexible +than usual, and carry these letters to the post-office. But he blankly +declined. So, much to my inconvenience, I went myself. +</p> + +<p> +Still added days went by. Whether Bartleby’s eyes improved or not, I +could not say. To all appearance, I thought they did. But when I asked him if +they did, he vouchsafed no answer. At all events, he would do no copying. At +last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he had permanently given up +copying. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed I; “suppose your eyes should get entirely +well—better than ever before—would you not copy then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have given up copying,” he answered, and slid aside. +</p> + +<p> +He remained as ever, a fixture in my chamber. Nay—if that were +possible—he became still more of a fixture than before. What was to be +done? He would do nothing in the office: why should he stay there? In plain +fact, he had now become a millstone to me, not only useless as a necklace, but +afflictive to bear. Yet I was sorry for him. I speak less than truth when I say +that, on his own account, he occasioned me uneasiness. If he would but have +named a single relative or friend, I would instantly have written, and urged +their taking the poor fellow away to some convenient retreat. But he seemed +alone, absolutely alone in the universe. A bit of wreck in the mid Atlantic. At +length, necessities connected with my business tyrannized over all other +considerations. Decently as I could, I told Bartleby that in six days’ +time he must unconditionally leave the office. I warned him to take measures, +in the interval, for procuring some other abode. I offered to assist him in +this endeavor, if he himself would but take the first step towards a removal. +“And when you finally quit me, Bartleby,” added I, “I shall +see that you go not away entirely unprovided. Six days from this hour, +remember.” +</p> + +<p> +At the expiration of that period, I peeped behind the screen, and lo! Bartleby +was there. +</p> + +<p> +I buttoned up my coat, balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him, touched +his shoulder, and said, “The time has come; you must quit this place; I +am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not,” he replied, with his back still towards me. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>must</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +He remained silent. +</p> + +<p> +Now I had an unbounded confidence in this man’s common honesty. He had +frequently restored to me sixpences and shillings carelessly dropped upon the +floor, for I am apt to be very reckless in such shirt-button affairs. The +proceeding then which followed will not be deemed extraordinary. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, “I owe you twelve dollars on account; +here are thirty-two; the odd twenty are yours.—Will you take it?” +and I handed the bills towards him. +</p> + +<p> +But he made no motion. +</p> + +<p> +“I will leave them here then,” putting them under a weight on the +table. Then taking my hat and cane and going to the door I tranquilly turned +and added—“After you have removed your things from these offices, +Bartleby, you will of course lock the door—since every one is now gone +for the day but you—and if you please, slip your key underneath the mat, +so that I may have it in the morning. I shall not see you again; so good-bye to +you. If hereafter in your new place of abode I can be of any service to you, do +not fail to advise me by letter. Good-bye, Bartleby, and fare you well.” +</p> + +<p> +But he answered not a word; like the last column of some ruined temple, he +remained standing mute and solitary in the middle of the otherwise deserted +room. +</p> + +<p> +As I walked home in a pensive mood, my vanity got the better of my pity. I +could not but highly plume myself on my masterly management in getting rid of +Bartleby. Masterly I call it, and such it must appear to any dispassionate +thinker. The beauty of my procedure seemed to consist in its perfect quietness. +There was no vulgar bullying, no bravado of any sort, no choleric hectoring, +and striding to and fro across the apartment, jerking out vehement commands for +Bartleby to bundle himself off with his beggarly traps. Nothing of the kind. +Without loudly bidding Bartleby depart—as an inferior genius might have +done—I <i>assumed</i> the ground that depart he must; and upon that +assumption built all I had to say. The more I thought over my procedure, the +more I was charmed with it. Nevertheless, next morning, upon awakening, I had +my doubts,—I had somehow slept off the fumes of vanity. One of the +coolest and wisest hours a man has, is just after he awakes in the morning. My +procedure seemed as sagacious as ever.—but only in theory. How it would +prove in practice—there was the rub. It was truly a beautiful thought to +have assumed Bartleby’s departure; but, after all, that assumption was +simply my own, and none of Bartleby’s. The great point was, not whether I +had assumed that he would quit me, but whether he would prefer so to do. He was +more a man of preferences than assumptions. +</p> + +<p> +After breakfast, I walked down town, arguing the probabilities <i>pro</i> and +<i>con</i>. One moment I thought it would prove a miserable failure, and +Bartleby would be found all alive at my office as usual; the next moment it +seemed certain that I should see his chair empty. And so I kept veering about. +At the corner of Broadway and Canal-street, I saw quite an excited group of +people standing in earnest conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take odds he doesn’t,” said a voice as I passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t go?—done!” said I, “put up your +money.” +</p> + +<p> +I was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, when I +remembered that this was an election day. The words I had overheard bore no +reference to Bartleby, but to the success or non-success of some candidate for +the mayoralty. In my intent frame of mind, I had, as it were, imagined that all +Broadway shared in my excitement, and were debating the same question with me. +I passed on, very thankful that the uproar of the street screened my momentary +absent-mindedness. +</p> + +<p> +As I had intended, I was earlier than usual at my office door. I stood +listening for a moment. All was still. He must be gone. I tried the knob. The +door was locked. Yes, my procedure had worked to a charm; he indeed must be +vanished. Yet a certain melancholy mixed with this: I was almost sorry for my +brilliant success. I was fumbling under the door mat for the key, which +Bartleby was to have left there for me, when accidentally my knee knocked +against a panel, producing a summoning sound, and in response a voice came to +me from within—“Not yet; I am occupied.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Bartleby. +</p> + +<p> +I was thunderstruck. For an instant I stood like the man who, pipe in mouth, +was killed one cloudless afternoon long ago in Virginia, by a summer lightning; +at his own warm open window he was killed, and remained leaning out there upon +the dreamy afternoon, till some one touched him, when he fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Not gone!” I murmured at last. But again obeying that wondrous +ascendancy which the inscrutable scrivener had over me, and from which +ascendancy, for all my chafing, I could not completely escape, I slowly went +down stairs and out into the street, and while walking round the block, +considered what I should next do in this unheard-of perplexity. Turn the man +out by an actual thrusting I could not; to drive him away by calling him hard +names would not do; calling in the police was an unpleasant idea; and yet, +permit him to enjoy his cadaverous triumph over me,—this too I could not +think of. What was to be done? or, if nothing could be done, was there any +thing further that I could <i>assume</i> in the matter? Yes, as before I had +prospectively assumed that Bartleby would depart, so now I might +retrospectively assume that departed he was. In the legitimate carrying out of +this assumption, I might enter my office in a great hurry, and pretending not +to see Bartleby at all, walk straight against him as if he were air. Such a +proceeding would in a singular degree have the appearance of a home-thrust. It +was hardly possible that Bartleby could withstand such an application of the +doctrine of assumptions. But upon second thoughts the success of the plan +seemed rather dubious. I resolved to argue the matter over with him again. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, entering the office, with a quietly severe +expression, “I am seriously displeased. I am pained, Bartleby. I had +thought better of you. I had imagined you of such a gentlemanly organization, +that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint would have suffice—in short, +an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why,” I added, unaffectedly +starting, “you have not even touched that money yet,” pointing to +it, just where I had left it the evening previous. +</p> + +<p> +He answered nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you, or will you not, quit me?” I now demanded in a sudden +passion, advancing close to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer <i>not</i> to quit you,” he replied, gently +emphasizing the <i>not</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“What earthly right have you to stay here? Do you pay any rent? Do you +pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?” +</p> + +<p> +He answered nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready to go on and write now? Are your eyes recovered? Could you +copy a small paper for me this morning? or help examine a few lines? or step +round to the post-office? In a word, will you do any thing at all, to give a +coloring to your refusal to depart the premises?” +</p> + +<p> +He silently retired into his hermitage. +</p> + +<p> +I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but prudent +to check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby and I were +alone. I remembered the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and the still more +unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter; and how poor Colt, being +dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently permitting himself to get wildly +excited, was at unawares hurried into his fatal act—an act which +certainly no man could possibly deplore more than the actor himself. Often it +had occurred to me in my ponderings upon the subject, that had that altercation +taken place in the public street, or at a private residence, it would not have +terminated as it did. It was the circumstance of being alone in a solitary +office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed by humanizing domestic +associations—an uncarpeted office, doubtless, of a dusty, haggard sort of +appearance;—this it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance the +irritable desperation of the hapless Colt. +</p> + +<p> +But when this old Adam of resentment rose in me and tempted me concerning +Bartleby, I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by recalling the +divine injunction: “A new commandment give I unto you, that ye love one +another.” Yes, this it was that saved me. Aside from higher +considerations, charity often operates as a vastly wise and prudent +principle—a great safeguard to its possessor. Men have committed murder +for jealousy’s sake, and anger’s sake, and hatred’s sake, and +selfishness’ sake, and spiritual pride’s sake; but no man that ever +I heard of, ever committed a diabolical murder for sweet charity’s sake. +Mere self-interest, then, if no better motive can be enlisted, should, +especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings to charity and +philanthropy. At any rate, upon the occasion in question, I strove to drown my +exasperated feelings towards the scrivener by benevolently construing his +conduct. Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought I, he don’t mean any thing; +and besides, he has seen hard times, and ought to be indulged. +</p> + +<p> +I endeavored also immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time to comfort +my despondency. I tried to fancy that in the course of the morning, at such +time as might prove agreeable to him, Bartleby, of his own free accord, would +emerge from his hermitage, and take up some decided line of march in the +direction of the door. But no. Half-past twelve o’clock came; Turkey +began to glow in the face, overturn his inkstand, and become generally +obstreperous; Nippers abated down into quietude and courtesy; Ginger Nut +munched his noon apple; and Bartleby remained standing at his window in one of +his profoundest dead-wall reveries. Will it be credited? Ought I to acknowledge +it? That afternoon I left the office without saying one further word to him. +</p> + +<p> +Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a little into +“Edwards on the Will,” and “Priestly on Necessity.” +Under the circumstances, those books induced a salutary feeling. Gradually I +slid into the persuasion that these troubles of mine touching the scrivener, +had been all predestinated from eternity, and Bartleby was billeted upon me for +some mysterious purpose of an all-wise Providence, which it was not for a mere +mortal like me to fathom. Yes, Bartleby, stay there behind your screen, thought +I; I shall persecute you no more; you are harmless and noiseless as any of +these old chairs; in short, I never feel so private as when I know you are +here. At last I see it, I feel it; I penetrate to the predestinated purpose of +my life. I am content. Others may have loftier parts to enact; but my mission +in this world, Bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room for such period as +you may see fit to remain. +</p> + +<p> +I believe that this wise and blessed frame of mind would have continued with +me, had it not been for the unsolicited and uncharitable remarks obtruded upon +me by my professional friends who visited the rooms. But thus it often is, that +the constant friction of illiberal minds wears out at last the best resolves of +the more generous. Though to be sure, when I reflected upon it, it was not +strange that people entering my office should be struck by the peculiar aspect +of the unaccountable Bartleby, and so be tempted to throw out some sinister +observations concerning him. Sometimes an attorney having business with me, and +calling at my office and finding no one but the scrivener there, would +undertake to obtain some sort of precise information from him touching my +whereabouts; but without heeding his idle talk, Bartleby would remain standing +immovable in the middle of the room. So after contemplating him in that +position for a time, the attorney would depart, no wiser than he came. +</p> + +<p> +Also, when a Reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and witnesses +and business was driving fast; some deeply occupied legal gentleman present, +seeing Bartleby wholly unemployed, would request him to run round to his (the +legal gentleman’s) office and fetch some papers for him. Thereupon, +Bartleby would tranquilly decline, and yet remain idle as before. Then the +lawyer would give a great stare, and turn to me. And what could I say? At last +I was made aware that all through the circle of my professional acquaintance, a +whisper of wonder was running round, having reference to the strange creature I +kept at my office. This worried me very much. And as the idea came upon me of +his possibly turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers, and +denying my authority; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing my +professional reputation; and casting a general gloom over the premises; keeping +soul and body together to the last upon his savings (for doubtless he spent but +half a dime a day), and in the end perhaps outlive me, and claim possession of +my office by right of his perpetual occupancy: as all these dark anticipations +crowded upon me more and more, and my friends continually intruded their +relentless remarks upon the apparition in my room; a great change was wrought +in me. I resolved to gather all my faculties together, and for ever rid me of +this intolerable incubus. +</p> + +<p> +Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I first +simply suggested to Bartleby the propriety of his permanent departure. In a +calm and serious tone, I commended the idea to his careful and mature +consideration. But having taken three days to meditate upon it, he apprised me +that his original determination remained the same; in short, that he still +preferred to abide with me. +</p> + +<p> +What shall I do? I now said to myself, buttoning up my coat to the last button. +What shall I do? what ought I to do? what does conscience say I <i>should</i> +do with this man, or rather ghost. Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall. But +how? You will not thrust him, the poor, pale, passive mortal,—you will +not thrust such a helpless creature out of your door? you will not dishonor +yourself by such cruelty? No, I will not, I cannot do that. Rather would I let +him live and die here, and then mason up his remains in the wall. What then +will you do? For all your coaxing, he will not budge. Bribes he leaves under +your own paperweight on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers +to cling to you. +</p> + +<p> +Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you will +not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor to the +common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such a thing to be +done?—a vagrant, is he? What! he a vagrant, a wanderer, who refuses to +budge? It is because he will <i>not</i> be a vagrant, then, that you seek to +count him <i>as</i> a vagrant. That is too absurd. No visible means of support: +there I have him. Wrong again: for indubitably he <i>does</i> support himself, +and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show of his possessing +the means so to do. No more then. Since he will not quit me, I must quit him. I +will change my offices; I will move elsewhere; and give him fair notice, that +if I find him on my new premises I will then proceed against him as a common +trespasser. +</p> + +<p> +Acting accordingly, next day I thus addressed him: “I find these chambers +too far from the City Hall; the air is unwholesome. In a word, I propose to +remove my offices next week, and shall no longer require your services. I tell +you this now, in order that you may seek another place.” +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply, and nothing more was said. +</p> + +<p> +On the appointed day I engaged carts and men, proceeded to my chambers, and +having but little furniture, every thing was removed in a few hours. +Throughout, the scrivener remained standing behind the screen, which I directed +to be removed the last thing. It was withdrawn; and being folded up like a huge +folio, left him the motionless occupant of a naked room. I stood in the entry +watching him a moment, while something from within me upbraided me. +</p> + +<p> +I re-entered, with my hand in my pocket—and—and my heart in my +mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going—good-bye, and God some way bless +you; and take that,” slipping something in his hand. But it dropped upon +the floor, and then,—strange to say—I tore myself from him whom I +had so longed to be rid of. +</p> + +<p> +Established in my new quarters, for a day or two I kept the door locked, and +started at every footfall in the passages. When I returned to my rooms after +any little absence, I would pause at the threshold for an instant, and +attentively listen, ere applying my key. But these fears were needless. +Bartleby never came nigh me. +</p> + +<p> +I thought all was going well, when a perturbed looking stranger visited me, +inquiring whether I was the person who had recently occupied rooms at +No.—Wall-street. +</p> + +<p> +Full of forebodings, I replied that I was. +</p> + +<p> +“Then sir,” said the stranger, who proved a lawyer, “you are +responsible for the man you left there. He refuses to do any copying; he +refuses to do any thing; he says he prefers not to; and he refuses to quit the +premises.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry, sir,” said I, with assumed tranquility, but an +inward tremor, “but, really, the man you allude to is nothing to +me—he is no relation or apprentice of mine, that you should hold me +responsible for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“In mercy’s name, who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly cannot inform you. I know nothing about him. Formerly I +employed him as a copyist; but he has done nothing for me now for some time +past.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall settle him then,—good morning, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Several days passed, and I heard nothing more; and though I often felt a +charitable prompting to call at the place and see poor Bartleby, yet a certain +squeamishness of I know not what withheld me. +</p> + +<p> +All is over with him, by this time, thought I at last, when through another +week no further intelligence reached me. But coming to my room the day after, I +found several persons waiting at my door in a high state of nervous excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the man—here he comes,” cried the foremost one, +whom I recognized as the lawyer who had previously called upon me alone. +</p> + +<p> +“You must take him away, sir, at once,” cried a portly person among +them, advancing upon me, and whom I knew to be the landlord of +No.—Wall-street. “These gentlemen, my tenants, cannot stand it any +longer; Mr. B—” pointing to the lawyer, “has turned him out +of his room, and he now persists in haunting the building generally, sitting +upon the banisters of the stairs by day, and sleeping in the entry by night. +Every body is concerned; clients are leaving the offices; some fears are +entertained of a mob; something you must do, and that without delay.” +</p> + +<p> +Aghast at this torrent, I fell back before it, and would fain have locked +myself in my new quarters. In vain I persisted that Bartleby was nothing to +me—no more than to any one else. In vain:—I was the last person +known to have any thing to do with him, and they held me to the terrible +account. Fearful then of being exposed in the papers (as one person present +obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at length said, that if the +lawyer would give me a confidential interview with the scrivener, in his (the +lawyer’s) own room, I would that afternoon strive my best to rid them of +the nuisance they complained of. +</p> + +<p> +Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon the +banister at the landing. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here, Bartleby?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Sitting upon the banister,” he mildly replied. +</p> + +<p> +I motioned him into the lawyer’s room, who then left us. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, “are you aware that you are the cause of +great tribulation to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being +dismissed from the office?” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something, or +something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you like to +engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some one?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I would prefer not to make any change.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a +clerkship; but I am not particular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too much confinement,” I cried, “why you keep yourself +confined all the time!” +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer not to take a clerkship,” he rejoined, as if to +settle that little item at once. +</p> + +<p> +“How would a bar-tender’s business suit you? There is no trying of +the eyesight in that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not +particular.” +</p> + +<p> +His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills +for the merchants? That would improve your health.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I would prefer to be doing something else.” +</p> + +<p> +“How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young +gentleman with your conversation,—how would that suit you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite about +that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stationary you shall be then,” I cried, now losing all patience, +and for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying +into a passion. “If you do not go away from these premises before night, +I shall feel bound—indeed I <i>am</i> bound—to—to—to +quit the premises myself!” I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with +what possible threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance. +Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when a +final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly unindulged +before. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby,” said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such +exciting circumstances, “will you go home with me now—not to my +office, but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some +convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now, right +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.” +</p> + +<p> +I answered nothing; but effectually dodging every one by the suddenness and +rapidity of my flight, rushed from the building, ran up Wall-street towards +Broadway, and jumping into the first omnibus was soon removed from pursuit. As +soon as tranquility returned I distinctly perceived that I had now done all +that I possibly could, both in respect to the demands of the landlord and his +tenants, and with regard to my own desire and sense of duty, to benefit +Bartleby, and shield him from rude persecution. I now strove to be entirely +care-free and quiescent; and my conscience justified me in the attempt; though +indeed it was not so successful as I could have wished. So fearful was I of +being again hunted out by the incensed landlord and his exasperated tenants, +that, surrendering my business to Nippers, for a few days I drove about the +upper part of the town and through the suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to +Jersey City and Hoboken, and paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and +Astoria. In fact I almost lived in my rockaway for the time. +</p> + +<p> +When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon the desk. +I opened it with trembling hands. It informed me that the writer had sent to +the police, and had Bartleby removed to the Tombs as a vagrant. Moreover, since +I knew more about him than any one else, he wished me to appear at that place, +and make a suitable statement of the facts. These tidings had a conflicting +effect upon me. At first I was indignant; but at last almost approved. The +landlord’s energetic, summary disposition had led him to adopt a +procedure which I do not think I would have decided upon myself; and yet as a +last resort, under such peculiar circumstances, it seemed the only plan. +</p> + +<p> +As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be +conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but in his pale +unmoving way, silently acquiesced. +</p> + +<p> +Some of the compassionate and curious bystanders joined the party; and headed +by one of the constables arm in arm with Bartleby, the silent procession filed +its way through all the noise, and heat, and joy of the roaring thoroughfares +at noon. +</p> + +<p> +The same day I received the note I went to the Tombs, or to speak more +properly, the Halls of Justice. Seeking the right officer, I stated the purpose +of my call, and was informed that the individual I described was indeed within. +I then assured the functionary that Bartleby was a perfectly honest man, and +greatly to be compassionated, however unaccountably eccentric. I narrated all I +knew, and closed by suggesting the idea of letting him remain in as indulgent +confinement as possible till something less harsh might be done—though +indeed I hardly knew what. At all events, if nothing else could be decided +upon, the alms-house must receive him. I then begged to have an interview. +</p> + +<p> +Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all his +ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and especially +in the inclosed grass-platted yard thereof. And so I found him there, standing +all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face towards a high wall, while all +around, from the narrow slits of the jail windows, I thought I saw peering out +upon him the eyes of murderers and thieves. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you,” he said, without looking round,—“and I +want nothing to say to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby,” said I, keenly +pained at his implied suspicion. “And to you, this should not be so vile +a place. Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here. And see, it is not +so sad a place as one might think. Look, there is the sky, and here is the +grass.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know where I am,” he replied, but would say nothing more, and so +I left him. +</p> + +<p> +As I entered the corridor again, a broad meat-like man, in an apron, accosted +me, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder said—“Is that your +friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare, +that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” asked I, not knowing what to make of such an +unofficially speaking person in such a place. +</p> + +<p> +“I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to +provide them with something good to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this so?” said I, turning to the turnkey. +</p> + +<p> +He said it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then,” said I, slipping some silver into the grub-man’s +hands (for so they called him). “I want you to give particular attention +to my friend there; let him have the best dinner you can get. And you must be +as polite to him as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Introduce me, will you?” said the grub-man, looking at me with an +expression which seemed to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to give a +specimen of his breeding. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and asking +the grub-man his name, went up with him to Bartleby. +</p> + +<p> +“Bartleby, this is Mr. Cutlets; you will find him very useful to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sarvant, sir, your sarvant,” said the grub-man, making a low +salutation behind his apron. “Hope you find it pleasant here, +sir;—spacious grounds—cool apartments, sir—hope you’ll +stay with us some time—try to make it agreeable. May Mrs. Cutlets and I +have the pleasure of your company to dinner, sir, in Mrs. Cutlets’ +private room?” +</p> + +<p> +“I prefer not to dine to-day,” said Bartleby, turning away. +“It would disagree with me; I am unused to dinners.” So saying he +slowly moved to the other side of the inclosure, and took up a position +fronting the dead-wall. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s this?” said the grub-man, addressing me with a stare +of astonishment. “He’s odd, aint he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he is a little deranged,” said I, sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“Deranged? deranged is it? Well now, upon my word, I thought that friend +of yourn was a gentleman forger; they are always pale and genteel-like, them +forgers. I can’t pity’em—can’t help it, sir. Did you +know Monroe Edwards?” he added touchingly, and paused. Then, laying his +hand pityingly on my shoulder, sighed, “he died of consumption at +Sing-Sing. So you weren’t acquainted with Monroe?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I was never socially acquainted with any forgers. But I cannot stop +longer. Look to my friend yonder. You will not lose by it. I will see you +again.” +</p> + +<p> +Some few days after this, I again obtained admission to the Tombs, and went +through the corridors in quest of Bartleby; but without finding him. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw him coming from his cell not long ago,” said a turnkey, +“may be he’s gone to loiter in the yards.” +</p> + +<p> +So I went in that direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you looking for the silent man?” said another turnkey passing +me. “Yonder he lies—sleeping in the yard there. ’Tis not +twenty minutes since I saw him lie down.” +</p> + +<p> +The yard was entirely quiet. It was not accessible to the common prisoners. The +surrounding walls, of amazing thickness, kept off all sounds behind them. The +Egyptian character of the masonry weighed upon me with its gloom. But a soft +imprisoned turf grew under foot. The heart of the eternal pyramids, it seemed, +wherein, by some strange magic, through the clefts, grass-seed, dropped by +birds, had sprung. +</p> + +<p> +Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, his knees drawn up, and lying on his +side, his head touching the cold stones, I saw the wasted Bartleby. But nothing +stirred. I paused; then went close up to him; stooped over, and saw that his +dim eyes were open; otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping. Something prompted +me to touch him. I felt his hand, when a tingling shiver ran up my arm and down +my spine to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +The round face of the grub-man peered upon me now. “His dinner is ready. +Won’t he dine to-day, either? Or does he live without dining?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lives without dining,” said I, and closed his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!—He’s asleep, aint he?” +</p> + +<p> +“With kings and counselors,” murmured I. +</p> + +<hr> + +<p> +There would seem little need for proceeding further in this history. +Imagination will readily supply the meager recital of poor Bartleby’s +interment. But ere parting with the reader, let me say, that if this little +narrative has sufficiently interested him, to awaken curiosity as to who +Bartleby was, and what manner of life he led prior to the present +narrator’s making his acquaintance, I can only reply, that in such +curiosity I fully share, but am wholly unable to gratify it. Yet here I hardly +know whether I should divulge one little item of rumor, which came to my ear a +few months after the scrivener’s decease. Upon what basis it rested, I +could never ascertain; and hence, how true it is I cannot now tell. But +inasmuch as this vague report has not been without certain strange suggestive +interest to me, however sad, it may prove the same with some others; and so I +will briefly mention it. The report was this: that Bartleby had been a +subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office at Washington, from which he had +been suddenly removed by a change in the administration. When I think over this +rumor, I cannot adequately express the emotions which seize me. Dead letters! +does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone +to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than +that of continually handling these dead letters, and assorting them for the +flames? For by the cart-load they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the +folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring:—the finger it was meant for, +perhaps, moulders in the grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity:—he +whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died +despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died +stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters speed to +death. +</p> + +<p> +Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11231 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + + |