BARTLEBY, THE SCRIVENER. I am a rather elderly man. The nature of my avocations for the lastthirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with whatwould seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom asyet nothing that I know of has ever been written:—I mean thelaw-copyists or scriveners. I have known very many of them,professionally and privately, and if I pleased, could relate divershistories, at which good-natured gentlemen might smile, and sentimentalsouls might weep. But I waive the biographies of all other scrivenersfor a few passages in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener of thestrangest I ever saw or heard of. While of other law-copyists I mightwrite the complete life, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done.I believe that no materials exist for a full and satisfactory biographyof this man. It is an irreparable loss to literature. Bartleby was oneof those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from theoriginal sources, and in his case those are very small. What my ownastonished eyes saw of Bartleby, that is all I know of him, except,indeed, one vague report which will appear in the sequel.
Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit Imake some mention of myself, my employees, my business, my chambers,and general surroundings; because some such description is indispensableto an adequate understanding of the chief character about to bepresented.
Imprimis: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled witha profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. Hence,though I belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, evento turbulence, at times, yet nothing of that sort have I ever sufferedto invade my peace. I am one of those unambitious lawyers who neveraddresses a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in thecool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a snug business among rich men'sbonds and mortgages and title-deeds. All who know me, consider me aneminently safe man. The late John Jacob Astor, a personage littlegiven to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation in pronouncing my firstgrand point to be prudence; my next, method. I do not speak it invanity, but simply record the fact, that I was not unemployed in myprofession by the late John Jacob Astor; a name which, I admit, I loveto repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and ringslike unto bullion. I will freely add, that I was not insensible to thelate John Jacob Astor's good opinion.
Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, myavocations had been largely increased. The good old office, now extinctin the State of New York, of a Master in Chancery, had been conferredupon me. It was not a very arduous office, but very pleasantlyremunerative. I seldom lose my temper; much more seldom indulge indangerous indignation at wrongs and outrages; but I must be permitted tobe rash here and declare, that I consider the sudden and violentabrogation 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 theprofits, whereas I only received those of a few short years. But thisis by the way.
My chambers were up stairs at No.—Wall-street. At one end they lookedupon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft,penetrating the building from top to bottom. This view might have beenconsidered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscapepainters call "life." But if so, the view from the other end of mychambers offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing more. In thatdirection my
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