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- 663
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- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z
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- start_line
- 605
- text
- BARTLEBY.
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, 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, _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 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. 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 tranquillity 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 _safe_ 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.
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.
My chambers were up stairs, at No. —— Wall street. At one end, they
looked upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious skylight
shaft, penetrating the building from top to bottom.
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