- description
- # Bartleby's continued refusal to leave the old premises and the narrator's denial of responsibility
## Overview
This segment, titled "Bartleby's continued refusal to leave the old premises and the narrator's denial of responsibility," is an excerpt from the short story "[Bartleby, The Scrivener](arke:01KG8AJ8SS2R5YVRHT1BCDZZNP)". It spans lines 1218 to 1266 of the source text, which was extracted from the file "[bartleby_the_scrivener.txt](arke:01KG89J1CRGPEZ66W67EZPAMPE)" and is part of the "[Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW)" collection.
## Context
This segment follows the narrator's decision to move offices and Bartleby's continued presence in the previous location. The narrator attempts to provide Bartleby with a final payment and a farewell, but Bartleby refuses to leave. Subsequently, a lawyer visits the narrator, informing him that Bartleby is still occupying the old premises and refusing to do any work, holding the narrator responsible. The narrator denies any responsibility, stating he no longer employs Bartleby and knows nothing about him.
## Contents
The text details the narrator's departure from his old offices, leaving Bartleby behind. It describes the narrator's unease and fears in his new location. The core of the segment involves a confrontation with a lawyer who insists the narrator is responsible for Bartleby's actions. The narrator attempts to disavow any connection to Bartleby, claiming ignorance of his background and current situation. The segment ends with the narrator feeling a "squeamishness" that prevents him from checking on Bartleby, despite a charitable impulse.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:07.912Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- Bartleby's continued refusal to leave the old premises and the narrator's denial of responsibility
- end_line
- 1266
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:37.562Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1218
- text
- 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 It was withdrawn; and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.
I re-entered, with my hand in my pocket—and—and my heart in my mouth.
“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.
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.
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.
Full of forebodings, I replied that I was.
“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.”
“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.”
“In mercy’s name, who is he?”
“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.”
“I shall settle him then,—good morning, sir.”
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.
- title
- Bartleby's continued refusal to leave the old premises and the narrator's denial of responsibility