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- 10
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- 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, _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 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 _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.
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