- end_line
- 1779
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.023Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1720
- text
- 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.
Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a
little into “Edwards on the Will,” and “Priestley 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 allwise 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.
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.
Also, when a reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and
witnesses, and business 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 forever rid me
of this intolerable incubus.
- title
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