I am a rather elderly man. The nature of my avocations for the last thirtyyears has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem aninteresting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom as yet nothing that Iknow of has ever been written:—I mean the law-copyists or scriveners. Ihave known very many of them, professionally and privately, and if I pleased,could relate divers histories, at which good-natured gentlemen might smile, andsentimental souls might weep. But I waive the biographies of all otherscriveners for a few passages in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener ofthe strangest I ever saw or heard of. While of other law-copyists I might writethe complete life, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done. I believe thatno materials exist for a full and satisfactory biography of this man. It is anirreparable loss to literature. Bartleby was one of those beings of whomnothing is ascertainable, except from the original sources, and in his casethose are very small. What my own astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, thatis all I know of him, except, indeed, one vague report which will appear in thesequel.
Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit I makesome mention of myself, my employés, my business, my chambers, and generalsurroundings; because some such description is indispensable to an adequateunderstanding of the chief character about to be presented.
Imprimis: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with aprofound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. Hence, though Ibelong 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. Iam one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses a jury, or in any waydraws down public applause; but in the cool tranquility of a snug retreat, do asnug business among rich men’s bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. Allwho know me, consider me an eminently safe man. The late John JacobAstor, a personage little given to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation inpronouncing my first grand point to be prudence; my next, method. I do notspeak it in vanity, but simply record the fact, that I was not unemployed in myprofession by the late John Jacob Astor; a name which, I admit, I love torepeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and rings like untobullion. I will freely add, that I was not insensible to the late John JacobAstor’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 extinct in theState of New York, of a Master in Chancery, had been conferred upon me. It wasnot a very arduous office, but very pleasantly remunerative. I seldom lose mytemper; much more seldom indulge in dangerous indignation at wrongs andoutrages; but I must be permitted to be rash here and declare, that I considerthe sudden and violent abrogation of the office of Master in Chancery, by thenew Constitution, as a—premature act; inasmuch as I had counted upon alife-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 lookedupon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft, penetratingthe building from top to bottom. This view might have been considered rathertame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape painters call“life.” But if so, the view from the other end of my chambersoffered, at least, a contrast, if nothing more. In that direction my windowscommanded an unobstruct