"mr. nippers," said i, "i'd prefer that you would withdraw for thepresent."somehow, of late i had got into the way of involuntarily using this word"prefer" upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. and itrembled to think that my contact with the scrivener had already andseriously affected me in a mental way. and what further and deeperaberration might it not yet produce? this apprehension had not beenwithout efficacy in determining me to summary means.
as nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, turkey blandlyand deferentially approached.
"with submission, sir," said he, "yesterday i was thinking aboutbartleby here, and i think that if he would but prefer to take a quartof good ale every day, it would do much towards mending him, andenabling him to assist in examining his papers.""so you have got the word too," said i, slightly excited.
"with submission, what word, sir," asked turkey, respectfully crowdinghimself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing,making me jostle the scrivener. "what word, sir?""i would prefer to be left alone here," said bartleby, as if offended atbeing mobbed in his privacy.
"_that's_ the word, turkey," said i--"that's it.""oh, _prefer_? oh yes--queer word. i never use it myself. but, sir, asi was saying, if he would but prefer--""turkey," interrupted i, "you will please withdraw.""oh certainly, sir, if you prefer that i should."as he opened the folding-door to retire, nippers at his desk caught aglimpse of me, and asked whether i would prefer to have a certain papercopied on blue paper or white. he did not in the least roguishly accentthe word prefer. it was plain that it involuntarily rolled from histongue. i thought to myself, surely i must get rid of a demented man,who already has in some degree turned the tongues, if not the heads ofmyself and clerks. but i thought it prudent not to break the dismissionat once.
the next day i noticed that bartleby did nothing but stand at his windowin his dead-wall revery. upon asking him why he did not write, he saidthat he had decided upon doing no more writing.
"why, how now? what next?" exclaimed i, "do no more writing?""no more.""and what is the reason?""do you not see the reason for yourself," he indifferently replied.
i looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull andglazed. instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence incopying by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with memight have temporarily impaired his vision.
i was touched. i said something in condolence with him. i hinted thatof course he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; andurged him to embrace that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise inthe open air. this, however, he did not do. a few days after this, myother clerks being absent, and being in a great hurry to dispatchcertain letters by the mail, i thought that, having nothing else earthlyto do, bartleby would surely be less inflexible than usual, and carrythese letters to the post-office. but he blankly declined. so, much tomy inconvenience, i went myself.
still added days went by. whether bartleby's eyes improved or not, icould not say. to all appearance, i thought they did. but when i askedhim if they did, he vouchsafed no answer. at all events, he would do nocopying. at last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he hadpermanently given up copying.
"what!" exclaimed i; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well--betterthan ever before--would you not copy then?""i have given up copying," he answered, and slid aside.
he remained as ever, a fixture in my chamber. nay--if that werepossible--he became still more of a fixture than before. what was to bedone? he would do nothing in the office: why should he stay there? inplain fact, he had now become a millstone to me, not only useless as anecklace, but afflictive to bear. yet i was sorry for him. i speakless than truth when i say that, on his own account, he occasioned meuneasiness. if he would but have named a single relative or friend, iwould instantly have written, and urged their taking the poor fellowaway to some convenient retreat. but he seemed alone, absolutely alonein the universe. a bit of wreck in the mid atlantic. at length,necessities connected with my business tyrannized over all otherconsiderations. decently as i could, i told bartleby that in six days'
time he must unconditionally leave the office. i warned him to takemeasures, in the interval, for procuring some other abode. i offered toassist him in this endeavor, if he himself would but take the first steptowards a removal. "and when you finally quit me, bartleby," added i,"i shall see that you go not away entirely unprovided. six days fromthis hour, remember."at the expiration of that period, i peeped behind the screen, and lo!
bartleby was there.
i buttoned up my coat, balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him,touched his shoulder, and said, "the time has come; you must quit thisplace; i am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go.""i would prefer not," he replied, with his back still towards me.
"you _must_."he remained silent.
now i had an unbounded confidence in this man's common honesty. he hadfrequently restored to me sixpences and shillings carelessly droppedupon the floor, for i am apt to be very reckless in such shirt-buttonaffairs. the proceeding then which followed will not be deemedextraordinary.
"bartleby," said i, "i owe you twelve dollars on account; here arethirty-two; the odd twenty are yours.--will you take it?" and i handedthe bills towards him.
but he made no motion.
"i will leave them here then," putting them under a weight on the table.
then taking my hat and cane and going to the door i tranquilly turnedand added--"after you have removed your things from these offices,bartleby, you will of course lock the door--since every one is now gonefor the day but you--and if you please, slip your key underneath themat, so that i may have it in the morning. i shall not see you again;so good-bye to you. if hereafter in your new place of abode i can be ofany service to you, do not fail to advise me by letter. good-bye,bartleby, and fare you well."but he answered not a word; like the last column of some ruined temple,he remained standing mute and solitary in the middle of the otherwisedeserted room.
as i walked home in a pensive mood, my vanity got the better of my pity.
i could not but highly plume myself on my masterly management in gettingrid of bartleby. masterly i call it, and such it must appear to anydispassionate thinker. the beauty of my procedure seemed to consist inits perfect quietness. there was no vulgar bullying, no bravado of anysort, no choleric hectoring, and striding to and fro across theapartment, jerking out vehement commands for bartleby to bundle himselfoff with his beggarly traps. nothing of the kind. without loudlybidding bartleby depart--as an inferior genius might have done--i_assumed_ the ground that depart he must; and upon that assumption builtall i had to say. the more i thought over my procedure, the more i wascharmed with it. nevertheless, next morning, upon awakening, i had mydoubts,--i had somehow slept off the fumes of vanity. one of thecoolest and wisest hours a man has, is just after he awakes in themorning. my procedure seemed as sagacious as ever.--but only in theory.
how it would prove in practice--there was the rub. it was truly abeautiful thought to have assumed bartleby's departure; but, after all,that assumption was simply my own, and none of bartleby's. the greatpoint was, not whether i had assumed that he would quit me, but whetherhe would prefer so to do. he was more a man of preferences thanassumptions.
after breakfast, i walked down town, arguing the probabilities _pro_ and_con_. one moment i thought it would prove a miserable failure, andbartleby would be found all alive at my office as usual; the next momentit seemed certain that i should see his chair empty. and so i keptveering about. at the corner of broadway and canal-street, i saw quitean excited group of people standing in earnest conversation.
"i'll take odds he doesn't," said a voice as i passed.
"doesn't go?--done!" said i, "put up your money."i was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, wheni remembered that this was an election day. the words i had overheardbore no reference to bartleby, but to the success or non-success of somecandidate for the mayoralty. in my intent frame of mind, i had, as itwere, imagined that all broadway shared in my excitement, and weredebating the same question with me. i passed on, very thankful that theuproar of the street screened my momentary absent-mindedness.
as i had intended, i was earlier than usual at my office door. i stoodlistening for a moment. all was still. he must be gone. i tried theknob. the door was locked. yes, my procedure had worked to a charm; heindeed must be vanished. yet a certain melancholy mixed with this: iwas almost sorry for my brilliant success. i was fumbling under thedoor mat for the key, which bartleby was to have left there for me, whenaccidentally my knee knocked against a panel, producing a summoningsound, and in response a voice came to me from within--"not yet; i amoccupied."it was bartleby.
i was thunderstruck. for an instant i stood like the man who, pipe inmouth, was killed one cloudless afternoon long ago in virginia, by asummer lightning; at his own warm open window he was killed, andremained leaning out there upon the dreamy afternoon, till some onetouched him, when he fell.
"not gone!" i murmured at last. but again obeying that wondrousascendancy which the inscrutable scrivener had over me, and from whichascendancy, for all my chafing, i could not completely escape, i slowlywent down stairs and out into the street, and while walking round theblock, considered what i should next do in this unheard-of perplexity.
turn the man out by an actual thrusting i could not; to drive him awayby calling him hard names would not do; calling in the police was anunpleasant idea; and yet, permit him to enjoy his cadaverous triumphover me,--this too i could not think of. what was to be done? or, ifnothing could be done, was there any thing further that i could _assume_in the matter? yes, as before i had prospectively assumed that bartlebywould depart, so now i might retrospectively assume that departed hewas. in the legitimate carrying out of this assumption, i might entermy office in a great hurry, and pretending not to see bartleby at all,walk straight against him as if he were air. such a proceeding would ina singular degree have the appearance of a home-thrust. it was hardlypossible that bartleby could withstand such an application of thedoctrine of assumptions. but upon second thoughts the success of theplan seemed rather dubious. i resolved to argue the matter over withhim again.
"bartleby," said i, entering the office, with a quietly severeexpression, "i am seriously displeased. i am pained, bartleby. i hadthought better of you. i had imagined you of such a gentlemanlyorganization, that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint would havesuffice--in short, an assumption. but it appears i am deceived. why,"i added, unaffectedly starting, "you have not even touched that moneyyet," pointing to it, just where i had left it the evening previous.
he answered nothing.
"will you, or will you not, quit me?" i now demanded in a suddenpassion, advancing close to him.
"i would prefer _not_ to quit you," he replied, gently emphasizing the_not_.
"what earthly right have you to stay here? do you pay any rent? do youpay my taxes? or is this property yours?"he answered nothing.
"are you ready to go on and write now? are your eyes recovered? couldyou copy a small paper for me this morning? or help examine a few lines?
or step round to the post-office? in a word, will you do any thing atall, to give a coloring to your refusal to depart the premises?"he silently retired into his hermitage.
i was now in such a state of nervous resentment that i thought it butprudent to check myself at present from further demonstrations.
bartleby and i were alone. i remembered the tragedy of the unfortunateadams and the still more unfortunate colt in the solitary office of thelatter; and how poor colt, being dreadfully incensed by adams, andimprudently permitting himself to get wildly excited, was at unawareshurried into his fatal act--an act which certainly no man could possiblydeplore more than the actor himself. often it had occurred to me in myponderings upon the subject, that had that altercation taken place inthe public street, or at a private residence, it would not haveterminated as it did. it was the circumstance of being alone in asolitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed byhumanizing domestic associations--an uncarpeted office, doubtless, of adusty, haggard sort of appearance;--this it must have been, whichgreatly helped to enhance the irritable desperation of the hapless colt.
but when this old adam of resentment rose in me and tempted meconcerning bartleby, i grappled him and threw him. how? why, simply byrecalling the divine injunction: "a new commandment give i unto you,that ye love one another." yes, this it was that saved me. aside fromhigher considerations, charity often operates as a vastly wise andprudent principle--a great safeguard to its possessor. men havecommitted murder for jealousy's sake, and anger's sake, and hatred'ssake, and selfishness' sake, and spiritual pride's sake; but no man thatever i heard of, ever committed a diabolical murder for sweet charity'ssake. mere self-interest, then, if no better motive can be enlisted,should, especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings to charityand philanthropy. at any rate, upon the occasion in question, i stroveto drown my exasperated feelings towards the scrivener by benevolentlyconstruing his conduct. poor fellow, poor fellow! thought i, he don'tmean any thing; and besides, he has seen hard times, and ought to beindulged.
i endeavored also immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time tocomfort my despondency. i tried to fancy that in the course of themorning, at such time as might prove agreeable to him, bartleby, of hisown free accord, would emerge from his hermitage, and take up somedecided line of march in the direction of the door. but no. half-pasttwelve o'clock came; turkey began to glow in the face, overturn hisinkstand, and become generally obstreperous; nippers abated down intoquietude and courtesy; ginger nut munched his noon apple; and bartlebyremained standing at his window in one of his profoundest dead-wallreveries. will it be credited? ought i to acknowledge it? thatafternoon i left the office without saying one further word to him.
some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals i looked alittle into "edwards on the will," and "priestly on necessity." underthe circumstances, those books induced a salutary feeling. gradually islid into the persuasion that these troubles of mine touching thescrivener, had been all predestinated from eternity, and bartleby wasbilleted upon me for some mysterious purpose of an all-wise 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, inever feel so private as when i know you are here. at last i see it, ifeel it; i penetrate to the predestinated purpose of my life. i amcontent. others may have loftier parts to enact; but my mission in thisworld, bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room for such period asyou may see fit to remain.
