i am a rather elderly man. the nature of my avocations for the lastthirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with whatwould seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom asyet nothing that i know of has ever been written:--i mean thelaw-copyists or scriveners. i have known very many of them,professionally and privately, and if i pleased, could relate divershistories, at which good-natured gentlemen might smile, and sentimentalsouls might weep. but i waive the biographies of all other scrivenersfor a few passages in the life of bartleby, who was a scrivener of thestrangest i ever saw or heard of. while of other law-copyists i mightwrite the complete life, of bartleby nothing of that sort can be done.

i believe that no materials exist for a full and satisfactory biographyof this man. it is an irreparable loss to literature. bartleby was oneof those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from theoriginal sources, and in his case those are very small. what my ownastonished 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 imake some mention of myself, my _employees_, my business, my chambers,and general surroundings; because some such description is indispensableto an adequate understanding of the chief character about to bepresented.

imprimis: i am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled witha profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. hence,though i belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, evento turbulence, at times, yet nothing of that sort have i ever sufferedto invade my peace. i am one of those unambitious lawyers who neveraddresses a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in thecool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a snug business among rich men'sbonds and mortgages and title-deeds. all who know me, consider me aneminently _safe_ man. the late john jacob astor, a personage littlegiven to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation in pronouncing my firstgrand point to be prudence; my next, method. i do not speak it invanity, but simply record the fact, that i was not unemployed in myprofession by the late john jacob astor; a name which, i admit, i loveto repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and ringslike unto bullion. i will freely add, that i was not insensible to thelate john jacob astor'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 extinctin the state of new york, of a master in chancery, had been conferredupon me. it was not a very arduous office, but very pleasantlyremunerative. i seldom lose my temper; much more seldom indulge indangerous indignation at wrongs and outrages; but i must be permitted tobe rash here and declare, that i consider the sudden and violentabrogation 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 theprofits, whereas i only received those of a few short years. but thisis 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,penetrating the building from top to bottom. this view might have beenconsidered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscapepainters call "life." but if so, the view from the other end of mychambers offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing more. in thatdirection my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a lofty brickwall, black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required nospy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, but for the benefit of allnear-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my windowpanes. owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and mychambers being on the second floor, the interval between this wall andmine not a little resembled a huge square cistern.

at the period just preceding the advent of bartleby, i had two personsas copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy.

first, turkey; second, nippers; third, ginger nut. these may seemnames, the like of which are not usually found in the directory. intruth they were nicknames, mutually conferred upon each other by mythree clerks, and were deemed expressive of their respective persons orcharacters. turkey was a short, pursy englishman of about my own age,that is, somewhere not far from sixty. in the morning, one might say,his face was of a fine florid hue, but after twelve o'clock,meridian--his dinner hour--it blazed like a grate full of christmascoals; and continued blazing--but, as it were, with a gradual wane--till6 o'clock, p.m. or thereabouts, after which i saw no more of theproprietor of the face, which gaining its meridian with the sun, seemedto set with it, to rise, culminate, and decline the following day, withthe like regularity and undiminished glory. there are many singularcoincidences i have known in the course of my life, not the least amongwhich was the fact, that exactly when turkey displayed his fullest beamsfrom his red and radiant countenance, just then, too, at that criticalmoment, began the daily period when i considered his business capacitiesas seriously disturbed for the remainder of the twenty-four hours. notthat he was absolutely idle, or averse to business then; far from it.

the difficulty was, he was apt to be altogether too energetic. therewas a strange, inflamed, flurried, flighty recklessness of activityabout him. he would be incautious in dipping his pen into his inkstand.

all his blots upon my documents, were dropped there after twelveo'clock, meridian. indeed, not only would he be reckless and sadlygiven to making blots in the afternoon, but some days he went further,and was rather noisy. at such times, too, his face flamed withaugmented blazonry, as if cannel coal had been heaped on anthracite. hemade an unpleasant racket with his chair; spilled his sand-box; inmending his pens, impatiently split them all to pieces, and threw themon the floor in a sudden passion; stood up and leaned over his table,boxing his papers about in a most indecorous manner, very sad to beholdin an elderly man like him. nevertheless, as he was in many ways a mostvaluable person to me, and all the time before twelve o'clock, meridian,was the quickest, steadiest creature too, accomplishing a great deal ofwork in a style not easy to be matched--for these reasons, i was willingto overlook his eccentricities, though indeed, occasionally, iremonstrated with him. i did this very gently, however, because, thoughthe civilest, nay, the blandest and most reverential of men in themorning, yet in the afternoon he was disposed, upon provocation, to beslightly rash with his tongue, in fact, insolent. now, valuing hismorning services as i did, and resolved not to lose them; yet, at thesame time made uncomfortable by his inflamed ways after twelve o'clock;and being a man of peace, unwilling by my admonitions to call forthunseemly retorts from him; i took upon me, one saturday noon (he wasalways worse on saturdays), to hint to him, very kindly, that perhapsnow that he was growing old, it might be well to abridge his labors; inshort, he need not come to my chambers after twelve o'clock, but, dinnerover, had best go home to his lodgings and rest himself till teatime.

but no; he insisted upon his afternoon devotions. his countenancebecame intolerably fervid, as he oratorically assured me--gesticulatingwith a long ruler at the other end of the room--that if his services inthe morning were useful, how indispensable, then, in the afternoon?

"with submission, sir," said turkey on this occasion, "i consider myselfyour right-hand man. in the morning i but marshal and deploy mycolumns; but in the afternoon i put myself at their head, and gallantlycharge the foe, thus!"--and he made a violent thrust with the ruler.

"but the blots, turkey," intimated i.

"true,--but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! i am gettingold. surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not to beseverely urged against gray hairs. old age--even if it blot thepage--is honorable. with submission, sir, we _both_ are getting old."this appeal to my fellow-feeling was hardly to be resisted. at allevents, i saw that go he would not. so i made up my mind to let himstay, resolving, nevertheless, to see to it, that during the afternoonhe had to do with my less important papers.