When narrators can be trusted to tell the story the way it really happened, they are considered

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

05set of men, of whom, as yet, nothing, that

I know of, has ever been written—I mean, the

law-copyists, or scriveners.1 I have known very

many of them, professionally and privately,

and, if I pleased, could relate diverse histories,

10at 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, the strangest I ever saw, or heard of.

15While, 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

20one 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,

25which 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 employees, my business, my

chambers, and general surroundings; because

30some such description is indispensable to an

adequate understanding of the chief character

about to be presented. Imprimis:2 I am a man

who, from his youth upwards, has been filled

with a profound conviction that the easiest

35way 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

40who never addresses a jury, or in any way draws

down public applause; but, in the cool tranquillity

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

45eminently safe man. The late John Jacob Astor,3

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

50fact, 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

55to 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

60in Chancery,4 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

65must 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; inas-

much as I had counted upon a life-lease of the

70profits, 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 looked upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious skylight shaft, 75penetrating the building from top to bottom. This view might have been considered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape painters call "life." But, if so, the view from the other end of my chambers offered, at least, a 80contrast, if nothing more. In that direction, my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a lofty brick wall, black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required no spyglass to bring out its lurking beauties, but, for the benefit of 85all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my window panes. Owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and my chambers being on the second floor, the interval between this wall and mine not a 90 little resembled a huge square cistern.