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diff --git a/plugins/af_readability/vendor/fivefilters/readability.php/test/test-pages/clean-links/expected.html b/plugins/af_readability/vendor/fivefilters/readability.php/test/test-pages/clean-links/expected.html deleted file mode 100644 index f9c6e071f..000000000 --- a/plugins/af_readability/vendor/fivefilters/readability.php/test/test-pages/clean-links/expected.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1387 +0,0 @@ -<div> - <h3>Study Webtext</h3> - <h2><span face="Lucida Handwriting " color="Maroon - ">"Bartleby the Scrivener: A Story of Wall-Street " </span>(1853) <br> - Herman Melville</h2> - <h2><a href="http://www.vcu.edu/engweb/webtexts/bartleby.html" target="_blank "><img src="http://fakehost/test/hmhome.gif" alt="To the story text without notes - " height="38 " width="38 "></a> - </h2> - <h3>Prepared by <a href="http://www.vcu.edu/engweb">Ann - Woodlief,</a> Virginia Commonwealth University</h3> - <h5>Click on text in red for hypertext notes and questions</h5> - 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 set of men of whom as yet - nothing that I know of has ever been written:-- I mean the law-copyists - or scriveners. - I have known very many of them, professionally and privately, and if I - pleased, could relate divers histories, at 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. While 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 one 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 which will appear in the sequel. - <p>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 some such description is indispensable - to an adequate understanding of the chief character about to be presented. - </p><p> <i>Imprimis</i>: I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been - filled with a profound conviction that the easiest way 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 who 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. The late John Jacob Astor, 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 fact, that I was not - unemployed in my profession by the last 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 to the late John Jacob Astor's good opinion.</p> - <p>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 in Chancery, - 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 must be permitted to be rash - here and declare, that I consider the sudden and violent abrogation of - the office of Master of Chancery, by the new Constitution, as a----premature - act; inasmuch as I had counted upon a life-lease of the - profits, whereas I only received those of a few short years. But this is - by the way.</p> - <p>My chambers were up stairs at No.--Wall-street. At one end they looked - upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft, penetrating - 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 contrast, 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 spy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, but for the benefit of - all 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 little resembled a huge square cistern.</p> - <p>At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had two persons - as copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy. First, - Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut.These may seem names, the like - of which are not usually found in the Directory. In truth they were nicknames, mutually conferred upon - each other by my three clerks, and were deemed expressive of their respective - persons or characters. 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 Christmas coals; - and continued blazing--but, as it were, with a gradual wane--till 6 o'clock, - P.M. or thereabouts, after which I saw no more of the proprietor of the - face, which gaining its meridian with the sun, seemed to set with it, to - rise, culminate, and decline the following day, with the like regularity - and undiminished glory. There are many singular coincidences I have known - in the course of my life, not the least among which was the fact that exactly - when Turkey displayed his fullest beams from his red and radiant countenance, - just then, too, at the critical moment, began the daily period when I considered - his business capacities as seriously disturbed for the remainder of the - twenty-four hours. Not that he was absolutely idle, or averse to business - then; far from it. The difficulty was, he was apt to be altogether too - energetic. There was a strange, inflamed, flurried, flighty - recklessness of activity about him. He would be incautious in dipping his - pen into his inkstand. All his blots upon my documents, were dropped there - after twelve o'clock, meridian. Indeed, not only would he be reckless and - sadly given to making blots in the afternoon, but some days he went further, - and was rather noisy. At such times, too, his face - flamed with augmented blazonry, as if cannel - coal had been heaped on anthracite. He made an unpleasant - racket with his chair; spilled his sand-box; in mending his pens, impatiently - split them all to pieces, and threw them on 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 behold in an elderly manlike him. Nevertheless, - as he was in many ways a most valuable person to me, and all the time before - twelve o'clock, meridian, was the quickest, steadiest creature too, accomplishing - a great deal of work in a style not easy to be matched--for these reasons, - I was willingto overlook his eccentricities, though indeed, occasionally, - I remonstrated with him. I did this very gently, however, because, though - the civilest, nay, the blandest and most reverential of men in the morning, - yet in the afternoon he was disposed, upon provocation, to be slightly - rash with his tongue, in fact, insolent. Now, valuing his morning services - as I did, and resolved not to lose them; yet, at the same time made uncomfortable - by his inflamed ways after twelve o'clock; and being a man - of peace, unwilling by my admonitions to call forth unseemingly - retorts from him; I took upon me, one Saturday noon (he was always worse - on Saturdays), to hint to him, very kindly, that perhaps now that he was - growing old, it might be well to abridge his labors; in short, he need - not come to my chambers after twelve o'clock, but, dinner over, had best - go home to his lodgings and rest himself till tea-time. But no; he insisted - upon his afternoon devotions. His countenance became - intolerably fervid, as he oratorically assured me--gesticulating with a - long ruler at the other end of the room--that if his services in the morning - were useful, how indispensible, then, in the afternoon?</p> - <p>"With - submission, sir," said Turkey on this occasion, "I consider - myself your right-hand man. In the morning I but marshal and deploy my - columns; but in the afternoon I - put myself at their head, and gallantly charge the foe, - thus!"--and he made a violent - thrust with the ruler.</p> - <p>"But the blots, Turkey," intimated I.</p> - <p>"True,--but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! I am getting old. - Surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not the page--is honorable. - With submission, sir, we both are getting old."</p> - <p>This - appeal to my fellow-feeling was hardly to be resisted. At - all events, I saw that go he would not. So I made up my mind to let him - stay, resolving, nevertheless, to see to it, that during the afternoon - he had to do with my less important papers.</p> - <p>Nippers, the second on my list, was a whiskered, sallow, and, upon the - whole, rather piratical-looking young man of about - five and twenty. I always deemed him the victim of two evil powers-- ambition - and indigestion. The ambition was evinced by a certain impatience of the - duties of a mere - copyist, an unwarrantable usurpation of strictly profession - affairs, such as the original - drawing up of legal documents. The indigestion seemed betokened - in an occasional nervous testiness and grinning irritability, causing the - teeth to audibly grind together over mistakes committed in copying; unnecessary - maledictions, hissed, rather than spoken, in the heat of business; and - especially by a continual - discontent with the height of the table where he worked. - Though of a very ingenious mechanical turn, Nippers could never get this - table to suit him. He put chips under it, blocks of various sorts, bits - of pasteboard, and at last went so far as to attempt an exquisite adjustment - by final pieces of folded blotting-paper. But no invention would answer. - If, for the sake of easing his back, he brought the table lid at a sharp - angle well up towards his chin, and wrote there like a man using the steep - roof of a Dutch house for his desk:--then he declared that it stopped the - circulation in his arms. If now he lowered the table to his waistbands, - and stooped over it in writing, then there was a sore aching in his back. - In short, the truth of the matter was, Nippers knew not what he wanted. - Or, if - he wanted anything, it was to be rid of a scrivener's table - altogether. Among the manifestations of his diseased ambition was a fondness - he had for receiving visits from certain ambiguous-looking fellows in seedy - coats, whom he called his clients. Indeed I was aware that not only was - he, at times, considerable of a ward-politician, but he occasionally did - a little businessat the Justices' courts, and was not unknown on the - steps of the Tombs. I have good reason to believe, however, that one individual - who called upon him at my chambers, and who, with a grand air, he insisted - was his client, was no other than a dun, and the alleged title-deed, a - bill. But with all his failings, and the annoyances he caused me, Nippers, - like his compatriot Turkey, was a very useful - man to me; wrote a neat, swift hand; and, when he chose, - was not deficient in a gentlemanly sort of deportment. Added to this, he - always dressedin a gentlemanly sort of way; and so, incidentally, - reflected credit upon my chambers. Whereas with respect to Turkey, I had - much ado to keep him from being a reproach to me. His clothes were apt - to look oily and smell of eating-houses. He wore his pantaloons very loose - and baggy in summer. His coats were execrable; his hat not to be handled. - But while the hat was a thing of indifference to - me, inasmuch as his natural civility and deference, as a dependent Englishman, - always led him to doff it the moment he entered the room, yet his coat - was another matter. Concerning his coats, I reasoned with him; but with - no effect. The truth was, I suppose, that a man with so small an income, - could not afford to sport such a lustrous face and a lustrous coat at one - and the same time. As Nippers once observed, Turkey's money went chiefly - for red ink. One winter day - I presented Turkey with a highly-respectable looking coat - of my own, a padded gray coat, of a most comfortable warmth, and which - buttoned straight up from the knee to the neck. I thought Turkey would - appreciate the favor, and abate his rashness and obstreperousness of afternoons. - But no. I verily believe that buttoning himself up in so downy and blanket-like - a coat had a pernicious effect upon him; upon the same principle that too - much oats are bad for horses. In fact, precisely as a rash, restive horse - is said to feel his oats, so Turkey felt his coat. It made - him insolent. He was a man whom prosperity harmed.</p> - <p>Though concerning the self-indulgent habits of Turkey I had my own private - surmises, yet touching Nippers I was well persuaded that whatever might - be his faults in other respects, he was, at least, a temperate young man. - But indeed, nature herself seemed to have been his vintner, and at his birth charged - him so thoroughly with an irritable, brandy-like disposition, that all - subsequent potations were needless. When I consider how, amid the stillness - of my chambers, Nippers would sometimes impatiently rise from his seat, - and stooping over his table, spread his arms wide apart, seize the whole - desk, and move it, and jerk it, with a grim, grinding motion on the floor, - as if the table were a perverse - voluntary agent, intent on thwarting and vexing him; I plainly - perceive that for Nippers, brandy and water were altogether superfluous.</p> - <p>It was fortunate for me that, owing to its course--indigestion--the irritability - and consequent nervousness of Nippers, were mainly observable in the morning, - while in the afternoon he was comparatively mild. So that Turkey's paroxysms - only coming on about twelve o'clock, I never had to do with their eccentricities - at one time. Their fits relieved each other like guards. When Nippers' - was on, Turkey's was off, and vice versa. This was a good - natural arrangement under the circumstances.</p> - <p>Ginger Nut, the third on my list, was a lad some twelve years old. His - father was a carman, ambitious of seeing his son on the bench instead of - a cart, before he died. So he sent him to my office as a student at law, - errand boy, and cleaner and sweeper, at the rate of one dollar a week. - He had a little desk to himself, but he did not use it much. Upon inspection, - the drawer exhibited a great array of the shells of various sorts of nuts. - Indeed, to this quick-witted youth the whole noble science of the law was - contained in a nut-shell. Not the least among the employments of Ginger - Nut, as well as one which he discharged with the most alacrity, was his - duty as cake and apple purveyor for Turkey and Nippers. Copying law papers - being proverbially a dry, - husky sort of business, my two scriveners were fain to moisten - their mouths very often with Spitzenbergs to be had at the numerous stalls - nigh the Custom House and Post Office. Also, they sent Ginger Nut very - frequently for that peculiar cake--small, flat, round, and very spicy--after - which he had been named by them. Of a cold morning when business was but - dull, Turkey would gobble up scores of these cakes, as if they were mere - wafers--indeed they sell them at the rate of six or eight for a penny--the - scrape of his pen blending with the crunching of the crisp particles in - his mouth. Of all the fiery afternoon blunders and flurried rashnesses - of Turkey, was his once moistening a ginger-cake between his lips, and - clapping it on to a mortgage for a seal. I - came within an ace of dismissing him then. But he mollified - me by making an oriental bow, and saying--"With submission, sir, it was - generous of me to - find you in stationery on my own account."</p> - <p>Now my original business--that of a conveyancer - and title hunter, and drawer-up of recondite documents of - all sorts--was considerably increased by receiving the master's office. - There was now great work for scriveners. Not only must I push the clerks - already with me, but I must have additional help. In answer to my advertisement, - a motionless young man one morning, stood upon my office threshold, the - door being open, for it was summer. I can see that figure now--pallidly - neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby.</p> - <p>After a few words touching his qualifications, I engaged him, glad to - have among my - corps of copyists a man of so singularly - sedate an aspect, which I thought might operate beneficially - upon the flighty temper of Turkey, and the fiery one of Nippers.</p> - <p>I should have stated before that ground glass folding-doors divided my - premises into two parts, one of which was occupied by my scriveners, the - other by myself. According - to my humor I threw open these doors, or closed them. I resolved - to assign Bartleby a corner by the folding-doors, but on my side of them, - so as to have this quiet man within easy call, in case any trifling - thing was to be done. I placed his desk close up to a small - side window in that part of the room, a window which originally had afforded - a lateral view of certain grimy back-yards and bricks, but which, owing - to subsequent - erections, commanded at present no view at all, though it - gave some light. Within three feet of the panes was a wall, and the light - came down from far above, between two lofty buildings, as from a very small - opening in a dome. Still further to a satisfactory arrangement, I procured - a high green folding screen, which might entirely isolate Bartleby - from my sight, though not remove him from my - voice. And thus, in a manner, privacy and society were - conjoined. - </p> - <p>At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long - famishingfor something to copy, he seemed to gorge himself on my documents. There - was no pause for digestion. He ran a day and night line, copying by sun-light - and by candle-light. I should have been quite delighted with his application, - had be been cheerfully - industrious. But he wrote on silently, palely, mechanically. - </p> - <p>It is, of course, an indispensable part of a scrivener's business to verify - the accuracy of his copy, word by word. Where there are two or more scriveners - in an office, they assist each other in this examination, one reading from - the copy, the other holding the original. It is a very - dull, wearisome, and lethargic affair. I can readily imagine - that to some sanguine temperaments it would be altogether - intolerable. For example, I cannot credit that the mettlesome - poet Byron would have contentedly sat down with Bartleby - to examine a law document of, say five hundred pages, closely written in - a crimpy hand.</p> - <p>Now and then, in the haste of business, it had been my habit to assist - in comparing some brief document myself, calling Turkey or Nippers for - this purpose. One object I had in placing Bartleby so handy to me behind - the screen, was to avail myself of his services on such trivial - occasions. It was on the third day, I think, of his being - with me, and before any necessity had arisen for having his own writing - examined, that, being much hurried to complete a small affair I had in - hand, I abruptly called to Bartleby. In my haste and natural - expectancy of instant compliance, I sat with my head bent - over the original on my desk, and my right hand sideways, and somewhat - nervously extended with the copy, so that immediately upon emerging from - his retreat, Bartleby might snatch it and proceed to business without - the least delay.</p> - <p>In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating - what it was I wanted him to do--namely, to examine a small paper with me. - Imagine my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving from his - privacy, Bartleby in a singularly mild, - firm voice, replied,"I - would prefer not to." - </p> - <p>I sat awhile in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties. Immediately - it occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby had entirely - misunderstood my meaning. I repeated my request in the clearest tone I - could assume. But in quite as clear a one came the previous reply, "I would - prefer not to."</p> - <p>"Prefer not to," echoed I, rising in high excitement, and crossing the - room with a stride, "What do you mean? Are you moon-struck? I want you to help me - compare this sheet here--take it," and I thrust it towards him.</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to," said he.</p> - <p>I looked at him steadfastly. His face was leanly composed; his gray eye - dimly calm. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the - least uneasiness, anger, impatience or impertinence in his manner; in other - words, had there been any thing ordinarily - human about him, doubtless I - should have violently dismissed him from the premises. But - as it was, I should have as soon thought of turning my pale plaster-of-paris - bust of Cicero out of doors. I stood gazing at him awhile, - as he went on with his own writing, and then reseated myself at my desk. - This is very strange, thought I. What had one best do? But my business hurried - me. I concluded to forget the matter for the present, reserving it for - my future leisure. So calling Nippers from the other room, the paper was - speedily examined.</p> - <p>A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being - quadruplicates of a week's testimony taken before me in my High Court of - Chancery. It became necessary to examine them. It was an important suit, - and great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged I called - Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, meaning to place the - four copies in the hands of my four clerks, while I should read from the - original. Accordingly Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had taken their seats - in a row, each with his document in hand, when I called to Bartleby to - join this interesting - group.</p> - <p>"Bartleby! quick, I am waiting."</p> - <p>I heard a low scrape of his chair legs on the unscraped floor, and soon - he appeared standing at the entrance of his hermitage. - </p> - <p>"What is wanted?" said he mildly.</p> - <p>"The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine them. - There"--and I held towards him the fourth quadruplicate.</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen.</p> - <p>For a few moments I was turned into a - pillar of salt, standing at the head of my seated column - of clerks. Recovering myself, I advanced towards the screen, and demanded - the reason for such extraordinary conduct.</p> - <p>"<i>Why</i> do you refuse?"</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to."</p> - <p>With any other man I should have flown - outright into a dreadful passion, scorned all further words, - and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something - about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful - manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him.</p> - <p>"These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor saving - to you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. It - is common usage. Every copyist is bound to help examine his - copy. Is it not so? Will you not speak? Answer!"</p> - <p>"I prefer not to," he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me that - while I had been addressing him, he carefully revolved every statement - that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay the irresistible - conclusion; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed - with him to reply as he did.</p> - <p>"You are decided, then, not to comply with my request--a request made - according to common usage and common sense?"</p> - <p>He briefly gave me to understand that on that point my - judgment was sound. Yes: his decision was irreversible.</p> - <p>It is not seldom the case that when a man is browbeaten in some unprecedented and - violently unreasonable way, he - begins to stagger in his own plainest faith. He begins, as - it were, vaguely to surmise that, wonderful as it may be, all the justice - and all the reason is on the other side. Accordingly, if any disinterested - persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for his own - faltering mind. - </p> - <p>"Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?"</p> - <p>"With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think - that you are."</p> - <p>"Nippers," said I, "what do<i> you</i> think of it?"</p> - <p>"I think I should kick him out of the office."</p> - <p>(The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being morning, - Turkey's answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms, but Nippers replies - in ill-tempered ones. Or, to repeat a previous sentence, Nipper's ugly - mood was on duty, and Turkey's off.)</p> - <p>"Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my behalf, - "what do<i> you</i> think of it?"</p> - <p>"I think, sir, he's a little<i> luny</i>," replied Ginger Nut, with a - grin.</p> - <p>"You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come forth - and do - your duty."</p> - <p>But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity. But - once more business hurried me. I determined again to postpone the consideration - of this dilemma to my future leisure. With a little trouble we made out - to examine the papers without Bartleby, though at every page or two, Turkey - deferentially dropped his opinion that this proceeding was quite out of - the common; while Nippers, twitching in his chair with a dyspeptic nervousness, - ground out between his set teeth occasional hissing maledictions against - the stubborn oaf behind the screen. And for his (Nipper's) part, this was - the first and the last time he would do another man's business without - pay.</p> - <p>Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but - his own peculiar business there.</p> - <p>Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy work. - His late remarkable conduct led me to regard his way narrowly. I observed - that he never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any where. As yet - I had never of my personal knowledge known him to be outside of my office. - He was a perpetual - sentry in the corner. At about eleven o'clock though, in - the morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut would advance toward the opening - in Bartleby's screen, as if silently beckoned thither by a gesture invisible - to me where I sat. That boy would then leave the office jingling a few - pence, and reappear with a handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in - the hermitage, receiving two of the cakes for his trouble.</p> - <p>He lives, then, on ginger-nuts, thought I; never eats a dinner, properly - speaking; he must be a vegetarian then, but no; he never eats even vegetables, - he eats - nothing but ginger-nuts. My mind then ran on in reveries - concerning the probable effects upon the human constitution of living entirely - on ginger-nuts. Ginger-nuts are so called because they contain ginger as - one of their peculiar constituents, and the final flavoring one. Now what - was ginger? A hot, spicy thing. Was Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all. - Ginger, then, had no effect upon Bartleby. Probably - he preferred it should have none. - </p> - <p>Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive - resistance. If the individual so resisted be of a not inhumane - temper, and the resisting one perfectly harmless in his passivity; then, - in the better moods of the former, he will endeavor charitably to construe - to his imagination what proves impossible to be solved by - his judgment. Even so, for the most part, I regarded Bartleby and his ways. - Poor fellow! thought I, he means no mischief; it is plain he intends no - insolence; his aspect sufficiently evinces that his eccentricities are - involuntary. He - is useful to me. I can get along with him. If I turn him - away, the chances are he will fall in with some less indulgent employer, - and then he will be rudely treated, and perhaps driven forth miserably - to starve. Yes. Here I - can cheaply purchase a delicious self-approval. To befriend - Bartleby; to humor him in his strange willfulness, will cost me little - or nothing, while I lay up in my soul what will eventually prove a sweet - morsel for my conscience. But this mood was not invariable - with me. The passiveness of Bartleby sometimes irritated me. I felt strangely - goaded on to encounter him in new opposition, to elicit some angry spark - from him answerable to my own. But indeed I might as well have essayed - to strike fire with my knuckles against a bit of Windsor - soap. But one afternoon the evil impulse in me mastered - me, and the following little scene ensued:</p> - <p>"Bartleby," said I, "when those papers are all copied, I will compare - them with you."</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to."</p> - <p>"How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish - vagary?"</p> - <p>No answer.</p> - <p>I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey and Nippers, - exclaimed in an excited manner--</p> - <p>"He says, a second time, he won't examine his papers. What do you think - of it, Turkey?"</p> - <p>It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler, - his bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers.</p> - <p>"Think of it?" roared Turkey; "I think I'll just step behind his screen, - and black his eyes for him!"</p> - <p>So saying, Turkey rose to his feet and threw his arms into a pugilistic - position. He was hurrying away to make good his promise, - when I detained him, alarmed at the effect of incautiously rousing Turkey's - combativeness after dinner.</p> - <p>"Sit down, Turkey," said I, "and hear what Nippers has to say. What do - you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justified in immediately dismissing - Bartleby?"</p> - <p>"Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his conduct quite - unusual, and indeed unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may only - be a passing whim."</p> - <p>"Ah," exclaimed I, "you have strangely changed your mind then--you speak - very gently of him now."</p> - <p>"All beer," cried Turkey; "gentleness is effects of beer--Nippers and - I dined together to-day. You see how gentle I am, sir. Shall I go and black - his eyes?"</p> - <p>"You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey," I replied; - "pray, put up your fists."</p> - <p>I closed the doors, and again advanced towards Bartleby. I felt additional - incentives tempting me to my fate. I - burned to be rebelled against again. I remembered that Bartleby - never left the office.</p> - <p>"Bartleby," said I, "Ginger Nut is away; just step round to the Post - Office, won't you? (it was but a three minutes walk,) and - see if there is any thing for me."</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to."</p> - <p>"You<i> will</i> not?"</p> - <p>"I <i>prefer</i> not."</p> - <p>I staggered to my desk, and sat there - in a deep study. My blind - inveteracy returned. Was there any other thing in which I - could procure myself to be ignominiously repulsed by this lean, - penniless with?--my - hired clerk? What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable, - that he will be sure to refuse to do?</p> - <p>"Bartleby!"</p> - <p>No answer.</p> - <p>"Bartleby," in a louder tone.</p> - <p>No answer.</p> - <p>"Bartleby," I roared.</p> - <p>Like a - very ghost, agreeably to the laws of magical invocation, - at the third summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage.</p> - <p>"Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me."</p> - <p>"I prefer not to," he respectfully - and slowly said, and mildly disappeared.</p> - <p>"Very good, Bartleby," said I, in a quiet sort of serenely severe self-possessed - tone, intimating the unalterable purpose of some terrible - retribution very close at hand. At the moment I half intended - something of the kind. But upon the whole, as it was drawing towards my - dinner-hour, I thought it best to put on my hat and walk home for the day, - suffering much from perplexity and distress of mind.</p> - <p> Shall - I acknowledge it? The conclusion of this whole business was - that it soon became a fixed fact of my chambers, that a pale young scrivener, - by the name of Bartleby, had a desk there; that he copied for me at the - usual rate of four - cents a folio (one hundred words); but he was permanently - exempt from examining the work done by him, that duty being transferred - to Turkey and Nippers, one of compliment doubtless to their superior acuteness; - moreover, said Bartleby was never on any account to be dispatched on the - most trivial errand of any sort; and that even if entreated to take upon - him such a matter, it was generally understood that he would prefer not - to--in other words, that he would refuse point-blank. - </p> - <p>32 As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His - steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except - when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind his screen), - his great stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances, - made him a - valuable acquisition. One prime thing was this,--he was - always there;--first in the morning, continually through the day, and the - last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most - precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes to be sure I could - not, for - the very soul of me, avoid falling into sudden spasmodic - passions with him. For it was exceeding difficult to bear in mind all the - time those strange peculiarities, privileges, and unheard of exemptions, - forming the tacit stipulations on Bartleby's part under which he remained - in my office. Now and then, in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business, - I would inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his - finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was - about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual - answer, "I prefer not to," was sure to come; and then, how - could a human creature with the common infirmities of our - nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming upon such perverseness--such unreasonableness. - However, every added repulse of this sort which I received only tended - to lessen the probability of my repeating the inadvertence.</p> - <p>Here is must be said, that according to the custom of most legal gentlemen - occupying chambers in densely-populated law buildings, there were several - keys to my door. One was kept by a woman residing in the attic, which person - weekly scrubbed and daily swept and dusted my apartments. Another was kept - by Turkey for convenience sake. The third I sometimes carried in my own - pocket. The fourth I knew not who had.</p> - <p>Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, to - hear a celebrated preacher, and finding myself rather early - on the ground, I thought I would walk round to my chambers for a while. - Luckily I had my key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found - it resisted by something inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called - out; when to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting - his lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, the - apparition of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and - otherwise in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was - sorry, but he was deeply engaged just then, and--preferred not admitting - me at present. In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps - I had better walk round the block two or three times, and by that time - he would probably have concluded his affairs. Now, the utterly unsurmised - appearance of Bartleby, tenanting my law-chambers of a Sunday - morning, with his cadaverously gentlemanly nonchalance, - yet withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me, - that incontinently I slunk away from my own door, and did as desired. But - not without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery - of this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness - chiefly, which not only disarmed me, but unmanned me, as it were. For I consider - that one, for the time, is a sort of unmanned when he tranquilly permits - his hired clerk to dictate to him, and order - him away from his own premises. Furthermore, I was full of - uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my office in - his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a Sunday - morning. Was any thing amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the question. - It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral person. - But what could he be doing there?--copying? Nay again, whatever might be - his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He would - be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity. - Besides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that forbade - the supposition that we would by any secular occupation violate the - proprieties of the day.</p> - <p>Nevertheless, my mind was not pacified; and full of a restless curiosity, - at last I returned to the door. Without hindrance I inserted my key, opened - it, and entered. Bartleby was not to be seen. I looked round anxiously, - peeped behind his screen; but it was very plain that he was gone. Upon - more closely examining the place, I surmised that for an indefinite period - Bartleby must have ate, dressed, and slept in my office, and that too without - plate, mirror, or bed. The cushioned seat of a rickety old sofa in one - corner bore t faint impress of a lean, reclining form. Rolled away under - his desk, I found a blanket; under the empty grate, a blacking box and - brush; on a chair, a tin basin, with soap and a ragged towel; in a newspaper - a few crumbs of ginger-nuts and a morsel of cheese. Yet, thought I, it - is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping - bachelor's hallall by himself. Immediately then the thought came sweeping - across me, What miserable friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed! - His poverty is great; but his solitude, how - horrible! Think of it. Of a Sunday, Wall-street is deserted - as Petra; and every night of every day - it is an emptiness. This building too, which of week-days hums with industry - and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday - is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; sole spectator of a solitude - which he has seen all populous--a sort of innocent and transformed Marius - brooding among the ruins of Carthage! - </p> - <p>For the first - time in my life a feeling of overpowering stinging melancholy - seized me. Before, I had never experienced aught but a not-unpleasing sadness. - The bond of a common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraternal - melancholy! For both I and Bartleby were sons - of Adam. I remembered the bright silks and sparkling faces - I had seen that day in gala trim, swan-like sailing down the Mississippi - of Broadway; and I contrasted them with the pallid copyist, and thought - to myself, Ah, happiness courts the light, so we deem the world is gay; - but misery hides aloof, so we deem that misery there is none. These sad - fancyings-- chimeras, doubtless, of a sick and - silly brain--led on to other and more special thoughts, concerning the - eccentricities of Bartleby. Presentiments of strange discoveries hovered - round me. The scrivener's pale form appeared to me laid - out, among uncaring strangers, in its shivering winding - sheet.</p> - <p>Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight - left in the lock.</p> - <p> I - mean no mischief, seek the gratification of no heartless - curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too, - so I will make bold to look within. Every thing was methodically arranged, - the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and removing the - files of documents, I groped into their recesses. Presently I felt something - there, and dragged it out. It was an old bandanna handkerchief, heavy and - knotted. I opened it, and saw it was a savings' bank.</p> - <p>I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I - remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals - he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading--no, - not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, - at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite - sure he never visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face - clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee - even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I - could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case - at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, - or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, - he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain - unconscious air of pallid--how shall I call it?--of pallid - haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, - which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, - when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, - even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that - behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall - reveries of his.</p> - <p>Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered - fact that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not - forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a prudential - feeling began to steal over me. My first emotions had been - those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as - the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same - melancholy merge into fear, that pity into repulsion. So - true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought - or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special - cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably - this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather - proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic - ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it - is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense - bids the soul be rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the - scrivener was the victim of - innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; - but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his - soul I could not reach. - </p> - <p>I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning. - Somehow, the - things I had seen disqualified me for the time from church-going. - I walked homeward, thinking what I would do with Bartleby. Finally, I - resolvedupon this;--I would put certain calm questions to him the - next morning, touching his history, &c., and if he declined to answer - then openly and reservedly (and I supposed he would prefer not), then to - give him a twenty dollar bill over and above whatever I might owe him, - and tell him his services were no longer required; but that if in any other - way I could assist him, I would be happy to do so, especially if he desired - to return to his native place, wherever that might be, I would willingly - help to defray the expenses. Moreover, if after reaching home, he found - himself at any time in want of aid, a letter from him would be sure of - a reply.</p> - <p>The next morning came.</p> - <p>"Bartleby," said I, gently calling to him behind the screen.</p> - <p>No reply.</p> - <p>"Bartleby," said I, in a still gentler tone, "come here; I am not going - to ask you to do any thing you would prefer not to do--I simply wish to - speak to you."</p> - <p>Upon this he noiselessly slid into view.</p> - <p>"Will you tell me, Bartleby, where - you were born?" - </p> - <p>"I would prefer not to."</p> - <p>"Will you tell me <i>anything </i>about yourself?"</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to."</p> - <p>"But what reasonable - objection can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly towards - you."</p> - <p>He did not look at me while I spoke, but kept his glance fixed upon my - bust of Cicero, which as I then sat, was directly behind me, some - six inches above my head. "What is your answer, Bartleby?" said I, after - waiting a considerable time for a reply, during which his countenance remained - immovable, only there was the faintest - conceivable tremor of the white attenuated mouth.</p> - <p>"At present I prefer to give no answer," he said, and retired into his - hermitage.</p> - <p>It was rather weak in me I confess, but his manner on this occasion nettled - me. Not only did there seem to lurk in it a certain disdain, but his - perverseness seemed ungrateful, considering the undeniable - good usage and indulgence he had received from me.</p> - <p>Again I sat ruminating what I should do.Mortified as I was at his behavior, - and resolved as I had been to dismiss him when I entered my office, nevertheless - I strangely felt something superstitious knocking at my heart, and forbidding - me to carry out my purpose, and denouncing me for a villain if I dared - to breathe one bitter word against this forlornest of mankind. At last, - familiarly drawing my chair behind his screen, I sat down and said: "Bartleby, - never mind then about revealing your history; but let me entreat you, - as a friend, to comply as far as may be with the usages of this office. - Say now you will help to examine papers tomorrow or next day: in short, - say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable:--say - so, Bartleby."</p> - <p>"At present I would prefer not to be a little reasonable - was his idly cadaverous reply.,"</p> - <p>Just then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed - suffering from an unusually bad night's rest, induced by severer indigestion - than common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby.</p> - <p><i>"Prefer</i> not, - eh?" gritted Nippers--"I'd<i> prefer</i> him, if I were you, sir," addressing - me--"I'd <i>prefer</i> him; I'd give him preferences, the stubborn mule! - What is it, sir, pray, that he <i>prefers</i> not to do now?"</p> - <p>Bartleby moved not a limb.</p> - <p>"Mr. - Nippers," said I, "I'd prefer that you would withdraw for the present." - </p> - <p>Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntary using this word - "prefer" upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I trembled - to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and seriously affected - me in a mental way. And what further and deeper aberration might it not yet produce? - This apprehension had not been without efficacy in determining me to summary - means.</p> - <p>As Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly - and deferentially approached.</p> - <p>"With submission, sir," said he, "yesterday I was thinking about Bartleby - here, and I think that if he would but prefer to take a quart of good ale - every day, it would do much towards mending him, and enabling him to assist - in examining his papers."</p> - <p>"So you have got the word too," said I, slightly excited.</p> - <p>"With submission, what word, sir," asked Turkey, respectfully crowding - himself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing, making - me jostle - the scrivener. "What word, sir?"</p> - <p>"I would prefer to be left alone here," said Bartleby, as if offended - at being mobbed - in his privacy. - </p> - <p>"<i>That's</i> the word, Turkey," said I--<i>"that's</i> it."</p> - <p>"Oh,<i> prefer</i> oh yes--queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir - as I was saying, if he would but prefer--"</p> - <p>"Turkey," interrupted I, "you will please withdraw."</p> - <p>"Oh, certainly, sir, if - you prefer that I should."</p> - <p>As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his desk caught a - glimpse of me, and asked whether I would prefer to have a certain paper - copied on blue paper or white. He did not in the least roguishly accent - the word prefer. It was plain that it involuntarily rolled from his tongue. - 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 of myself and clerks. But I - thought it prudent not to break the dismission - at once.</p> - <p>The next day I noticed that Bartleby - did nothing but stand at his window in his dead-wall revery. - Upon asking him why he did not write, he said that he had decided upon - doing no more writing.</p> - <p>"Why, how now? what next?" exclaimed I, "do no more writing?"</p> - <p>"No more."</p> - <p>"And what is the reason?"</p> - <p>"Do - you not see the reason for yourself," he indifferently replied.</p> - <p>I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and - glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in copying - by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me might have - temporarily impaired - his vision.</p> - <p>I was touched. I said something in condolence with him. I hinted that - of course he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; and urged - him to embrace that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise in the open - air. This, however, he - did not do. A few days after this, my other clerks being - absent, and being in a great hurry to dispatch certain letters by the mail, - I thought that, having nothing else earthly to do, Bartleby would surely - be less inflexible than usual, and carry these letters to - the post-office. But he blankly declined. So, much to my - inconvenience, I went myself.</p> - <p>Still added - days went by. Whether Bartleby's eyes improved or not, I - could not say. To all appearance, I thought they did. But when I asked - him if they did, he vouchsafed no answer. At all events, he would do no - copying. At last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he had permanently - given up copying.</p> - <p>"What!" exclaimed I; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well- better - than ever before--would you not copy then?"</p> - <p>"I have given up copying," he answered, and slid - aside. - </p> - <p>He remained as ever, a - fixture in my chamber. Nay--if that were possible--he became - still more of a fixture than before. What was to be done? He would do nothing - in the office: why should he stay there? In plain fact, he had now become - a millstone to me, not only useless as a necklace, but afflictive to bear. - Yet I was sorry for him. I speak less than truth when I say that, on his - own account, he occasioned me uneasiness. If he would but have named a - single relative or friend, I would instantly have written, and urged their - taking the poor fellow away to some convenient retreat. But he seemed alone, - absolutely alone in the universe. A - bit of wreck</font> in the mid Atlantic. At length, - necessities connected with my business tyrannized over all other considerations. - Decently as I could, I told Bartleby that in six days' time he must unconditionally - leave the office. I warned him to take measures, in the interval, for procuring - some other abode. I offered to assist him in this endeavor, if he himself - would but take the first step towards a removal. "And when you finally - quit me, Bartleby," added I, "I shall see that you go not away entirely - unprovided. Six days from this hour, remember."</p> - <p>At the expiration of that period, I peeped behind the screen, and lo! - Bartleby was there. - </p> - <p>I buttoned - up my coat, balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him, - touched his shoulder, and said, "The time has come; you must quit this - place; I am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go."</p> - <p>"I would prefer not," he replied, with his back still towards me.</p> - <p>"You<i> must</i>."</p> - <p>He remained silent.</p> - <p>Now I had an unbounded confidence in this man's common honesty. He had - frequently restored to me six pences and shillings carelessly dropped upon - the floor, for I am apt to be very reckless in such shirt-button - affairs. The proceeding then which followed will not be - deemed extraordinary. "Bartleby," - said I, "I owe you twelve dollars on account; here are thirty-two; the - odd twenty are yours.--Will you take it? and I handed the - bills towards him.</p> - <p>But he made no motion.</p> - <p>"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 turned and - added--"After you have removed your things from these offices, Bartleby, - you will of course lock the door--since every one is now gone for the day - but you--and if you please, slip your key underneath the mat, 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 of any service to you, - do not fail to advise me by letter. Good-bye, Bartleby, and fare you well."</p> - <p>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 otherwise deserted room.</p> - <p>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 getting rid of Bartleby. Masterly I - call it, and such it must appear to any dispassionate thinker. The beauty - of my procedure seemed to consist in its perfect quietness. There was - no vulgar bullying, no bravado of any sort, no choleric hectoring - and striding to and fro across the apartment, jerking out vehement commands - for Bartleby to bundle himself off with his beggarly traps. Nothing of - the kind. Without loudly bidding Bartleby depart--as an - inferior genius might have done--I assumed the ground that - depart he must; and upon the assumption built all I had to say. The more - I thought over my procedure, the more I was charmed with it. Nevertheless, - next morning, upon awakening, I had my doubts,--I had somehow slept off - the fumes of vanity. One of the coolest and wisest hours a man has, is - just after he awakes in the morning. My procedure seemed as sagacious as - ever,--but only in theory. How it would prove in practice--there was the - rub. It was truly a beautiful thought to have assumed Bartleby's departure; - but, after all, that assumption was simply my own, and none of Bartleby's. - The great point was, not whether I had assumed that he would quit me, but - whether he would prefer so to do. He was more a man - of preferences than assumptions.</p> - <p>After breakfast, I walked down town, arguing the probabilities pro and - con. One moment I thought it would prove a miserable failure, and Bartleby - would be found all alive at my office as usual; the next moment it seemed - certain that I should see his chair empty. And so I kept veering about. - At the corner of Broadway and Canal- street, I saw quite an excited group - of people standing in earnest conversation.</p> - <p>"I'll take odds he doesn't," said a voice as I passed.</p> - <p>"Doesn't go?--done!" said I, "put up your money."</p> - <p>I was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, when - I remembered that this was an election day. The words I had overheard bore - no reference to Bartleby, but to the success or non-success of some candidate - for the mayoralty. In my intent frame of mind, I had, as it were, imagined - that all Broadway shared in my excitement, and were debating - the same question with me. I passed on, very thankful that the uproar of - the street screened my momentary absent-mindedness.</p> - <p>As I had intended, I was earlier than usual at my office door. I stood - listening for a moment. All was still. He must be gone. I tried the knob. - The door was locked. Yes, my procedure had worked to a charm; he indeed - must be vanished. Yet a certain melancholy mixed with this: I was almost - sorry for my brilliant success. I was fumbling under the - door mat for the key, which Bartleby was to have left there for me, when - accidentally my knee knocked against a panel, producing a summoning sound, - and in response a voice came to me from within--"Not yet; I am occupied."</p> - <p>It was Bartleby.</p> - <p>I was thunderstruck. For an instant I stood like - the man who, pipe in mouth, was killed one cloudless afternoon - long ago in Virginia, by summer lightning; at his own warm open window - he was killed, and remained leaning out there upon the dreamy afternoon, - till some one touched him, when he fell. "Not gone!" I murmured at last. - But again obeying that wondrous - ascendancy which the inscrutable scrivener had over me, and - from which ascendancy, for all my chafing, I could not completely escape, - I slowly went down stairs and out into the street, and while walking round - the block, 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 away - by calling him hard names would not do; calling in the police was an unpleasant - idea; and yet, permit - him to enjoy his cadaverous triumph over me,--this too I - could not think of. What was to be done? or, if nothing could be done, - was there any thing further that I could assume in the matter? Yes, as before - I had prospectively assumed that Bartleby would depart, so now I might - retrospectively assume that departed he was. In the legitimate carrying - out of this assumption, I might enter my 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 in a singular degree have the appearance of a - home-thrust. It was hardly possible that Bartleby could withstand - such an application of the doctrine of assumptions. But upon second thoughts - the success of the plan seemed rather dubious. I resolved to argue the - matter over with him again.</p> - <p>Bartleby," said I, entering the office, with a quietly severe expression. - "I am seriously displeased. I am pained, Bartleby. I had thought better - of you. I had imagined you of such a gentlemanly - organization, that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint - would suffice--in short, an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why," - I added, unaffectedly - starting, "you have not even touched the money yet," pointing - to it, just where I had left it the evening previous.</p> - <p>He answered nothing.</p> - <p>"Will you, or will you not, quit me?" I now demanded in a sudden - passion, advancing close to him.</p> - <p>"I would prefer <i>not</i> to quit you," he replied, gently - emphasizing the<i> not</i>.</p> - <p>"What earthly - right have you to stay here? do you pay any rent? Do you - pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?"</p> - <p>He answered nothing.</p> - <p>"Are you ready to go on and write now? Are your eyes recovered? Could - you 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 at all, - to give a coloring to your refusal to depart the premises?"</p> - <p>He silently - retired into his hermitage.</p> - <p>I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but - prudentto check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby - and I were alone. I - remembered the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and the still - more unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter; and how poor - Colt, being dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently permitting himself - to get wildly excited, was at unawares hurried into his fatal - act--an act which certainly no - man could possibly deplore more than the actor himself. Often - it had occurred to me in my ponderings upon the subject, that had - that altercation taken place in the public street, or at a private residence, - it would not have terminated as it did. It was the circumstance of being - alone in a solitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed - by humanizing domestic associations--an uncarpeted - office, doubtless of a dusty, haggard sort of appearance;--this - it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance the irritable desperation - of the hapless Colt.</p> - <p>But when this old - Adam of resentment rose in me and tempted me concerning Bartleby, - I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by recalling the divine - injunction: "A new commandment give I unto you, that ye - love one another." Yes, this it was that saved me. Aside from higher considerations, - charity often operates as a - vastly wise and prudent principle--a great safeguard to its - possessor. Men have committed murder for jealousy's sake, and anger's sake, - and hatred's sake, and selfishness' sake, and spiritual pride's sake; but - no man that ever I heard of, ever committed - a diabolical murder for sweet charity's sake. Mere - self-interest, then, if no better motive can be enlisted, - should, especially with high-tempered men, prompt all beings to charity - and philanthropy. At any rate, upon the occasion in question, I strove - to drown - my exasperated feelings towards the scrivener by benevolently - construing his conduct. Poor fellow, poor fellow! thought I, he don't mean - any thing; and besides, he has seen hard times, and ought to be indulged.</p> - <p>I endeavored also immediately to occupy myself, and at the same time - to comfort my despondency.I tried to fancy that in the course of the - morning, at such time as might prove agreeable to him, Bartleby, of his - own free accord, would emerge from his hermitage, and take up some decided - line of march in the direction of the door. But no. Half-past 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 deadwall reveries. Will - it be credited? Ought I to acknowledge it? That afternoon - I left the office without saying one further word to him.</p> - <p>Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a little - into Edwards - on the Will," and "Priestly 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 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, I never feel so private as when I - know you are here. At least 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.</p> - <p>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.</p> - <p>Also, when a Reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and - witnesses and business was 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 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 for ever rid me of this intolerable - incubus.</p> - <p>Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I - first simply suggested to Bartleby the propriety of his permanent departure. - In a calm and serious tone, I commended the idea to his careful and mature - consideration. But having taken three days to meditate upon it, he apprised - me that his original determination remained the same; in short, that he - still preferred to abide - with me.</p> - <p>What shall I do? I now said to myself, buttoning - up my coat to the last button. What shall I do? what ought - I to do? what does conscience say I should do with this man, or rather - ghost. Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall. But how? You will not thrust - him, the poor, pale, passive mortal,--you will not thrust such a helpless - creature out of your door? you will not dishonor - yourself by such cruelty? No, I will not, I cannot do that. - Rather would I let him live and die here, and then mason - up his remains in the wall. What then will you do? For all - your coaxing, he will not budge. Bribes he leaves under your own paperweight - on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers - to cling to you.</p> - <p>Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you - will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor - to the common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such a thing - to be done?--a vagrant, is he? What! he a vagrant, a wanderer, who - refuses to budge? It is because he will not be a vagrant, then, that you - seek to count him as a vagrant. That is too absurd. No visible means of - support: there I have him. Wrong again: for indubitably he does support - himself, and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show - of his possessing the means so to do. No more then. Since he will not quit - me, I must quit him. I will change my offices; I will move elsewhere; and - give him fair notice, that if I find him on my new premises I will then - proceed against him as a common trespasser.</p> - <p>Acting accordingly, next day I thus addressed him: "I find these chambers - too far from the City Hall; the air is unwholesome. In a word, I propose - to remove my offices next week, and shall no longer require your services. - I tell you this now, in order that you may seek another place."</p> - <p>He made no reply, and nothing more was said.</p> - <p>On the appointed day I engaged carts and men, proceeded to my chambers, - and having but little furniture, every thing was removed in a few hours. - Throughout, the scrivener remained standing behind the - screen, which I directed to be removed the last thing. It - was withdrawn; and being folded up like a huge folio, left him the motionless - occupant of a naked room. I stood in the entry watching him - a moment, while something from within me upbraided me.</p> - <p>I re-entered, with my hand - in my pocket--and--and my heart in my mouth. - </p> - <p>"Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going--good-bye, and God some way bless you; - and take that," slipping something in his hand. But it dropped to the floor, - and then,--strange - to say--I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be - rid of.</p> - <p>Established in my new quarters, for a day or two I kept the door locked, - and started at every footfall in the passages. When I returned to my rooms - after any little absence, I would pause at the threshold for an instant, - and attentively listen, ere applying my key. But these fears were needless. - Bartleby never came nigh me.</p> - <p>I thought all was going well, when a perturbed looking stranger visited - me, inquiring whether I was the person who had recently occupied rooms - at No.--Wall-street.</p> - <p>Full of forebodings, I replied that I was.</p> - <p>"Then, sir," said the stranger, - who proved a lawyer, "you are responsible for the man you - left there. He refuses to do any copying; he refuses to do any thing; he - says he prefers not to; and he refuses to quit the premises."</p> - <p>"I am very sorry, sir," said I, with assumed tranquillity, but an inward - tremor, "but, really, the - man you allude to is nothing to me --he is no relation or - apprentice of mine, that you should hold me responsible for him."</p> - <p>"In mercy's name, who is he?"</p> - <p>"I certainly cannot inform you. I know nothing about him. Formerly I employed - him as a copyist; but he has done nothing for me now for some time past."</p> - <p>"I - shall settle him then,--good morning, sir."</p> - <p>Several days passed, and I heard nothing more; and though I often felt - a charitable prompting to call at the place and see poor Bartleby, yet - a certain squeamishness of I know not what withheld - me.</p> - <p>All is over with him, by this time, thought I at last, when through another - week no further intelligence reached me. But coming to my room the day - after, I found several persons waiting at my door in a high state of nervous - excitement.</p> - <p>"That's the man--here he comes," cried the foremost one, whom recognized - as the lawyer who had previously called upon me alone.</p> - <p>"You must take him away, sir, at once," cried a portly person among them, - advancing upon me, and whom I knew to be the landlord of No.--Wall-street. - "These gentlemen, my tenants, cannot stand it any longer; Mr. B--" pointing - to the lawyer, "has turned him out of his room, and he now persists in - haunting the buildinggenerally, sitting upon the banisters of the - stairs by day, and sleeping in the entry by night. Every body is concerned; - clients are leaving the offices; some - fears are entertained of a mob; something you must do, and - that without delay."</p> - <p> Aghast - at this torment, I fell back before it, and would fain have - locked myselfin my new quarters. In vain I persisted that Bartleby - was nothing to me--no more than to any one else. In vain:--I was the last - person known to have any thing to do with him, and they held me to the - terrible account. Fearful - then of being exposed in the papers (as one person present - obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at length said, that - if the lawyer would give me a confidential interview with the scrivener, - in his (the lawyer's) own room, I would that afternoon strive my best to - rid them of the nuisance they complained of.</p> - <p>Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon - the banister at the landing.</p> - <p>"What are you doing here, Bartleby?" said I.</p> - <p>"Sitting upon the banister," he mildly replied.</p> - <p>I motioned him into the lawyer's room, who then left us.</p> - <p>"Bartleby," - said I, "are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation - to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being dismissed from - the office?"</p> - <p>No answer.</p> - <p>"Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something or - something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you like - to engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some one?"</p> - <p>"No; I would prefer not to make any change."</p> - <p>"Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?"</p> - <p>"There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship; - but I am not particular."</p> - <p>"Too much confinement," I cried, "why you keep yourself confined all the - time!"</p> - <p>"I would prefer not to take a clerkship," he rejoined, as if to settle - that little item at once.</p> - <p>"How would a bar-tender's business suit you? There is no trying of the - eyesight in that."</p> - <p>"I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular."</p> - <p>His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge.</p> - <p>"Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills - for the merchants? That would improve your health."</p> - <p>"No, I would prefer to be doing something else."</p> - <p>"How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young - gentleman with your conversation,--how would that suit you?"</p> - <p>"Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite about - that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.</p> - <p>"Stationary you shall be then," I cried, now losing all patience, and - for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying - into a passion. "If you do not go away from these premises before night, - I shall feel bound--indeed I am bound--to-- to--to quit the premises - myself!" I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what possible - threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance. - Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when - a final thought occurred to me--one - which had not been wholly unindulged before. - </p> - <p>"Bartleby," said I, in the kindest tone - I could assume under such exciting circumstances, "will you - go home with me now--not to my office, but my dwelling--and remain there - till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? - Come, let us start now, right away."</p> - <p>"No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all."</p> - <p>I answered nothing; but effectualy dodging every one by the suddenness - and rapidity of my flight, rushed from the building, ran - up Wall-street towards Broadway, and jumping into the first omnibus was - soon removed from pursuit. As soon as tranquility returned I distinctly - perceived that I had now done all that I possibly could, both in respect - to the demands of the landlord and his tenants, and with regard to my own - desire and sense of duty, to benefit Bartleby, and shield him from rude - persecution. I now strove to be entirely care-free and quiescent; and my - conscience justified me in the attempt; though indeed it was not so successful - as I could have wished. So fearful was I of being again hunted out by the - incensed landlord and his exasperated tenants, that, surrendering my business - to Nippers, for a few days I drove about the upper part of the town and - through the suburbs, in my rockaway; crossed over to Jersey City and Hoboken, - and paid fugitive visits to Manhattanville and Astoria. In fact I almost - lived in my rockaway for the time.</p> - <p>When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon - desk. opened it with trembling hands. informed me that writer had sent - to police, and Bartleby removed the - Tombs as a vagrant. Moreover, since I knew more - about him than any one else, he wished me to appear at that place, and - make a suitable statement of the facts. These tidings had a conflicting - effect upon me. At first I was indignant; but at last almost approved. - The landlord's energetic, summary disposition, had led him to adopt a procedure - which I do not think I would have decided upon myself; and yet as a last - resort, under such peculiar circumstances, it seemed the only plan.</p> - <p>As I afterwards learned, the poor scrivener, when told that he must be - conducted to the Tombs, offered not the slightest obstacle, but in his - pale unmoving way, silently - acquiesced. - </p> - <p>Some of the compassionate and curious bystanders joined the party; and - headed by one of the constables arm in arm with Bartleby, the - silent procession filed its way through all the noise, and - heat, and joy of the roaring thoroughfares at noon.</p> - <p>The same day I received the note I went to the Tombs, or to speak more - properly, the Halls of Justice. Seeking the right officer, I stated the - purpose of my call, and was informed that the individual I described was - indeed within. I then assured the functionary that Bartleby was a perfectly - honest man, and greatly to be compassionated, however unaccountably eccentric. - I narrated all I knew,and closed by suggesting the idea of letting - him remain in as indulgent confinement as possible till something less - harsh might be done--though indeed I hardly knew what. At all events, if - nothing else could be decided upon, the alms-house must receive him. I - then begged to have an interview.</p> - <p>Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all - his ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and - especially in the inclosed grass-platted yards thereof. And so I found - him there, standing all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face - towards a high wall, while all around, from the narrow slits of the - jail windows, I thought I - saw peering out upon him the eyes of murderers and thieves. - </p> - <p>"Bartleby!"</p> - <p>"I - know you," he said, without looking round,--"and I want - nothing to say to you."</p> - <p>"It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby," said I, keenly - pained at his implied suspicion. "And to you, this should - not be so vile a place. Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here. - And see, it - is not so sad a place as one might think. Look, there is - the sky, and here is the grass."</p> - <p>"I know where I am," he replied, but would say nothing more, and so I - left him.</p> - <p>As I entered the corridor again, a broad meat-like - man in an apron, accosted me, and jerking his thumb over - his shoulder said--"Is that your - friend?"</p> - <p>"Yes."</p> - <p>"Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare, - that's all.</p> - <p>"Who are you?" asked I, not knowing what to make of such an unofficially - speaking person in such a place.</p> - <p>"I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to provide - them with something good to eat."</p> - <p>"Is this so?" said I, turning to the turnkey.</p> - <p>He said it was.</p> - <p>"Well then," said I, slipping some silver into the grub-man's hands (for - so they called him). "I want you to give particular attention to my friend - there; let him have the best dinner you can get. And you must be as polite - to him as possible."</p> - <p>"Introduce me, will you?" said the grub-man, looking at me with an expression - which seemed to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to give a - specimen of his breeding.</p> - <p>Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and - asking the grub-man his name, went up with him to Bartleby.</p> - <p>"Bartleby, this is a - friend; you will find him very useful to you."</p> - <p>"Your - sarvant, sir, your sarvant," said the grub-man, making a - low salutation behind his apron. "Hope you find it pleasant - here, sir;--spacious grounds--cool apartments, sir--hope - you'll stay with us some time--try to make it agreeable. What will you - have for dinner today?"</p> - <p>"I prefer not to dine to-day," said Bartleby, turning away. "It would - disagree with me; I am unused to dinners." So saying he slowly moved to - the other side of the inclosure, and took up a - position fronting the dead-wall.</p> - <p>"How's this?" said the grub-man, addressing me with a stare of astonishment. - "He's odd, aint he?"</p> - <p>"I think he is a little deranged," said I, sadly.</p> - <p>"Deranged? deranged is it? Well now, upon my word, I thought that friend - of yourn was a gentleman - forger; they are always pale and genteel-like, them forgers. - I can't help pity 'em--can't help it, sir. Did you know Monroe Edwards?" - he added touchingly, and paused. Then, laying his hand pityingly on my - shoulder, sighed, "he died of consumption at Sing-Sing. so you weren't - acquainted with Monroe?"</p> - <p>"No, I was never socially acquainted with any forgers. But I cannot stop - longer. Look to my friend yonder. You will not lose by it. I will see you - again."</p> - <p>Some few days after this, I again obtained admission to the Tombs, and - went through the corridors in quest of Bartleby; but without finding him.</p> - <p>"I saw him coming from his cell not long ago," said a turnkey, "may be - he's gone to loiter in the yards."</p> - <p>So I went in that direction.</p> - <p>"Are you looking for the silent man?" said another turnkey passing me. - "Yonder he lies--sleeping in the yard there. 'Tis not twenty minutes since - I saw him lie down."</p> - <p>The yard was entirely quiet. It was not accessible to the common prisoners. - The surrounding walls, of amazing thickness, kept - off all sound behind them. The Egyptian - character of the masonry weighed upon me with its gloom. - But a soft imprisoned - turf grew under foot. The heart of the eternal pyramids, - it seemed, wherein, by some strange magic, through the clefts, grass-seed, - dropped by birds, had sprung.</p> - <p>Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, his - knees drawn up, and lying on his side, his head touching - the cold stones, I saw the wasted Bartleby. But nothing stirred. I paused; - then went close up to him; stooped over, and saw that his dim eyes were - open; otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping. Something prompted me - to touch him. I felt his hand, when a tingling shiver ran up my arm - and down my spine to my feet.</p> - <p>The round face of the grub-man peered upon me now. "His dinner is ready. - Won't he dine to-day, either? Or does he live without dining?"</p> - <p>"Lives without dining," said I, and closed the eyes.</p> - <p>"Eh!--He's asleep, aint he?"</p> - <p>"With - kings and counsellors," murmured I.</p> - <p>* * * * * * * *</p> - <p>There would seem little need for proceeding further in this history. Imagination - will readily supply the meagre recital of poor Bartleby's interment. But - ere parting with the reader, let me say, that if this little narrative - has sufficiently interested him, to awaken curiosity as to who Bartleby - was, and what manner of life he led prior to the present narrator's making - his acquaintance, I can only reply, that in such curiosity I fully share, - but am wholly unable to gratify it. Yet here I hardly know whether I should - divulge one - little item of rumor, which came to my ear a few months - after the scrivener's decease. Upon what basis it rested, I could never - ascertain; and hence how true it is I cannot now tell. But inasmuch as - this vague report has not been without a certain strange suggestive - interest to me, however said, it may prove the same with - some others; and so I will briefly mention it. The report was this: that - Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the Dead - Letter Office at <a href="http://raven.cc.ukans.edu/%7Ezeke/bartleby/parker.html" target="_blank">Washington</a>, from which he had been suddenly removed - by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumor, I cannot - adequately express the emotions which seize me. Dead - letters! does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man - by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business - seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these - dead letters and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they - are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper - the pale clerk takes a ring:--the bank-note sent in swiftest charity:--he - whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those - who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for - those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. On - errands of life, these letters speed to death. - </p> - <p> Ah - Bartleby! Ah humanity!</p> - </div>
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