The Piazza Tales eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 286 pages of information about The Piazza Tales.
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The Piazza Tales eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 286 pages of information about The Piazza Tales.

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.

Here it 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.

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 deshabille, 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.

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The Piazza Tales from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.