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工人阶级社会地位的变化同资本发展相关联。前三十年，随着城乡资本力量的减弱，工人阶级的地位逐渐上升；而后三十年，随着城乡资本力量的扩张，工人阶级的地位逐渐下滑。 总体上，中国工人阶级有三个独有的区别于外国工人阶级队伍的特征。第一，中国工人阶级的产生比资产阶级要早，而且一登上政治舞台就产生了自己的政党，并最终取得了国家政权。作为一个阶级集体亮相，1919年工人阶级首次登上历史舞台，表现自己的政治力量。随后马上产生了中国共产党，各国共产党不少，但产生后能够夺得政权，中国工人阶级是其中之一。第二，中国工人阶级具有较为完整的阶级意识。中国工人阶级在建国前三十年充分认识和发挥了自己的巨大力量，使工人阶级找到了自信，释放了潜能；如果只有毛主席的30年，中国工人阶级的意识是不完整的。前30年体会到社会主义制度是什么，当家作主是什么感觉，后30年知道资本力量是什么，做鬼是什么感觉。经过这前后三十年的正反教育，中国工人阶级由此产生了较为完整的阶级意识，对这个阶级要争取的社会制度即社会主义以及反面制度资本主义有了清晰的认识。对于中国工人阶级可能发挥出来巨大的能量，将来大家会一步一步看出来。第三，中国工人阶级数量巨大。60年前中国工人有800万人，400万就业、400万失业，今天保守估计有3个亿，增长了近四十倍，比美国的人口多。这是世界上数量最大，人数最集中的工人阶级队伍。 中国工人阶级由自在阶级到自为阶级是经历了一个过程的，并不是刚建国就成为了自为阶级，不是一开始就有完整阶级意识的，是在生产实践的不断发展中逐渐成熟的。 第一个时期1949－1956年，从新民主主义到社会主义的过渡时期，工人阶级在共产党领导下，从自在向自为转化。工人阶级不是毛宣布新中国成立就自为了，不是这样突变的，而是经历了一个过程。搞清历史首先需要回答一个问题：有人说共产党宣布新中国是工人阶级领导的国家，这种说法是政治统治的需要，怎样解释这个问题？我们仍需客观的看这一历史。建国以前，有人对工人阶级的作用就表示怀疑，提出从农村转入城市后，在城市依靠谁？他们不相信工人可以领导，认为工人没有参加革命并取得胜利，而是被解放的，同时工人意见多、不好管，所以在相当程度上，建国初吸引工人入党、组织工会等方面，对工人都存在关门主义的问题。现在我们去调查会发现很多工人理论水平很高、也很重视动员群众，但他们都没有入党，这就是当时关门主义所导致的结果。针对这种错误认识，毛泽东在七届二中全会上指出：“有些糊涂的同志认为不是依靠工人阶级，而是依靠贫民群众。有些更糊涂的同志认为是依靠资产阶级。在发展工业的方向上，有些糊涂的同志认为主要地不是帮助国营企业的发展，而是帮助私营企业的发展；或者反过来，认为只要注意国营企业就够了，私营企业是无足轻重的了。我们必须批判这些糊涂思想。我们必须全心全意地依靠工人阶级，团结其他劳动群众，争取知识分子，争取尽可能多的能够同我们合作的民族资产阶级分子及其代表人物站在我们方面，或者使他们保持中立，以便向帝国主义者、国民党、官僚资产阶级作坚决的斗争，一步一步地去战胜这些敌人。”宪法说中国是工人阶级领导的，具体实现是通过共产党，这也是符合实际情况的。为什么必须依靠工人阶级？这是由共产党性质决定，同时还要考虑工人阶级的历史状况。 建国初期，中国共产党领导国家只是全心全意依靠工人阶级，而没有把工人阶级确定为是领导阶级，这是因为在这个时候工人阶级还不是自为阶级，数量和觉悟都还不够充分。中国工人从1949年的800万发展到1956年的4651万，到1958年发展到5600万，从农村中发展了大量工人，数量上有了巨大的增长，并且经过社会主义改造和教育，产生了一大批具有主人翁意识的有觉悟有经验的新工人 ，整个工人阶级队伍的自我觉悟都得到极大提高，这使工人阶级担当领导阶级成为可能。1954年宪法从根本大法上确定了工人阶级的领导地位。同时，这7年时间也是工人阶级同政党的磨合期，从56年开始跟官僚主义斗，56年当年全国各地有1000多次罢工。 第二个时期1956－1976年，社会主义建设的20年，这是工人阶级发挥潜能的时期。第一件事，我们要研究一下57年的整风运动，是共产党欢迎知识分子来帮助整顿主观主义、宗派主义、官僚主义等三风。建国后，共产党是被崇敬的化身，普通人很少怀疑共产党有什么问题，大部分工人都抱有感恩思想，在伟大的党的指导下拼命工作。57年时的知识分子是旧社会培养的知识分子，薄一波在自己的回忆录中提到，反右中知识分子提出的观点90％都是正确的，但很多官僚向毛主席告状，毛要求他们听从这些意见。王绍光说这是新老精英的矛盾，部分老精英犯了右派幼稚病，要求轮流做庄，说国家很复杂，必须由专家、知识分子来掌握。新精英，即官僚主义者，找到了反击的机会，此后又有了反右扩大化。反右很复杂，例如河南商丘，一个女孩很好看，被一个干部子弟看上了，但她的男朋友在部队，按照当时的社会风气，部队战士的女朋友不能撬，所以200多人签名反对这个干部子弟，结果反右的时候这200多人都被定为右派。新精英为了保护自己，打击了很多知识分子和群众。李敦白说当时知识分子提意见，工人是不赞同的，“当这些知识分子—学生、公务员、作家、编剧、教授、以及诗人—群起抗议时，其他人却缩在一旁观看。对大多数的北京市民来说，这些批评党的人并不是争取学术自由的英雄。相反，大部分人认为这些人是自私自利、不知感恩的城市书呆子，要求民主只是一种策略，目的是为了夺取党的领导权，这对他们来说极为重要。郊区农民认为，如果这些知识分子掌了权，他们就会失去土地；工人也担心失去他们刚刚争取到的一天八小时工作制和提升的工资。”如果有教授在报上发表言论后，“就必须被公安保护，以免愤怒的工人冲到他家进行攻击。在广播事业局，印刷工人也拒绝为某些在节目中陈述个人观点的学者印刷讲稿。‘我们工人在解放后才开始被当人看，’他们说，‘我们不会去印刷这些攻击党的稿子。’”李敦白的岳母是为普通劳动妇女，她干脆把知识分子的言论称之为“都是放屁”。 普通工农认为知识分子要求民主只是策略，目的是夺取领导权。 第二件事是58年大跃进。很多人嘲笑超英赶美，刚刚建立一个新国家，怎样超过英国？事实上15年后资本主义世界遭遇70年代的危机，英国钢产量减少了，中国就超过了。大跃进主要解决两方面问题，钢和粮棉。钢是基础，强国必须有钢；粮棉是人民生活的条件，富国必须增加粮棉产量。1958年中国钢产量达到1070万吨这个指标，蒋介石干脆放弃了军事上反攻大陆的打算，转而提出以“三民主义”来“光复大陆” 。对于钢产量这个目标，如何定的，毛泽东没有热到媒体宣传的这个程度，可以看薄一波回忆录，薄一波在其中也轻描淡写的谈到自己错误。最让人嘲笑的是土法炼钢，当时确定1070万吨钢目标时，外国舆论不相信，到58年7月底钢产量达到380万吨，还差700万吨，大家都慌，怕完不成指标，后来中央采纳陈云的建议，土法炼钢。解放东北，就是靠东北人民土法炼钢。为什么解放东北时土法炼钢没有嘲笑，而大跃进时就遭到嘲笑？从精英路线的角度，一切必须学英美，炼钢要按照知识分子和大学生的设计才行。凡是以群众运动方式搞的，都被精英所蔑视。在精英看来，土法炼钢神经错乱，人都跑到山上，还破坏了植被。反过来看，现在富人买车，教授已经买了40万的车，看到别人买80万的车，自己也去赶紧换新车，这种盲目攀比在工农看来也很可笑。大跃进期间通过书记挂帅、大搞群众运动，最后完成这个指标。完成这个钢产量，极大增长了中国劳动人民建设新社会的自信心。大跃进对发挥人民群众的主观能动性有很重要的作用，例如妇女解放。今年8月份，新京报发表了一篇《1958年大跃进：民众捐出锅盆大炼钢铁》，访谈了一位普通女工，在58年参加工作，报了扫盲识字班。大炼钢铁时她把门锁拿去炼钢，她后来给儿女们讲这段故事，孩子问：家里没了锁，东西不丢吗？她说：“那时可以说是路不拾遗，夜不闭户，家里没有一把锁，但东西从未丢过”，锁已经没用了。当时群众认为，之所以大炼钢铁、要“超英赶美”，是要“让外国人知道中国人也不是好惹的”。在58年，妇女解放的口号已经提出很多年，但外面的世界还是男人的，如果街上能看到妇女骑自行车，大家都看着，觉得是一件奇怪的事情。韩玉竹认为大炼钢铁改变了一切，男女都一样干活，对妇女的解放作用非常大。韩玉竹说炼钢使自己走出家门，从劳动中理解出了什么叫平等。 正因为有了58年大跃进解放了人的思想，焕发出了工人阶级的能动性，有了这个条件才有了鞍钢宪法。一些知识分子研究鞍钢宪法太学术化，鞍钢宪法不是毛一个人创造的，是大跃进条件下工人阶级创造的。鞍钢宪法是迄今为止最有利于劳动者当家作主的企业管理方式，这是工人阶级作出的伟大创造。当然，鞍钢宪法后来实施过程中，也出现同官僚化的矛盾问题，有韩国人正在研究这个问题。 第三件事是66年开始的文革。以重庆为例，一开始工人很难接受，学生去南下宣传，党政干部号召工人起来，说学生造反，工人也可以造反，于是成立工人纠察队，反对学生 。今天还有很多工人提起此事脸还很红，因为他们当年做了保守派。当学生提出说中央出了修正主义，很多重庆工人都觉得不可能，学生说苏联出了赫鲁晓夫，为什么中国不可能出现？工人才逐渐接受了这一观点。研究了文革，应该可以得出一个结论，文革是迄今为止工人进行组织的最大规模最彻底的一次尝试。许多人都觉得工人阶级很可笑，那嘲笑自己吧，小孩学路也要经历无数次跌倒，每个人都是这么走过来的。文革时期工人阶级形成了两派，保守派说党是伟大的，怎么能踢开党委闹革命，党怎么可能犯错误；造反派响应毛主席号召，当然成分也很复杂。建国后工人翻身做主人，工人也没有完全看清楚官僚主义者的本质，很多工人都认为在党组织领导下好好干活就可以了。毛泽东提出“工人阶级领导一切”，随后工人阶级的地位逐渐上升到顶峰，这符合我国要建设一个工人阶级领导的国家的目标。毛说社会主义条件下工人不但要有享受福利的权利，还要有管理工厂、企业和上层建筑的权力，很多普通工人都觉得这怎么可能，工人就是干活的。现在工人阶级相信自己可以当家作主，但当时工人阶级不太相信自己可以当家作主。造反派和保守派的矛盾最后发展成派性，形成两派武斗。现在看当年的保守派、造反派，总体上目前保守派水平更高，因为保守派今天承认了自己的错误，总结了自己的历史；一些造反派从来没承认错误，自己没犯过错误，错误都是dxp的。如果一个人生下来到现在都正确，说自己60年都正确，这个人也很有问题。很多造反派朋友都有文革情结，不能用理论说明。所以在跟工人谈时，要问清楚他当年是保守派还是造反派。现在保守派更加可爱，很多劳模都是保守派，现在他们更广泛的参加到激烈的改制斗争中，也懂策略。文革提出工人阶级领导一切，是不是毛在玩手腕？不是的，毛的目标就是要建设工人阶级的国家，最后达到无阶级的社会。一方面反映国家工业化的努力，另一方面是社会主义制度的保障，老是通过共产党，最后发展到什么样也看到了。从两个阶级、一个阶层开始进行改造，客观存在着非工人阶级，为了解决这个问题，进行了很多工作。农民大部分通过集体化成为农业工人，一部分招工进入城市；对知识分子进行教育和改造，知识分子也要参加生产；企业实行鞍钢宪法，干部参加劳动，一切都是要把其他群体改造成为工人阶级。不是干体力劳动就是工人阶级，成为工人阶级要具备阶级意识，相当一部分干部、知识分子不接受毛的改造，但大多数基层干部、知识分子很欢迎改造。当时在国家强制力量支持下，不改造也不行。今天看到，很多人有了表达的机会，表示自己不愿意接受工人阶级的改造，仍然谋求与工农不同的社会地位和生活方式。经过30年，资本的发展再次将知识分子推向工人阶级一方。现在90％的白领是装忙族，很多大学毕业生痛恨自己的工作，有很多应对领导的办法，总有一天这些人也会深刻揭露资本主义的不人道、加班等。对于农民，只有通过合作化，才能改造农民，没有其他的社会主义改造途径。 总体上，在1956－1976年的这20年时间里，中国工人阶级为中国工业体系的建立、国家的进步发展、企业管理制度创造等各方面作出了巨大贡献，真正成为了国家的主人。工人阶级由虚弱发展到强大，主要是通过中国共产党领导才得以实现的。但当开始强调无产阶级必须服从党的时候，又开始向另外一个方向的变化。如果从阶级意识的角度来讲，建国前27年无产阶级还没有最终形成使之成为自为阶级的意识，还缺乏对资本的认识和警惕。但在前27年，中国工人阶级是伟大的，这个称号是当之无愧的。 第三个时期，从1976－1978年。在三年过渡时期，工人阶级的地位开始发生了变化，从前一个时期的“工人阶级领导一切”变为“服从党的领导是无产阶级胜利必不可少的条件”（出处？），实际上这是资产阶级胜利的必不可少的条件。在基层工厂和单位里，服从党的领导变为了就是服从党委书记。华国锋时期，党也变成了驯服工具，变成了刘少奇的党。很多的工人阶级领袖被抓或被调离岗位，工人阶级的言论被堵塞；同时，以国民经济濒临崩溃为理由加强工厂专制，强调服从，实行利润挂帅进行物质刺激 ，这个措施迅速瓦解了工人阶级，使工人阶级越来越只关心自己的个人收入是多少而不再团结。通过肃清四人帮、减少左派影响，工会也演变成驯服工具，吹拉弹唱、打球照相。现在工会连吹拉谈唱都没有了。 第四个时期，改革开放的三十年。这一过程大家都很熟悉，主要就是是城乡资本力量的扩张，工人阶级地位下降的过程。马克思说：“资本来到世界，从头到脚，每个毛孔都滴着血和肮脏的东西”。但改革开放初期，资本好像并不是马克思所说的那么丑恶，相反却受到了所有人的拥护，资本被人描述为一种美好生活，没有引起人们的害怕和反对，不论党员、干部、农民、工人还是知识分子。这是因为人们对资本还没有深刻的认识。随着资本逐渐露出自己的本来面目后，中国工人阶级才意识到资本对劳动者的作用，被资本“温水煮青蛙”了。 80年代资本度过自己的蜜月期。改革先是从农村开始改革，通过破解集体经济，释放出剩余劳动力，然后使其变成劳动力商品。让这些劳动力从农村进入城市与拿着“铁饭碗”的城市工人进行竞争，这实际是对城市工人形成了一种包围姿态。之所以从农村开始，就是因为在改革之初最难改革的是城市，以雇佣劳动化为导向的新政策在城市企业里往往很难推行下去。 为了化解改革阻力，陆续采取了很多的措施。81年厂矿武装转归县武装部保管，资产阶级掌权以后第一件事就是解除工人武装。82年修订宪法，取消罢工权和四大自由，强化纪律教育和法制教育。我问老干部为什么当时会取消罢工权，韩西雅说当时宣传“工人阶级是领导阶级，哪有说工人阶级罢工反对自己的？”很多人都认为自己罢自己的工属于同义反复，是废话，应从宪法中去掉。83年，针对工人的过激抵制，进行了严打。严打很厉害，我体会很深，城市工人子女在街上提录音机，留长头发、穿喇叭裤，像二流子。这反映了当时社会风气的迅速变化，突然之间公汽开始挤了、打饭的人也不排队了，出现了农村进城的个体户在街上摆摊，当时很受歧视。严打是第一次有规模的对城市工人阶级的镇压行动，我们那一个工人摸女孩一下被判10年，刑罚没尺度，政府宣传把流氓枪毙有什么可惜的？在这个过程中，工会沦落到“工会是条狗，挨打还得跟着走”的境地。推进干部“四化”，把南下干部退到调研员，成为第二梯队，培养年轻干部，老同志退居二线。退居二线后就失去了管理企业的权利，老干部过半年再去工厂做顾问，问都不让问。新上来的年轻干部用92年后的话说，“胆子要大”，基本上都是胡整。84年又对工厂制度也进行了改革，从党委领导下的厂长责任制改为厂长负责制，厂长获得了巨大的管理企业的能力，几乎就是一个工厂的“太上皇”。由此党委书记和厂长尖锐冲突，舆论上把党委和厂长比作两口子吵架，实际上把党的地位降低，要把党从企业中搞出去，赵紫阳主持下，最后“让党委退出管理负责舆论思想宣传工作”，彻底让党委失去了对工厂的领导权。官僚主义者对厂长负责制情有独钟，可以追溯到工业70条，喜欢一长制。厂长可以决定任免干部、有权决定用工形式、奖惩职工。厂长有了这么大权力之后，引起了很多矛盾，东北出现好几起刺杀厂长事件，所以出现武警，以此来为所谓“改革”顺利进行保驾护航。到80年代末，砸三铁，“干部的铁交椅、用工制度铁饭碗、分配制度铁工资”等，很多制度都被废除，但这些大都是针对工人的，对干部却没有什么触动。再到89年，不但镇压自由派，也把工人的造反情绪压制下去。 要回答一个问题，教授写文章说工人阶级是改革开放的主力军，也有工会老干部说工人阶级是反改革开放的主力军，两种观点相比较，后者更有真理性。为什么工人改革之初不反对？尽管老工人大部分对企业改革是抵制的，觉得这是资本主义回潮，但国家实行了子女顶替制度和干部退休制度的政策，以替老工人解决下一代青年就业为名让子女顶岗代替，让一批反对改革的老工人离岗退休到二线。全国办理退休制度1225万，其中子女顶替900万，占80％。这个阶段上，家家户户都有失业的，很多工人子女没工作在街上耍，但如果退休，不但自己发全额工资，孩子还有工作，不再当流氓，此外当时乡镇企业大发展，老工人有手艺，退休后再去乡镇企业或去个体户打工还多了一份收入。这是对老工人的收买。在改制以后，船一沉往往是一家子，因为顶班制度使两代工人都在一个企业里。当时社会上有权力的人让子女去当兵，没权力的都是让孩子到工厂，国企不行到大集体，要进工厂还都得走后门，孩子拿到工资以后又拿奖金，全家都很高兴。那时我们家在一个工人社区，一到星期六，工厂门口都是卖酱猪蹄的，生意很火。工人发的工作服都是西装，动不动就发东西。所以改革之初像过蜜月，你啃骨头我喝汤，都高兴。 90年代初步确定资本主义制度。92年南巡后，93年出台公司法，95年出台劳动法，建立了产权制度和雇佣劳动制度。在90年代后期基本完成国企的用工招工制度改革。从86年就开始同工人签合同，合同只有一份，签完不给工人。到现在还是这样，农民工想要一份合同很难，管理人员答复说“要那个干什么”，资产阶级的做法是一脉相承的。受疯狂的新自由主义经济政策的影响，大中型国有集体企业实行大规模破产，私营经济发展挤压掏空了国有和集体企业。同时，出现民工潮，新的一个雇工队伍开始出现，而中国的老工人阶级则处于被动挨打状态。1997年实行国有企业改制，主要做了两项改革，一是实行企业产权置换，换成清晰产权私人的或股份的，二是工人身份实行置换。所谓改制实质上就是把社会主义企业制度改为资本主义企业制度，让生产资料所有权改为私人所有或者国家官僚所有，让职工成为雇佣劳动者，并建立劳动力商品市场，实行劳动力自由买卖。而马克思说过，确定资本主义制度的两个特征就是生产资料私有制和雇佣制度，改制后我们完全符合。改制的的一个后果，就是产生了今天城市房地产资本家。因为当时大量企业改制腾出工厂土地，就是要大力发展房地产。过去是工人破坏工厂、机器设备，官僚和资本家保护；而现在恰好相反，是官僚和资本家破坏工厂和机器设备，工人来保护。有人将这个过程称作“中国特色的圈地运动”，构成了资本原始积累的一种特殊方式。资产阶级把工厂有效的设备转移到农村，把农民从土地上赶出去建厂，让农民到城市打工，在原有工厂土地上发展房地产这一个暴利行业。同时在改制过程中，实行买断工龄的政策，而下岗工人仅有的收入又在大起大落的股市中被洗劫一空。上世纪末，石油工人、建设银行实行买断，那时股市正好不错，投进去就赚钱，很多工人觉得不受你领导的气，我拿钱走去股市翻番，结果亏的血本无归。工人把资产阶级想的太简单，几万块能白给？股市一卷就走。 整体来看，90年代是资本进攻时期，工人被动防守，偶尔也有散兵游勇，但队伍涣散，结果都是鬼哭狼嚎。新世纪出现工人护厂斗争，基本都是失败告终，没有形成有效的抵抗。在从社会主义向资本主义演变的过程中，工人阶级为什么往往没有比较有效的抗争？主要有以下几方面原因：一是因为社会主义是人类历史上第一次出现，力量还比较弱小。二是在社会主义政党内部中有很多敌人，尽管宣传建设社会主义，但实际很多人有严重的私有制心理。三是和各国家的工人阶级的队伍成熟度有关系，工人阶级第一次管理国家缺乏经验，主要是通过政党来进行管理。在演变的过程中，都是由党的名义进行的。社会主义变成资本主义最严重的问题就是“修正主义”。不防资反修，社会主义政党里的叛徒，必然把这个国家引向资本主义。要想防止这种演变，就要像毛泽东所要求的，把权力交给人民，全民武装，并且让国家尽快消亡。因为如果由少数人掌握了国家机器，就有可能向资本主义或法西斯演变。 最后走到今天，资本力量远远超过工人的力量，工人处于被动防守状态。据官方报道，现在私营经济已经占到了63%，已经是私有制为主体。劳动者就业中的70%在私营企业里，也就是工人阶级队伍中的70%是在市场经济体制下成长起来的雇佣劳动者。在所谓现代企业管理制度下，企业领导想如何就如何，工人无可奈何，被逼急了才采取一些极端的反抗手段，结果工人领袖还是被抓，反抗也没有任何效果。工人阶级变成这样的状态是值得同情的，但是应该辩证地来看这个问题。这是资本发展的代价，工人阶级队伍也是与资本的对立斗争过程中成长起来的。强大的工人阶级不会在温室中成长起来，只有经过大规模的斗争才能塑造坚强的工人阶级。 工人现在的状态可以概括为“愤怒和绝望”。绝望是因为他们一直期望着左转，期待着回归社会主义，朱镕基三年搞好国企，实际上搞垮国企，结果越来越绝望。但绝望也是向希望转化的过程。2003年以来，新工人罢工开始逐步增多，国企工人也日益觉悟并团结起来。以2009年的依棉事件、通钢事件、苏州工业园事件等为标志，工人阶级开始找到一些抗争的有效途径，由被动防御转入主动防御状态。套用毛泽东的 “防御、相持、反攻”三个战略划分，这几场阶级斗争仍处于防御阶段，但是是由被动防御向主动防御转化。在此之前，无论从理论上还是实践上，工人对改制无招架之功，知识分子精英大谈计划经济多糟糕、市场经济怎么好，说现代企业制度有效率，改制以后可以提高劳动生产率，原先企业亏损都是工人吃大锅饭吃垮的，从企业改革后很多国企工人都消极怠工，所以工人也觉得有道理，从精神上无还手之力。往往调来一个市长，决定改制就开始改，工人被逼急了去堵路或上访告状，这是很被动的方式。现在变化了，通钢事件发生后，全国工人一片欢腾，反应强烈，最经典的一句话就是“打死的太少”。更典型的就是河南一个企业直接打出横幅“向通钢老工人大哥学习”“用毛泽东思想占领我们的阵地”。全国总工会发文表示改制如果没有经过职代会同意视为无效，但是还没有说该怎么处置。这个事件对政府引起了极大的震动，很多政府和大型国企都召开了维稳会议。工人阶级的思想也发生变化，不再认私有制有效率的理。此后很多钢铁企业，职工都不欢迎私企去兼并，都希望大型国企兼并，河南林钢职工让安阳钢铁兼并，日照钢铁也让山东钢铁兼并。 未来对我们的工人阶级成长是一个很有意思很值得观察的过程，无论是老工人还是新工人。从阶级大视角来看，尽管老工人和新工人有矛盾，但是一旦发生了大规模的阶级斗争，他们都会建立自己的队伍，联合起来进行对抗。有些人觉得老工人已经老了，该退出历史舞台了，没有用了。但是事实却不是这样，通钢事件就是一个72岁老工人发动和领导的、老中青工人结合共同取得胜利的斗争。老一代工人还没有退出历史舞台，仍然在发挥着他们的引导作用。中国老工人的政治素质是最高的，因为经历过这正反三十年的教育，虽然年老体弱了，但是政治头脑很高；而新工人则相反，年轻力壮、能打能斗，但是欠缺政治意识。现在新老工人已经同处于雇佣劳动地位，甚至在同一家工厂里打工，未来他们必然会走在一起。工人阶级的成熟与所经历的正反两方面经验关系很大。在以后的工人运动中，随着新老工人的逐步融合，老工人必将会发挥巨大的作用，在其带领下，新工人也会产生西方工人跨越百年才具备的成熟的阶级意识。通钢就是很好的一个例子，在这场非常激烈的冲突中，老中青整合、各有分工，同对面的官僚和资本家进行较量，这是阶级成长壮大的表现。如果新工人学习到通钢事件的经验，了解了工人怎么斗争的，他就会觉得老工人胆子大，能整出这样的事情，能使省委书记都害怕，而他们只会找保安斗、找老板斗，他们会向老工人学习。通钢事件也对左翼认识的转变起了很大作用，左派普遍比较振奋，因为过去几乎都认为老工人将无所作为了，这个事件后，很多左派也由此更加关注老工人。 随着资本主义矛盾的继续深化，无产阶级化进程将加快推进，底层群众对私有制和市场经济的幻想会逐渐破灭。这个过程中，无产阶级的阶级意识将逐步形成，越来越多的工人会认识到不可能通过拼命工作或者个人单打独斗就使自己得到解放，必须参加到阶级斗争中来。在未来冲突中新工人会形成一种团结意识，这种意识会使得他们和老工人进一步结合。资产阶级也会不断培养无产阶级，使他们越来越有觉悟，认识到自己的阶级身份。“无产阶级只有解放全人类，才能最后解放自己”，对于当代的工人阶级来说，中国的工人阶级必须为中国人民找到出路，为社会主义找到出路，才能为自己找到出路。 2010年1月

从阅读方法、理论学习、读书报告、研究写作4个方面谈如何阅读学术著作和做读书笔记。

贾樟柯说用《二十四城记》记录的主题是变迁。

在杂字类识字读本中，哥伦比亚东亚图书馆藏《新编》有好几个突出之处，因此也格外引人注目。该书已由上海书店出版社影印出版。 ... 并非每一本书都有不同寻常的经历，然而《新编》一书的经历，却成就了不可多得的传奇。我们关心它的传奇，如同是一个人的命运，也暗含了一个时代的缩影。从这个意义上说，我们的确可以为一本书作传。但我们也同样关心它自身的故事，也就是它通过语词图像所讲述的那些故事。

　半年在海南,为海南省文联主席的职务尽责；半年在湖南汨罗乡下,和三亩地里的动植物相处,韩少功的生活,被分成了这“著名”的两块。在讲座和专访中,他也从文学说到自己的生活,说到全中国的“大师焦虑症”和“文化大跃进”。

本文初稿曾刊《燕京学报》第十六期。其后获见英法所藏若干新材料，用将旧稿整理重写一过。一九四○年五月向达谨记于昆明。

本文是为《现代中国思想的兴起》日文本（简本）所写的序言，该书即将由岩波书店出版。

为了探索女工生命中无法逃避的这些社会暴力，在中国逐渐融入全球资本主义体系的背景之下，我踏上了寻找中国打工者主体的漫漫长路，并尝试在当代中国--它正迅速成为一个为全球生产，提供大量廉价劳动力和自然资源的"世界工厂"--提出一种社会抗争的次文体

台灣的問題從來不是台灣的問題而已，而台獨的問題歸根究底是中國的問題。

湖北郭店一号楚墓出土有《老子》及儒家著述写本，引起国际的重视，到目前为止，已经有几次举行国际性的讨论会。规模最大的，要算今年（1999年）10月15一18日，在武汉大学珞珈山庄举行的研讨会，笔者有机会出席、接触到一些新发表的论文，复在编钟馆再作一次详细考察。归来之后，因草此文。

那天，正在街头自由行走着，一位大嫂级的报贩走近，问买报看么？新出的《南方周末》，写重庆打黑的，陈明亮执行死刑了，原来是个好人哩。我们几位中有几位觉得这报贩也真会逗人，这样卖报，估计会有收益，因为她可以将黑的说成白的，未见得报纸上就这样写了。但我们还是接了一份报纸过来，且漫不经心地看了起来。确实在A4版的头条位置发现了一篇写陈明亮的文章，题目是《末路大哥》，还配有陈明亮穿着号子里衣服的照片。文章占了A4、A5两大版。这是我们所见过的重庆打黑以来所有案件占幅最大的一篇报道，自然也有趣味读将起来。

我们不同意於龙女士的，最终还是在於她虽然在区域间说话，但并没有促进区域间的对话，反而以一种吊诡的修辞，增设了区域间的壁垒。

“如果我们选择了最能为人类福利而劳动的职业，那么重担就不能把我们压倒，因为这是为大家而献身；那时我们所感到的就不再是可怜的、有限的、自私的乐趣，我们的幸福将属于千百万人，我们的事业将默默地、但是将永恒地发挥作用地存在下去。面对我们的骨灰，高尚的人们将洒下热泪。”

7月20日，北岛在2011香港书展上作题为“古老的敌意”的演讲。他援引诗人里尔克《安魂曲》中的名句——“正因为生活和伟大的作品之间／总存在某种古老的敌意……”他认为一个好的写作者应该有意识地保持与所处时代、母语以及自身的某种紧张关系，并在演讲中批判“粉丝文化”。

這個自我批評也是一個尷尬的自我發現：原來，我並沒有意識到，相對於我所批評的那個甚有問題的知識狀況而言，我（們）是一個五十步；只看到別人在堆砌「和解的壁壘」，卻沒看到自己知識之眼中的根根樑木，也在支撐這個深刻制約台灣社會、政治與文化狀況的兩岸「分斷體制」。這「根根樑木」，即是「方法論台獨」，而拆除它們的知識方法謂之「方法論中國人」。

洞澈力意味着世界主义的认定与归属，世界主义不同于当今实存的全球化。旧时代的世界主义(基督教、伊斯兰教、佛教以及其他)曾经伴随着部族帝国主义而存在，这与我们现在强调的世界主义也大相迳庭。我们的世界主义是现代的(人创造历史)，也是社会主义的(人类的进步必须建立在合作和团结之上，而不是竞争)。

“项目制”理论本身也许无可厚非，但它显然需要其它的制度配套和较崇高的价值取向方才可能展示其所可能起的“现代化”和“合理化”作用。从更长远的视野来考虑，其中的关键也许是，理论中的受惠者是否真正能够成为实际运作中的主体。

阿拉伯世界发生了被称之为“茉莉花革命”的一连串事件。西方世界在关切阿拉伯世界的同时，似乎并没有忘记中国。实际上，从媒体聚焦的深度和力度来看，对中国的关切甚至甚于对阿拉伯世界的关切。为什么会这样？ 　　人们那么关切中国，但没有一个一致的理由。不同的人对中国的关注出于不同的背景。一些人关注的是这样一种假设：阿拉伯世界所发生的事，已经对外在世界产生了很大的影响，如果中国发生了类似的情况，会产生怎样的外在影响呢？无疑，较之阿拉伯世界，中国在世界事务上的影响更大。中国现在已经是世界经济体的内在一部分，甚至是世界经济发展的其中一个最大的驱动力。在中国事务上，外在世界越来越多的国家和人不再是旁观者，而是利益相关者。出于对自己利益的关怀，他们来关心中国的发展。从这个角度来看，这些人并不希望中国发生类似阿拉伯世界的事情。 　　不过，也的确有些人希望中国发生类似的事情，并且要尽力推动这样的事情发生。在上世纪90年代苏联东欧剧变之后，很多人一直在关切中国，期待着类似的事情发生在中国。前些年，每当有国家发生“颜色革命”的时候，他们都会把中国带入其思考的空间。一些人甚至总是在预测中国什么时候会发生类似的事情。在这个群体中，不同的人也有不同的动机：一些人希望中国的政治变革和民主化，一些人对现状极度不满，一些人恐惧于中国的继续崛起。 中国有不同的制度背景 　　不过，中国不是阿拉伯世界。如果光从一些社会现象来看，中国和阿拉伯世界的确有一些相似的地方，例如社会不公平问题、收入差异、腐败、大学生失业或就业不足等等。（应当说，所有这些现象都值得中国关注。如果不能解决这些问题，中国就会面临不稳定的严峻挑战。）但是，做这样简单的比较，并不能回答为什么中国不是阿拉伯世界。要回答“中国为什么不是”的问题，就要看中国本身所具有的制度性因素。中国和阿拉伯世界存在一些类似的社会现象，但因为中国和阿拉伯世界具有不同的制度背景，因此尽管有类似的社会现象，它们所能导向的结果是很不相同的。 　　首先应当指出的是，那些相信中国会步阿拉伯世界后尘的人，大都是从简单的意识形态来看问题。这个意识形态的核心就是民主，并且是西方式的多党制民主。民主先发生在西方，也早就成为西方意识形态领域的核心。西方社会在很多方面都特别强调“多元”，例如经济多元、社会多元、宗教多元和文化多元等等，但就是在政治制度问题上只容许“单元”，就是单线的历史发展观，即所有政治制度都必然走向西方式民主。早就有学者宣称西方式民主是“历史的终结”，尽管历史的现实并非如此。客观地看，现实世界上所存在的众多政治制度，并不能用简单的“民主”与“专制”或“非民主”所能概括的。那种把世界简单地划分为“民主”和“专制”，并且进一步简单地认为“专制”必然向“民主”发展的理论，已经远远不能解释现实世界了。 　　西方过度地从西方的观点来看中国，也希望中国朝着西方所期望的方向发展。这导致了很多人忽视中国本身到底在怎样发展，以及发展出了什么样的制度。决定中国命运的正是中国本身的发展，和其所发展出来的制度模式，而非外力。要理解中国为什么不是阿拉伯世界，就是要看这些方面，而不是从任何西方的概念和理论。 　　说到中国和阿拉伯世界的不同，很多人都会强调中国在过去30多年的高速经济发展和其关联的社会发展。这些因素当然很重要，但更为重要的是政治制度因素。阿拉伯世界也曾经有很不错的经济发展成就，一些社会远较中国富裕，但是其政治制度僵硬不变，很难适应变化了的社会经济的发展，最终导致今日的局面。一些相信中国会阿拉伯世界化的人，其错误也就在于把中国的政治制度，和阿拉伯世界的政治制度等同起来。这其中一个主要的原因就是上面提到的，这些人简单地把世界划分会（西方式）“民主”和“专制”两个阵营。实际上，正是中国的政治制度使得中国和阿拉伯世界区分开来，也使得中国不会出现阿拉伯世界所出现的情况。 　　很显然，如果从西方多党民主的角度来看，中国的政治制度没有实质性的变化。应当指出的是，正是从这一西方观点出发，很多观察家并不认为中国改革开放以来有过任何有意义的政治改革。 中国政治制度的巨大变化 　　事实上又怎样呢？改革开放以来，中国的政治制度发生了巨大的变化，只不过是这些变化并不是西方式的。不管人们评价如何，正是这些政治制度上的变化，使得中国有能力适应和消化社会经济变革，以及转型所带来的各种变化。 　　那么，中国到底是一种什么样的政治制度呢？官方的意识形态，并不能帮助人们获得有关中国政治制度实质性的知识，一切要从中国政治制度的实际行为出发。因为政党制度是中国政治制度的核心，人们又进而要从认识这一政党制度入手。 　　简单地说，中国已经演变成为一个一党主导下的开放型政党制度。 　　第一是开放。开放最重要。任何一个政治制度，如果不开放，就必然表现为排他性和封闭性。只有开放，政治才具有包容性。政治上的开放性，在西方是通过外部多元主义，即多党政治来实现。理论上说，每一种利益都能够找到能够代表其利益的政党。在中国，因为没有多党政治，依靠的是内部多元主义来实现。内部多元主义表明政党的开放性。社会上产生了不同的利益，执政党就向它们开放，把他们吸纳到政权里面，通过利益的协调来实现利益代表。 　　中共多年来致力于从一个革命性政党转型成为执政党。在革命期间，政党要强调依靠一些特定的阶级和阶层，但作为执政党，其必须依靠所有的阶级和阶层，才能拥有最广泛的社会基础。中共的转型不可说不快。上个世纪90年代，随着民营企业的崛起，成功地解决了民营企业家加入执政党、进入政治过程的问题。面临迅速崛起的社会组织和新兴社会力量，执政党现在又开始强调社会管理，致力于通过吸纳更多的社会力量来扩展执政的基础。随着社会基础的扩大，党内民主的需求也日益增长。这就是为什么这些年来执政党在不断强调党内民主重要性，并寻找多种形式的党内民主的原因。 　　这种内部多元主义基础上的政治开放性，其有效性并不比其它任何制度低。阿拉伯世界基本上既无外部多元主义，也无内部多元主义，多数政权表现为封闭性，有一个家族（君主政权）或者少数几个家族长期垄断政权，统治国家。即使在民主国家，例如英国、美国和日本，国家政权也经常被几个政治大家族所垄断。从统计学角度来看，从社会底层进入政治领域的人数，中国远远超过民主国家。共产党统治不是家族统治，这使得共产党更具有群众性。 　　第二，同样重要的是中国解决了精英阶层更替问题。在很大程度上说，西方民主的本质是通过定期的选举，解决政治精英的变更。在民主政治产生之前，暴力往往在政权更替过程中扮演最重要的角色。这种情形也在中国传统社会存在数千年，所谓的“革命”就是“改朝换代”的意思。改革开放以来，尽管中国拒绝走西方式的民主道路，但已经发展出非常有效的精英更替制度。 　　这要归功于邓小平。邓小平确立了两种相关的制度，一是领导人退出制度，即退休制度；二是人才录用制度，从社会的各个领域录用人才。现在这个制度从基层到最高领导层已经高度制度化。更为重要的是，因为年龄的限制（即任何一个领导人一旦到了规定的年龄，就必须从相应的职位上退下来），各个阶层精英更替的速度，是没有其它任何一个制度所能比拟的，包括民主制度。尽管年龄规定的“一刀切”制度在外界看来，甚至已经到了不合情理的程度，但的确产生了诸多积极的政治效果。 　　这个体制的优势是很显然的。首先，它避免了个人专制。可以从两个层面来理解。一是内部多元主义所形成的“党内民主”，或者党内集体领导制度。中共党内高层之间的制衡，远比民主国家的多。例如在美国，一旦当选总统，其经常拥有“帝王般”的权力。而中国领导层中，在强人政治时代过去之后，再也难出现这种“帝王般”的权力者了。二是限任制。现在一般上，领导层包括总书记、国家主席、总理和其它重要职位，至多是两个任期，即十年。这和西方的总统制并没有什么区别。很显然，限任制是对个人专制的一种有效制度制约。就是说，中国尽管没有西方式民主，但也找到了同样的甚至更有效的方式，来保证不会出现个人专制。但在阿拉伯世界，普遍的现象就是个人专制，无论是君主制国家还是具有现代政党制度的国家。当一个人或者一个家族统治一个国家数十年的时候，就会弊端丛生，令社会不可忍受。 中国政治制度具强大动员能力 　　其次，中国的政治体制使得政治更新异常地迅速，政治能够有效反映代际变化，因此也是利益的变化。较之其它任何政体，中国政治体系的一个显著现象就是官员流动速度非常之快。每年都有数以万计的官员离开其任职的岗位，也有同样多的官员进入这些岗位。这种快速的流动尽管也出现了一些弊端，但不可否认的是它能够更加有效地反映时代的变化。 　　第三，中国的政治制度具有强大的政策动员能力，从而促成政策的及时变化。从理论上说，多党制国家的政策变化的阻力应当比一党制的为少，因为政策可以随着政党的轮替而变化。但事实上则不然。越来越多的民主国家，无论是西方发达的民主还是发展中国家的民主，反对党不再是传统意义上的“忠诚”的反对党，而是为了反对而反对。在这样的情况下，具有实质性意义的政策变化变得非常困难。 　　中国则不然。如果西方式民主更多地表现为政权轮替，中国更多地表现为政策“轮替”。尽管中国社会经常抱怨执政党政策变化缓慢，但较之其它政体，中国的政策变革速度还是相当地快。只不过，在民主国家，人们可以互相推卸责任，而在中国，执政党具有不可推卸的责任。从1980年代到1990年代再到本世纪，中国实现了数次重大的政策转型。看不到执政党的政策动员能力，就很难理解中国这些年来的巨大变化。 　　当然，这并不是说，中国的制度不存在问题。相反，中国的制度面临很多非常严峻的挑战。想说明的一点是，包括西方式民主制度在内，所有制度都在面临挑战。任何一个制度，如果不能随着社会经济的变化而变化，就会发生危机。没有一个制度是终极的，可以终结世界历史。所有制度都要在变化中求生存和发展。 　　尽管中国的政治制度已经发生了很大的变化，但在很多方面仍然有巨大的改进和改善空间。但是要认识中国，并不能用任何西方的或者其它别的概念和理论来理解中国，用西方或者其它的价值来评判中国。如果这样，既无助于理解已经发生的变化，更无助于看到所存在问题的本质，要谈解决问题更不可能了。这一最简单不过的道理，却往往被人们有意无意地漠视。 　　作者为国大东亚所所长，文章仅代表个人看法

只要谈到现代中国的父亲问题，人们往往难以绕过鲁迅和弗洛伊德两个名字。

BARTLEBY, THE SCRIVENER.A STORY OF WALL-STREET.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 of 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.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.Imprimis: 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 tranquility 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 eminently safe man. 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 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 to 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 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 in 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.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.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 that 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 man like 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 willing to 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 unseemly 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 teatime. 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 indispensable, then, in the afternoon?"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."But the blots, Turkey," intimated I."True,—but, with submission, sir, behold these hairs! I am getting old. Surely, sir, a blot or two of a warm afternoon is not to be severely urged against gray hairs. Old age—even if it blot the page—is honorable. With submission, sir, we both are getting old."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.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 professional 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 any thing, 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 business at 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 dressed in 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 of 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.Though concerning the self-indulgent habits of Turkey I had my own private surmises, yet touching Nippers I was well persuaded that whatever might by 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.It was fortunate for me that, owing to its peculiar cause—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.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 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 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."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.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.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.At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long famishing for 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 he been cheerfully industrious. But he wrote on silently, palely, mechanically.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.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.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."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.""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."I would prefer not to," said he.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.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."Bartleby! quick, I am waiting."I heard a slow scrape of his chair legs on the uncarpeted floor, and soon he appeared standing at the entrance of his hermitage."What is wanted?" said he mildly."The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine them. There"—and I held towards him the fourth quadruplicate."I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen.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."Why do you refuse?""I would prefer not to."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."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!""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 conclusions; but, at the same time, some paramount consideration prevailed with him to reply as he did."You are decided, then, not to comply with my request—a request made according to common usage and common sense?"He briefly gave me to understand that on that point my judgment was sound. Yes: his decision was irreversible.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."Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?""With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think that you are.""Nippers," said I, "what do you think of it?""I think I should kick him out of the office."(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, Nippers' ugly mood was on duty and Turkey's off.)"Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my behalf, "what do you think of it?""I think, sir, he's a little luny," replied Ginger Nut with a grin."You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come forth and do your duty."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 (Nippers') part, this was the first and the last time he would do another man's business without pay.Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but his own peculiar business there.Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy work. His late remarkable conduct led me to regard his ways 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. The 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.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.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:"Bartleby," said I, "when those papers are all copied, I will compare them with you.""I would prefer not to.""How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish vagary?"No answer.I threw open the folding-doors near by, and turning upon Turkey andNippers, exclaimed in an excited manner—"He says, a second time, he won't examine his papers. What do you think of it, Turkey?"It was afternoon, be it remembered. Turkey sat glowing like a brass boiler, his bald head steaming, his hands reeling among his blotted papers."Think of it?" roared Turkey; "I think I'll just step behind his screen, and black his eyes for him!"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."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?""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.""Ah," exclaimed I, "you have strangely changed your mind then—you speak very gently of him now.""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?""You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not to-day, Turkey," I replied; "pray, put up your fists."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."Bartleby," said I, "Ginger Nut is away; just step round to the Post Office, won't you? (it was but a three minute walk,) and see if there is any thing for me.""I would prefer not to.""You will not?""I prefer not."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 wight?—my hired clerk? What added thing is there, perfectly reasonable, that he will be sure to refuse to do?"Bartleby!"No answer."Bartleby," in a louder tone.No answer."Bartleby," I roared.Like a very ghost, agreeably to the laws of magical invocation, at the third summons, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage."Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me.""I prefer not to," he respectfully and slowly said, and mildly disappeared."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.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, and 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 pointblank.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 around 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 he would by any secular occupation violate the proprieties of the day.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 the 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. Yes, thought I, it is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping bachelor's hall all 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!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.Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight left in the lock.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.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.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 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.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 resolved upon this;—I would put certain calm questions to him the next morning, touching his history, etc., and if he declined to answer them openly and unreservedly (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.The next morning came."Bartleby," said I, gently calling to him behind his screen.No reply."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."Upon this he noiselessly slid into view."Will you tell me, Bartleby, where you were born?""I would prefer not to.""Will you tell me any thing about yourself?""I would prefer not to.""But what reasonable objection can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly towards you."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."At present I prefer to give no answer," he said, and retired into his hermitage.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 calm disdain, but his perverseness seemed ungrateful, considering the undeniable good usage and indulgence he had received from me.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 offices, 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 to-morrow or next day: in short, say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable:—say so, Bartleby.""At present I would prefer not to be a little reasonable," was his mildly cadaverous reply.Just then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed suffering from an unusually bad night's rest, induced by severer indigestion then common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby."Prefer not, eh?" gritted Nippers—"I'd prefer him, if I were you, sir," addressing me—"I'd prefer him; I'd give him preferences, the stubborn mule! What is it, sir, pray, that he prefers not to do now?"Bartleby moved not a limb."Mr. Nippers," said I, "I'd prefer that you would withdraw for the present."Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntarily 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.As Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly and deferentially approached."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.""So you have got the word too," said I, slightly excited."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?""I would prefer to be left alone here," said Bartleby, as if offended at being mobbed in his privacy."That's the word, Turkey," said I—"that's it.""Oh, prefer? oh yes—queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir, asI was saying, if he would but prefer—""Turkey," interrupted I, "you will please withdraw.""Oh certainly, sir, if you prefer that I should."As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his desk caught 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 form 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.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."Why, how now? what next?" exclaimed I, "do no more writing?""No more.""And what is the reason?""Do you not see the reason for yourself," he indifferently replied.I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull 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.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.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."What!" exclaimed I; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well—better than ever before—would you not copy then?""I have given up copying," he answered, and slid aside.He remained as ever, a fixture in my chamber. Nay—if that 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 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."At the expiration of that period, I peeped behind the screen, and lo!Bartleby was there.I buttoned up my coat, balanced myself; advanced slowly towards him, touched his shoulder, and said, "The time has come; you must quit this place; I am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go.""I would prefer not," he replied, with his back still towards me."You must."He remained silent.Now I had an unbounded confidence in this man's common honesty. He had frequently restored to me sixpences 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.But he made no motion."I will leave them here then," putting them under a weight on the table. Then taking my hat and cane and going to the door I tranquilly 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."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.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 that 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.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."I'll take odds he doesn't," said a voice as I passed."Doesn't go?—done!" said I, "put up your money."I was instinctively putting my hand in my pocket to produce my own, 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.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."It was Bartleby.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 a 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."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 have suffice—in short, an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why," I added, unaffectedly starting, "you have not even touched that money yet," pointing to it, just where I had left it the evening previous.He answered nothing."Will you, or will you not, quit me?" I now demanded in a sudden passion, advancing close to him."I would prefer not to quit you," he replied, gently emphasizing the not."What earthly right have you to stay here? Do you pay any rent? Do you pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?"He answered nothing."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?"He silently retired into his hermitage.I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but prudent to 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.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.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 dead-wall reveries. Will it be credited? Ought I to acknowledge it? That afternoon I left the office without saying one further word to him.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 last 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.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.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 yet 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.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.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.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.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."He made no reply, and nothing more was said.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.I re-entered, with my hand in my pocket—and—and my heart in my mouth."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 upon the floor, and then,—strange to say—I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be rid of.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.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.Full of forebodings, I replied that I was."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.""I am very sorry, sir," said I, with assumed tranquility, 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.""In mercy's name, who is he?""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.""I shall settle him then,—good morning, sir."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.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."That's the man—here he comes," cried the foremost one, whom I recognized as the lawyer who had previously called upon me alone."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 building generally, 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."Aghast at this torrent, I fell back before it, and would fain have locked myself in 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.Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting upon the banister at the landing."What are you doing here, Bartleby?" said I."Sitting upon the banister," he mildly replied.I motioned him into the lawyer's room, who then left us."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?"No answer."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?""No; I would prefer not to make any change.""Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?""There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship; but I am not particular.""Too much confinement," I cried, "why you keep yourself confined all the time!""I would prefer not to take a clerkship," he rejoined, as if to settle that little item at once."How would a bar-tender's business suit you? There is no trying of the eyesight in that.""I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular."His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge."Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills for the merchants? That would improve your health.""No, I would prefer to be doing something else.""How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young gentleman with your conversation,—how would that suit you?""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.""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."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.""No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all."I answered nothing; but effectually 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.When again I entered my office, lo, a note from the landlord lay upon the desk. I opened it with trembling hands. It informed me that the writer had sent to the police, and had Bartleby removed to 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.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.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.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.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 yard 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."Bartleby!""I know you," he said, without looking round,—"and I want nothing to say to you.""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.""I know where I am," he replied, but would say nothing more, and so I left him.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?""Yes.""Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare, that's all.""Who are you?" asked I, not knowing what to make of such an unofficially speaking person in such a place."I am the grub-man. Such gentlemen as have friends here, hire me to provide them with something good to eat.""Is this so?" said I, turning to the turnkey.He said it was."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.""Introduce me, will you?" said the grub-man, looking at me with an expression which seem to say he was all impatience for an opportunity to give a specimen of his breeding.Thinking it would prove of benefit to the scrivener, I acquiesced; and asking the grub-man his name, went up with him to Bartleby."Bartleby, this is Mr. Cutlets; you will find him very useful to you.""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. May Mrs. Cutlets and I have the pleasure of your company to dinner, sir, in Mrs. Cutlets' private room?""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."How's this?" said the grub-man, addressing me with a stare of astonishment. "He's odd, aint he?""I think he is a little deranged," said I, sadly."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 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?""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."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."I saw him coming from his cell not long ago," said a turnkey, "may be he's gone to loiter in the yards."So I went in that direction."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."The yard was entirely quiet. It was not accessible to the common prisoners. The surrounding walls, of amazing thickness, kept off all sounds 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.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.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?""Lives without dining," said I, and closed his eyes."Eh!—He's asleep, aint he?""With kings and counselors," murmured I.* * * * * * * *There would seem little need for proceeding further in this history. Imagination will readily supply the meager 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 certain strange suggestive interest to me, however sad, 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 Washington, 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 finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the grave; a 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.Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! End of Project Gutenberg's Bartleby, The Scrivener, by Herman Melville*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARTLEBY, THE SCRIVENER ***This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net