Bartleby the Scrivener a Parabble of Pessimism

8/9/2019 Bartleby the Scrivener a Parabble of Pessimism

1/16

Bartleby the Scrivener: A Parable of PessimismAuthor(s): Daniel Stempel and Bruce M. StilliansSource: Nineteenth-Century Fiction, Vol. 27, No. 3 (Dec., 1972), pp. 268-282Published by: University of California PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2932890.

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2/16

Bartleby he

Scrivener:

A

Parable

of

Pessimism

DANIEL

STEMPEL

AND

BRUCE M. STILLIANS

IN

CTOBER 1853

a troubled Matthew

Arnold

explained whyhe

had

chosen to drop Empedocles

on Etna fromhis new

collection

of

poems. Certain

situations,

Arnold

suggested, are intrinsically

de-

void of the power to provide "poetical enjoyment": "those in

which

the suffering

indsno vent in

action;

in

which a

continuous

state of

mental

distress s

prolonged,unrelieved by

incident,hope,

or

resistance;

in

which

there

is

everything o

be endured,

nothing

to be

done.

In

such

situationsthere s

inevitably

somethingmorbid,

in

the

description of

themsomething

monotonous."

1

And

so,

Em-

pedocles, having

chosen to

leap

into

the

crater

of

Etna in a fit

of

weltschmerz,was banished

by

the stern Victorian

conscience

of his

creator. But the

romantic

pessimism

which is as

much a

part

of

nineteenth-centuryiterature s the optimisticfaith n progresswas

not to be

exorcised so easily, either from

Arnold's poetry

or from

the

work of

his

contemporaries.

Shortly

after

Arnold

wrote this condemnation of

the

literature

of

futility,Bartleby

the

Scrivener

appeared

in

two

installments

in

Putnam's

Monthly

Magazine

(November-December, 1853).

Through

one of the ironic

coincidences

of

literaryhistory,

Mel-

ville's

storyexemplifies

every

one of the

gloomy

traits

which

Ar-

1

Poetical Works, d. C. B. Tinker and H. F. Lowry (New York/London: Oxford

Univ. Press, 1950), p. xviii.

[2681

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3/16

Bartleby the

Scrivener

269

nold had listed

as fatal to "poetic enjoyment,"

ut nevertheless

survives s

a

masterpiece f what

Unamuno has called "the tragic

sense of life." t remains n enigmatic

able, n allegorywith

n-

finite everberations,

ike one of Kafka's disturbingly

matter-of-

factnightmares. nd, ike a

Kafka narrative,

t seemsto elude all

effortso isolate

the hidden frames f reference

o whichthe play

of symbolss

linkedby fragmentaryllusions.

But the task, f diffi-

cult, s nothopeless;one can

at least begin withthe mostrelevant

data of sources,milieu,and biography,nd chart he structuref

theallegory y

working rom heknown o the

unknown. he his-

torical pproachcannotprovide

n "explanation"but it can give

us

a point f

departure or meaningful nd focused

iscussion.

n

this nstance,

hefact hat omemonths efore he

writing fBartle-

by the firstummaryf Schopenhauer's

hilosophyn English

was

published

n

a

periodicalwhich

was readily

vailable to Melville

forcesus to considerthe possibility

hat

his

acquaintance

with

Schopenhauer's

essimism egan long before

he boughtSchopen-

hauer'sworksn the astyears f his ife.2

On 1

April

1853,

the

Westminster eview

and Foreign Quar-

terly

Review

published

a

survey

f

Schopenhauer's

worksunder

thetitle f"Iconoclasm

n

GermanPhilosophy."

his article,

writ-

ten by John

Oxenford,was

destined

o become one

of

the

land-

marks

f

nineteenth-century

ntellectual

history.3

ot

only

did it

introduce chopenhauer

o theEnglish-speaking

orld,

t also cata-

pulted

the hitherto bscurephilosopher

nto

fame

in

his own

country.

Within

a month

he article

was

translated

nto German

and published n the Vossische eitung Berlin). Schopenhauer,

whose ommand

f

English

was

excellent, raised

Oxenford or he

2

See MertonM.

Sealts,

Jr.,Melville's

Reading:

A

Check-list

f Books

Owned

and

Borrowed

(Madison: Univ.

of Wisconsin

Press,

1966),p. 26.

Referencesto Schopen-

hauer and

his philosophy

have been frequent

n Melville criticism ince the

pub-

lication

of

Raymond M.

Weaver's biography,

particularly

n

studies of Billy Budd,

where evidence

of

his reading can

be demonstrated.

To

our knowledge,

this article

presents he

only evidence

that a summary

f

Schopenhauer's

thoughtwas available

to Melvilleshortly

eforehe wrote

Bartleby

nd that the

story s shaped

by

his reading

of that summary.

There have been

perceptive

critics

who have noted the

parallel

with Schopenhauer'sdenial of the will, but only in passing (Walter Sutton,"Mel-

ville and the Great

God Budd,"

Prairie Schooner,

34 [1960], 129).

3

John Oxenford,

"Iconoclasm

in German

Philosophy,"

Westminster

Review and

Foreign Quarterly

Review,

60 (1853), 388407.

The

New York

Society

Library,

which

Melville

frequently

sed, lists the

magazine

in its

1850

catalogue.



4/16

270

Nineteenth-CenturyFiction

fidelityfhis translationsf excerpts rom is works nd ingeneral

was delighted y the article,which ttacked heGerman

cademi-

cians

forfailing o recognize he geniusof a philosopherwho

was

not a professor.4

The Westminster eview, as Hugh W.

Hetheringtonhas

pointed ut,was one of a number f British

magazineswhichwere

widely circulated n the United States, often

arrivingby fast

steamer fter two-week rossing.5 elville was an

avid readerof

the periodicalpress, nd it is likely hathe read the Westminster

Review,

f

onlyto see whether is books had been included n the

regular urvey f Americanwriting.The Review

had printed

briefbut favorable eference o Melville'swork n 1852.6 t is not

possible o determine xactlywhere nd when Melville

pickedup

the April issue because the opportunitieswere

omnipresent.

n

May he was n New York to see his father-in-lawff

o Europe and

it

was hiscustom o go to thereading oomof the

New YorkSociety

Library nd scanthe atest eriodicals.7 urther, e

could haveread

theApril ssue nBoston t theAthenaeum r even n Pittsfield.

Granted heopportunity, hat bout the nterest? ere the evi-

dence s so strong s to rule out the possibility hat

he

mighthave

simply gnored

he

article.On histriptoEurope

in

1849 Melville

traveled

with

George J. Adler,professor f German

t New

York

University. dler,

whomMelville described

s

"Coleridgean,"

was

an

enthusiastictudent f Germanphilosophy

nd

lost

no

time

n

initiating

is

traveling ompanion nto themysteries

f

transcen-

dental

metaphysics,Hegel, Schlegel,Kant,

8C

c."

8

And

Melville

wasa farfrom nwilling istener s they trolled he decktalking

of

his favorite opics,

Fixed

Fate,

Free

will,

foreknowledge

bso-

lute."

9

Nor

did

this

nterest ane when

he returned

nd settled

t

Arrowhead. .

E. A.

Smithof

Pittsfield oted

thatafterhis

day's

4

"Vorwort,"Jahrbuch

der Schopenhauer-Gesellschaft,

2 (1923-25),

v.

5

Melville's Reviewers

Chapel Hill: Univ.

of North Carolina Press,

1961), pp.

5-6.

There

was

an American

edition

of

Westminster

eview,

published in New

York at

this time.

See F. L.

Mott,A History of American Magazines (Cambridge,

Mass.: Har-

vard Univ.

Press, 1938),2:129-30.

6

See Jay Leyda, The Melville Log (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1951), 1:442.

7

Sealts,

p. 15.

8

Herman Melville,

Journal of

a

Visit

to

London

and

the

Continent,

d.

E. M.

Met-

calf

Cambridge,

Mass.:

Harvard

Univ.

Press, 1948), p. 12.

9

Ibid.,

p.

5.



5/16

Bartleby the Scrivener

271

work

was

finishedMelvillewould oin his family or light eading

-which was not so very ight; s it includedmuch ess of whatwe

commonly all 'light iterature' han it did of profound eviews,

abstruse hilosophy

n

prose r verse, nd the

ike."

10

In

the spring nd summer f 1853

Melville's personal

ircurn-

stances erhapsmade himmore hanusually eceptive o any pessi-

mistic valuation f ife. He was seeking

esperately

or

n

escape

from he pressures f a career s a professional riter nd finding

it almost mpossible o continue ecauseoffailing ight nd mental

strain.We

can

imagine, hen, he strong mpression

which

Oxen-

ford's

rticlemust have

made

as Melville found his own

intima-

tions f a malignitynherent

n

the fabric f

creation upported y

Schopenhauer'smetaphysicsf

an

evil will as Kant's thing-in-itself.

Even more important, chopenhauer eft

one gate open

in

the

gloomy rison f his system-hetaught

n ethic

of totaldisengage-

ment

from ife and its obligations,

imilar

o

that which

shmael

had sought t sea, but

in

Schopenhauer's

hilosophy

arried

o its

ultimate nd logicalextreme.

Every eaderof Bartleby he Scrivener s immediatelytruck y

theobvious factthat Bartleby onsistently

voids the use of the

verb

"to

will"

and

substitutesprefer." his eccentricityf speech

first

xcites he curiosity f his employer nd his fellow criveners,

then theirwrath, nd, finally,ike an insidious ontagion, nfects

their peech s well. t is theverbal ymbol f that

alm negation f

whichhis employer agely emarks, nothing o aggravates n ear-

nest person s a passiveresistance."

1

When the narrator, esting

this trange henomenon fdenial,which s

totally t odds

withhis

own

experience f the relationship etweenmaster

nd

man,

asks

him

to go to the postoffice, artleby eplies,

I

would prefer ot

to." His employerprobes for the exactmeaning of this baffling

statement: You will not?"

nd

receives

he

quallyemphatic eply,

"I

prefer ot" (29-30). Bartlebywills

nothing-he merely refers

andthis s thekey ohisenigmaticharacter.

10

Quoted by

Sealts,

p. 20.

11

The

Piazza Tales,

ed. Egbert S.

Oliver

(New York: Hendricks House, 1948),

p.

28.

Citations

n

my

text to

Bartleby

are to thisedition.



6/16

272

Nineteenth-Century

iction

In his discussionof Schopenhauer's thical systemOxenford

points

ut that

his

scaleof

values

culminatesn an

ideal

individual,

higher

hanthe

ust

or

good

man:

Just

s

ignorant

ersons,

hohave

smattering

nowledgef

Berke-

ley,

hink

hat

he

good

bishop

egarded

he

whole

world s a

creation

of

the

fancy,

nd that

hey an

refute

is

disciples y

giving hem n

actual

not

metaphorical)

apon

the

knuckles,o

doubtlesshere

may

be

wiseacres,

ho

will

fancy

hat s

Schopenhaueras

declared

he

will

to

bethe

eal

ssence f

theworld,ndevery uman eing manifesta-tionofthatwill, very umanbeing s in a state fthemost erfect

freedom.

uite

the

reverse

With

respecto

the

ndividual

will, cho-

penhauer

s

an

absolute

ecessitarian,

olding hat

he ction

f

a

cer-

tain

motive n a

certain

haracters

as sure

of

producing certain

result,s

an

operation f

gent

pon

patient

n

the

phere

fmechanics.

What

maybe

a

motiveo

one

person

maynotbe a

motive o

another,

for

he

characters

ay

be

different;

ut given

the characternd

the

motive,

he

esults

infallible.

he

absolute

will,

which

aybeyond

he

jurisdictionf

causality,

as

forced

tself

ntotheworld

fphenomena

in

an

individual

hape,

nd

it

must

akethe

consequences,

hat s to

say, subjugation othat awofcauseandeffectywhich hewhole

world f

phenomena

s

governed,

ndwhich

s

equallypotent

n

the

discharge

f a

pistol

nd

the

performancef

a

virtuous

ction.The

"character,"

hichsthe

dea

of

thehuman

ndividual,

ust

as

gravita-

tion

s

one of

the

deas of

matter,

s born

with

him, nd

cannot

be

altered.

he

knowledge f

the

ndividualmay

be

enlarged,

nd con-

sequentlye

may eput

n

a

better

rack,y

earning

hat

his

natural

desires

illbe

more

ratified

f

heobeys

he

aws

of

society,

han f he

rises

gainst

hem;

ut the

character

emainshe

same,

lthough

he

cupidity hich

would

havemade

a

gamesterr

a

highwayman,

ay

become constituentlementnanhonestradesman.huseveryman

brings is

own

depravity

nto he

world

withhim,

nd

this s

the

great

doctrine

f

originalin,

s

set

orth y

Augustine,

xpoundedy

Luther

and

Calvin,

and

applauded

by

Schopenhauer,ho,

though

free-

thinkern

the

most

omplete

ense f

the

word,s

absolutely

elighted

with

he

fathersnd

the

reformers,

hen hey

ear

witnesso

human

degradation.

he

world f

phenomenas a

delusion-a

mockery;

nd

the

fact

f

being

orn

nto

uch

world

s n

itself

n evil.

And

nowwe

may

ntroduce

chopenhauer's

deal.

The

artist omes

in

for

large hare

ofhis

respect,

orhe,

without

egard

o

selfish

motives,ontemplateshe deaswhich ormhe ubstrataftheworld

of

phenomena,

nd

reproduces

hem

s the

beautiful

nd the

ublime.

The

good

man,with

is

huge

ympathy,

s

another

stimable

eing; ut

higher till

s

he,

who,

onvinced

f

the

llusion f

the

world,

s

resolved

to

destroy

t,

s

far s

he

s

concerned,y

xtinguishing

he

will

to ive.



7/16

Bartleby the Scrivener 273

Suicide will not answer hispurpose.Suicide is a dislikeof a particular

chain of circumstances, hich t endeavours o break through, ut it is

no alienation of the ndividual desiresfrom ife n general.Asceticism,

thatgradual extinction f all feelings hat connectus with the visible

world-the life of the anchorite n the Egyptiandesert-of the Quietist

of the time of Louis XIV,-of the Indian Fakeer, who goes through

yearsof self-torture,-thiss the perfection f Schopenhauer.The par-

ticular theological creed under which these saints performed heir

austerities s a matter f trivial mportance,-they re all alike in the

one grandqualification f holiness;they eceded from he visibleworld

and gradually xtinguished he "will to live," till death, commonly o

called,cameas the completion f theirwishes.

In this sceticism onsists heonlypossiblefreedom f thewill. While

acting n theworldof phenomenathewill becomes ntangled n the

au

of causality,but now it recedes back to a region where that law can

operateno more, nd where t is consequently ree.The freedom f the

will is, n a word, nnihilation, nd this s thegreatest oon thatcan be

desired.12

When

Bartleby first ppears,

he

already exhibits

the

stigmata

of

one of Schopenhauer's ascetic saints: "I can see that figurenow-

pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn t was

Bartle-

by" (23). There is an aura of holiness about

him

which impresses

his employer, f not his fellow clerks. And it is precisely because

there

is

no

"particular theological creed"

to

provide

an

external

frameofvalues thatthe storybecomes an absurd parable.

The

pas-

sion of

Bartleby is played out against a background

of

comic

Dick-

ensian

clerks,pompous lawyers, nd all

the

money changers

of

Wall

Street. His passing affects o one except himself and the

narrator.

The world goes on, pursuing its llusions,but Bartleby s no longer

part

of

it,

and

his employer,

haken

by

his brief

glimpse

of the real

nature of things, s left a much sadder and a somewhat wiser

man.

Thus, the structure

f

the tale is developed

from

the

interaction

of

the

narrator,

he

smug

and

comfortable

ttorney,

nd the

"forlorn"

Bartleby.

In

theopening paragraphthe narratormakes

it

clear

that all

that

we can know of

Bartleby

is

what he

knows:

"What

my

own

aston-

ished eyes saw

of

Bartleby,that s

all

I

know of

him, except, indeed,

one vague report,which will appear in the sequel" (16). As a result

of

this'deliberate

restriction

f

viewpoint,

if

Bartleby

s

a

Schopen-

12

Oxenford,

PP.

405-7.



8/16

274


haueriansaint, we must remember hat we are lookingat him

through hewrong nd of the telescope, hrough heeyes f

a man

to whomhe is a strangely agnetic iddleofobscure

motivations-

at

best, ccentric; t worst,mad; in any event, ncomprehensible.

The complacent torytellereginsbycongratulatingimself

n his

estimablecharacter nd circumstancesnd unknowingly eveals

thathe is certainly he oppositeof an ascetic.He has always cted

on thebelief hat the easiestwayof ife s the best."Without oo

much ffort,e has managed o do a "snugbusiness" nd is

known

as a "safe"man, prudent nd methodical.He is interested nly n

questions f egality, ot morality,s he revealswhen he bemoans

the

bolition f

the

officef Master n Chancery, hichhe has

held:

"It wasnota very rduousoffice,ut very leasantly emunerative"

(17). He makes no mention of the fact that the remuneration

usuallycomes from he propertyeftto widowsand orphans.

n

short, t the beginning f his story, he lawyer s what Oxenford

describes s Schopenhauer'sust man: "The just man,who is

just,

and nothingmore, tandshigher n the moral scale than thebad

man,but he has not reachedSchopenhauer'sdea of virtue.

He

so

far

hows sympathy ithhis fellow-creatureshathe does

noten-

croach

upon

their

rights, ut

he

is

equally unwilling

o

go

out

of

his way to do them ny substantial ood. He is a sort f manwho

pays

his

taxes nd his church-rates,eepsclear

of

the Court

of

Re-

quests and is only charitable

when

he has an equivalent

n

the

shape of an honourable place in a subscription ist."

13

When

Bartleby

nters

he

office,

e is

assigned place

in

his

em-

ployer's oom behinda folding creen.His desk s closeto a small

window

whichopens

on a brick

wall threefeet

way.

n

this

con-

fined pace,Bartleby oes "an extraordinaryuantity

f

writing,"

day

and

night,

ut he does

t

"silently, alely,mechanically,"

ith

no evidence f cheerfulness

r

vitality.

n

contrast,

he

copyists

n

theouter fficere both oenergetic

n

their

wn

eccentric

ay

hat

they

eem

to be

driven

by

some

demonic nner force-as

indeed

they re,

from

chopenhauer's tandpoint.

Afterhis

noon

meal,

Turkey

the

Englishman

becomes

"altogether

oo

energetic,"

s

noisy,blotshis pages, nd exhibits a strange, nflamed, lurried,

flighty ecklessness

f

activity" 18). Nippers,

his

American

col-

13

Ibid.,

P.

405.



9/16


275

league, s the "victim ftwo evil powers-ambition and indiges-

tion"

20).

He

is

possessed y

another orm

f

generalized iolence

grinds is teeth,onstantlydjustshis desk, nd mutters

maledic-

tionsunderhis breath.

But

Bartleby opiesdocuments-and that s all he will do.

When

he

is askedto verify iscopies,he refusesn "a singularly

mild,firm

voice":

"I

would prefer

not to." He repeats this formula

hree

times,without ffering

nyreasons, etmaintaining is

composure.

His employer s at a loss:

"Had therebeen the least

uneasiness,

anger, mpatience r impertinencen his manner; n otherwords,

had there een anythingrdinarily umanabout him,

doubtless

should

have dismissed

him from he premises.But as

it

was,

I

should have as soon thought f turningmy pale

plaster-of-paris

bust

of

Ciceroout ofdoors" 25). He senses hatBartlebys not ike

other

men, that there s something nmoved and

unmoving

n

Bartleby,ike the pallid

bust of the old Roman.

In

a second

en-

counter ereceives he

ame nswer, nd again the trange harisma

of

Bartleby estrains isemployer: With any otherman

I

should

have flown utright nto a dreadfulpassion, corned ll

further

words, nd thrust im

gnominiously rommypresence. ut

there

was

somethingbout Bartleby hatnot only trangelyisarmed

me,

but,

n

a

wonderful

manner, ouched nd disconcerted

me"

(26).

The lawyer rasps he fact hat

this s not some arbitraryaprice,

that whileBartleby eels

the request s quite reasonable,he

has

some

"paramount onsideration" hat

takes

precedence.Although

he appealsto common ensebyenlisting he upport fother

lerks,

thishas no moreeffect hanhis appeal to reason.Bartleby eturns

to his little

niche,

his

"hermitage,"

s

his

employer

ow

has un-

consciously

allen nto

the

habit

of

referring

o it. He

is,

to

use

Oxenford's

escriptive

hrase,

ike

"the anchorite

n

the

Egyptian

desert,"

n

asceticwho

is

gradually ontracting

he

span

of his ac-

tivity, ithdrawingrom

hevisible

world.

Unable to

cope

with

the

remarkable ehavior

of

Bartleby,

he

narrator s forced

o

rationalizehis own inexplicablereaction

n

terms f

hisquid pro quo

philosophy,

heethic f

the

ust

man. He

pities Bartleby s an involuntaryccentric nd consoles himself

with he

hought

hat

his

generosity

ill

be

rewarded

y

"laying p

in

my oul whatwill

eventually rove

to

be

a

sweet

morsel

or

my

conscience"

28).

The

conditions

aid

down

by Bartleby

re

tacitly



10/16

276


accepted: he copies documents, ut he prefers ot to do anything

else,even the mallestrrand.And so, for he moment, e

remains

secure

n

his hermitage.

The

next

crucial

incident

n

the relationship etweenmaster

and

clerk comes on a Sunday morning,when the lawyer,

n his

way to TrinityChurch,

tops t his officend finds imself ocked

out by Bartleby. he

lockingout is symbolic s well as

literal-

what the awyer

iscovers n his office ill markhispassagefrom

self-satisfactionnd

unconcern o a new compassion. n his

usual

mild-mannered ayBartleby sks his master o return fterwalk-

ingaround heblocktwo

or three imes, incehe is busy nd prefers

not to admithim.When

he returns, e discovers hatBartleby as

gone, nd, investigating

is hermitage, e concludes hat

Bartleby

has been living n his

little corner. t is not Bartleby's pparent

poverty hat trikes im

with sudden horror, t is the

thought f

the dreadful olitude ofWall Street n a Sunday

morning r at

night-"an emptiness."

At thispoint, he ust

man beginsto experience heunfamiliar

pangs

hat

mark hebirth f a new consciousnessf

suffering:For

the

first ime

n

my

ifea

feeling

f

overpoweringtingingmelan-

choly

eized

me." The

sourceof thisnew awareness ssimply om-

passion: "The bonds of

a commonhumanity rewme irresistibly

to

gloom. A fraternalmelancholy or both

I

and

Bartlebywere

sons

of Adam"

(33).

The

just

man has now reached that

stage

of

enlightenment here

he can broaden

his

sensibility

o includeall

mankind-he has become good man,

n

thesense

n

whichOxen-

ford escribes im:"The goodman .. ishe whoseheart eatswith

sympathy

or

ll creatures round

him, practically

f

not theoret-

ically cknowledging

hem

s

manifestations

f the ame

great

Will

as

himself.He

lovesevery ivingbeing,

fromhis

neighbour

own

to

a

turtle-dove....14 The lawyer

ow

sees

that

here

s

as much

misery

s

happiness

n

theworld

nd

has

"presentiments

f

strange

discoveries." e seemsto

see Bartleby ead,

"laid

out,among

un-

caring trangers." uch as

he

may

wish

to

pass

off

his

new

mood

as "sad

fancyings"

f

a "sickand

sillybrain,"

the

fact

emains hat

he, at least, anno longerplaythe roleof an "uncaring tranger."

Opening Bartleby's esk,

he

finds

savings ank,

knotted

p

in

14

Oxenford,

.

405.



11/16

Bartleby

the

Scrivener

277

a handkerchief.his removes heonemotive hat, ohismethodi-

cal

mind,

might

have ustified

artleby's

ehavior-poverty.And

the awyer

eviews

hat

behavior':

Bartleby's

ilence,

nevervolun-

tarily roken;

hislong

reveries

efore

he blank

wall

oppositehis

window;his

self-imprisonmentn his

hermitage;

nd his

"pallid

haughtiness,"

hat

totally

elf-possessed

nd

deliberate

withdrawal

from

ife

whichnot

merely

isarms ut

"awes" his

employernto

"a tame

compliancewith

his

eccentricities"

34).

The result f

this

meditations

whatthe

narrator

alls "a

prudential

feeling"

we

rememberhathe has boastedthathis firstgrandpoint" is pru-

dence.

Melville's awyer

nstinctively

eacts s

Arnold eacted n

his

preface to the

contemplationof a

situation

"in

which a

continuous

state of

mental

distress s

prolonged,

unrelieved

by

incident,

hope,

or

resistance."

Like

Arnold, he feels

that

the

absolute "forlornness"

of

Bartleby s

simply

painful,

not tragic:

So

true t is, and

so terrible,

oo,that

up to

a certain

pointthe

thought

or

sight f

misery

nlists ur best

affections;ut, n

certain

pecialcases,

beyondthatpoint it does not.They err who would assert hatthis s

owing to the

nherent

elfishnessf the

human

heart. t rather

roceeds

from

certain

hopelessness

f

remedying

xcessive nd

organic

ll. To

a

sensitive

eing, pity

s not

seldompain. And

when at

last

it

is

per-

ceived

that uch

pity annot ead

to effectual

uccor, ommon

ensebids

thesoul be rid

of it.

What I saw

that

morning

onvinced

me that

the

scrivener

was the

victim

f

innate and

incurabledisorder.

might ive

alms to

his

body; but

his

bodydid

not pain

him; it

was his

soul

that

suffered,

nd

his

soul

I

could not reach.

(35)

While this passage is an acute and perceptive intuition of the

nature

of

Bartleby's

malady,

which is

metaphysical, not

physical,

we must

keep

in

mind the

fact that

it is

Bartleby

who is

enlight-

ened,

not

his master.

He has had

a brief

glimpse

of

the

unbearable

truth

which,

for

the

protection

of

ordinary men like

himself,

s

veiled

by

the

illusions

that are

necessary

for

the conduct of

daily

living.

As John Oxenford

remarks,

All

that

the

iberal mind

looks

forward

o

with

hope,

if

not with con-

fidence-the xtensionof politicalrights, he spreadof education,the

brotherhood f

nations, he

discovery f new

meansof

stubduingtub-

born

nature-mustbe

given

up

as a vain

dream,

f ever

Schopenhauler's

doctrine

be

accepted.

n a

word,

he

is a

professed

Pessimist";

t is

his



12/16

278

Nineteenth-Century

iction

grandresult, hat this s the worst f all possibleworlds;nay, o utterly

unsusceptible f improvement, hat the best thingwe

can do

is to

get

ridof it altogether, y a processwhich he very learly

ets

forth.'5

Bartleby has already made the choice which initiates this

pro-

cess, the single free act of which man is capable, and then only

through the refining process of great suffering: he denial of the

will

to live. This is the incurable and innate

"disorder" which

re-

flects

he unspoken "paramount consideration" that

nspires

Bartle-

by's negative preferences. t opposes and negates everyvalue which

the Master in Chancery, that cheerful over of life,

cherishes.Thus,

even the mere contemplation of Bartleby's passive

but unfaltering

withdrawal from he world stuns and repels him; itpoints toward a

conclusion which, for him, is literally

unthinkable, like the "hor-

ror" of Conrad's dying Kurtz. That morning the

lawyer does not go

to church:

"Somehow the things had seen disqualified me for the

time forchurch-going."

Bartleby remains

in

the office, referring o do nothing but his

copying,and his employer continues to seek fornew methods of

drawing him back into the stream of life. But it

is Bartleby who

dominates the office, ot his employer,who, to hisdismay,finds hat

he

and his staff re falling nto the habit of using "prefer."

The

lawyer resolves once more to dismiss Bartleby, but

a new

development offers him an opportunity to diagnose Bartleby's

malady as

a

physical disorder, causally explicable, and therefore

quite forgivable. Bartleby announces that he has

"given up copy-

ing" and the lawyer, eeing that his eyes appear

"dull

and

glazed,"

jumps to theconclusion that he has impaired his vision by working

in

poor light.

Now

Bartleby does nothing at all,

and

his presence

becomes

even

more

irritating, specially

since it

soon becomes

ob-

vious

that his reason

for

giving up copying

has

nothing

to do with

his health. He is given six days notice,

but

mutely

rejects

all

pro-

posals, threats,

r

bribes,

and remains

"like the last

column

of

some

ruined temple ... standing mute and solitary n

the middle of the

otherwise deserted

room"

(40).

The

narrator,becoming

more

and

more

disturbed,

s

at

the same

time

experiencing

an

expansion

of

knowledge

which

opens up

new

15

Ibid.,

p.

394.



13/16

Bartleby the

Scrivener

279

vistas fhis owncharacter s wellas Bartleby's. e has lived in a

world f

reassuringlyredictableause and effect.

is clerks hange

theirmoods

regularly ccording o the clock

whichmeasures heir

working ay.He seeks for

explanations hatwill fit his familiar

pattern fcausality nd is driven

o metaphysical

usings n pre-

destination nd

freewill,pondering he

relationship etween uilt

and responsibility.

e feels hat

1ke

he "haplessColt," he is cap-

able of murdering is tormentor."6

But," he goes

on, "when this

old

Adam of

resentment ose

in

me and tempted

me concerning

Bartleby, grappled nd threw im. How? Why,by simply ecall-

ing the divine njunction: A new

commandment

ive unto you,

that

ye ove one another.'Yes, it

was this hat aved me" (43). His

motive

maybe the

same

as

Colt's buthis character

s

different.

l-

though

he

still

comforts imselfwith

he ustman'smaxims f en-

lightened

elf-interest,t is clear thathe is, at

heart, good man,

and

that

Bartleby'sholiness"has

touchedhimdeeply, ringing o

the

surface

hat

deep love for therswhich s

characteristicf this

ethical

genotype.

Nevertheless,s an

"eminentlyafeman,"thenarrator

inds

om-

fort

n

readingexplanations hat

stress

trict

ausality

nd

deny

human freedom,Edwardson the

Will" and "Priestley n Neces-

sity,"

nd

comes o

the

conclusion

hat

ll

of

this

has

been

fated

by

an

"all-wise

Providence" nd that to shelter

Bartleby

s

"the

pre-

destinedpurposeofmy ife." Betweenthe narrator

nd

Bartleby

lies the insurmountable arrier

hat divides

necessity

romfree-

dom, llusionfrom

eality.

dwards

pecificallyefutes

ocke's dis-

tinctionbetween"prefer" nd "will"; JosephPriestley ses the

two

wordswithout

noting ny

difference. oth

insist

n

absolute

determinism;hey

deny

that the

chain of

cause

and effect an

be

broken

by any

act

of the

will.17

Schopenhauer, however,

as

Oxen-

ford

pointsout,

teaches

hatthere s

one

free

decision,

imited

o

16

The issues of freedom

nd fatality n the Colt

murder case had been noted

by

an anonymous

editorial

contributorto Harper's

New Monthly

Magazine, 6 (1852-

53), 127.

Perhaps Oxenford's

commentthat the will

is

suibjtugated

o "that

law of

cause

and

effect y

which

the

whole

world

of

phenomena

is governed,

nd which is

equally potent n the discharge

of a

pistol

and the

performance

f a virttuouis

ction"

(p. 406) broughtthis

case to

mind as Melville worked

on Bartleby.

17

See Jonathan Edwards,

Freedom of

the

Will,

e(l. Patil

Ramsey

(New

Haven:

Yale

Univ.

Press,1957), pp.

138-39,

and

Priestley's

Writings

n

Philosophy,

Scien7ce,

and Politics,

ed.

John

A.

Passmore

New

York:

Collier

Books,

1965), p.

76.



14/16

280

Nineteenth-Century

Fiction

thosefewwho can understand he natureof ife and renounce t:

"In

this sceticism onsists he only possiblefreedom f the

will."

Bartleby's egative

preferencesre not acts ofwilling-they are

actsof not-willing.

As

in

a medievalmorality lay, henarrators torn etween

ood

and

evil impulses;his

compassion or Bartleby onflicts ith his

attachment o the world of illusion,Wall Street.He cannot

oust

Bartleby, or hat s a

cruelty hathe will not inflict n a

"helpless

creature," nd yethe cannot et him remain n his officend

ruin

his professionaleputation.He resolves o eave Bartlebywherehe

is and move his office

lsewhere, ut,curiously, e finds t

difficult

to

partfrom heman

whomhe is fleeing.

Having

shifted

he

responsibilityorBartleby's helter o some-

one

less tenderhearted,e finds hat Bartlebyhas indeed

been

evicted rom is

hermitage, ut haunts hebuildingday andnight.

Finally confronting

artlebyhe reduces the situation o itsbare

logical bones: "Now one

of twothingsmust ake place. Eitheryou

mustdo

something r somethingmust be done to you" (48). He

suggests number f possibleoccupations o all of which

Bartleby

is indifferent.affled, e

even offers o take Bartleby o his home

until he

can

arrive t

some

decision,

ut

Bartleby eplies,

No,

at

present would prefer otto make ny hange t all." This

answer,

which

defies

ll the

ogic

of aw

and

hardheaded

inance,

he courts

and

Wall Street, ausesthe

narrator

o flee

gain,fearing

he

anger

of

the andlord nd the new tenants. ut

Bartleby

n

his

ownfash-

ion is quite consistent; e is narrowing ownthecircle

of

his

ac-

tionsuntilhe reachesthecenter, he "stillpointof the turning

world,"

nd

ceases

to

exist.

Melville's parable

of

the

Schopenhauerian

aint

n

a

depraved

worldreaches ts

climax

n

the

Tombs,

the

prison

n

which

Bartle-

by

is

confined

fter

being

arrested or

vagrancy.

His

former m-

ployer,who has not deserted

him

after ll,

findshim

in

his

usual

position,

is

face turned oward

high

wall

in

complete

ndiffer-

ence,

"while all

around,

from he

narrow

lits f

the

ail

windows,

I

thought

saw

peering

ut

upon

him the

eyes

of

murderers

nd

thieves"51). It is in this ymbolicsolation hatBartlebytates is

last

negativepreference,

I

prefer

not to dine

today,"

nd

slips

away quietly

from

ife

nto

"annihilation,"

ree

f all will and

all

pain.



15/16


281

The epilogue tothe tale s that vaguereport"which he narra-

tor mentions n his opening paragraph.

Bartleby, t seems,was a

clerk

n

the Dead

LetterOffice,nd his employermusesover

the

possibility hat, ivenBartleby's haracter,

by nature nd misfor-

tune prone to a

pallid hopelessness,"

othingcould have been

worseforhim than

the opening and destructionf letterswhich

have not been delivered

ut "on errands f ife . . speed to death."

But

this epilogue,

supplied as an "explanation"

of Bartleby's

tragic ecline, ails

ike every ther ational xplanation ffered

y

thenarrator.t tellsus nothing f real importancebout Bartleby,

but

it

does indicate

hat deep and irreversible

hangehas taken

place

in

thenarrator.

ctually, he safeman,the successfulawyer,

is farmore omplex

hanthe enigmatic artleby.When one grasps

the significancef

the end towardwhich

Bartleby s moving,his

course ppears uthlesslyinear.Having

made theone free ecision

of

which

nyman s capable,thechoice

of theextinction

f

thewill

to ive,he allowsnothing o turnhim aside.

n contrast,henarra-

torwavers, ornbyan innerconflict. or himBartleby epresents

a

negation

f values

whichhe has never

questioned,

he values of

his social group, nd,

more mportant,he value of existence tself.

On

the one side,native hrewdness

nd a

prudent

elfishnessoun-

sel

that

here

mustbe

a

reasonable

xplanation

or

Bartleby's

mar-

tyrdom;

n the

other,

still small voice

criesout

from he

depths

that

uffering

nd existence re

one and

the

ame,

hat ll

men

hare

Bartleby's ain,

fnot

hiswisdom.

The symbol f thedead letters s

ambivalent recisely

ecause

t

serves s thefocus or his nner onflictn theclosingparagraphs.

What

can

be more

depressing,

he

narrator

wonders,

han

to

open

these etterswhichbringhope

and relief nd have

never

reached

their

estinations?his seems

easonable ntilthereader

skswhy,

to be

completely

ational bout

the

matter,

he

narrator oes not

seem

to be aware

thatdead

letters

may

ontainbad news s well as

good

and that clerk

n

the

Dead LetterOffice

might pend

much

of

his

time

disposing

f

unpaid

bills

t

is evident

hatMelville

has

deliberately mphasized

ne

aspect

of

his

analogy

nd

suppressed

the other norder omovethesymbol f thedead letter ut of the

realm

of

normal

veryday robability

nd

into the realmof

theol-

ogy-or atheology.

hese

letters,

ike the

ong-awaited lessing f

grace

whichreleases

man

from

he

slavery

f his

owii

will,

never



16/16

282


arrive.'8And so, despite his turning up of a "reason" forBartleby's

defection from ife, the narrator concludes his storywith a double

sigh, "Ah, Bartleby Ah,

humanity " That deep intuitive

compas-

sion

which Bartleby has stirred

n

him testifies gainst all

reason

that

Bartleby's fate s man's fate.

In

1856 Melville visited Hawthorne in England and spent sev-

eral days with him at Southport. "Melville," Hawthorne noted in

his journal, "as he always

does, began to reason of Providence and

futurity, nd of everythingthat lies beyond human ken, and in-

formed

me that

he

had

'prettymuch made up his mind to be anni-

hilated'; but still he does not seem to rest n that anticipation; and,

I

think,will never rest until

he gets hold of a definitebelief." Haw-

thorne also noted that Melville had been afflictedwith neuralgic

complaints

in

the head and limbs

and that

"his writings,

or

a

long

while

past, have indicated

a

morbid

state

of mind."

He

seemed

to

Hawthorne "a little paler and a little sadder."

19

Perhaps Bartleby

the

Scrivener

was

the

journal

of

a

descent

into

that

valley

of the

shadow

which

Schopenhauer

had

charted

for the

nineteenth century,

metaphysical desert

in

which so

many per-

ished. "It is

strange

how he

persists,"

Hawthorne

mused,

"and

has

persisted

ever since

I

knew

him,

and

probably long

before-in

wandering

to-and-fro ver these deserts

as dismal

and

monotonous

as the sand

hills amid

which we were

sitting."

0

18

Richard Tuerk makes an interesting onjectureon the sourceof the dead-letter

metaphor in

"Melville's 'Bartleby'

and

Isaac

D'Israeli's

Curiosities

of Literature,"

SSF, 7 (1970),

647-49. However,

there is no

reason

why the

dead

letter should

not

have seemed

to

Melville,

as

it did later

to

Gerard

Manley

Hopkins,

an

appropriate

symbol

for the

failure of communication

between

man and God: "cries like

dead

letters

ent

/

To

dearest

himthat ives alas

away."

19

The English

Notebooks

of

Nathaniel

Hawthorne,

ed.

Randall Stewart

(New

York: MLA,

1941;

London: Oxford

Univ.

Press, 1941), p. 432.

20

Ibid.,

pp. 432-33

Bartleby the Scrivener a Parabble of Pessimism

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Transcript of Bartleby the Scrivener a Parabble of Pessimism