Melville’s Bartleby, the Scrivener
A play
An explanatory note can be read here
1.
Inside an 1840s American clerk’s office there is three small desks, one of which, standing beneath a window that has a view of the brick wall of the opposing building, is empty; to one side there is a fourth desk, much larger than the other three. Between this desk and the desk beneath the window there is an open screen.
It is morning, and the clerks arrive, hang their coats and hats on a rack beside the door, and go to their desks. There are two clerks – NIPPERS and TURKEY – and a young office lad – GINGER NUT; each clerk has a desk, and the office lad has a broom. Moments later the BOSS enters, with a large cardboard box in his arms.
BOSS. Good morning, Nippers.
NIPPERS. (Nodding his head) Sir.
BOSS. Good morning, Turkey.
TURKEY. Good morning, sir.
BOSS. Good morning, Ginger Nut.
GINGER NUT. Morning, sir.
The BOSS closes in on NIPPERS, who was folding a piece of paper and placing it underneath his writing board, to stop it wobbling. The BOSS places the large box on top of the writing board.
BOSS. Nippers…
NIPPERS. Yes, sir.
BOSS. I have something for you. (He opens the box, and pulls out an overcoat) It’s an overcoat; not a new one, I’m afraid; but an old one of mine that I’ve outgrown. It’s in a very good condition… compared to that old one of yours…
NIPPERS. (Eying the overcoat suspiciously, and speaking slowly) Thank-you, sir.
BOSS. Here, try it on.
He helps NIPPERS put on the coat; NIPPERS begins warming to it, he feels the material and he appears to stand more erect in it.
NIPPERS. (Less suspiciously, and more sincerely) Why, thank-you, sir.
BOSS. (Distracted) That’s quite all right…
The BOSS has been watching TURKEY, as he has accidentally spilled a small jar of ink.
BOSS. Turkey.
TURKEY. Yes, sir.
BOSS. Could I have a word with you, please.
The BOSS walks over to his own large desk, and takes a seat. Behind him, TURKEY follows, and stands before the large desk, wiping the ink from his hands on a small cloth.
BOSS. Turkey, I have been thinking; perhaps it would be for the best if you might, well, abridge your labours some.
TURKEY. Sir?
BOSS. In short, maybe you need not return to the office each day after 12 o’clock; but, dinner over, go home to your lodgings and rest yourself until tea-time.
TURKEY. With submission, sir. 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 – (he makes a violent thrust with a ruler that had been lying on the BOSSES desk.)
BOSS. But the ink blots, Turkey.
TURKEY. 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 grey hairs. Old age – even if it blot the page – is honourable. With submission, sir, we both are getting old.
BOSS. (Concedes) Very well, Turkey.
TURKEY. (Departing) Sir.
Meanwhile, NIPPERS, still in his new overcoat, has been fiddling with his table. At one point he even rose from his chair, stooped over his table, spread his arms wide apart, seized the whole desk, and started shifting it noisily about on the spot.
On his way to his desk, TURKEY stops in front of GINGER NUT.
TURKEY. (Taking some coins from his pocket) Ginger Nut, here; earn your name-sake and go and fetch some ginger nut biscuits for us all to share.
GINGER NUT. Okay.
GINGER NUT leans his broom against the wall beside the door, and leaves the office; just as a man – BARTLEBY – quietly enters the room. He stands in the doorway for a few moments, until NIPPERS spies him.
NIPPERS. What do you want?
BARTLEBY says nothing, but simply looks around the room. He notices the BOSS at his desk at the far end of the room and quietly walks toward him. NIPPERS and TURKEY watch him as he travels by them. As he nears the BOSSES desk, the BOSS looks up.
BOSS. Ah, you must be Bartleby.
BARTLEBY. Yes.
BOSS. (Standing) Everyone, this is Bartleby. He is going to be joining us. He answered an advertisement that I placed in the newspaper; he’s a fellow copyist, a scrivener.
They just look at him suspiciously; then NIPPERS removes his overcoat and hangs it on the rack, while TURKEY continues with his work, where he is joined by NIPPERS. The BOSS leads BARTLEBY over to the vacant desk, beneath the window.
BOSS. Here, this will be your working space. You can start right away, on this document, and we’ll see how you go. In a few days I’ve an important document that needs four copies, but we’ll start you on some less important work until you settle in.
BARTLEBY. Thank you.
BARTLEBY sits at his desk, and begins copying. The BOSS returns to his desk and, smiling, surveys his office, with his three clerks working assiduously, before he, too, lowers his head to work.
2.
BOSS. Bartleby! Quick, examine this small paper with me.
The BOSS’ head remains bent over his desk through all this, his right hand holding up the paper he needs examined, ready for BARTLEBY to accept it and to hastily proceed with the examination. But BARTELBY does not come out from behind the screen.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
The BOSS is quite stunned by this reply. He gathers himself, and repeats his request more clearly, thinking that perhaps BARTELBY misheard him.
BOSS. Bartleby, could you please come here and examine this paper with me.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
BOSS. (In high excitement) Prefer not to! (here he gets up from his desk and strides over to Bartleby’s screen) What do you mean? Are you moon-struck? I want you to help me compare this sheet here – take it. (and he thrusts the sheet at Bartleby)
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
Somewhat stunned, the BOSS stands behind BARTELBY for a few moments, but seeing him continue with his work, he returns to his own desk and sits for a further few moments. He shakes himself back into reality.
BOSS. Nippers! Quick, examine this small paper with me.
NIPPERS. Yes, sir.
NIPPERS enters the room, takes the sheet out of the BOSS’ hand, seats himself, and they begin work, the BOSS reading from the original, and his clerk proofreading the copy. (need text??)
3.
BARTLEBY completes four documents, and he places them on the BOSS’ desk, and then returns to his own desk. The BOSS takes them up, glances over them, and then places them in a row at the front of his desk, so as to be examined by his clerks.
BOSS. Turkey! Nippers! Ginger Nut! Come, we must examine this important document. Bring your chairs!
TURKEY, NIPPERS and GINGER NUT each enter the office, and bring with them their chairs. They sit before the BOSS desk and each takes a copy of the document in hand.
BOSS. Bartleby! Quick, I am waiting.
The slow scrape of his chair legs on the wooden floor, and then BARTELBY appears in the BOSS’ office.
BARTLEBY. What is wanted?
BOSS. (Impatiently) The copies, the copies. We are going to examine them. There –
The BOSS holds out a copy of the fourth document, and then glances down at his own copy, as if to begin.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
BARTLEBY disappears behind the screen.
Everybody is somewhat stunned by this response. After a few moments the BOSS advances towards BARTLEBY’s screen.
BOSS. Why do you refuse?
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
This response disarms the BOSS, and greatly disconcerts him.
BOSS. These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labour 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!
BARTLEBY. I prefer not to.
BOSS. You are decided, then, not to comply with my request – a request made according to common usage and common sense?
BARTLEBY. Yes.
This staggers the BOSS, and he turns to the other clerks for support.
BOSS. Turkey, what do you think of this? Am I not right?
TURKEY. With submission, sir. I think that you are.
BOSS. Nippers, what do you think of it?
NIPPERS. I think I should kick him out of the office.
BOSS. Ginger Nut, what do you think of it?
GINGER NUT. (Grinning) I think, sir, he’s a little loony.
BOSS. (Turning toward the screen) You hear what they say. Come forth and do your duty.
BARTLEBY remains motionless. Defeated, the BOSS returns to his seat, he takes up BARTLEBY’s page, and begins to read, falteringly. (get text!)
TURKEY. This is quite out of the common.
NIPPERS. (Clenched teeth) Stubborn oaf…. This is the first and last time I do another man’s business without pay.
4.
NIPPERS is sitting at the BOSS’ desk, with the BOSS. BARTLEBY is at his desk, working assiduously. The BOSS stops what he’s doing, and gazes over at BARTLEBY, as though he is thinking deeply about him.
BOSS. Nippers, have you noticed that Bartleby never goes to dinner?
NIPPERS. (Disturbed from his own work thoughts) Indeed, sir, he never goes anywhere.
BOSS. As yet I have never, of my personal knowledge, known him outside my office.
NIPPERS. Indeed, sir, he is a perpetual sentry in that corner.
BOSS. Indeed…
The BOSS is still watching BARTLEBY when he notices that GINGER NUT advances towards the screen, as though beckoned by some invisible gesture. Without stopping his work, BARTLEBY holds out a few coins to GINGER NUT. He takes them, and then slips quietly out of the office. The BOSS watches all of this, and then, a few moments after GINGER NUT’s departure…
BOSS. Bartleby, when those papers are all copied, I will compare them with you.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
BOSS. How? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish vagary?
No answer. The BOSS dashes into the front part of the office, where the other clerks are working.
BOSS. (Exclaiming) Bartleby a second time says, he won’t examine his papers. What do you think of it, Turkey?
TURKEY. (Angry) Think of it? I think I’ll just step behind his screen, and black his eyes for him!
TURKEY rises to his feet and assumes a pugilistic position. He advances towards the screen, but the BOSS detains him.
BOSS. Sit down, Turkey, and hear what Nippers has to say. What do you think of it, Nippers? Would I not be justified in immediately dismissing Bartleby?
NIPPERS. Excuse me, that is for you to decide, sir. I think his conduct is quite unusual, and, indeed, unjust, as regards Turkey and myself. But it may only be a passing whim.
BOSS. Ah, you have strangely changed your mind, then – you speak very gently of him now.
TURKEY. All beer; gentleness is effects of beer – Nippers and I dined together today. You see how gentle I am, sir. Shall I go and black his eyes?
BOSS. You refer to Bartleby, I suppose. No, not today, Turkey; pray, put down your fists.
The BOSS returns to BARTLEBY. He is plotting to get BARTLEBY outdoors.
BOSS. Bartleby, Ginger Nut is away; just step around to the Post Office, won’t you? And see if there is anything for me.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
BOSS. You will not?
BARTLEBY. I prefer not.
The BOSS staggers to his desk and sits deep in thought for a few moments.
BOSS. Bartleby!
No answer.
BOSS. (Louder) Bartleby!
No answer.
BOSS. (Roaring) Bartleby!
Finally, BARTLEBY appears from behind the screen.
BOSS. Go to the next room, and tell Nippers to come to me.
BARTLEBY. I prefer not to.
BOSS. (Strangely calm) Very good, Bartleby.
The BOSS gets up from behind his desk, moves into the main room and begins putting his coat and hat on. As he does so, GINGER NUT returns with a small bag of biscuits.
BOSS. What do you have there?
GINGER NUT. Ginger nuts, sir. For Bartleby.
BOSS. He lives, then, on ginger nuts, does he? Never eats a dinner, properly speaking?
GINGER NUT. Yes, sir. That’s right.
BOSS. He must be a vegetarian, then.
GINGER NUT. Oh, no, sir, he never eats even vegetables; he eats nothing but ginger nuts.
The BOSS takes one of the ginger nuts out of the bag and inspects it.
BOSS. Ginger nuts, eh? Ginger nuts are so called, because they contain ginger as one of their peculiar constituents, and the final flavouring one. Now, what is ginger? A hot, spicy thing. Is Bartleby hot and spicy? Not at all. Ginger, then, has no effect upon him. Probably he prefers it should have none!
The BOSS throws the biscuit back in the bag and then storms out of the office.
5.
The BOSS comes to the office one Sunday morning. He puts his key in the lock, but finds that it is hindered by a key on the other side of the lock.
BOSS. What’s this? Somebody’s in the office; and on a Sunday! (Knocking on the door) Hello – who’s in there?
There is a movement behind the door, the lock is opened, and the face of BARTLEBY appears in the crack of the door. It is clear that he is wearing his shirtsleeves, and he looks as though he’s just woken up.
BARTLEBY. I’m sorry; but I’m deeply engaged just now – and I would prefer not admitting you at present. Perhaps you’d better walk around the block two or three times, and by then I may probably have concluded my affairs.
BARTLEBY closes the door and locks it again. The BOSS is quite tack aback at this turn of events. He begins mumbling to himself.
BOSS. What could Bartleby possibly be doing in my office in his shirtsleeves – and on a Sunday morning! Is anything amiss going on here? No, that would be out of the question; Bartleby is not an immoral person. But what could he be doing here? – copying? No again, whatever might be his eccentricities, Bartleby is an eminently decorous person. He would be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity. My mind is not pacified, and after all, this is my office….
The BOSS knocks on the door again, and inserts his key. To his surprise it fits, and he opens the door. BARTLEBY is nowhere to be seen.
BOSS. He’s not here; perhaps he’s taken to the fire escape. Now what is this? (beneath BARTLEBY’s desk he finds a blanket, hastily rolled away; then, on a chair, a tin basin with soap and a towel) Yes, it is evident enough that Bartleby has been making his home here, keeping bachelor’s hall all by himself. (Suddenly overcome) Oh, what miserable friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed! Fraternal melancholy! Both I and Bartleby are truly sons of Adam. (On closer inspection at BARTLEBY’s desk, and from deep inside one of the pigeon holes there, the BOSS notices and pulls out a handkerchief with something heavy in it, and a large knot tied in it; he unties the knot and a handful of coins fall onto the desktop and floor) A saving’s bank! (He returns the coins to the handkerchief, and replaces it in the pigeon hole; then glances once more about the empty chambers) I am persuaded that this scrivener is the victim of an innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his body does not pain him; it is his soul that suffers, and his soul I cannot reach.
6.
BOSS. (Gently calling) Bartleby.
No Answer.
BOSS. (In an even gentler tone) Bartleby, come here; I am not going to ask you to do anything you would prefer not to do – I simply wish to speak to you.
BARTLEBY appears from behind the screen.
BOSS. Will you tell me, Bartleby, where you were born?
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
BOSS. But what reasonable objection can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly toward you.
BARTLEBY is staring this whole time at the bust of Cicero on the mantle above the BOSS’ head.
BOSS. What is your answer, Bartleby?
A considerable pause.
BARTLEBY. At present I prefer to give no answer.
BARTLEBY returns behind his screen. The BOSS sits and thinks for a few moments, and then takes his chair and moves to beside BARTLEBY behind the screen, and sits.
BOSS. Bartleby, never mind, then, about revealing your history; but let me entreat you, as a friend, to comply with as far as may be with the usages of this office. Say now, you will help to examine papers tomorrow or the next day: in short, say now, that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable: – say so, Bartleby.
BARTLEBY. At present I would prefer not to be a little reasonable.
NIPPERS enters the BOSS’ office. He appears to be suffering from lack of sleep and indigestion. He witnesses BARTLEBY’s last statement.
NIPPERS. Prefer not, eh? I’d prefer him, if I were you, sir – 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 remains motionless.
BOSS. Mr Nippers, I’d prefer that you withdraw for the present.
As NIPPERS departs, so TURKEY appears.
TURKEY. With submission, sir, 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.
BOSS. (Excited) So you have got the word, too.
TURKEY. With submission, what word, sir? What word, sir?
TURKEY crowds himself into the screened area, along with the BOSS and BARTLEBY, making the BOSS jostle BARTLEBY as he squeezes in.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer to be left alone here.
BOSS. That’s the word, Turkey – that’s it.
TURKEY. Oh, prefer? Oh yes – queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir, as I was saying, if he would but prefer –
BOSS. (Interrupting) Turkey, you will please withdraw.
TURKEY. Oh, certainly, sir, if you prefer that I should.
As TURKEY departs, so NIPPERS returns with some papers in his hands.
NIPPERS. Would you prefer, sir, to have this document copied on blue paper or white?
7.
BARTLEBY is standing beside his desk. He is motionless, staring out of the window in one of his ‘dead-wall reveries’. The BOSS steps over to him, with some letters in his hand.
BOSS. Bartleby, I was wondering: why do you not write?
BARTLEBY. At present, I have decided upon doing no more writing.
BOSS. (Surprised) Why, how now? What next? Do no more writing?
BARTLEBY. No more.
BOSS. And what is the reason?
BARTLEBY. (Indifferently) Do you not see the reason for yourself?
The BOSS looks at BARTLEBY, he looks out the window, at the dim light coming in, obstructed by the wall, and then looks back at BARTLEBY, closer this time, at his eyes.
BOSS. Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, you do wisely to abstain from writing for a while, in this dim light. Look, Bartleby, why don’t you embrace this opportunity to take some wholesome exercise in the open air? That may be just the thing to rest your eyes. (He remembers the letters in his hands) Here! The other clerks are not here, and I’m in a great hurry to dispatch these letters. Perhaps, as you have nothing else earthly to do, you may be less inflexible than usual, and carry these letters to the post-office?
BARTLEBY. No, I would prefer not to.
The BOSS appears to want to continue the conversation, but noticing the letters that he is in a hurry to dispatch, he leaves BARTLEBY, and the office.
8.
BOSS. Bartleby, how are your eyes today? Have they improved?
No answer.
BOSS. Bartleby, won’t you do some copying for me today?
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to do any more copying.
BOSS. No more copying? Not this again!
BARTLEBY. I have given up copying.
BOSS. What! Suppose you’re eyes should get entirely well – better than ever before – would you not copy then?
BARTLEBY. I have permanently given up copying.
A considerable pause, while the BOSS weighs up his options. At last, and with a sigh, he speaks.
BOSS. Bartleby, I feel sorry for you; you seem alone, utterly alone in the universe. But I have other considerations to take into account, and so I fear I must inform you, Bartleby, that in six days time you must unconditionally leave this office. I warn you now, to take measures, in the interval, for procuring some other abode.
No answer.
BOSS. If you so like, I could assist you in this endeavour, but only if you yourself would take the first step towards removal.
No answer.
BOSS. And when you finally quit me, Bartleby, I shall see that you go not away entirely unprovided. Six days from this hour, remember!
9.
NIPPERS, TURKEY and GINGER NUT get up from their desks and start putting their coats on. It is afternoon, and time for all to leave for the day, and for BARTLEBY to leave for good. The screen is hiding BARTLEBY and his desk from view. The BOSS is sitting at his desk, trying to prolong making BARTLEBY leave.
NIPPERS. His six days are up now; he shan’t be here in the morning.
TURKEY. He’d better not be.
They depart, leaving just the BOSS and BARTLEBY. The BOSS gets up from his desk, buttons his jacket up and steps toward the screen. He pulls it open to reveal BARTLEBY. He gently puts out a hand and touches BARTLEBY’s shoulder.
BOSS. The time has come; you must quit this place; I am sorry for you; here is money; but you must go.
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not.
BOSS. You must.
No answer.
BOSS. Bartleby, I owe you twelve dollars on account; here are thirty-two; the odd twenty are yours – will you take it?
The BOSS hands the bills to BARTLEBY, but he does not turn around to take them.
BOSS. I will leave them here, then – after you have removed your things from these offices, Bartleby, you will lock the door – since everyone 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 goodbye 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. Goodbye, Bartleby, and fare you well.
BARTLEBY does not reply, but remains motionless yet again. The BOSS goes and puts on his coat and hat and without looking back at BARTLEBY, leaves the office.
10.
The BOSS arrives early at the office the next morning. He stands listening at the door for a few moments, without hearing anything. He tries the door; it is locked.
BOSS. He must be gone. Now the key…
He fumbles under the door-mat for the key that BARTLEBY was to have left there, and in the process, he accidentally knocks his knee against the door. BARTLEBY calls out from within.
BARTLEBY. Not yet; I am occupied.
The BOSS is thunderstruck for a few moments.
BOSS. (Murmurs) Not gone!
After a few more moments, deciding what he should do, the BOSS takes his own key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and enters.
BOSS. Bartleby, I am seriously displeased. I am pained, Bartleby. I had thought better of you. I had imagined you of such a gentlemanly organisation, that in any delicate dilemma a slight hint would suffice – in short, an assumption. But it appears I am deceived. Why (visibly starting at the money on the table, untouched from the night before; which he now points at) you have not even touched that money yet!
No answer.
BOSS. (In a sudden passion) Will you, or will you not, quit me?
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to quit you.
BOSS. What earthly right have you to stay here? Do you pay any rent? Do you pay my taxes? Or is this property yours?
No Answer.
BOSS. 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 around to the post office? In a word, will you do anything at all, to give a colouring to your usual refusal to depart the premises?
BARTLEBY turns and retires to behind the screen, where he stands and stares at the dead-wall through the window. The BOSS remains standing there for a few moments, and then NIPPERS, TURKEY and GINGER NUT come in, remove their coats and start to work, grumbling at the sight of BARTLEBY. The BOSS retires to his own desk, and starts working. Eventually, TURKEY knocks over his ink, and curses, NIPPERS grows quiet, and GINGER NUT starts munching on an apple. BARTLEBY continues to stand there. At the end of the day, everybody leaves, except BARTLEBY. At the door, the BOSS looks over at BARTLEBY.
BOSS. Yes, Bartleby, stay there behind your screen; I shall persecute you no more; you are harmless and noiseless as any of these old chairs; I never feel so private as when I know that you are here. At last I see it, I feel it, the predestined purpose of my life: 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 see fit to remain. So be it.
11.
The office is crowded and noisy, filled with outside lawyers – LAWYER 1, 2, 3 – and witnesses – an old couple – and the general bustle of a deposition (get text??). BARTLEBY is still standing in the same position. A LAWYER notices BARTLEBY unemployed, staring out the window at the dead-wall.
LAWYER. You there, quick, go around to my office and collect these papers (he hands BARTLEBY a list, which he doesn’t take)
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to.
An immediate silence falls upon the crowd. The BOSS is stunned by everybody’s reaction.
LAWYER 1. So this is the curious scrivener who refuses to do any work.
LAWYER 2. There is a whisper of wonder running round Wall Street about this strange creature.
LAWYER 3. Your professional reputation is being scandalised.
LAWYER 1. What do you propose to do about it?
BOSS. Well, what can I do? He won’t quit me.
LAWYER 2. Then you, dear sir, should quit him.
LAWYER 3. You have your other clerks to consider, their careers – as well as your own.
LAWYER 1. Come, we will return to you, when you yourself return – to your own senses.
The lawyers and the old couple gather their things and depart. The BOSS stands and thinks for a few moments. He walks over to his other clerks.
BOSS. Nippers, Turkey, Ginger, you may go to lunch now. I will join you presently.
They leave. The BOSS stands for a few moments, wrestling with his own conscience. Finally he speaks.
BOSS. I find these chambers too far from the City Hall; (Pause) the air is unwholesome. (Pause) In a word, I propose to remove my offices next week, to another premises, and I shall no longer require your services. I tell you this now, in order that you may seek another place.
No answer. The BOSS takes his hat and leaves.
12.
The movers enter the office, stripping it bare, except for BARTLEBY, who has still not moved. At last, when the room is empty, the BOSS comes in, with his hand in his pocket, and walks over to BARTLEBY.
BOSS. Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going – good bye, and God some way bless you; and take this –
He slips something from his pocket into BARTLEBY’s hand; but it just drops to the ground. He departs the room, without looking back.
13.
The Boss is walking to work one day, toward his new offices, when he is stopped in the street by a MAN. Over to one side there is a group of people, amongst them the LANDLORD, who first points out the Boss to the MAN. The MAN approaches the BOSS.
MAN. Excuse me, sir. Are you the person who has recently occupied the rooms at number 18 Wall Street?
BOSS. I am.
MAN. Then, sir, you are responsible for the man you left there. At first he refused to do any copying; then he refused to do anything; he says he prefers not to; I was left with no choice but to turn him out of the rooms, and now he refuses to quit the premises.
BOSS. I am very sorry, sir, 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.
MAN. In mercy’s name, who is he?
BOSS. 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.
One of the other men in the group – the LANDLORD – now comes over to the BOSS, followed by the rest of the group.
LANDLORD. These gentleman, my tenants, cannot stand it any longer; Mr Baumont here (indicating the MAN) has turned him out of his room, and now he persists in haunting the banisters of the stairs by day, and sleeping in the entry by night – like a common ghost! Everybody is concerned; clients are leaving the offices; some fears are entertained of a mob; something you must do, and that without delay.
BOSS. Again, I am very sorry, but Bartleby is nothing to me – no more than to any one else (He gestures at the entire group which has now milled about him)
MAN. I shall exorcise this ‘ghost’, then, myself – good morning.
BOSS. Wait! If you give me a confidential interview with Bartleby, then I will, this very afternoon, strive my best to rid you all of the nuisance you complain of.
MAN. Very well.
14.
BARTLEBY is sitting on the stairs near the door to the old office. The BOSS comes upon him.
BOSS. What are you doing here, Bartleby.
BARTLEBY. Sitting upon the stairs.
BOSS. Bartleby, 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.
BOSS. 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?
BARTLEBY. No; I would prefer not to make any change.
BOSS. Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?
BARTLEBY. There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a clerkship; but I am not particular.
BOSS. Too much confinement! Why, you keep yourself confined all the time!
BARTLEBY. I would prefer not to take a clerkship.
BOSS. How would a bartender’s business suit you? There is no trying of the eyesight in that.
BARTLEBY. I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not particular.
BOSS. (Inspirited by Bartleby’s ‘wordiness’) Well, then, would you like to travel through the country collecting bills for the merchants? That would improve your health.
BARTLEBY. No, I would prefer to be doing something else.
BOSS. How, then, would going as a companion to Europe be, to entertain some young gentleman with your conversation – how would that suit you?
BARTLEBY. Not at all. It does not strike me that there is anything definite about that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.
BOSS. (Losing patience) Stationary you shall be, then. 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!
The Boss turns to leave, after this absurd declaration, and then a sudden thought occurs to him. He tries to regain his composure.
BOSS. Bartleby, will you go home with me now – not to my office, but to my dwelling – and remain there till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? (Pause) Come, let us start now, right away.
BARTLEBY. No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.
The BOSS takes this as his leave and, inwardly upset, rushes past all the spectators at the end of the landing. On his way, he is stopped by the MAN.
MAN. We have already called for the police to remove him to the Tombs, come what may, as a vagrant, and to punish him most severely, as an example to others. You will have to make a statement.
The BOSS shakes himself free and leaves the building. After a few moments the police arrive, and slowly the crowd follows them toward BARTLEBY. But when he does not fight them, but simply acquiesces, as is taken from the building, arm in arm with the police. The onlookers follow in a silent procession.
15.
In the prison yard, BARTLEBY is standing off to one side. A GUARD and another man – the GRUBMAN – are standing on the opposite side of the yard, where the BOSS enters.
BOSS. I am looking for Bartleby; the scrivener.
GUARD. The silent man? Yes, I saw him coming from his cell not long ago, may be he’s gone to loiter in the yard. Yes, look, there he is.
BOSS. Bartleby!
The BOSS leaves the GUARD and GRUBMAN, and moves over toward BARTLEBY.
BARTLEBY. I know you, and I want nothing to do with you.
BOSS. It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby. (Looking around the yard) 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.
BARTLEBY. I know where I am.
BARTLEBY says no more, and the BOSS can think of nothing else to say, so he departs. On his way out he runs into the GRUBMAN. The GRUBMAN grabs the BOSS’ shoulder, and jerks his thumb in the direction of BARTLEBY.
GRUBMAN. Is that your friend?
BOSS. Yes.
GRUBMAN. Does he want to starve? If he does, let him live on the prison fare, that’s all.
BOSS. Who are you?
GRUBMAN. I am the grubman. Such gentlemen as have good friends here, hire me to provide them with something good to eat.
BOSS. (To the guard) Is this so?
GUARD. It is.
BOSS. Well, then (slipping some coins into the GRUBMAN’s hands) 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.
GRUBMAN. Introduce me to him, will you?
The BOSS and the GRUBMAN go over to BARTLEBY.
BOSS. Bartleby, this is a friend; you will find him very useful to you.
GRUBMAN. Your sarvant, sir, your sarvant. (Bowing) Hope you find it pleasant here, sir; nice grounds – cool apartments – hope you’ll stay with us sometime – try to make it agreeable. What will you have for dinner today?
BARTLEBY. I prefer not to dine today. (Turning away from them) It would disagree with me; I am not used to dinners. (He moves away, further into the corner, and stares straight at the dead-wall)
GRUBMAN. How’s this? He’s odd, ain’t he?
BOSS. (Sadly) I think he is a little deranged.
GRUBMAN. Deranged? Deranged is it? Well, now, upon my word, I thought that friend of yours was a gentleman forger; they are always pale and genteel-like, them forgers. I can’t help pity ‘em – can’t help it, sir. Did you know Monroe Edwards? (Pausing, and then gently placing a hand on the BOSS’ shoulder) he died of consumption at Sing-Sing. So you weren’t acquainted with Monroe?
BOSS. 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.
He departs.
16.
The BOSS enters the prison yard. In the far corner lies BARTLEBY.
GUARD: Are you looking for Bartleby? It’s been a few days since we last saw you here. Yonder he lies – sleeping in the yard there. ‘Tis not twenty minutes since I saw him lie down.
The BOSS moves over toward the motionless BARTLEBY. He is lying on his side, with his head on the ground and his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes are open, and still. The BOSS pauses abruptly when he gets a closer to him. He notices that something is wrong. He bends down and feels BARTLEBY’s hand, feels that it is cold, and drops it; he is dead. From behind, the GRUBMAN enters the yard.
GRUBMAN. His dinner is ready. Won’t he dine today, either? Or does he live without dining?
BOSS. Lives without dining.
The BOSS closes BARTLEBY’s eyes.
GRUBMAN. Eh! – He’s asleep, ain’t he?
BOSS. With kings and counsellors.
The GRUBMAN realises what has happened, and bows his head respectfully for a few moments.
GRUBMAN. He was an odd one, wasn’t he? (Pause, then wanting to break the uncomfortable silence) After you left the other day, one of them other visitors recognised him.
This rouses the BOSS from his stupor; he stands beside the GRUBMAN.
GRUBMAN. (Feeling as though he’s been given leave to speak) He said that Bartleby here had been a subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office at Washington, from where he had been suddenly removed by a change in administration.
BOSS. Dead letters! Does it not sound like dead men?
GRUBMAN. (Quite talkative now) Conceive, if you will, 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 to the flames? For by the cartload they are annually burned.
BOSS. Yes, indeed. (Kneeling back down beside the body)
GRUBMAN. (As though caught up in his own lyricism) 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 anymore; pardon for those who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities.
BOSS. On errands of life, these letters speed to death.
Pause. They bow towards Bartleby.
GRUBMAN. Ah, Bartleby!
BOSS. Ah, Humanity!
Curtain
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