A preface to the first edition of “Jane Eyre”
being unnecessary, I gave none: this second
edition demands a few words both of acknowledgment
and miscellaneous remark.
My thanks are due in three quarters.
To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined
to a plain tale with few pretensions.
To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage
has opened to an obscure aspirant.
To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy,
their practical sense and frank liberality have afforded
an unknown and unrecommended Author.
The Press and the Public are but vague personifications
for me, and I must thank them in vague terms; but
my Publishers are definite: so are certain generous
critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted
and high-minded men know how to encourage a struggling
stranger; to them, i.e., to my Publishers and
the select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen,
I thank you from my heart.
Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have
aided and approved me, I turn to another class; a
small one, so far as I know, but not, therefore, to
be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping
few who doubt the tendency of such books as “Jane
Eyre:” in whose eyes whatever is unusual
is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against
bigotry — that parent of crime —
an insult to piety, that regent of God on earth.
I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious
distinctions; I would remind them of certain simple
truths.
Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness
is not religion. To attack the first is not to
assail the last. To pluck the mask from the
face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand
to the Crown of Thorns.
These things and deeds are diametrically opposed:
they are as distinct as is vice from virtue.
Men too often confound them: they should not
be confounded: appearance should not be mistaken
for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to
elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted
for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There
is — I repeat it — a difference;
and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly
and clearly the line of separation between them.
The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered,
for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding
it convenient to make external show pass for sterling
worth — to let white-washed walls vouch
for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares
to scrutinise and expose — to rase the
gilding, and show base metal under it —
to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel relics:
but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.
Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied
good concerning him, but evil; probably he liked the
sycophant son of Chenaannah better; yet might Ahab
have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his
ears to flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel.
