Preface

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    A preface to the first edition of “Jane Eyre” being unnecessary, I gave his sed edition demands a few words both of aowledgment and miscellaneous remark.

    My thanks are due in three quarters.

    To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has ined to a plain tale with few pretensions.

    To the Press, for the fair field its ho suffrage has opeo an obscure aspirant.

    To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practical sense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unreended 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 enced me as only large-hearted and high-minded men know how to ence a struggling strao them, i.e., to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart.

    Having thus aowledged 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 meaimorous or carping few who doubt the tendency of such books as “Jane Eyre:” in whose eyes whate<bdi>99lib?</bdi>ver is unusual is wrong; whose ears dete each protest against bigotry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent of God oh. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distins; I would remind them of certain simple truths.

    ventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is nion. 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  of Thorns.

    These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often found them: they should not be founded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human does, 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 a to mark broadly and clearly the line of separatioween them.

    The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been aced to blend them; finding it veo make external show pass for sterling worth—to let white-washed walls vouch for  shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose—to rase the gilding, and show base metal u—to pee the sepulchre, and reveal el relics: but hate as it will, it is ied to him.

    Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good ing him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of aannah better; yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears to flattery, and opehem to faithful sel.

    There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickle delicate ears: who, to my thinking, es before the great ones of society, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judah and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a porophet-like and as vital—a mien as dauntless and as daring. Is the satirist of “Vanity Fair” admired in high places? I ot tell; but I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm, and over whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciatioo take his warnings in time—they or their seed might <dfn></df escape a fatal Rimoth-Gilead.

    Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because I think I see in him an intellect profounder and mo<strike></strike>re uhan his poraries have yet reised; because I regard him as the first social regeor of the day—as the very master of that w corps who would restore to rectitude the ed system of things; because I think no entator on his writings has yet found the parison that suits him, the terms which rightly characterise his talent. They say he is like Fielding: they talk of his wit, humour, ic powers. He resembles Fielding as an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on carrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his humour attractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius that the mere lambent sheet-lightning playing uhe edge of the summer-cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally, I have alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him—if he<cite></cite> will accept the tribute of a total stranger—I have dedicated this sed edition of “JANE EYRE.”

    CURRER BELL.

    December 21st, 1847.

    o the Third<s>藏书网</s> Edition

    I avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of “Jane Eyre” affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, to explain that my claim to the title of  rests on this one work alone. If, therefore, the authorship of other works of fi has been attributed to me, an honour is awarded where it is not merited; and sequently, denied where it is justly due.

    This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which may already have been made, and to prevent future errors.

    CURRER BELL.

    April 13th, 1848.

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