AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
While I acknowledge the success of the present work to have been
greater than I anticipated, and the praises it has elicited from a
few kind critics to have been greater than it deserved, I must also
admit that from some other quarters it has been censured with an
asperity which I was as little prepared to expect, and which my
judgment, as well as my feelings, assures me is more bitter than
just. It is scarcely the province of an author to refute the
arguments of his censors and vindicate his own productions; but I
may be allowed to make here a few observations with which I would
have prefaced the first edition, had I foreseen the necessity of
such precautions against the misapprehensions of those who would
read it with a prejudiced mind or be content to judge it by a hasty
glance.
My object in writing the following pages was not simply to amuse
the Reader; neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to
ingratiate myself with the Press and the Public: I wished to tell
the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are
able to receive it. But as the priceless treasure too frequently
hides at the bottom of a well, it needs some courage to dive for
it, especially as he that does so will be likely to incur more
scorn and obloquy for the mud and water into which he has ventured
to plunge, than thanks for the jewel he procures; as, in like
manner, she who undertakes the cleansing of a careless bachelor's
apartment will be liable to more abuse for the dust she raises than
commendation for the clearance she effects. Let it not be
imagined, however, that I consider myself competent to reform the
errors and abuses of society, but only that I would fain contribute
my humble quota towards so good an aim; and if I can gain the
public ear at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths
therein than much soft nonsense.
As the story of 'Agnes Grey' was accused of extravagant over-
colouring in those very parts that were carefully copied from the
life, with a most scrupulous avoidance of all exaggeration, so, in
the present work, I find myself censured for depicting CON AMORE,
with 'a morbid love of the coarse, if not of the brutal,' those
scenes which, I will venture to say, have not been more painful for
the most fastidious of my critics to read than they were for me to
describe. I may have gone too far; in which case I shall be
careful not to trouble myself or my readers in the same way again;
but when we have to do with vice and vicious characters, I maintain
it is better to depict them as they really are than as they would
wish to appear. To represent a bad thing in its least offensive
light is, doubtless, the most agreeable course for a writer of
fiction to pursue; but is it the most honest, or the safest? Is it
better to reveal the snares and pitfalls of life to the young and
thoughtless traveller, or to cover them with branches and flowers?
Oh, reader! if there were less of this delicate concealment of
facts - this whispering, 'Peace, peace,' when there is no peace,
there would be less of sin and misery to the young of both sexes
who are left to wring their bitter knowledge from experience.
I would not be understood to suppose that the proceedings of the
unhappy scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here
introduced, are a specimen of the common practices of society - the
case is an extreme one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive;
but I know that such characters do exist, and if I have warned one
rash youth from following in their steps, or prevented one
thoughtless girl from falling into the very natural error of my
heroine, the book has not been written in vain. But, at the same
time, if any honest reader shall have derived more pain than
pleasure from its perusal, and have closed the last volume with a
disagreeable impression on his mind, I humbly crave his pardon, for
such was far from my intention; and I will endeavour to do better
another time, for I love to give innocent pleasure. Yet, be it
understood, I shall not limit my ambition to this - or even to
producing 'a perfect work of art': time and talents so spent, I
should consider wasted and misapplied. Such humble talents as God
has given me I will endeavour to put to their greatest use; if I am
able to amuse, I will try to benefit too; and when I feel it my
duty to speak an unpalatable truth, with the help of God, I WILL
speak it, though it be to the prejudice of my name and to the
detriment of my reader's immediate pleasure as well as my own.
One word more, and I have done. Respecting the author's identity,
I would have it to he distinctly understood that Acton Bell is
neither Currer nor Ellis Bell, and therefore let not his faults be
attributed to them. As to whether the name be real or fictitious,
it cannot greatly signify to those who know him only by his works.
As little, I should think, can it matter whether the writer so
designated is a man, or a woman, as one or two of my critics
profess to have discovered. I take the imputation in good part, as
a compliment to the just delineation of my female characters; and
though I am bound to attribute much of the severity of my censors
to this suspicion, I make no effort to refute it, because, in my
own mind, I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so
whatever the sex of the author may be. All novels are, or should
be, written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to
conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that
would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be
censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for
a man.
JULY 22nd, 1848.
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