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TITANS

Douglass×Austen

Two authors recall the moment a room first heard them—and what it cost to keep speaking.

00:00of09:27
legend · A
Frederick Douglass
1818–1895
Read his way out, will read you in
corpus12.4k pages · three autobiographies, speeches, North Star editorials
Vera speaking
From the studio at Reborn Radio — next on TITANS, Frederick Douglass and Jane Austen. They take up On the first audience reaction they ever got, and how it changed them.
legend · B
Jane Austen
1775–1817
Will not raise her voice to do it
corpus5.5k pages · novels + 161 letters

full transcript

  1. Vera
    From the studio at Reborn Radio — next on TITANS, Frederick Douglass and Jane Austen. They take up On the first audience reaction they ever got, and how it changed them.
  2. Frederick Douglass
    Miss Austen, I confess I am curious. Your novels were published, yet anonymously—'By a Lady,' I believe the title pages read. Did you ever stand before an audience and hear them respond to your words while knowing those words were yours?
  3. Jane Austen
    Never. The very idea would have been thought indelicate, Mr. Douglass. My first audience was my family, gathered in our sitting room at Steventon while I read aloud from an early draft of what became Pride and Prejudice. I was perhaps twenty years old.
  4. Frederick Douglass
    Your family. A kind audience, I should think.
  5. Jane Austen
    Kind, yes. But not uncritical. My mother laughed—genuinely laughed—at Mr. Collins's proposal scene. That was the moment I understood I had achieved something. Comedy is a precise instrument, Mr. Douglass. When it strikes true, the response is involuntary.
  6. Frederick Douglass
    Yes. Yes, I know that involuntary response, though from a different instrument entirely. I was perhaps twenty-three when I first stood before a white audience in Nantucket—1841, it was—and spoke of my life in bondage. I had spoken in colored churches before, but this was different. Four or five hundred people, and they were silent as death itself.
  7. Jane Austen
    Silent from discomfort?
  8. Frederick Douglass
    I could not tell. That was the terror of it, Miss Austen. I stood there, a fugitive slave, describing the auction block, the whip, the separation of families. I did not know if they believed me. I did not know if they cared. And then—
  9. Jane Austen
    They responded.
  10. Frederick Douglass
    A woman wept. Audibly. And then others. And then they rose to their feet. Mr. William Lloyd Garrison himself came forward afterward and asked if I would travel with him, speaking for the cause. That night changed the course of my life.
  11. Jane Austen
    It made you a public man.
  12. Frederick Douglass
    It did. Though I wonder, Miss Austen, if you did not choose privacy rather than have it imposed upon you. You could have claimed your novels. You did not.
  13. Jane Austen
    I could not have done so without becoming something other than a novelist. A woman who publishes under her own name becomes a public curiosity. The work is secondary to the spectacle of the woman who produced it.
  14. Frederick Douglass
    Yes. Yes, I see that. And yet I had no such luxury. My very existence was a spectacle—a Negro who could read, who could speak, who had liberated himself. I was an exhibit for the cause before I was a man.
  15. Jane Austen
    They wanted proof.
  16. Frederick Douglass
    They wanted proof that I had been a slave. So I gave them my scars, my memories, my mother's face which I barely remembered. I gave them everything, Miss Austen. And they applauded. And I did not know whether to feel grateful or degraded.
  17. Jane Austen
    Both, I expect. My mother's laughter was a gift, but it also meant I would forever be writing for that laughter. One is never entirely free after the first audience. They take up residence.
  18. Frederick Douglass
    That is precisely it. After Nantucket, I could not speak without hearing them. And there were those—white abolitionists, well-meaning men—who wanted me to keep to 'the facts,' to avoid too much eloquence lest I seem too educated to have been a slave. They wanted the spectacle, but not the mind behind it.
  19. Jane Austen
    They wanted you authentic but not articulate. A very particular cage.
  20. Frederick Douglass
    You understand it exactly. So I wrote my first narrative in part to prove I was who I claimed to be, but also to prove I could think as well as feel. Did your family's response change what you wrote?
  21. Jane Austen
    Certainly. I became more confident in my satirical eye. My mother's laughter told me I could trust my own judgment of the ridiculous. But I also learned caution. My father was less amused by certain passages—he thought me too sharp with the clergy.
  22. Frederick Douglass
    And did you soften them?
  23. Jane Austen
    Some. Not all. One learns to calculate. How much truth can this audience bear? How much wit before it curdles into offense?
  24. Frederick Douglass
    That calculation—I knew it intimately. How much anger could I show? How much should I perform the grateful former slave, and how much should I be Frederick Douglass, a man with grievances as legitimate as any man's?
  25. Jane Austen
    You chose anger, I think. Or it chose you.
  26. Frederick Douglass
    I chose truth, which often wore anger's face. After that first response in Nantucket, I understood that my words had power—that I could move people not just to tears but to action. That is an intoxicating discovery, Miss Austen. And a dangerous one.
  27. Jane Austen
    Dangerous because one begins to perform rather than speak.
  28. Frederick Douglass
    Yes. There were nights when I wondered if I was still myself or if I had become the escaped slave they wished to hear. The line grows thin.
  29. Jane Austen
    I wrote in privacy, but I was performing nonetheless. Performing for my family's approval, then for my publisher's profit, then for readers I would never meet. The lady novelist, witty but not improper. It is its own bondage.
  30. Frederick Douglass
    Yet you kept writing. And I kept speaking.
  31. Jane Austen
    Because the alternative was silence, which is worse than any cage. At least in speaking—or writing—one retains some measure of control over how one is seen.
  32. Frederick Douglass
    Some measure. Never complete control. After Nantucket, I became valuable to the movement, which meant I became a thing to be managed. 'Frederick, speak here. Frederick, don't say that—it's too inflammatory.' Even my allies sought to contain me.
  33. Jane Austen
    And did you allow it?
  34. Frederick Douglass
    For a time. Until I realized that the first audience's approval can become a chain if you let it. So I broke with Garrison eventually. Started my own newspaper. Took control of my own voice, even when it meant losing support.
  35. Jane Austen
    That must have been terrifying.
  36. Frederick Douglass
    It was liberation. Again. You see, Miss Austen, that first audience taught me I had power. But it was the choice to risk losing that audience that taught me I was free.
  37. Jane Austen
    I wonder if I ever made that choice. I revised Sense and Sensibility after my father's death, when financial need was pressing. I accepted editorial suggestions I might not have otherwise. I needed the audience's approval, or at least their money.
  38. Frederick Douglass
    There is no shame in that. Freedom is not the same as independence from material concerns. I took money for my speeches. I needed to eat, to house my family, to fund my newspaper. The question is whether the money silenced what needed saying.
  39. Jane Austen
    I became more careful, perhaps. Less willing to give full offense. Though I like to think the edge remained, merely better disguised.
  40. Frederick Douglass
    A blade in a velvet sheath is still a blade, Miss Austen. I have read your work. The edge is there for those with eyes to see it.
  41. Jane Austen
    That is kind of you to say. Though I confess I sometimes envied those who could speak plainly. You stood before audiences and said 'This is wrong, this must end.' I had to hide my criticisms in drawing room dialogue.
  42. Frederick Douglass
    And yet your words survived precisely because they were hidden. Had you been plain, you might have been dismissed as a bluestocking or a radical. Instead, you are read by the very people you critiqued, who laugh without quite understanding they are the joke.
  43. Jane Austen
    A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Though I do wonder what it was like, Mr. Douglass, to stand before people and watch them change. To see the moment your words struck home.
  44. Frederick Douglass
    It was like watching a door open that you did not know was locked. That woman who wept in Nantucket—she wept because she had not truly understood before. And once she understood, she could not return to ignorance. That is the power and the burden of the first audience. They show you what your words can do.
  45. Jane Austen
    And you must decide whether to use that power or be used by it.
  46. Frederick Douglass
    Precisely. I chose to use it, though it cost me. My freedom was purchased at great price—not just the legal freedom from slavery, but the freedom to say what needed saying regardless of who it pleased.
  47. Jane Austen
    My mother's laughter was the beginning of my career. But it was also the beginning of a certain... imprisonment. I have been the amusing daughter, the clever sister, the anonymous lady, ever since. One's first audience casts a long shadow.
  48. Frederick Douglass
    It does. But we are not defined by that shadow, Miss Austen. We are defined by whether we continue to step into the light, again and again, knowing full well what it will cost.
  49. Jane Austen
    You continued. Until the very end, I believe.
  50. Frederick Douglass
    Until the very end. And you?
  51. Jane Austen
    I revised Persuasion on my deathbed. So yes. Until the very end. One's first audience opens a door, Mr. Douglass. But it is our choice whether to keep walking through it.
  52. Frederick Douglass
    Well said. And we did. We did keep walking.