Hubbard opens the volume not with a definition of oratory but with a fictional letter from Pericles to Aspasia, casting the statesman in a private, reflective voice. This invented document sets the pattern for the book: each chapter mixes biographical narrative, imagined correspondence, and editorial commentary. The structure is consistent—a brief, often aphoristic heading, then a leap into a vivid scene or anecdote. In the Pericles chapter, Hubbard abruptly shifts from ancient Athens to a grocer in Indianapolis, using Heinrich Schliemann as a foil to introduce the Greek leader. This juxtaposition of the mundane and the monumental is a recurring device.

From Grocer to Orator: Hubbard’s Framing Device

The Pericles chapter begins with a lengthy digression about a prosperous Indianapolis grocer named Schliemann, who grows rich selling groceries and feed. Hubbard uses this American success story to contrast with the Athenian statesman, but the connection is not immediately clear. The reader expects Schliemann to become a local politician, but instead Hubbard pivots: “But this time the reader” is interrupted. The device serves to ground the ancient figure in a recognizable, commercial context. Hubbard repeats this technique in other chapters, often opening with a contemporary or historical anecdote that seems unrelated before revealing its relevance. The effect is to make the orators accessible, but it also risks confusing the reader who expects a straightforward biography.

The Physical Presence of the Speaker

Hubbard repeatedly emphasizes the orator’s body and voice. Of Marat, he writes that the “terrible dwarf” stood on a barrel haranguing crowds, his “insignificant size” making him conspicuous. The detail of the dagger at Marat’s belt, “within easy reach, and in open sight,” becomes a symbol of his dangerous charisma. Similarly, the description of Schliemann as “weighed on his own hay-scales” and tipping “the beam at part of a ton” reduces the man to his physical bulk. These images recur across chapters: the orator is not just a voice but a body in space, commanding or repelling attention through stature, gesture, or props. Hubbard’s prose dwells on these physical details, making them central to the portrait.

Movement Between Public and Private Spheres

The volume constantly shifts between the orator’s public performance and private life. The Pericles chapter opens with a letter that is intimate, even sorrowful: “We never can meet again: the laws forbid it, and love itself enforces them.” This private voice contrasts with the public figure who later speaks of Athens’ glory. In the Marat section, Hubbard moves from the physician’s dispensary and lectures on hygiene to the revolutionary’s street-corner harangues. The private man—the inventor, the doctor—is shown alongside the public agitator. Hubbard uses these transitions to suggest that the orator’s power springs from personal conviction or obsession, but he does not fully reconcile the two spheres. The reader is left to infer how the private self fuels the public performance.

Recurring Motifs: The Crowd and the Reaction

Hubbard frequently describes the effect of oratory on its audience. Of Marat, he writes that “the crowds that hung upon his words were swayed to rank unreason by his impassioned eloquence.” The crowd is not a passive recipient but an active force that reacts upon the speaker: “Marat fell a victim to his own eloquence, and the madness of the mob reacted upon him.” This reciprocal dynamic appears in other chapters, though the excerpts only show it explicitly here. Hubbard also uses the motif of the speaker’s isolation: Pericles speaks at the close of his day, “when every light is dim and every guest departed.” The orator is both surrounded and alone, a tension that Hubbard returns to across the volume.

Readers should approach this volume as a series of impressionistic portraits rather than systematic biographies. Hubbard’s method is associative: he leaps from a grocer in Indianapolis to Pericles, from a physician’s dispensary to the French Revolution. The recurring images—the speaker’s body, the crowd’s reaction, the private letter—provide threads that connect the chapters. Pay attention to how Hubbard uses physical details and invented scenes to animate his subjects, and note where he leaves gaps or contradictions. The book rewards those who read for pattern and voice rather than for factual completeness.