The World's Greatest Orator

During the days of the decline of Athens, the centre of thought to

Greece, there roamed about the streets of that city a delicate, sickly

lad, so feeble in frame that, at his mother's wish, he kept away from

the gymnasium, lest the severe exercises there required should do him

more harm than good. His delicate clothing and effeminate habits were

derided by his playmates, who nicknamed him Batalus, after, we are told,

a spindle-shanked flute-player. We do not know, however, just what

Batalus means.



As the boy was not fit for vigorous exercise, and never likely to make a

hardy soldier or sailor, it became a question for what he was best

fitted. If the body could not be exercised, the mind might be. At that

time Athens had its famous schools of philosophy and rhetoric, and the

art of oratory was diligently cultivated. It is interesting to know that

outside of Athens Greece produced no orators, if we except Epaminondas

of Thebes. The Boeotians, who dwelt north of Attica, were looked upon

as dull-brained and thick-witted. The Spartans prided themselves on

their few words and hard blows.



The Athenians, on the contrary, were enthusiastically fond of oratory,

and ardently cultivated fluency of speech. It was by this art that

Themistocles kept the fleet together for the great battle of Salamis. It

was by this art that Pericles so long held control of Athens. The

sophists, the philosophers, the leaders of the assembly, were all adepts

in the art of convincing by eloquence and argument, and oratory

progressed until, in the later days of Grecian freedom, Athens possessed

a group of public speakers who have never been surpassed, if equalled,

in the history of the world.



It was the orators who particularly attracted the weakly lad, whose mind

was as active as his body was feeble. He studied grammar and rhetoric,

as did the sons of wealthy Athenians in general. And while still a mere

boy he begged his tutors to take him to hear Callistratus, an able

public speaker, who was to deliver an oration on some weighty political

subject. The speech, delivered with all the eloquence of manner and

logic of thought which marked the leading orators of that day, deeply

impressed the susceptible mind of the eager lad, who went away doubtless

determining in his own mind that he would one day, too, move the world

with eloquent and convincing speech.



As he grew older there arose a special reason why he should become able

to speak for himself. His father, who was also named Demosthenes, had

been a rich man. He was a manufacturer of swords or knives, in which he

employed thirty-two slaves; and also had a couch or bed factory,

employing twenty more. His mother was the daughter of a rich

corn-dealer of the Bosphorus.



The father died when his son was seven years old, leaving his estate in

the care of three guardians. These were rich men, and relatives and

friends, whom he thought he could safely trust; the more so as he left

them legacies in his will. Yet they proved rogues, and when Demosthenes

became sixteen years of age--which made him a man under the civil law of

Athens--he found that the guardians had made way with nearly the whole

of his estate. Of fourteen talents bequeathed him there were less than

two left. The boy complained and remonstrated in vain. The guardians

declared that the will was lost; their accounts were plainly fraudulent;

they evidently proposed to rob their ward of his patrimony.



This may seem to us to have been a great misfortune. It was, on the

contrary, the greatest good fortune. It forced Demosthenes to become an

orator. Though he never recovered his estate, he gained a fame that was

of infinitely greater value. The law of Athens required that every

plaintiff should plead his own cause, either in person or by a deputy

speaking his words. Demosthenes felt that he must bring suit or consent

to be robbed. That art of oratory, towards which he had so strong an

inclination, now became doubly important. He must learn how to plead

eloquently before the courts, or remain the poor victim of a party of

rogues. This determined the young student of rhetoric. He would make

himself an orator.



He at once began an energetic course of study. There were then two

famous teachers of oratory in Athens, Isocrates and Isaeus. The school of

Isocrates was famous, and his prices very high. The young man, with whom

money was scarce, offered him a fifth of his price for a fifth of his

course, but Isocrates replied that his art, like a good fish, must be

sold entire. He then turned to Isaeus, who was the greatest legal pleader

of the period, and studied under him until he felt competent to plead

his own case before the courts.



Demosthenes soon found that he had mistaken his powers. His argument was

formal and long-winded. His uncouth style roused the ridicule of his

hearers. His voice was weak, his breath short, his manner disconnected,

his utterance confused. His pronunciation was stammering and

ineffective, and in the end he withdrew from the court, hopeless and

disheartened.



Fortunately, his feeble effort had been heard by a friend who was a

distinguished actor, and was able to tell Demosthenes what he lacked.

"You must study the art of graceful gesture and clear and distinct

utterance," he said. In illustration, he asked the would-be orator to

speak some passages from the poets Sophocles and Euripides, and then

recited them himself, to show how they should be spoken. He succeeded in

this way in arousing the boy to new and greater efforts. Nature,

Demosthenes felt, had not meant him for an orator. But art can sometimes

overcome nature. Energy, perseverance, determination, were necessary.

These he had. He went earnestly to work; and the story of how he worked

and what he achieved should be a lesson for all future students of art

or science.



There were two things to do. He must both write well and speak well.

Delivery is only half the art. Something worth delivering is equally

necessary. He read the works of Thucydides, the great historian, so

carefully that he was able to write them all out from memory after an

accident had destroyed the manuscript. Some say he wrote them out eight

separate times. He attended the teachings of Plato, the celebrated

philosopher. The repulse of Isocrates did not keep the ardent student

from his classes. His naturally capable mind became filled with all that

Greece had to give in the line of logical and rhetorical thought. He not

only read but wrote. He prepared orations for delivery in the law courts

for the use of others, and in this way eked out his small income.



In these ways he cultivated his mind. That was the lightest task. He had

a great mind to begin with. But he had a weak and incapable body. If he

would succeed that must be cultivated too. There was his lisping and

stammering voice, his short breath, his low tones, his ungraceful

gesture,--all to be overcome. How he did it is a remarkable example of

what may be done in self-education.



To overcome his stammering utterance he accustomed himself to speak with

pebbles in his mouth. His lack of vocal strength he overcame by running

with open mouth, thus expanding his lungs. To cure his shortness of

breath he practised the uttering of long sentences while walking

rapidly up-hill. That he might be able to make himself heard above the

noise of the assembly, he would stand in stormy weather on the sea-shore

at Phalerum, and declaim against the roar of the waves. For two or three

months together he practised writing and speaking, day and night, in an

underground chamber; and that he might not be tempted to go abroad and

neglect his studies he shaved the hair from one side of his head. Dread

of ridicule kept him in till his hair had grown again. To gain a

graceful action, he would practise for hours before a tall mirror,

watching all his movements, and constantly seeking to improve them.



Several years passed away in this hard and persistent labor. He tried

public speaking again and again, each time discouraged, but each time

improving,--and finally gained complete success. His voice became strong

and clear, his manner graceful, his delivery emphatic and decisive, the

language of his orations full of clear logic, strong statement, cutting

irony, and vigorous declamation, fluent, earnest, and convincing. In

brief, it may be said that he made himself the greatest orator of

Greece, which is equal to saying the greatest orator of the world.



It was not only in delivery that he was great. His speeches were as

convincing when read as when spoken. Fortunately, the great orators of

those days prepared their speeches very carefully before delivery, and

so it is that some of the best of the speeches of Demosthenes have come

down to us and can be read by ourselves. The voice of the whole world

pronounces these orations admirable, and they have been studied by every

great orator since that day.



Demosthenes had a great theme for his orations. He entered public life

at a critical period. The states of Greece had become miserably weak and

divided by their jealousies and intrigues. Philip of Macedon, the

craftiest and ablest leader of his time, was seeking to make Greece his

prey, and using gold, artifice, and violence alike to enable him to

succeed in this design. Against this man Demosthenes raised his voice,

thundering his unequalled denunciations before the assembly of Athens,

and doing his utmost to rouse the people to the defence of their

liberties. Philip had as his advocate an orator only second to

Demosthenes in power, AEschines by name, whom he had secretly bribed, and

who opposed his great rival by every means in his power. For years the

strife of oratory and diplomacy went on. Demosthenes, with remarkable

clearness of vision, saw the meaning of every movement of the cunning

Macedonian, and warned the Athenians in orations that should have moved

any liberty-loving people to instant and decisive action. But he talked

to a weak audience. Athens had lost its old energy and public virtue. It

could still listen with lapsed breath to the earnest appeals of the

orator, but had grown slow and vacillating in action. AEschines had a

strong party at his back, and Athens procrastinated until it was too

late and the liberties of ancient Greece fell, never to rise again, on

the fatal field of Chaeronea.



"If Philip is the friend of Greece we are doing wrong," Demosthenes had

cried. "If he is the enemy of Greece we are doing right. Which is he? I

hold him to be our enemy, because everything he has hitherto done has

benefited him and hurt us."



The fall of Greece before the sword of its foe taught the Athenians that

their orator was right. They at length learned to esteem Demosthenes at

his full worth, and Ctesiphon, a leading Athenian, proposed that he

should receive a golden crown from the state, and that his extraordinary

merit and patriotism should be proclaimed in the theatre at the great

festival of Dionysus.



AEschines declared that this was unconstitutional, and that he would

bring action against Ctesiphon for breaking the laws. For six years the

case remained untried, and then AEschines was forced to bring his suit.

He did so in a powerful speech, in which he made a bitter attack on the

whole public life of Demosthenes. When he ceased, Demosthenes rose, and

in a speech which is looked upon as the most splendid master-piece of

oratory ever produced, completely overwhelmed his life long opponent,

who left Athens in disgust. The golden crown, which Demosthenes had so

nobly won, was his, and was doubly deserved by the immortal oration to

which it gave birth, the grand burst of eloquence "For the Crown."



In 323 B.C. Alexander the Great died. Then like a trumpet rang out the

voice of Demosthenes, calling Greece to arms. Greece obeyed him and

rose. If she would be free, now or never was the time. The war known as

the Lamian war began. It ended disastrously in August, 322, and Greece

was again a Macedonian slave. Demosthenes and others of the patriots

were condemned to death as traitors. They fled for their lives.

Demosthenes sought the island of Calauri, where he took refuge in a

temple sacred to Poseidon, or Neptune. Thither his foes, led by Archias,

formerly a tragic actor, followed him.



Archias was not the man to hesitate about sacrilege. But the temple in

which Demosthenes had taken refuge was so ancient and venerable that

even he hesitated, and begged him to come out, saying that there was no

doubt that he would be pardoned.



Demosthenes sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the ground. At length, as

Archias continued his appeals, in his most persuasive accents, the

orator looked up and said,----



"Archias, you never moved me by your acting. You will not move me now by

your promises."



At this Archias lost his temper, and broke into threats.



"Now you speak like a real Macedonian oracle," said Demosthenes, calmly.

"Before you were acting. Wait a moment, then, till I write to my

friends."



With these words Demosthenes rose and walked back to the inner part of

the temple, though he was still visible from the front. Here he took out

a roll of paper and a quill pen, which he put in his mouth and bit, as

he was in the habit of doing when composing. Then he threw his head back

and drew his cloak over it.



The Thracian soldiers, who followed Archias, began to gibe at his

cowardice on seeing this movement. Archias went in, renewed his

persuasions, and begged him to rise, as there was no doubt that he would

be well treated. Demosthenes sat in silence until he felt in his veins

the working of the poison he had sucked from the pen. Then he drew the

cloak from his face and looked at Archias with steady eyes.



"Now," he said, "you can play the part of Creon in the tragedy as soon

as you like, and cast forth my body unburied. But I, O gracious

Poseidon, quit thy temple while I yet live. Antipater and his

Macedonians have done what they could to pollute it."



He walked towards the door, calling on those surrounding to support his

steps, which tottered with weakness. He had just passed the altar of the

god, when, with a groan, he fell, and died in the presence of his foes.



So died, when sixty-two years of age, the greatest orator, and one of

the greatest patriots and statesmen, of ancient times,--a man whose fame

as an orator is as great as that of Homer as a poet, while in foresight,

judgment, and political skill he had not his equal in the Greece of his

day. Had Athens possessed any of its old vitality he would certainly

have awakened it to a new career of glory. As it was, even one as great

as he was unable to give new life to that corpse of a nation which his

country had become.