In 52 BC, as the Battle of Alesia loomed, Julius Caesar was 48 years old and, if he survived the battle, very much the coming man: an experienced soldier, a skilled debater and well-connected politician, he was sought after as an ally, and feared as an enemy. After being appointed Proconsular Governor of Transalpine Gaul in 58 BC what is now southern France, he had begun the Gallic Wars, a series of conflicts which led to the conquest of all Gaul lands; all of western Europe from the Rhine to the Atlantic was annexed to the Roman Empire (Caesar’s own third-person account of the Gallic Wars, his Commentaries, is both the essential guide to the wars and a classic of Latin prose) .
Skillfully exploiting inter-tribal divisions, Caesar had managed to bring the Gauls into subjugation, and even had time to take two hard whacks at the Britons across the Channel in 55 and 56 BC. The 55 BC expedition was very nearly a disaster – Caesar had the luck that Napoleon regarded as the sine qua non of generalship – but added, as intended, great glory to the name of Caesar.
As Life of Brian memorably shows, Roman rule was never really appreciated by the subjugated, and especially not in Gaul. Better roads and all the other things ‘the Romans did for us’ never quite made up for the arrogant governors, the ever-present garrisons of trained killers, the bullying traders with senatorial connections, or the taxes. The Gaul uprisings began in 58 BC, with the final revolt in 52 BC being led by a young nobleman (he may have been only 17) called Vercingetorix. Vercingetorix managed to unite large numbers of Gauls, but a hard-pressed Caesar managed to defeat the rebels at the battle of Alesia. According to popular legend, Vercingetorix surrendered in a theatrical manner, riding into Caesar’s camp to kneel at his feet in person. illustrations of the great Gaul laying down his sword in front of a suitably impressed Caesar still feature in French schoolbooks (in Asterix and the Chieftain’s Shield, Vercingetorix throws his sword on Caesar’s feet). Caesar’s own account is, alas, altogether more restrained, as this Victorian translation of his account shows: ‘Vercingetorix, having convened a council the following day, declares, “That he had undertaken that war, not on account of his own exigencies, but on account of the general freedom; and since he must yield to fortune, he offered himself to them for either purpose, whether they should wish to atone to the Romans by his death, or surrender him alive. Ambassadors are sent to Caesar on this subject. He orders their arms to be surrendered, and their chieftains delivered up. He seated himself at the head of the lines in front of the camp, the Gallic chieftains are brought before him. They surrender Vercingetorix, and lay down their arms’. The victory was a calamity for the Gauls: according to one estimate, a million died, a million became slaves, and the remaining five or so million became Roman subjects.
What Happened Next
Caesar does seem to have admired Vercingetorix as a leader of men, and he and other Romans most definitely admired the fighting qualities of the Gauls. Indeed, many Gauls had fought on Caesar’s side, either for tribal reasons or simply because they wanted to pick a winner. The independent, martial qualities of the Gauls had been admired for centuries: the 3rd century Roman sculpture, the Dying Gaul, itself a copy of a Greek original. was one of the most copied sculptures in antiquity. Vercingetorix was taken to Rome, paraded in front of the mob, jailed, then executed in 46 BC, probably with a garrote, and possibly not to universal approval in the city. Caesar himself was assassinated two years later.
The more romantic version of the encounter was the one that prevailed, despite the brutal end of the story. In1865, Napoleon III had a huge statue (over 20 feet tall and still standing) of the great hero erected at the site of the Battle of Alesia. The statue shows Vercingetroix with a moustache, despite the fact that contemporary coins show his upper lip hairless. Napoleon III was well-whiskered, so the inference is that the sculptor wanted to identify his master with the ancient hero. This sort of thing still goes on: a statue of Mel Gibson dressed up in Braveheart garb, purporting to be a representation of William Wallace, was erected in Stirling in 1997 (and is now kept behind bars after being regularly vandalised).
Napoleon III did eventually die in exile like his hero – but in Chislehurst rather than Rome.