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Illustration V: The Bolshoi Ballet depicts Spartacus in chains
“In overthrowing me, you have cut down only the trunk of the Tree of Liberty.” The words were delivered through gritted teeth, his brown eyes blazing with defiance. “It will spring up again by the roots for they are numerous and deep.”
These words, uttered by Toussaint L’Ouverture (also spelled as Louverture) of Saint Domingue, were as prophetic as they were defiant. The revolutionary and former slave had risen up in 1791, inspired by the French Revolution, to overthrow the Frenchmen who had dominion over him and his brothers. The French Revolution had come and gone, but the revolution in Saint Domingue continued on, freeing half a million slaves as they overthrew the French, the British, and the Spanish. And this man, this defiant black man who dared to spit in the eye of Napoleon himself, had led it. In fact, where he stood now before Napoleon, Toussaint L’Ouverture was the governor-general of both Saint Domingue—later to be named Haiti—and Hispaniola, the modern-day Dominican Republic.
L’Ouverture had led the only successful slave revolt in modern history. It was thanks to the fact that slaves outnumbered free people ten to one on the island, and also to L’Ouverture’s excellent military command, that all three of the great empires that had come to fight him had been defeated. The British had died of yellow fever, the French had succumbed in battle, and the Spanish had been unable to keep L’Ouverture out of Hispaniola. The man was unstoppable, but so was Napoleon. And it was Napoleon who stopped him. L’Ouverture would die of pneumonia in a French prison in 1803. His jailer refused to allow physicians near him, saying that because he was black, and therefore wholly different, the European doctors wouldn’t know how to treat him.
The revolution, however, did not die with L’Ouverture. It lived on beyond him, just as he had prophesied. On New Year’s Day, 1804, Haiti became an independent country. France begrudgingly recognized its independence. This came sixty years before the American Civil War would put an end to slavery in the United States of America, and it came one hundred years before Cuba would throw off its Spanish shackles and declare equality and freedom. Haiti was one of the first, and L’Ouverture led it into the dawn of freedom.
For that reason, they called him the “Black Spartacus.”
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Toussaint L’Ouverture was not the only man to invoke the name of Spartacus in his quest for freedom. To this day, the gladiator general has left a legacy of courage and sacrifice in the name of freedom that has lived on in historical events and popular culture alike.
Karl Marx was one of Spartacus’ great fans; his later revolutionary admirer, Che Guevara, would also see Spartacus as a hero. Guevara was an important part of the Cuban Revolution, an event that would change the course of history not only in Cuba but also in the rest of the world, as it placed communist leader Fidel Castro in charge of the island, which is located just ninety miles from Florida. Spartacus had been dead for a little over two thousand years, but he was still hailed as a hero by those who saw themselves as fighting for freedom against an arrogant aristocracy; in the case of the Cuban Revolution, corrupt President Fulgencio Batista was an ideal—and eerie—echo of rich and jealous Crassus.
Guevara was not the only Marxist to proclaim himself to be a follower of the long-dead Spartacus. In post-WWI Germany, the so-called Spartacist Revolt caused chaos in Berlin in January 1919. After the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II after World War I ended in defeat for Germany, a socialist republic was founded, and Marxist leaders Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg decided to try and tip the scales toward full-blown communism. Liebknecht and Luxemburg had suffered during the First World War, and both ended up in prison shortly thereafter, having been arrested for treason in 1916. Upon their release two years later, they formed what they called the Spartacist League. Like Guevara and Castro, they saw communism as a solution for oppression by an aristocratic minority, and they named themselves after the famed gladiator general with visions of freedom.
Sadly, for Liebknecht and Luxemburg, their bid for what they perceived as freedom would be just as unsuccessful as that of Spartacus. Although their revolt succeeded in capturing numerous important buildings in Berlin, their supporters were ultimately no match for the German military. Hundreds of Spartacists were shot and killed; many of these were in an execution-style after the revolutionaries had already laid down their weapons. Liebknecht was shot. Luxemburg had her skull bashed in and was cast into the river by a bunch of derisive soldiers. Germany freed itself from the clutches of communism and attempted to establish a democracy, but of course, the worst was yet to come for this country. Hitler and the Nazis were on their way.
Not all of the events inspired by Spartacus were grim ones, however. Although the German Spartacists were not the last to call themselves by that name—there were groups in the United States and the United Kingdom with similar ethos who also called themselves Spartacists in the 1970s—Spartacus’ legacy lives on in popular culture as well. The courageous story of a gladiator who tried to overthrow an entire government still captures the imagination of the world.
Perhaps the earliest writer to create a work of fiction based on Spartacus’ extraordinary life was Raffaello Giovagnoli with his 1874 novel, Spartacus. Many more would follow: Arthur Koestler’s The Gladiators, Lewis Grassic Gibbon’s Spartacus, and Halina Rudnicka’s The Students of Spartacus.
In 1960, Stanley Kubrick’s film Spartacus embellished the story, but it nonetheless brought this piece of history to life on the big screen for the first time. It was the recipient of an Academy Award and also created the famous “I’m Spartacus!” quote. As rousing as the scene may have been, there is sadly no historical evidence to support the story of hundreds of Spartacus’ followers rising up to prevent their leader’s capture.
Spartacus’ tale would also inspire a ballet, which was composed in 1956 by Aram Khachaturian, an Armenian. The ballet was based on Giovagnoli’s novel, but like the novel, its ties to real events were strong ones. Khachaturian’s words about the ballet perhaps best summarize how Spartacus’ story has influenced both history and culture throughout the two thousand years following his failed rebellion. “I thought of Spartacus as a monumental fresco describing the mighty avalanche of the antique rebellion of slaves on behalf of human rights...When I composed the score of the ballet and tried to capture the atmosphere of ancient Rome in order to bring to life the images of the remote past, I never ceased to feel the spiritual affinity of Spartacus to our own time.”
Spiritual or not, for centuries, the struggle of Spartacus has been one that the modern world has had an affinity with, and for good reason. Spartacus’ rebellion might not have been about abolition, but it was still about freedom. It was still about struggling out of the clutches of a powerful enemy. Spartacus might not have been dreaming about a Roman Republic where no one would ever be enslaved again. But he was dreaming about walking free under the Thracian stars. He was dreaming of going home, and at the very heart of all struggles for human rights, home and freedom are still their themes.
