Claudius Civilis was a Batavian of noble race, who had served twenty-five
years in the Roman armies. His Teutonic name has perished, for, like
most savages who become denizens of a civilized state, he had assumed an
appellation in the tongue of his superiors. He was a soldier of fortune,
and had fought wherever the Roman eagles flew. After a quarter of a
century's service he was sent in chains to Rome, and his brother
executed, both falsely charged with conspiracy. Such were the triumphs
adjudged to Batavian auxiliaries. He escaped with life, and was disposed
to consecrate what remained of it to a nobler cause. Civilis was no
barbarian. Like the German hero Arminius, he had received a Roman
education, and had learned the degraded condition of Rome. He knew the
infamous vices of her rulers; he retained an unconquerable love for
liberty and for his own race. Desire to avenge his own wrongs was
mingled with loftier motives in his breast. He knew that the sceptre was
in the gift of the Batavian soldiery. Galba had been murdered, Otho had
destroyed himself, and Vitellius, whose weekly gluttony cost the empire
more gold than would have fed the whole Batavian population and converted
their whole island-morass into fertile pastures, was contending for the
purple with Vespasian, once an obscure adventurer like Civilis himself,
and even his friend and companion in arms. It seemed a time to strike a
blow for freedom.
By his courage, eloquence, and talent for political combinations,
Civilis effected a general confederation of all the Netherland tribes,
both Celtic and German. For a brief moment there was a united people, a
Batavian commonwealth. He found another source of strength in German
superstition. On the banks of the Lippe, near its confluence with the
Rhine, dwelt the Virgin Velleda, a Bructerian weird woman, who exercised
vast influence over the warriors of her nation. Dwelling alone in a
lofty tower, shrouded in a wild forest, she was revered as an oracle.
Her answers to the demands of her worshippers concerning future events
were delivered only to a chosen few. To Civilis, who had formed a close
friendship with her, she promised success, and the downfall of the Roman
world. Inspired by her prophecies, many tribes of Germany sent large
subsidies to the Batavian chief.
The details of the revolt have been carefully preserved by Tacitus, and
form one of his grandest and most elaborate pictures. The spectacle of a
brave nation, inspired by the soul of one great man and rising against an
overwhelming despotism, will always speak to the heart, from generation
to generation. The battles, the sieges, the defeats, the indomitable
spirit of Civilis, still flaming most brightly when the clouds were
darkest around him, have been described by the great historian in his
most powerful manner. The high-born Roman has thought the noble
barbarian's portrait a subject worthy his genius.
The struggle was an unsuccessful one. After many victories and many
overthrows, Civilis was left alone. The Gallic tribes fell off, and sued
for peace. Vespasian, victorious over Vitellius, proved too powerful for
his old comrade. Even the Batavians became weary of the hopeless
contest, while fortune, after much capricious hovering, settled at last
upon the Roman side. The imperial commander Cerialis seized the moment
when the cause of the Batavian hero was most desperate to send emissaries
among his tribe, and even to tamper with the mysterious woman whose
prophecies had so inflamed his imagination. These intrigues had their
effect. The fidelity of the people was sapped; the prophetess fell away
from her worshipper, and foretold ruin to his cause. The Batavians
murmured that their destruction was inevitable, that one nation could not
arrest the slavery which was destined for the whole world. How large a
part of the human race were the Batavians? What were they in a contest
with the whole Roman empire? Moreover, they were not oppressed with
tribute. They were only expected to furnish men and valor to their proud
allies. It was the next thing to liberty. If they were to have rulers,
it was better to serve a Roman emperor than a German witch.
Thus murmured the people. Had Civilis been successful, he would have
been deified; but his misfortunes, at last, made him odious in spite of
his heroism. But the Batavian was not a man to be crushed, nor had he
lived so long in the Roman service to be outmatched in politics by the
barbarous Germans. He was not to be sacrificed as a peace-offering to
revengeful Rome. Watching from beyond the Rhine the progress of
defection and the decay of national enthusiasm, he determined to be
beforehand with those who were now his enemies. He accepted the offer of
negotiation from Cerialis. The Roman general was eager to grant a full
pardon, and to re-enlist so brave a soldier in the service of the empire.
A colloquy was agreed upon. The bridge across the Nabalia was broken
asunder in the middle, and Cerialis and Civilis met upon the severed
sides. The placid stream by which Roman enterprise had connected the
waters of the Rhine with the lake of Flevo, flowed between the imperial
commander and the rebel chieftain.
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Here the story abruptly terminates. The remainder of the Roman's
narrative is lost, and upon that broken bridge the form of the Batavian
hero disappears forever. His name fades from history: not a syllable is
known of his subsequent career; every thing is buried in the profound
oblivion which now steals over the scene where he was the most imposing
actor.
The soul of Civilis had proved insufficient to animate a whole people;
yet it was rather owing to position than to any personal inferiority,
that his name did not become as illustrious as that of Hermann. The
German patriot was neither braver nor wiser than the Batavian, but he
had the infinite forests of his fatherland to protect him. Every legion
which plunged into those unfathomable depths was forced to retreat
disastrously, or to perish miserably. Civilis was hemmed in by the
ocean; his country, long the basis of Roman military operations, was
accessible by river and canal, The patriotic spirit which he had for a
moment raised, had abandoned him; his allies had deserted him; he stood
alone and at bay, encompassed by the hunters, with death or surrender as
his only alternative. Under such circumstances, Hermann could not have
shown more courage or conduct, nor have terminated the impossible
struggle with greater dignity or adroitness.
The contest of Civilis with Rome contains a remarkable foreshadowing of
the future conflict with Spain, through which the Batavian republic,
fifteen centuries later, was to be founded. The characters, the events,
the amphibious battles, desperate sieges, slippery alliances, the traits
of generosity, audacity and cruelty, the generous confidence, the broken
faith seem so closely to repeat themselves, that History appears to
present the self-same drama played over and over again, with but a change
of actors and of costume. There is more than a fanciful resemblance
between Civilis and William the Silent, two heroes of ancient German
stock, who had learned the arts of war and peace in the service of a
foreign and haughty world-empire. Determination, concentration of
purpose, constancy in calamity, elasticity almost preternatural, self-
denial, consummate craft in political combinations, personal fortitude,
and passionate patriotism, were the heroic elements in both. The
ambition of each was subordinate to the cause which he served. Both
refused the crown, although each, perhaps, contemplated, in the sequel,
a Batavian realm of which he would have been the inevitable chief.
Both offered the throne to a Gallic prince, for Classicus was but the
prototype of Anjou, as Brinno of Brederode, and neither was destined,
in this world, to see his sacrifices crowned with success.
The characteristics of the two great races of the land portrayed
themselves in the Roman and the Spanish struggle with much the same
colors. The Southrons, inflammable, petulant, audacious, were the first
to assault and to defy the imperial power in both revolts, while the
inhabitants of the northern provinces, slower to be aroused, but of more
enduring wrath, were less ardent at the commencement, but; alone,
steadfast at the close of the contest. In both wars the southern Celts
fell away from the league, their courageous but corrupt chieftains having
been purchased with imperial gold to bring about the abject submission of
their followers; while the German Netherlands, although eventually
subjugated by Rome, after a desperate struggle, were successful in the
great conflict with Spain, and trampled out of existence every vestige
of her authority. The Batavian republic took its rank among the leading
powers of the earth; the Belgic provinces remained Roman, Spanish,
Austrian property.