Conquering Gaul was a challenge, even for a general as able as Julius Caesar. Writing about it in just the right way, so as to persuade a divided Roman people that he was the leader Rome needed, was a challenge of its own. But if ever there was a man who welcomed a challenge, that man was Julius Caesar; and this edition of The Conquest of Gaul reveals much about Caesar as politician, general, author, and human being.
Caesar had good reason to want to tell his own story of fighting the Gauls in modern France; his enemies in Rome resented his growing power, and the book that was known in its own time and place as Commentarii de Bello Gallico gave Caesar a chance to get his own version of events before the people of Rome. The book therefore worked for Caesar as radio and television and Twitter have worked for some American presidents; it gave Caesar a way to reach the Roman people in a direct, unmediated manner by using the latest communications technology.
Julius Caesar was not the first classical writer to adopt the expedient of describing his own actions in the third person, to give his account of his own actions a false air of “objectivity”; the Athenian writer Xenophon had done the same thing in his Anabasis (The March Up Country). But if Xenophon pioneered that technique, Caesar made it his own.
It will surprise no one that Caesar chronicles these events in a way that is, well, favourable to Caesar. When, for example, Caesar treats of the reluctance of some of his men to engage the numerically superior forces of the Germanic chieftain Ariovistus, for example, he describes how he upbraided the soldiers for cowardice, and added that “those who tried to disguise their cowardice by pretending to be anxious about the corn supply or the difficulties of the route…either lacked confidence in their general’s sense of duty or else meant to dictate to him” (p. 51). Caesar further declared that, if necessary, he would face Ariovistus alone, with only the 10th Legion as a glorified bodyguard. Caesar tells us that “This address had a dramatic effect on all ranks, and inspired them with the utmost enthusiasm and eagerness for action” (p. 52). Problem solved! Yay!
But was it really that simple? Did Caesar really inspire the Roman army through the force of his personality and rhetoric alone? Or did he need to resort to some of that army's famously severe military discipline in order to motivate the more recalcitrant of his soldiers? We have only Caesar’s answers to those questions.
Caesar sounds rather like a spin-minded politician when he makes excuses for things not going as well as he might have expected. His description of the first Roman invasion of Great Britain is characteristic in that regard. It is indeed understandable that an amphibious invasion against a well-prepared enemy force standing on dry land is likely to be difficult; but Caesar places a great deal of emphasis on how the perils of getting off a boat and splashing through the surf to face the spears and arrows of the Britons “frightened our soldiers, who were quite unaccustomed to battles of this kind, with the result that they did not show the same alacrity and enthusiasm as they usually did in battles on dry land” (p. 99). It is for this reason, Caesar claims, that the ultimately successful Roman invasion force “charged the enemy and put them to flight, but could not pursue very far, because the cavalry had not been able to hold their course and make the island. This was the one thing that prevented Caesar from achieving his usual success” (p. 100).
Was it really that way? Were the setbacks during the invasion of Britain the result of timid infantry and wayward cavalry? Or might it have had something to do with the strategic and tactical plans made by the commander of the invading force – Caesar, that is – before the invasion began? If the latter scenario has anything to do with the truth, Caesar is not going to tell us. There is no et hircum sistunt (“the buck stops here”) to be found in Caesar’s work.
Caesar’s chief antagonist in The Conquest of Gaul is Vercingetorix, “a very powerful young Arvernian” whose father “had been put to death by his compatriots for seeking to make himself king” (p. 156). As Caesar tells it, the apple does not fall far from the Arvernian tree; Vercingetorix “went round the countryside raising a band of vagabonds and beggars” and “had no difficulty in exciting their passions” (p. 156). Vercingetorix is further described as a man whose “iron discipline” included torture, maiming, and execution of those who resisted his orders, and who “By this terrorism…quickly raised an army” (p. 157). Caesar has his designated bad guy firmly set in place – the “barbarian” who must be conquered by Roman civilization.
Vercingetorix, as it turns out, is no match for Caesar, whose superior strategy and tactics and more disciplined soldiers carry the day. At the same time, there is a definite pathos to the way in which Vercingetorix is depicted as meeting defeat, and almost certain death, with courage and dignity. Addressing an assembly of the defeated Gauls, Vercingetorix states that “I did not undertake the war…for private ends, but in the cause of national liberty. And since I must now accept my fate, I place myself at your disposal. Make amends to the Romans by killing me or surrender me alive as you think best” (p. 200). As the book’s translator and commentator approvingly notes, “So ended the brief and brilliant career of a great patriot” (p. 235).
Vercingetorix was taken to Rome, made to walk in chains behind Caesar's chariot as part of the traditional Roman triumph, and executed six years later; but he lives on as a national hero in France, where a statue at Clermont-Ferrand shows him galloping along on horseback, exhorting his troops to keep on defying the legions of Rome.
The ongoing popularity of this book no doubt has much to do with its direct, straightforward literary style. Caesar, writing for ordinary people, keeps his vocabulary and sentence structure basic, down-to-earth, and accessible. No doubt it is partly for that reason that so many high-school Latin classes of today begin as my Latin class at a Catholic prep school in Washington, D.C., began: by translating the beginning of The Conquest of Gaul. Caesar writes, “Gallia omnia in tres partes divisa est”; the student translates, “The whole of Gaul is divided into three parts”; and both student and Caesar are off to the chariot races.
It is impossible to read The Conquest of Gaul without wondering how much of it is reliable and how much is “fake news” or “alternative facts.” Caesar was a skilled writer, a brilliant general, and a canny politician; he was also not above serving as his own chief propagandist. But no matter how much of The Conquest of Gaul may be true, or exaggerated, or wholly false, it is a fast-moving book that provides the reader with a compelling look into the mind of Julius Caesar.