Roman-Barbarian interactions and the creation of Dutch national identity: the many faces of a myth.

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Roman-barbarian interactions and the creation of Dutch national identity:

The many faces of a mythSergio González Sánchez

Many publications, conference papers and hours of discussion have been devoted to the subject of the Batavians and, more specifically, to the role of this first-century, lower Rhine-based tribe as forefathers of the Dutch nation, i.e. to the “Batavian myth” (Schöffer 1975; Brandt and Slofstra 1983; Willems 1986; van Driel-Murray 2003; Roymans 2004; Roelofs and Swinkels 2004; Derks and Roymans 2009). It is with good reason that Nico Roymans argued at this very conference that “the Batavians rank among the best-studied frontier peoples of the Roman Empire”, and in fact, there are very few conferences on Roman provincial archaeology or Roman frontiers studies lacking a paper on or reference to this tribe/topic1. However, there are many aspects of both the tribe and the myth that have not been addressed adequately or sufficiently, namely: how has society fed the myth and, conversely, how has the myth fed the common identity of Dutch society? What is the social and cultural background, not just of the myth itself, but also of its origins and development? Is there a unique interpretation of the myth? How well does the post-colonial framework work for a nation lacking a recent colonial past?

Post-colonial deconstruction, such as the one carried out by British archaeologists of their own colonial interpretational discourse (Mattingly and Alcock 1996; Mattingly 2011; Freeman 1996; Hingley 2000), opens the door to a much more comprehensive analysis of this phenomenon, although with some limitations, as will be shown later in the paper. However, to my knowledge, such an approach to the topic has not been applied to date to the Dutch interpretative tradition.

As part of a broader study that I am currently developing in my doctoral thesis, this paper will present two case studies in a comparative way: the humanist birth of the myth and a colonial/imperial variation of it; two of the many facets that we encounter when we deconstruct the historical and archaeological discourses formed around the Batavian myth over the last five centuries within Dutch territory. The aim is to break with the traditional uniformity identified in the interpretations and analyses of this myth carried out so far, but first we need to frame this study with a few basic considerations.

1 A statistical analysis of the occurrence of the word “Batavian” (or related variations) in paper titles and abstracts from the main international Roman archaeology conferences is being prepared right now by the author. However, preliminary results show that in the last five years the average occurrence is of two papers per conference, which in the author’s opinion represents a high Batavian thematic presence given the small size of the Batavian territory in the Roman World.

Roman-barbarian interactions and the creation of Dutch national identity

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Myth, history and national Identity: “fatal attraction” in a changing context

The first thing to be taken into consideration is the relationship between myth, history and national identity. As said by the author elsewhere, this paper will define “national identity” as the characteristic features of a nation (e.g. language, traditions, culture, history and, within history, myth)2, accepted and shared by the majority of its people — defining the nation’s self-image — and determined in opposition to other nations and their identities—defining the external or international image of the nation.

“Historical myths”, understood as being those past deeds, with or without historical foundation, perceived by the collective memory as real history, are one of those features which relate to a common ancient ancestry of the greatest importance for the creation and reaffirmation of a sense of national identity (Burkert 1979: 23; Cruz and Frijhoff 2009: 1; Frijhoff 2009: 117).

Therefore, the relationship between “myth” and “history” is based on a complex dichotomy, in which we strive towards exposing the truth of the historical fact behind the artful fabrications of the myth. It sounds simple. However, tracing the foundations and makings of a myth is much more complicated than that, mainly because no one lets facts get in the way of a good myth; we simply love myths. The question is: why are we so attracted to them?

Firstly, myths thrive on the society that created them and thus, society finds recognisable features of itself in the myth, making it much more familiar, attractive and powerful. Powerful myths can convey multiple meanings and are flexible enough to adapt and mutate as the needs of their audiences change. Therefore, the important thing is not to discover the truth or untruth behind a myth, but to dissect its meaning(s) in context, a context that is in constant change.

Secondly, because myths are multilayered and alive — multilayered like archaeological stratigraphy that we can only see when we look at a trench’s section; alive because they are not a fixed entity, instead, they transform themselves alongside the historical context — acknowledging a changing historical context is the only thing that could reconcile myth and history, and the only way to observe the different layers in a clear cut way.

If we are to understand and illustrate in words the effects that a changing historical context has on myths, Lindsey Allason-Jones’s opening lecture in TRAC 2011 (Newcastle) seems a very appropriate example (Allason-Jones 2012). Among other things, she showed different artistic expressions of Queen Boudica’s myth, from a very classical representation to modern fantastic reinterpretations, including Queen Boudica’s statue in central London. Among the conclusions that she drew that day, she stated that:

2 Other aspects such as biological descent (i.e. genetic commonality) could also be included but are highly complex issues, with too many implications, as to be discussed here. While the features listed above are directly related to the evolution of national cultural identity, biologi-cal descent or racial commonness, despite having been used in the past for cultural exclusivity and nationalistic claims of racial uniqueness (e.g. Nazi Germany), are not, in the author’s opinion, of much relevance for the current discussion.

Sergio González Sánchez

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“each generation had their own idea of what these women looked like, depending on what was happening politically and socially at the time...each generation brings its own attitudes to its studies” (Allason-Jones 2012).

These views can also be backed by Loewenberg’s remark (1985: 15) that “each historian and each age redefines categories of evidence in the light of its needs, sensibilities, and perceptions”.

For the purposes of this paper I would like to expand and combine these ideas by saying that each generation produces its own interpretation of the past depending on their given political and social context, bringing their own attitudes to their reading of the collective past.

Down post-colonial lane

The second framing consideration to bear in mind is related to the approach applied to this study. The author’s take on Allason-Jones’ and Loewenberg’s views is well described by and consistent with the post-colonial mainstream of British archaeology. Borrowed from the field of cultural anthropology and from the works of Edward Said (1993), a post-colonial analytical deconstruction was applied by Hingley (2000), Mattingly (1996; 2011) and Freeman (1996), among others, to the colonialist framework in which Roman archaeology developed in the late nineteenth-early twentieth century with regard to the theory of Romanization. This method has proven most effective in addressing this issue of a changing historical context and discourse. However, two dangerous realities have to be acknowledged.

The first is that, aware of the biases behind the colonial perspective, we need to acknowledge that we are deconstructing it from our own perspective, the post-colonial perspective, which is in itself equally biased. This seems obvious but it needs to be restated, just as much as I need to acknowledge that I am already subconsciously bringing my own political and social biases to my works. In the same way we are capable of looking back into the past and identifying what biases shaped the understanding that our predecessors had of the way in which the relationship between the Roman Empire and its subjects and neighbours worked, we need to identify the variety of backgrounds (e.g. national, academic, personal, etc.) from which our ideas arise, in which they are formed and formulated. We cannot escape our own biases but we can try to be aware of them.

The second is that we should not treat post-colonialism in Roman archaeology as a unitary theoretical mainstream. In the same way that we may accept the existence of “discrepant colonial experiences” (Mattingly and Alcock 1996), we also need to acknowledge the existence of “discrepant post-colonial experiences”, i.e. a variety of post-colonial perspectives arising from a wide range of backgrounds and experiences mentioned earlier. A detailed analysis of the historical backgrounds in which various recent European archaeological traditions have been formed is currently being developed by the author as part of his doctoral research. This could give us the key to understand this principle. The cultural and historical precepts upon which post-colonial approaches have been consolidated in the UK are not always traceable in other European nations. However, the UK’s theoretical framework has


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been generally accepted by many other nations. In order to explain this phenomenon, it is important to highlight here the idea of “intellectual fashion” developed by Pluciennik (2011) in the controversial work “The Death of Archaeological Theory”.

The use and misuse of Roman-barbarian interactions: the exegesis of the Batavian myth

After these framing considerations let me now develop one of the core ideas of the paper: how barbarian myths have been consistently used in the creation and reinforcement of national identities, and how the dichotomy between Roman Europe and barbarian national heroes has actually worked.

A significant number of European national identities are partly based on myths inspired by Roman-barbarian clashes. This aids the transformation of some “local” barbarian leaders into national heroes. Such are the cases of Vercingetorix in France (Amalvi 1988), Ambiorix in Belgium, Boudica in Britain (Allason-Jones 2012), Arminius in Germany, Viriatus in Spain/Portugal, Civilis in the Netherlands or Decebalus in Romania (Popa, in press). As I have commented elsewhere,

“It is the interaction with and antagonism to Rome — which was idealistically depicted in the sixteenth century as a powerful Empire — which makes them valuable tools for the formation of national identity, as it increases the positive impact of their deeds on the psyche of the nation” (González Sánchez 2012, 88).

This Roman element is always present in the origin of “barbarian” ancestry myths. The state promotion of these “barbarian” characters can be seen, for instance, through the observation that statues of most of those barbarian leaders adorn very central locations in their countries, normally in the capital cities’ centres. Thus we can observe a double sphere of interaction between these myths and society: abstract, in the collective memory, and physical, in public spaces.

That is certainly the case with the tribe and myth under study in this paper, the Batavians in the Netherlands. The Batavian myth is an interactional myth necessarily connected with its Roman counterpart. Batavians, like many other ethnic labels of Germanic cultural or tribal groups, could in fact be considered a Roman construct. The only surviving descriptions of the Batavians are Roman, and therefore it is a Roman projection that has been inherited and developed in our scholarly and literary tradition. Thus, the Batavian myth comprises not only Batavians but also Romans, completing the Roman-barbarian dichotomy on which it is based.

But what do we mean by “Batavian myth”? This term, coined by Ivo Schöffer (1975), refers basically to the Batavian tribe being depicted since the sixteenth century, and throughout the following centuries, as forefathers of the Dutch people, playing a central role in the origin and evolution of Dutch national identity.

During the Western classical Renaissance and its rediscovery of Roman texts, some European territories that would eventually become nations started to identify their primal forefathers among the “tribes” that, to a greater or lesser degree, interacted with Rome, following the typical sixteenth-century appropriation of ancient deeds. For the Dutch, the source for the exegesis of the Batavian myth lay


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in Tacitus’ work, rediscovered in the late fifteenth-early sixteenth century by Dutch humanists (Hessing 2001: 131), and read from a very patriotic perspective (Leira 2008: 673), which would enormously impact the development of the future nation’s identity.

Tacitus’ account of the Batavians, collected mostly in his Histories and Germania, shows a twofold description of their interaction with the Romans: on one hand, he praises their unique features — brave, warlike people, lovers of liberty (Tacitus, Annals II, 6; 8;11; Agricola, XVIII, 4) and highlights their special relationship with the Roman Empire — allies and friends, exempt from taxes and reserved for war as auxiliary troops (Tacitus, Historiae IV, 12; Germania XXIX, 1). On the other hand, he pays much attention to a more combative side of their interaction, in the Batavian revolt of AD 69 under Julius Civilis’ leadership, against an oppressive Roman Empire that did not respect the terms of their ancient treaty and heavily levied troops among their population (Roymans 2004; Nicolay 2007: 247; Tacitus, Historiae IV, 14. Tacitus’ extensive description and analysis of the revolt can be found in Histories II, IV and V). Despite ultimately being defeated in the conflict, the Batavians apparently retained all the privileges derived from their special relationship with Rome through a new treaty (Tacutis, Germania XXIX, 2).

Both sides of Tacitus’ accounts are identifiable in the formulation of the early modern myth concerning the Batavian “forefathers” of the Dutch in the sixteenth century. The mainstream interpretation of the myth is based on these first stages. However, the myth has traditionally been regarded by Dutch scholars (and society) as unique and unchanging. Interestingly, as will be discussed below, a closer analysis and deconstruction of this myth reveals the many different faces it had.

The Batavian myth(s)

Against the background of the aspects outlined above, the following analysis will try to identify and compare two of the many lives that the Batavian myth has had in the course of five centuries of development. The key to understanding the complexity and longevity of this myth lies in the variety and flexibility of its interpretation. As a result of this flexibility we can identify, not just a unique interpretation of the myth but many layers of it, some of them running parallel for centuries. I will analyse here two of those transformations that the discourse around the Batavian myth has undergone, leaving the rest of them for further development in my doctoral research.

Humanist birth of the myth

The analysis of the ancient past has often informed and influenced the formation of post-medieval national identities in Europe. It is normally argued that national identities did not appear in Europe until the 19th century (Gear 2002). However, most German and English medieval historians discuss how nation-building in Europe goes back to the late Roman and early medieval period. In the case of the Dutch territories, we can already appreciate in


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these very initial stages some kind of common identity or sense of belonging, triggered and promoted—just like in many other instances — by common opposition to an external enemy or threat3.

It is clear, as expressed by many authors (Beyen 2000: 494; Hessing 2001: 132 ; Blanc 2009: 244), that the Batavian myth is mostly based on the parallels drawn by sixteenth-century Dutch humanists between their historical context (i.e. Dutch revolt against the Spanish Habsburg rule in the second half of the sixteenth century) and the one Tacitus described for the Batavians in their struggle against the Roman Empire4. What caused such parallels to be seen by these Dutchmen in the sixteenth century?

Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, had among his many territorial possessions seventeen provinces on the early modern Dutch territory. In the summer of 1549, Charles V introduced his Dutch subjects to his heir, Prince Philip, through a trip to the main towns of their Dutch possessions that would soon have to swear obedience to him as Philip II of Spain. Jac Geurts (2009: 55) states that the Dutch provinces considered Philip nothing like his father, as he was seen as a foreign ruler, brought up in Spain, in contrast to his father’s “local” origin and education. Each major city or town prepared welcome festivities (Blijde Inkomste or Joyeuse Entreé) and decorated their main streets and buildings deliberately using images and myths extracted from classical antiquity and the history of the Low Countries in an attempt to establish a dialogue full of symbolism between the Spanish/Habsburg rulers, depicted as Roman Emperors, and their subjects (Geurts 2009: 63).

It is again a change in the historical scenario that brought the variation of the myth towards the emphasis on the rebellious Batavians. The rule of Philip II initiated a process of centralization over the seventeen Dutch provinces under the Spanish crown. Paradoxically, this also was the seed of rebellion and the first evidences of a proto-national identity against a common oppressor (Cruz 2009: 160; Cruz and Frijhoff 2009: 12).

Once more, Tacitus served as a reference, although this time a new aspect of his account of the Batavians was emphasized: the Batavian Revolt against an oppressing Roman Empire that did not respect the terms of their ancient treaty. Parallels and analogies were conveniently and rapidly drawn between Tacitus’ idealized description of the Batavians fighting the Romans and their modern counterparts: the Dutch and the Spaniards; Civilis and the Roman Emperor (Hessing 2001: 155). The sixteenth-century historical context witnessed and also influenced the birth of the “Orangist myth”, according to which the Nassau-Orange family were the heirs of the Batavian tradition and therefore entitled to manage the destiny of the Dutch people (Levillain 2005; Stern 2009; Geevers 2011). It was based on the political use of Tacitus and the Batavian myth by the Nassau-Orange family and their supporters

3 Napoleonic interference led in 1808 to an uprising that would, according to Elorza (2005), provoke the birth of Spanish national consciousness. Likewise, we can see in the colonial British interference the origins of American national self-awareness.4 The immediate question that arises is whether the 16th-century Netherlanders thought that the Batavians were literally their ancestors or just predecessors (i.e. previous inhabitants of the same lands facing similar external threats). It is unclear in my opinion, but it could definitely be argued that there was a conscious use of their name to label early modern Netherlanders (e.g. Erasmus’ use of the label in his writings or the use of the term “Batavian” to name people from the province of Holland).


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to reinforce their position as Stadtholders. Its central figure would be William I of Orange, Stadtholder during the revolt against the Hispanic Empire, considered at the time the true descendant of Julius Civilis, leader of the Batavian revolt (Hessing 2001: 135).

Regionalism was the main feature of this historical period in the Dutch territories and did not encourage the formation of a national sentiment. Households and cities were the main features defining identity at a much localized level (e.g. Erasmus “of Rotterdam”). Thus, the Dutch aristocratic elite needed, on the one hand, a unifying myth against the Spanish enemy that allowed them to transform that deep regionalism of their territories into a unified separatist effort and, on the other, historical legitimization of their struggle against Philip II. This struggle was then considered the perfect example of their supposed Batavian forefathers’ attitude to foreign occupation, ostensibly highlighting the most venerable aspects of Dutch character, aiding the development of the already mentioned proto-national sentiment, based on the union of efforts against a common enemy, the Spanish oppressor (Dunkelgrün 2009: 230).

As we have just seen, in its initial stages, the Batavian myth was influenced and informed by Tacitus’ account of the Batavian tribe. However, once Tacitus’ account had been interpreted for the first time within the specific sixteenth-century historical context of the Dutch revolt against the Spaniards, and once the myth had taken form around an idealized image of the Batavians as forefathers characterized by their rebellious spirit, every further modification or adaptation relied on that sixteenth-century form of the myth, not on Tacitus’ original accounts. It is the myth that inspires further interpretations, not the original source (Tacitus’ accounts). It is actually the Dutch revolt that became the original myth of the newly founded republic, not the classical accounts of Batavians. Myths built upon myths, largely breaking free of historical anchors (Simon James, pers. comm.).

Following the collapse of the Habsburg rule, seven provinces won independence from the Spanish crown in 1581 and founded a new polity: the Republic of the Dutch United Provinces. In that context we can understand the dynamic intellectual and artistic activity during the “Dutch Golden Age”. Leeuwen’s work (1685) Batavia Illustrata ofte Holandsche Chronyck, for example, contains an epic initial statement, illustrating the survival of the intellectual contemporary vision on the tribe’s myth and its main features by the end of the century (here translated into English): “War is often necessary for the support of liberty, and the ancient Batavii were lovers of one and the other”. This kind of reference reinforced the myth of the sixteenth-century revolt against Spain, and by analogy, the Batavian myth in which it was rooted. These myths served as promoters of a sentiment of commonality across the Dutch territories. However, we cannot talk about “national identity” at this time, or if we do, we have to acknowledge its regional focus around the province of Holland in a clear case of “regional nationalism”: the regional cultural history of this province became the culture of the Dutch nation (Kossmann 1978: 155-6).

The arts also provided ample ground for the diffusion of the symbolism of the Batavian myth in this period. Interesting examples are the series of engravings and paintings illustrating Tacitus’ accounts of the Batavian revolt commissioned from Antonio Tempesta to decorate different public spaces; their content can be taken as indicative of the clear informative and propaganda function assigned to these works and their themes.


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However, the piece of art that has attracted most interest in modern historiography due to the genius of its author and to his special symbolic interpretation of the Batavian myth was Rembrandt’s 1661 De Samenzwering van Civilis (Blanc 2009: 253). His very personal interpretation of a well-established common myth was highly Romanized and quasi-monarchical, not matching the expectations of the commissioners who finally decided to reject the painting, proving the intentionality of these commissions and of the use of the myth.

Fig. 1. “The Conspiracy of the Batavians under Civilis”, Rembrandt (1661). Nationalmuseum of Stockholm.

Colonial/Imperial interpretation/use of the myth

The second “life” of the myth that I will analyse is the one related to the Dutch colonial/commercial quest in the East Indies for the startling contrast it provides to the first use of the myth. In 1619, the capital of the Dutch Eastern colonial-commercial empire was newly founded under the name Batavia on the territory of today’s Jakarta (Indonesia). The name choice, part of an orchestrated claim to legitimize their expansion through links with antiquity and prestige, can only be explained if we assume that the myth had evolved into a new variation or that different elements of the myth were then stressed for a different purpose. It is striking though that the name of the tribe that Tacitus described as liberty lovers and rebels against Roman Imperial oppression was used to name the headquarters of the East Indies Dutch imperial enterprise. Expansionist and colonial ideals now overshadowed the core


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theme of the myth: independence and liberty.5 It is the strength and bravery of the Batavians that was now stressed and it was

Dutch pride that was in play, probably a first hint of how the myth had taken root in their common consciousness. Simon Schama (1988: 24-25) suggested that the struggle to control the sea was a vital aspect of emerging Dutch identity. Additionally, it could be interpreted as a powerful message to send to both competitors and settlers of the new colonies: the once-dominated Dutch territories had built up an impressive fleet and empire of their own shortly after the northern provinces gained their independence. This message was expressed by the export of national symbols (e.g. the naming of the first colonial capital or some of the ships of regular and merchant fleets after the Batavians), thus linking colony and homeland through their historical myths. This variation of the myth would run in parallel with others (analysed here and in other papers by the author) until the Indonesian colonies achieved independence by the end of the Second World War.

Fig. 2. “Vue de l’isle et de la ville de Batavia appartenant aux Hollandois, pour la Compagnie des Indes”, Daumont, Paris (c. 1780). View of Batavia, capital of the Dutch Eastern colonial-commercial Empire.

5 It is worth considering that these qualities might not have been as important for them as they are for us nowadays or, simply, they would not necessarily have found the two interpreta-tions/uses of the myth incompatible (e.g. USA founding fathers asserting the natural right to liberty and independence of the British colonies in North America, while allowing the slave trade).


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Closely related to Dutch colonial establishments were the fleets — the commercial fleet, ruled by the colonial commercial company; and the military, commanded by the federal government. Ships were the driving force of the republican trading empire and one of its most visible emblems: they were a message in themselves. Thus, it is not surprising to find “Batavians’ also among them. One of the most famous ships of the fleet, the Batavia, was wrecked on its way from Australia to the East Indies colonies, and it is usually mentioned among the elements that carry on the myth. However, it is not the only example of a ship named after the tribe6. Most of the ships of the military fleet were named after Dutch cities or provinces, while those of the East Indies fleet seem to have been given more allegoric names. Therefore, it might not be wrong to think that the Batavia was named after the colonial capital and not the mythical tribe, in line with the regular fleet naming scheme. In any case, the importance of the Batavia is also derived from the fact that it was archaeologically traced and reconstructed in recent times, expressing once more the on-going interest in the myth.

Concluding remarks and further research questions

To conclude, this comparative analysis proves that there is not just one uniform Batavian myth. The different lives of the myth reflect different historical episodes in the Dutch political and social development, which are crucial to the understanding of subsequent variations of the myth. Thus, as we have shown in our analysis, the Batavian myth has lived, and continues to live, many different lives.

The historical background prior to Tacitus’ discovery and the early period after it allowed praise of the Roman tradition and heritage. In the mid-sixteenth century the political situation changed; the turning point was Phillip II’s visit in 1549, when we can already find expressions of mixed symbolism. Once he had established his rule over the seventeen Dutch provinces the situation deteriorated, and the struggle of the Dutch for freedom and independence against an oppressive foreign rule called for a redefined use of their ancestral myth. It is then that the Batavian revolt became pivotal, initiating the first phase of development of the myth: from Roman praise (fratri romani) to Batavian focus (fighters for liberty, stress on the Batavian revolt). These two elements would run parallel for centuries, along with other variations and interpretations, such as the colonial use of the myth we have analysed in this paper. There are other interpretations and variations of the myth that we have not mentioned here.

Modern archaeology has brought about the latest academic revival of the Batavian myth, which has become a central topic in Dutch and provincial Roman archaeology. Since the 1950s three generations of archaeologists have increased the presence of the Batavians on the academic scene, both in the Netherlands and internationally.

The first generation (late 50s to mid-80s) — Bogaers, van Es, de Weerd, Slofstra — revived the topic. The second generation (from the 80s onwards) —

6 For commercial and regular line ships, check: http://www.vocsite.nl/schepen/lijst.html?sn=B and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_ships_of_the_line_of_the_Dutch_Republic. I would like to thank Mark van der Enden for suggesting this idea and providing the sources of information. It would be interesting to investigate whether other main terms/elements of the myth (e.g. Civilis) were also used in this colonial context (i.e. vessel’s name, trading port, etc.)


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Willems, Roymans, Derks, van Driel-Murray, Versluys — established it as one of the main topics in Dutch and Roman provincial archaeology. The third and current generation—Johan Nicolay, Stijn Heeren, Eef Stoffels — has enhanced the quality of research with increasing specialization and fresh approaches. The succession of these three generations situates Dutch archaeology as one of the most theoretically advanced and brings Batavians under the focus once more.

Ultimately, this revival can be traced not only in scholarship but in Dutch society as a whole. The modern uses of the label “Batavian’ are varied and widespread, showing that the Batavian myth, after five centuries of constant reinventions, is still very much alive and has been completely assimilated by the Dutch national consciousness.

There is still plenty of room for expanding this study by trying to answer different questions:

• Tacitus, and thus the early phases of the myth, reported two hundred years of positive and peaceful Batavian interaction with the Romans. So, why did an eighteen-month episode of conflict between Batavians and Romans received so much emphasis in later developments of the myth? • What were the external views and reactions to these myths (Spaniards, Napoleonic France, Indian colonized populations, etc.)? This would avoid a Dutch-centric approach.• How does the study of the Batavians by Dutch archaeologists differ from that done by foreign researchers?• Furthermore, extensive research needs to be done on the other ancient ethnographical groups who also settled on modern Dutch territory (Frisii, Cananefates, Belgae, etc.) and their impact on the formation of national identity and the development of regional identities in the Netherlands. Ethnographical complexity was one of the salient features of modern-day Dutch territory in antiquity. Despite the overwhelming attention received by the Batavians, the presence of other historical ethnographical groups in the area is attested up to the second century AD. However, they have not been given as much prominence as Batavians in Dutch national discourse, although the opportunity existed during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century in what Marnix Beyen (2000) calls “the rise and fall of the tribal trinity’.

Acknowledgments

The author would like to express his appreciation to the managers and staff at Petnica Science Centre for their hospitality and to Marko Janković, the organizers of this conference and the editors of this volume for the chance given, endless patience and precious comments.


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