Biographies of Napoleon generally fall into two categories: those that subscribe to the legend of a man unlike other men, a heroic figure living out his Promethean destiny, and those, usually written by Anglo-Saxon historians, that debunk it and cut him down to a jumped-up subaltern and a nasty little dictator. However annoying the first might be, the second are pointless, as, by seeking to deny the main component of his astonishing rise, they deny themselves the means of understanding it.

Like Napoleon or loathe him, his “greatness” is a historical fact. Not only did hundreds of thousands of soldiers willingly give their lives for him, but a great many intelligent and discerning people were mesmerised and captivated. Independent outsiders such as Goethe remained in thrall to him even after his grip on power had weakened. The only point at issue is how a man as ordinary as Napoleon came to trigger and attract the universal human craving for the ideal leader and the hero, and to harness it so successfully to his own ends. Philip Dwyer opens this remarkable first volume of his two-part biography with a hilarious reconstruction of what actually happened at the battle of Arcola, known to millions over the past two centuries only through the iconic painting by Antoine-Jean Gros of Napoleon, standard in one hand and sabre in the other, supposedly leading his men across the bridge against the Austrians. In fact, it was General Augereau who first tried to shame the French soldiers into storming the bridge on that November day in 1796, by seizing their standard and rushing forward. He failed miserably, and when Bonaparte tried to repeat his tactic, his troops refused to follow and he was nearly drowned in a ditch in the ensuing scramble for cover. Although the picture bears no relation to what occurred, it does not represent a lie as such – it is a fiction, a fantasy recognisable to any man who ever dreamt of military glory. And the same is true of much of the Napoleonic legend. Napoleon did not obliterate inconvenient facts or rewrite history in the way Soviet leaders did, he merely wove a parallel story which, because it was more appealing, was willingly seized upon.

Dwyer cleverly makes use of the legend to tell the real story; by confronting it at every step with verifiable fact, he explains how it arose, and in the process produces a satisfying, psychologically convincing account of Napoleon’s early years and ascent to power. Evenhanded and authoritative, this fascinating and highly enjoyable book will be an eye-opener even to those who think they know the subject well.

The Napoleon that emerges is not the one familiar to most readers. He is a profoundly insecure young man, dependent on his family for emotional support and strongly marked by his Corsican background. Far from being bent on striking out to conquer the world, this Napoleon is guided in the choice of career moves by considerations of closeness to home and kin. When revolution breaks out in France, it is on Corsica that he focuses his ambitions, both military and political. In fact, there is nothing in his early years to suggest that he might one day aspire to power on the French (let alone the world) stage. It is only when all avenues of advancement in Corsica are closed down that the Corsican patriot turns his sights on the French state (one cannot really ever term him a French patriot).

Indeed, nothing in Napoleon’s early life promises much. His performance at military school in Brienne was average, his first posting, at Valence, undistinguished, his early amours unsophisticated, his public debut in Corsica clumsy and inauspicious. His political manoeuvrings in Paris were no less so. Dwyer conclusively dismisses most of the colourful anecdotes that have gone to make up the portrait of a hungry young Napoleon striding resolutely towards his pre-destined goal with evidence that he was often hesitant and that most of his supposedly decisive actions were anything but.

It was only when he took command of the army of Italy in 1796 that he came into his own. Success transcended his insecurity and he acquired a new decisiveness. He tasted power for the first time and liked it. Above all, he quickly mastered the art of creating false impressions, sending back to Paris reports giving his version of events, making theatrical gestures poached from antiquity and disseminating printed images (more than 500 during the first Italian campaign alone) that told a heroic story so attractive to the folks back home that it was swallowed hook, line and sinker. He also began to place distance between himself and his peers, creating a sacred space around his person, which began to take on a quality of exclusivity. It was these ploys that would, a couple of years down the line, permit him to turn the disaster of his Egyptian adventure into a triumph in the eyes of the French, and himself into “the Man who would save France”.

Destiny calls

Napoleon was a master manipulator of the media. During his 1798-99 Egyptian campaign, he ensured that France heard only the good news. In dispatches and news reports, victories were played up, defeats such as the Nile dismissed as minor setbacks. Even his decision to abandon his army and return to France was shown as self-sacrificing. The PR paid off: it prepared the ground for the November 1799 coup that turned him from general into consul.

Napoleon: The Path to Power 1769-1799 by Philip Dwyer

Bloomsbury £20 pp651

Available at the Books First price of £18 (including p&p) on 0870 165 8585

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