Napoleon's gorgeous centaur-the life of Murat Joachim Murat has come to epitomise the beau ideal cavalryman. Indeed, in the decades following the Napoleonic era, as a horse soldier excelled to extraordinary prominence, the name of Murat was often considered as analogous. In reality nobody could come close in stature and performance. Murat was one of many young men who saw the French Revolution as an opportunity to prosper in influence, power, status and wealth. An unabashed self publicist, his gorgeous uniforms were singular and exceptional even in an age when the dandy in military uniform was the norm. His ambition was insatiable and in this was the root of his downfall, for he lacked the intelligence and moderation to consolidate his advantages. Yet, Murat rose to be a soldier of the highest rank, through marriage a member of Napoleon's own family, he was elevated to the aristocracy as Duke of Berg and in time crowned King of Naples. Though, like many of his calling, he was no military mastermind Murat was a reliable lieutenant to Napoleon often achieving-through deeds of daring-far more than other senior officers could for their emperor. Above all there could be no doubt about the quality of Murat's personal courage. He led from the front and latterly rode into the fiercest melees armed only with a riding crop. Though he came from a different and lesser mould than his master Napoleon, Murat fatally shared his weakness for conceits and hubris and, as with Napoleon himself, poor judgment ended his career ignominiously before a firing squad of his former subjects. Atteridge's biography is a well regarded classic and is highly recommended. Leonaur editions are newly typeset and are not facsimiles; each title is available in softcover and hardback with dustjacket; our hardbacks are cloth bound and feature gold foil lettering on their spines and fabric head and tail bands.

The Man Who Thought He Was Napoleon is built around a bizarre historical event and an off-hand challenge. The event? In December 1840, nearly twenty years after his death, the remains of Napoleon were returned to Paris for burial—and the next day, the director of a Paris hospital for the insane admitted fourteen men who claimed to be Napoleon. The challenge, meanwhile, is the claim by great French psychiatrist Jean-Étienne-Dominique Esquirol (1772–1840) that he could recount the history of France through asylum registries. From those two components, Laure Murat embarks on an exploration of the surprising relationship between history and madness. She uncovers countless stories of patients whose delusions seem to be rooted in the historical or political traumas of their time, like the watchmaker who believed he lived with a new head, his original having been removed at the guillotine. In the troubled wake of the Revolution, meanwhile, French physicians diagnosed a number of mental illnesses tied to current events, from “revolutionary neuroses” and “democratic disease” to the “ambitious monomania” of the Restoration. How, Murat asks, do history and psychiatry, the nation and the individual psyche, interface? A fascinating history of psychiatry—but of a wholly new sort—The Man Who Thought He Was Napoleon offers the first sustained analysis of the intertwined discourses of madness, psychiatry, history, and political theory.

The biography of a soldier, arguably the most dashing cavalry leader of his time, one of Napoleon's Marshals. Joachim Murat (1767-1815), whose career took him to the heights as a cavalry commander and one of Napoleon's marshals, was intended for the church but a priestly life was not for him. Before taking the first step in Holy Orders as a sub-deacon he quit the seminary and, at the age of twenty, joined the army. In 1795 he met Napoleon and became his first aide-de-camp in Italy where he distinguished himself in the 1796-'97 campaign during which he led his first cavalry charge. In January 1800 he married Napoleon's sister, Caroline. He commanded the French cavalry at Marengo, was appointed commander of the Grand Army in the German campaign of 1805 and subsequently commanded the cavalry at Jena, Eylau and Friedland and in 1808 was made general-in-chief of the French armies in Spain and on 1 August succeeded Joseph Bonaparte as king of Naples. The subsequent decline of his fortunes are well described in this book which provides a very entertaining, straightforward account of a commander who was adored by the troops he led. Like Ney he ended his life in front of a firing squad - on 13 October 1815. His was a meteoric career.

On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny of Europe was being decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggar was silently following the road from Toulon to Marseilles. Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted on a little eminence from which he could see all the surrounding country; then either because he had reached the end of his journey, or because, before attempting that forbidding, sombre pass which is called the Thermopylae of Provence, he wished to enjoy the magnificent view which spread to the southern horizon a little longer, he went and sat down on the edge of the ditch which bordered the road, turning his back on the mountains which rise like an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and having at his feet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation, exotics of a conservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other part of France.

This panoramic volume tells the story of French art, culture and life from the 1770s to the 1820s: the first French voyages of discovery to Australia, the stormy period of social change with the outbreak of the French Revolution, and the rise to power of the young Napoleon Bonaparte and his wife Josephine.