When Nicolas Sarkozy, the former president of France, walked through the gates of La Santé prison on October 21, 2025, he entered a world far removed from the gilded halls of the Élysée Palace. Sentenced to five years in prison and a €100,000 fine for corruption, Sarkozy’s brief but headline-grabbing 20-day incarceration has now been immortalized in his newly published memoir, Le Journal d’un prisonnier ("Journal of a Prisoner"). The book, released in December 2025 by Fayard, has stirred debate, curiosity, and, in some quarters, empathy for the man who once wielded immense power over France.
Sarkozy’s conviction on September 25, 2025, marked the third time he had faced legal repercussions for corruption-related offenses. Yet, it was the first time a former French president actually served time behind bars. The charge—allegedly conspiring to obtain funding from the late Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi, a claim Sarkozy has consistently denied—led to his dramatic fall from grace. Despite being released pending appeal after just under three weeks, the experience left its mark, both on Sarkozy and, as he hopes, on the French public’s perception of him.
In his memoir, the word “injustice” and its variations appear more than 80 times, according to Le Monde. Sarkozy spares no effort in painting himself as a victim of political persecution, drawing bold parallels between his own plight and that of Captain Alfred Dreyfus, the French officer famously and wrongfully convicted of treason in the late 19th century. “For any impartial observer knowledgeable about history, the similarities are astonishing,” Sarkozy writes, though he does concede that unlike Dreyfus, he was not banished to the infamous Devil’s Island in French Guiana. Instead, his ordeal was limited to 21 days in a Parisian cell.
But what was life really like for prisoner number 320 535? Sarkozy’s account is filled with the mundane realities of incarceration: a rigid mattress, a mirror so low he had to contort himself just to wash, tray meals that “turned his stomach,” constant noise, and a sky he could never see. His cell, described by The Times as “very grey” and measuring 12 square meters, was equipped with a writing table, fridge, hot plate, television, and a fixed-line phone that could call only pre-approved numbers. A feeble shower and plastic pillows rounded out the accommodations. For a man accustomed to the finer things, these details were more than discomforts—they were daily reminders of his dramatic fall.
Yet, as The Standard notes, Sarkozy’s time behind bars was not without its privileges. He was under constant watch by his personal protection officers and treated with deference by prison staff, who addressed him as “Monsieur le Président.” He received daily visits from his lawyers and, every other day, from his wife Carla Bruni and family. Bruni, herself under investigation for alleged witness tampering, became a source of emotional support, her visits deeply affecting Sarkozy. “I saw my loved ones suffer needlessly,” he reflects in his diary. Even Gérald Darmanin, the minister of justice and a former campaign leader, stopped by to check on him, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the guards.
For Sarkozy, the humiliation of prison was profound. Publicly stripped of his Legion of Honour and isolated from the world, he found the contrast with his former life almost unbearable. “Prison is the ultimate humiliation if you have known high office, power and social deference,” The Standard observes. The noisy, claustrophobic environment—at times punctuated by a neighbor singing songs from The Lion King—was, in Sarkozy’s words, “hell.”
To cope, Sarkozy clung to routine and discipline. He avoided the standard prison fare, subsisting instead on cereal bars, dairy products, mineral water, apple juice, and a few sweet treats. He was allowed an hour each day in a mini-fitness studio, where he imagined himself jogging through the forests and beaches of his memories. “If to learn is to stay young, prison rejuvenated me because I learnt a lot there,” he writes. Almost miraculously, his chronic migraines vanished during his stay, and he was pleased to maintain his weight at 70 kilograms—no small feat given the circumstances.
But perhaps the most striking transformation was spiritual. On his first night in prison, Sarkozy found himself spontaneously kneeling in prayer—a moment he describes as his first positive experience behind bars. “Since I had to bear a cross, I should do it by elevating myself spiritually,” he writes. Sunday meetings with the prison chaplain became a source of solace, and he credits his ordeal with teaching him humility and giving him a “new soul.” “This has taught me to be modest. I pray that it remains in me because I truly need it,” he confides. The memoir’s tone, as The Times notes, is less confessional than calculated—a blend of self-pity, pride, and political messaging.
Sarkozy’s book is not just a personal account; it’s a strategic move in his ongoing legal and political battles. He insists that the fight he is leading “is much greater than one that could be reduced to my person alone.” Throughout, he maintains his innocence, suggesting that his real crime may have been his willingness to challenge the French judiciary years earlier. “It was never my intention to provoke, to fight or to challenge anyone. Only to affirm my complete and total innocence,” he declares.
Notably, Sarkozy’s memoir takes a surprising turn into contemporary French politics. For the first time, he calls for a more respectful attitude toward the National Rally and its leader, Marine Le Pen, arguing that “excluding them from the republican sphere would be a mistake and aberration. They represent so many French people … Treating them with respect seems both natural and necessary.” It’s a calculated gesture, perhaps aimed at broadening his political appeal or even laying the groundwork for a pardon, should he find himself back in prison.
Comparisons to other famous prisoners abound in the media coverage. The Standard draws a parallel between Sarkozy and Paul Verlaine, the 19th-century poet who found spiritual renewal during 555 days in prison. Like Verlaine, Sarkozy claims to have emerged a better man and a better Christian, though only time will tell if this transformation endures.
In the end, Le Journal d’un prisonnier serves as both a testament to Sarkozy’s resilience and a carefully crafted plea for public sympathy. Whether it succeeds in reshaping his legacy or swaying the courts remains to be seen. For now, the former president stands as a symbol of both the heights of power and the depths of disgrace—his story a reminder that, in France, no one is truly above the law.
