Act 1. Right Before Exile (1813–1814) — The Betrayal of the Press Following the disastrous Russian campaign in 1812, the French press, which had once fervently praised Napoleon, began to turn cold. Le Moniteur Universel, long serving as Napoleon's official mouthpiece, chose silence over victory reports after the Imperial Army's crushing defeat at the Battle of Leipzig in 1813.
In March 1814, as the allied forces advanced to the outskirts of Paris, La Gazette de France reported: "The Emperor has given everything for France. But now, France can no longer shed blood for him."
Royalist newspapers were even more explicit: "The era of the tyrant is over. Only the House of Bourbon can save France."
On April 6, 1814, Napoleon signed his unconditional abdication at the Palace of Fontainebleau. Instantly, the press was plastered with headlines welcoming King Louis XVIII: "Liberty has returned! The legitimate monarchy is restored!" Napoleon was exiled to the small Mediterranean island of Elba. And the press forgot him.
Act 2. After Exile (May 1814 – Early 1815) — Oblivion and Mockery On Elba, Napoleon was no longer an emperor; at best, he was an object of curiosity. The British newspaper The Times reported on him with a satirical tone: "The little emperor of Elba, inspecting his island again today." "Napoleon reviews his army of 700 men—that is the entirety of his empire."
Meanwhile, the French press continued its unanimous praise for Louis XVIII: "Our 'Longed-for' (Le Désiré) Louis XVIII has returned! France has now escaped the madness of the tyrant and entered an era of peace and order."
Up until January 1815, the newspapers were filled only with reports of the King. Napoleon was long forgotten. "Under His Majesty's benevolent rule, France has once again become the center of Europe. The people are enjoying a peaceful daily life, free from the Emperor's oppressive conscriptions."
But on Elba, Napoleon was not silent. He managed his island, trained his army, and waited.
🦅 Act 3. Today, February 26, 1815 — The Day Everything Changed Evading the surveillance of the British Navy, Napoleon boarded the brig L'Inconstant. His force consisted of 1,100 men. Their weapons? Only rifles and a few cannons.
Act 4. The Shifting Headlines — The Great Reversal of the Press As Napoleon marched north toward Paris, the language the newspapers used to describe the exact same man changed by the day. On March 1, royalist newspapers reported with a mix of anger and terror: "The Corsican Ogre (Cannibal) has landed at the Gulf of Juan."
By March 5, the tone had become slightly more neutral: "Napoleon Bonaparte has passed through Grasse."
On March 7, the modifier 'monster' completely vanished: "Bonaparte occupies Grenoble."
On March 10, they used his first name alone for the first time: "Napoleon enters Lyon. The crowds cheer."
On March 14, the title of 'Emperor' made its return: "His Majesty the Emperor is advancing toward the capital..."
By March 18, the praise was undeniable: "Napoleon the Great will enter Paris tomorrow."
On March 20, the press fully reinstated him: "His Imperial Majesty has returned to the Tuileries. France, glory has returned!" All of this took exactly 20 days.
Act 5. A Single Upright Pen However, on March 19, amid the immense tension just one day before Napoleon's entry into Paris, a single pen remained firmly pointed at Napoleon's heart. It belonged to Benjamin Constant, the greatest liberal intellectual of his time. That morning, as the press began to praise "General Napoleon," Constant published a signed column in the Journal des Débats, fully expecting to die for it:
"I will not be a miserable turncoat, crawling from one power to another! He is Attila, he is Genghis Khan. I will resist to the very end for the freedom of France!"
Constant packed his bags, clutching his will. Once 'Genghis Khan' entered Paris, he was certain his head would head straight for the guillotine.
Act 6. The Plot Twist On March 20, after entering Paris without firing a single shot, Napoleon scoffed at the sycophantic articles in Le Moniteur and tossed them aside. Instead, he ordered his men to bring Benjamin Constant to him immediately. Dragged before the Emperor and expecting death, Constant was met with a surprising command:
"Your writing is quite sharp. You called me Genghis Khan? Good. Then use that formidable pen to draft a new 'liberal constitution' for me. Limit my power with your own hands."
Constant would later record this deeply paradoxical situation in his own Journal intime (private diary).
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