On a warm June morning in 1828, a 29-year-old man, five feet three inches tall, fat, poorly dressed, with greasy hair and sagging stockings, stood on the Place Vendome in Paris. He had recently incurred 50 thousand francs of debt attempting to run a failed printing company, and had two mistresses (one a duchess), both old enough to be his mother. To his credit, with dozens of potboilers of no literary merit whatsoever, all published under various pseudonyms, he stood staring up at Napoleon’s column. After a few moments contemplating his hero, he remarked to a man who was probably his only friend, “Some day soon, I, too, will conquer the world.” The young man was Honoré de Balzac.
Balzac was also one of the most interesting characters of the 19th century and lived, in the 50 years allotted to him, three or four life spans crammed into one. He was a lover of women (mostly rich and many of them with titles), a man of business (who never once had an unqualified success either in investments or management), and a public figure (who was followed, harassed, and ridiculed in a way comparable to how Michael Jackson is today). As a novelist, he wrote 30 failed and virtually forgotten novels before beginning the work for which he is famous: the unfinished cycle of 100 fictional works known as The Human Comedy.