The Montgomery advertiser., 1909-06-20

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 The superIative praise of Balzac that proclaimed him the equal. and even me superior of Shakespeare as a \ delineator of human nature, has be- gun to give place to a. more sane though equally appreciative judgment e fthis great writer. He could describe human personalities and individuals wonderfully well. But we are begin hing to realize that the world--a very extraordinary and wonderful and bril- liant world--which he created was more . Balzac world than a real one. He had a great poetic mind, he was ( marvellous observer, he wrote with a hre-tipped pen. For these and other great things, Honore de Balzac will remain one of the beacons of litera- ture. But though he saw well, he He saw Vice and Crime and Depravity and sensuousness and all other un- worthy things too large.
 '.rhe pair of nut-crackers' was the happy thought irreverent name that the boulevard idlers fastened on the two friends Pons and schmucixeA equally gifted with genius ana equal- lys simple in the ways of the world. despite the hard lessons that the world had been administering to them con-. stantly.
 Pons was a piece of Empire furni- ture. In the middle of the nineteenth century he wore the habiliments of lures of garments, and under a shock. Ing silk hat, he carried face that proclaimed pathetically that no wo- man could ever have loved its owner 4 huge Don Quixote nose stood out between two large, long ears. His other features were more like spheri- cal knobs than features. But the ug- laness of this poor old man did not cause one to smile, for from that face peered two sad, gray eyes that ap- pealed for pity with their intense melancholy.
 M. Sylvain Pons was no less than the same M. Pons whose cantata had carried on the laurels at the Insti- tute, and whose operas and ballads had entranced the world in 1915 and 1s16. Now, is his sixties he was con- auctor of an orchestra in a boulevard theatre. and, thanks to his ugIiness, he held the post also of music-master In several boarding schools for young ladies.
 Poor Pons had gone out of fashion. This man. this true artist, who loved beauty with a heart that remained ever fresh, ever pure, ever loyal through youth and age. would not yield his ideals to the mode. So the mode warb1ed the songs of others who were more amenabte.
 Pons did not become misanthropic. Quite simply he accepted his fate. and went about his lesson-givins and other til-paid work as gently and faithfully as such children as he do. He did not even indulge in that high 1y proper and satisfactory luxury of the forgotten-the poisonous criticism of the successful rivals. Pons, hope Jessly out of fashion even in this mat ter, wept tears when he heard a good hit of music. He had the genius of admiration, of comprehension.
 It was this that made him a col-. aector. For forty years he had spent the greater part of his beggariy fn4 come Tor beautiful thlngsypa ntingss anything, but always a masterpiece. He had an unerring scent for a true work of art. Barely could he afford to pay more than fifty francs for any. thing. The most beautiful thing in the world had no existence for Pons If its price amounted to three hum dred francs.
 That limited his opportunities: but tn the search for the things he loved with so unsuitable a passion Pons had the legs of a stag and the ingenuity, craft and herceness of a savage on the iwarpath. So 1t happened that in his forty years of collecting he had 'amassed truly marvellous museum that would have set the princes of the bric-a-brac world crazy with longing and envy. 4a.E
 Pons, however, never attended great sales or frequented the shops of the .weH7known dealers. He worshipped his stxty-seven paintings, among which were Durer and Sebastian hA nN~a 4olA Porta and Hobbema, which four pie lures alone were practically priceless: and he walked adoringly among his fourteen statues and his buhl cabinets and carvings and snuf boxes and never knew that the Pons collection would bring from seven to eight hun dred thousand francs.
 He was clever only in pursuing one of these objects of his affeotion. In all other things he was ss innocent as a child. Therefore he starved himself to buy something that he .fancied. Nothing could express his love for art so well as to say this, for Pons had one of the seven dead Iy sins He was gourmand.
 In the days of his celebrity he had been forced to keep e notebook of his dinner engagements. Thus he con- tracted the fatal habit of dining we'll In that epoch under the Empire many a private host initiated the spIendor Of the queens and kings who then nlled Paris to oVerflowinE
 When the splendid era vanished Pons found himself adrift, confronted by the Spartan broth of eighteen penny eating houses. He shuddered. He could not exchange the choice dishes, the choice wines. the choice fruits, for food that his soul and stomach abhorred.
 Unable to command the state of distinguished guest any longer, he accepted the position of parasite. By executing innumerable commissions, by dischargtng the functions of messenger or even a servant, he con trtved to keep himself on the list of occasional guests at a few houses where there were good cooks.
 He was oldn poor and plain--a three-fold poverty that made a bleak and red-nosed winter for poor Pons
 The passion for dining out was the one sorrowful shadow that darkened the existence of the other half of this pair of nut-crackers Schmucke bewailed the fatal habit and pondered over plans for curing his friend of the degrading vice; for the exquisite sense of smell which distinguishes the dog belongs in a moral sense to the genuine friend: He scents from afar the sorrows of his friend, and divines their hidden sources.
 Schmucke had retained all the art lessness of infancy. He was a great musician. but he remained a music