Articles on Maretzek libel suit

“Maretzek has just commenced a suit against the editors of a well-known Sunday paper for libel. The articles were drawn forth by the refusal of Max to give the opera advertisement and the usual free ticket to said paper. It is thought that Max will obtain judgment for damages, which he lays at ten thousand dollars.” Signed T.W.M.

Part of City Summary.

“To think how the player folks are carrying on!  They’ve got so much money, that they needs [sic] must spend some of it in litigation.  All right, friends of the drama; the Courts will lessen your pile, depend upon it, and the lawyers will not let you go till they have skinned you like an eel.  You’ll see.  First, there’s Mr. Max Maretzek—he professes to believe that one of the Sunday papers–our mercurial neighbor–has libeled [sic] him and his grand opera; and so professing to believe, he has entered suit against the mercurial firm, actually claiming damages in the sum of ten thousand dollars!  Just as if such a paper could damage anybody to the extent of ten cents, let alone ten thousand dollars!  Max must have become non compos mentis–we believe that’s correct–mixed up, as he is, with such an inharmonious congregation of harmonious singers.  He’s not himself at all, or he’d never fight newspaper people, for our chaps must have the best of it in the end; it costs us nothing for cutting our enemy up in the paper; if he wants to reply, he must pay 50 cents a line for editorial opinions, and soon his ammunition must run out.  Now, Max, let us advise you, as a disinterested friend, to retire from the suit, and never attempt to buck against newspaper people again; for, is it not recorded that, ‘the pen is mightier than the sword?’  Isn’t it?  And are not all newspaper men entirely great?  Hay?  Aint [sic] they?  We’ve no love for our mercurial neighbors, for they once sought to run us off the track; but in the ‘collusion’ that followed, they met with a serious reverse, and had to switch off.  Had we been a miserable singer, or player, or nigger minstrel, or prize fighter, or sewing girl, they’d have beaten us; but with a paper machine to back us up, we made the feathers fly, and the mercurial chaps were soon shorn of their wings.  Maximillian Maretzek, you must switch off, too, or they’ll floor you as we grassed them.  Think over it, impresario, think over it.”