August 19 Sunday – Frederic Chapin wrote from Oak Park, Ill. to Sam concerning existing rights of dramatization for P&P, possible claims by Daniel Frohman, and of Elisabeth Marbury’s position as Sam’s agent. Frank Pixley, a good friend of Chapin’s who wrote The Burgomaster (1901), King Dodo (1902), The Prince of Pilsen (1903), etc. was to write the play and lyrics, but objected to having to share royalties with Marbury [MTP]. Note: Frank Pixley (1867-1919), librettist, collaborated with Gustav Luders on popular musicals; he is not Frank M. Pixley, Am. journalist and politician who d. 1895. Not in Gribben.

Note: The MTP catalogs Lyon’s response  as “on or after 19 August.” three days estimated postal time is allowed here, giving ca. Aug. 23. Also, a separate sheet dated Sept. 11 is included in this listing, and is placed in that date.

The New York Times, p.SM9 ran a feature article, “The Feminine Magazine Trust” bemoaning the decline of top male writers and the ascendancy of female writers. In part: Of late the voice of the Muck Rake has been loud in the land. Few monopolistic corporations have failed to feel the cold steel of investigation in their very vitals.

      But there is in existence one ruthless monopoly, one that has been reaching out inch by inch, killing competition on every hand with absolute mercilessness, which has so far eluded the keenest eyed of the exposers. Untrammeled it continues on its way. Unless it be summarily checked it bids fair to do away within a decade with every vestige of opposition.

      It is the Feminine Literary and Artistic Trust.

      The record of the advance of this combine, appalling in its record of cruelty and rapaciousness, is enough to make strong men weep.

….

      Alas! Mark Twain and William Dean Howells are old. Frank Norris is dead—assassinated, men whisper, by emissaries of the trust. Upton Sinclair has been driven into Socialism and Winston Churchill into politics. Henry James long ago was forced to live in England. And now Booth Tarkington and Charles Dana Gibson, fearing for their lives, have also fled the country.

      Is there to be no Messiah to cast the chains from man? Will no Washington, no Cromwell, raise the battle cry and lead male authors and artists to victory?

      Or will every man be driven from the Eden of literature and art and the power of woman become as absolute and despotic in our magazines as it is now in our kitchens?