Published in April 1891, this cartoon from Judge depicts factional maneuvering within the Democratic Party as debates over Free Silver intensify ahead of the 1892 election. Grover Cleveland is shown being prodded by party figures pressing new demands and attempting to reshape the party’s direction.
Rather than arguing policy, the image focuses on political pressure itself—teasing, persistence, and leverage used to test authority. Drawn by Bernhard Gillam, the cartoon reflects Judge’s skepticism toward internal party gamesmanship and the tactics used to push established figures out of step with a changing political landscape.
In this 1883 Puck cartoon, Bernhard Gillam exposes the rot inside America’s political patronage system. A line of would-be Congressmen sits on a bench labeled “Congressional Seats,” waiting to be chosen like customers at a marketplace. Enter James Gordon Bennett of the New York Herald, offering to help “old gentlemen” find their way into office—if the political winds shift in their favor. Gillam paints the whole scene as a cynical transaction: patched clothing, improvised credentials, and men who look more desperate than qualified.
The joke lands because the corruption was real. Political machines traded influence for loyalty, and newspapers wielded outsized power in determining who might get a seat.
More than a century later, the details have changed—but the critique of access, privilege, and backroom politics feels strikingly contemporary.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In this 1884 Puck cover, Bernhard Gillam lampoons the era’s loudest political showmen: the self-styled “knights” who thunder into public office armed with nothing but bluster, vanity, and slogans. The cartoon turns a would-be statesman into a Don Quixote figure—riding high on ego while his page trails behind, weighed down by banners of empty “issues,” bloody-shirt theatrics, and partisan noise.
It’s a sharp reminder that political windbags aren’t new. Gilded Age corruption thrived on theatrics over substance—and the cartoon calls it out with surgical clarity. More than a century later, the joke still lands.
A razor-sharp 1884 Puck satire by Bernhard Gillam, showing politicians dressed as Renaissance courtiers fighting over a gigantic pile of “surplus” gold — the product of over-taxation and government mismanagement. Every figure is a type: the self-satisfied king, the grasping ministers, the scheming advisors, and the theatrical fools begging for their share of the public treasury. The cartoon unmasks a political class more eager to divide spoils than serve citizens. This print comes from a German-language edition of Puck, which kept all the original English captions in the artwork.
Originally published to expose elite corruption and mock the pageantry of power, it still resonates today.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In this 1884 Puck cover—printed in German but published for American readers—the artist imagines a “Wall Street cleaner” thundering through the financial district, sweeping out gamblers, stock-jobbers, and speculative fraud with a giant “Clearing House” brush. It’s a jab at the era’s reckless over-certification schemes and a reminder that markets crash hardest when greed sets the pace. More than a century later, the message hits just as sharply: unchecked speculation and political cowardice still distort the economy, and the people who cause the damage always try to pretend they’re innocent. Historical satire like this exposes the cycle—grift, crash, denial—that unfettered power repeats again and again.
Authentic 19th-century resistance art, revived for a modern audience. Sip from a deep black canvas that turns your morning ritual into a quiet, mindful moment.
A razor-sharp 1884 Puck satire by Bernhard Gillam, showing politicians dressed as Renaissance courtiers fighting over a gigantic pile of “surplus” gold — the product of over-taxation and government mismanagement. Every figure is a type: the self-satisfied king, the grasping ministers, the scheming advisors, and the theatrical fools begging for their share of the public treasury. The cartoon unmasks a political class more eager to divide spoils than serve citizens. This print comes from a German-language edition of Puck, which kept all the original English captions in the artwork. The German text appears only in the cast list and bottom line — part of the historical publication and preserved here for authenticity. Originally published to expose elite corruption and mock the pageantry of power, it still resonates today. Authoritarians thrive when public wealth becomes private favor, and when government becomes a court of sycophants instead of a service to the people.
This is resistance art with teeth — exposing the kind of corruption that thrives in plain sight.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon illustrated by Frederick Burr Opper, a crooked Pied Piper cast as James G. Blaine puffs on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions.
More than a century later, it still hits home. A restored illustration reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, James G. Blaine appears as a crooked Pied Piper, puffing on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. This edition was printed for Puck’s German-speaking readership, which is why the caption beneath the image is in German—but the cartoon itself retains its original English labels and satire. Nothing has been altered; the artwork is presented exactly as it appeared in 1884. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions. More than a century later, it still hits home.
A restored antique illustration reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, a police officer strolls arm in arm with a shady “policy dealer,” united not by duty or principle but— as the caption says — by the almighty dollar. It’s a crisp piece of resistance satire that cuts through the myths of policing and power, showing how public authority and private vice often move in step when profit leads the way.
A sharp reminder that when power and profit align, accountability is the first thing to disappear.
This 1889 Judge Magazine cover turns the fight to host the 1893 World’s Fair into a piece of pure political theater. Chicago, New York, St. Louis, and Washington appear like anxious suitors peeking through the curtain, each one hoping to be chosen while a family watches the drama unfold. It’s a gentle but sharp jab at how civic pride, national ambition, and political lobbying often slide into spectacle. Originally printed at a moment when cities were pouring money, favors, and political capital into winning the Fair, this illustration captures the competition with humor and a surprisingly modern eye.
Over a century later, it still reads as a reminder that the scramble for power and prestige has never been rational — just louder, more frantic, and always a bit ridiculous.
Trying to Fish McGinty from the Bottom of the Sea appeared in Judge Magazine in 1889, during an era when American politics was drenched in patronage, bribery, and machine control. “McGinty” was Judge’s running symbol for the incompetent, scandal-ridden party boss who keeps dragging his allies down with him. Here he sits literally on the ocean floor—entangled in wreckage and corruption—while party operatives desperately try to haul him back to the surface. The message was unmistakable then, and still relevant today: you can’t rescue a sinking political machine by pretending it isn’t sinking.
Judge’s artists used humor to expose the cowardice of politicians who protect failed leaders instead of confronting the rot that keeps dragging democracy under.
This 1889 Judge cover by Victor Gillam turns the autumn elections into a baseball showdown—one where the Republican Party can’t keep its head in the game. The elephant at the plate, dressed in full GOP uniform, is surrounded by opponents ready to capitalize on every mistake, while the caption warns that the party is playing so carelessly it risks being “struck out.” It’s classic Gilded Age political satire: sharp, funny, and brutally honest about how complacency and corruption undermine a democracy.
Over a century later, the message still holds—authoritarian movements thrive when the party in power stops playing by the rules and starts taking voters for granted.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
Santa Claus in a Quandary appeared in Judge Magazine during the height of the Gilded Age fights over the Republican “spoils system.” Here, President Benjamin Harrison—drawn as a weary Santa—staggers under the weight of impossible political demands, while party bosses Platt and Foraker lurk in the trees demanding their cut of federal appointments. The oversized basket labeled “Fill her right up or you are another political failure” nails the point: corruption wasn’t subtle, it was expected. Judge’s artists used holiday whimsy to expose a very real political rot—how patronage, party pressure, and back-room dealmaking strangled the public interest.
More than a century later, the dynamic is painfully familiar: authoritarian movements thrive when loyalty matters more than competence and when political bosses treat democracy like a gift bag to divide among themselves.
A sharp piece of historical resistance art, perfect for anyone who believes good governance beats corruption every time.
This 1889 cartoon from Judge Magazine skewers James G. Blaine’s dream of steering South America into the arms of U.S. power. Blaine—drawn here as a self-styled frontier “guide”—tries to lead the nations of Latin America toward American markets whether they want guiding or not. The artist exposes the arrogance baked into this foreign-policy fantasy: a belief that other nations exist to be directed, managed, or economically harvested at Washington’s convenience. More than a century later, the joke still lands. Imperial posturing, manufactured influence, and “we know what’s best for you” politics remain the old tricks of would-be global strongmen.
This piece calls that out with the sharp humor of the Gilded Age—reminding us how easily power slides into domination when left unchecked. Authentic resistance art from 1889, revived for a new fight.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In the 1890s, ballot reform was so threatening to political machines that they fought it tooth and nail. This Judge cartoon captured that fear — corruption hanging on for dear life while the idea of fair elections pulled away faster than they could stop it.
More than a century later, the cast of characters has changed, but the panic looks the same. Whenever democracy becomes harder to rig, the same old forces — different names, same instincts — scramble to block it. This artwork isn’t about left or right. It’s about the people who fear fair elections, and the democratic reforms they try to drag down with them.
Vintage satire, modern warnings. Real ink. Real history. Anti-authoritarian then and now.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1890 Judge cover by Grant E. Hamilton, “La Grippe” — the flu epidemic then sweeping the country — is illustrated as a smug, cloaked visitor paying a call on a bedridden Uncle Sam. Bottles of patent “cures,” useless pills, and a wrecked sickroom complete the scene. It’s medical satire, yes, but also a criticism of how America responds when crisis walks in the door: too little preparation, too much bravado, and a nation left holding the bill. A century later, the image feels uncomfortably familiar.
As modern political movements deny science, sabotage public health, and treat national illness as a culture-war prop, this cartoon reminds us that epidemics don’t care about slogans — and that ignoring reality has always come with a cost.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In 1890, Judge Magazine took aim at Chicago’s swaggering bid to host the World’s Fair. The artist imagines the city as an overconfident cowboy straining beneath a globe-sized promise, while Uncle Sam looks on with a familiar mix of annoyance and inevitability. It’s a classic American problem: leaders who chase spectacle, prestige, and headlines—and then expect the public to carry the weight when reality hits.
This piece lands squarely in the tradition of resistance satire that exposes political vanity and the empty theatrics of power.
Then as now, grand projects can become distractions from real governance, transparency, and accountability.
In 1890, Judge magazine imagined the Republican Party as an unstoppable force of “progress,” crushing obstacles and dismissing all opposition as mere obstruction. Seen from the vantage point of today, the irony is impossible to miss. The cartoon tells us more about political mythology than political reality. Then as now, powerful parties love to portray themselves as the righteous engine of history — even when their real movement leads somewhere far darker. What gets branded as “moving forward” often means rolling over anyone who stands in the way of concentrated power. Looking at this image today, the warning is clear: authoritarian drift always masks itself as momentum. It never calls itself what it is.
Vintage satire repurposed for a modern truth: progress isn’t measured by who shouts the loudest, but by who protects democracy instead of trampling it.
In 1890, Judge ran this blistering satire of New York’s so-called “law and order” institutions. The cartoon tears into the Police Department and District Attorney’s Office—showing bribery, stolen-goods rings, and corruption piled so high it can’t be ignored. A press investigator arrives to document the mess, while politicians scramble to avoid accountability.
This vintage illustration exposes the same rot we continue fighting today—selective prosecution, politicized policing, and the corruption that authoritarian movements depend on.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In this satirical Judge spread, Bernhard Gillam recasts America’s major political players as nervous animals crowding toward an improvised “Ark” run by the Farmers’ Alliance. The message is clear: in an age of corruption, graft, and economic upheaval, even the most powerful party figures scramble for cover. Gillam uses the familiar Noah’s Ark story to skewer the era’s political opportunism—showing lions, elephants, foxes, and donkeys all trying to dodge a storm they helped create.
It’s a razor-sharp commentary on how political coalitions behave when the public mood shifts: unity suddenly matters, principles bend, and every creature hustles for a spot on the next safe ship.
More than a century later, the scene feels familiar. The storm changes, the scramble remains.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
This 1891 illustration by Grant E. Hamilton for Judge reduces the U.S. Senate to a single, overstuffed chair. Lawmakers scramble, shove, and collapse over one another, each clutching scraps of legislation and factional labels, while the institution itself grinds to a halt.
Hamilton’s satire is not aimed at a single party or personality, but at a political system consumed by its own internal struggles. Power becomes crowded, inward-facing, and ultimately inert—busy occupying space rather than exercising responsibility. The result is motion without movement, process without outcome.
More than a century later, the image remains unsettlingly legible. It captures a familiar pattern: institutions so congested with ambition and obstruction that they become their own greatest obstacle.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
Grant E. Hamilton’s Judge illustration skewers the era’s rigged gambling rackets—and the political corruption that made them possible. A naïve bettor in a “Fool’s Cap” places his wager while, just over the fence, a row of crooks labeled “Scoundrel,” “Blockie,” “Quincy,” “Swindler Thief,” and more manipulate the entire race with dangling fishing poles. The “judges” themselves sit in a tower that’s every bit as compromised.
What looks like a farce was deadly serious in its time: systems built so the powerful win and the public loses. More than a century later, Hamilton’s message still lands—when the game is rigged, the outcome isn’t fate, it’s design.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
Grant E. Hamilton’s Judge illustration skewers the era’s rigged gambling rackets—and the political corruption that made them possible. A naïve bettor in a “Fool’s Cap” places his wager while, just over the fence, a row of crooks labeled “Scoundrel,” “Blockie,” “Quincy,” “Swindler Thief,” and more manipulate the entire race with dangling fishing poles. The “judges” themselves sit in a tower that’s every bit as compromised.
What looks like a farce was deadly serious in its time: systems built so the powerful win and the public loses. More than a century later, Hamilton’s message still lands—when the game is rigged, the outcome isn’t fate, it’s design.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, Grover Cleveland is depicted by Victor Gillam as a showy jackdaw parading in borrowed peacock feathers—each labeled with a different state election. The joke is simple and brutal: a politician trying to claim victories he didn’t actually win. Today’s authoritarian-leaning politicians have perfected this move—declaring triumph where there was none, spinning losses into “stolen victories,” and treating democratic processes as props for personal glory.
Opportunism, ego, and the hunger for unearned power aren’t new—but calling them out never goes out of style.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
This illustration comes from an 1891 issue of Judge, capturing a moment when political elites proudly defended a tariff law not because it worked, but because no one had the courage to change it. The text openly admits the damage was already done and the politics were too risky for anyone to fix the mess—a perfect snapshot of Gilded Age self-congratulation. A century later, it feels familiar: leaders praising “victories” that mostly protect themselves, while the public absorbs the fallout.
Real history, real satire, and a reminder that political cowardice has a long American pedigree. Tariffs: Bad policy, great cowardice.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
Published just days after the Wounded Knee Massacre, this 1891 Judge cover by Bernhard Gillam delivers one of the sharpest moral indictments of U.S. Indian policy ever put to print. A smug senator strolls past a skeletal camp labeled “Starved into rebellion, then shot,” exposing the government’s long pattern of starving Native communities, provoking resistance, and then justifying brutal retaliation.
The cartoon flips the era’s racist slogan — “the only good Indian is the dead one” — to expose the cruelty behind it. This isn’t humor at Indigenous expense; it’s satire aimed squarely at the policymakers who engineered displacement, broken treaties, and mass death.
As authoritarian movements try again to sanitize history, images like this matter. They remind us that resistance art has always existed — and that confronting state violence is not new, but necessary.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, a parade of political insiders trudges through the snow toward the gates of “Miss Columbia,” only to find a sign that reads: “Not at home this year.” The message was sharp then and sharper now—when corruption, entitlement, and backroom influence start lining up for their usual privileges, a healthy democracy has every right to slam the gate shut. This artwork poked fun at the power brokers who thought the nation owed them access. Today, it reads like a reminder that the republic belongs to the people, not to the grifters, deal-makers, and would-be authoritarians who keep trying to sneak in through the side door.
Authentic Gilded Age resistance art—because the faces change, but the corruption never does.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, a military-style brass band refuses to keep playing the same tired tune for their blustering commander. The musicians are done, the public is done, and the leader is furious that no one wants his one-note message anymore. More than a century later, the scene feels painfully familiar. When political movements rely on repetition instead of ideas—and when leaders demand loyalty instead of results—the “music” always falls flat.
This illustration calls out the danger of stagnant, authoritarian politics: the refusal to evolve, the insistence on obedience, and the belief that the public will never demand something better.
A perfect piece for anyone who’s tired of propaganda loops, personality cults, and leaders who only know how to play one broken tune.
This 1891 cartoon from Judge turns the biblical story of Samson and Delilah into a battle for American democracy. Columbia — standing in for the public — quietly cuts away the “strength” of a corrupt political boss, with shears labeled Ballot Reform, Registration, and The Australian Ballot. In its own era, this image mocked the political machines that thrived on secrecy, intimidation, and rigged systems. More than a century later, the symbolism lands even harder. The tools have changed, but the threat is the same: powerful figures doing everything they can to keep the public disorganized, distracted, or asleep. And once again, the answer is the same too — protect the vote, defend the process, and cut authoritarian power down to size.
Resistance art isn’t new. Americans have been fighting corruption since before these pages were printed. You’re holding a piece of that ongoing story.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
This 1891 Judge Magazine cover skewers political theatrics long before Twitter ever existed. A monk and a court jester—one solemn, one scheming—attempt a “duet” that’s really just noisy, mismatched chaos. Their sheet music jokes about “They’re after me” and “Razzle Dazzle,” mocking politicians who talk harmony while delivering nothing but discord. A century later, the message still lands: when politicians substitute drama for substance, when ego drowns out governance, democracy suffers.
Real historical satire brought back for the present fight—because political dysfunction has always been a warning sign, and these old cartoons saw it coming.
This 1891 Judge illustration exposes a problem as old as American politics: leaders who talk endlessly about “reform” while doing nothing to improve the lives of ordinary people. In the scene, two exhausted farmers stand ankle-deep in discarded “reform” speeches, campaign promises, and empty policy scrolls, while the Capitol dome heckles in the distance. Even Congress is tired of the grift.
A century later, the pattern hasn’t changed. Today’s bad-faith politicians — especially within the modern GOP — still use “reform” as a slogan to justify voter suppression, deregulation, and attacks on democratic institutions.
This piece lands as a reminder that performative politics is a tool of authoritarianism, and that real democracy requires more than speeches: it requires accountability.
Unconditional Surrender appeared in Judge Magazine at a moment when political cowardice was becoming a national joke. Using Civil War imagery, the artist shows so-called “Republican Copperheads” handing themselves over to old Confederate brigadiers — a sharp critique of leaders who claim loyalty to the Union while enabling its enemies. The point was clear then, and remains painfully clear now: authoritarian movements thrive when politicians surrender instead of standing up. This is resistance art with teeth. Judge was warning that appeasement isn’t compromise — it’s complicity.
A perfect piece for anyone who refuses to bow to modern strongmen, culture-war bullies, or would-be tyrants.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
This 1891 Judge magazine cartoon pokes fun at Chicago’s over-the-top campaign to secure the World’s Fair. The “average Chicago man” is shown buried under booster slogans, puffed-up pride, and frantic political pressure—every pocket stuffed with propaganda, every sign insisting the city must win. It’s satire aimed at civic ego and the way power structures hype themselves into inevitability. More than a century later, the joke still lands.
Whenever politicians treat public institutions as tools to boost their own image—or when local power brokers insist that their interests are everyone’s interests—this kind of satire becomes timeless.
In this 1890s Puck centerfold, “Columbus-Puck” arrives not to discover a continent, but to discover something far stranger — American political humor. The scene is packed with the era’s crooked politicians, frantic partisans, and theatrical public figures, all brawling, posing, and performing for attention while ordinary people stand bewildered at the edges. Printed in German for immigrant readers, the cartoon satirizes nationalism, political vanity, and the chaotic spectacle of American democracy in the Gilded Age. Over a century later, the imagery is hauntingly familiar: leaders obsessed with theatrics, crowds whipped into frenzy, and a culture that turns politics into a circus instead of a public good.
This original vintage illustration is perfect for anyone who loves sharp historical satire and resistance art that still speaks directly to the present.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1892 Puck cover, Louis M. Dalrymple exposes a Republican machine so corrupt it openly tries to purchase votes. A party operative, pockets bulging with cash, slips bribe money into envelopes while carrying a rifle and a smug grin. The printed letter beside him—reproduced from an actual political circular—spells out the strategy: pay Democrats to switch their votes and keep the operation secret. Puck specialized in calling out fraud, bribery, and authoritarian tactics masquerading as “moral ideas.” This cover makes clear that the threat to democracy has never come from ordinary voters — but from political insiders willing to buy power at any cost.
More than a century later, it still resonates: corruption erodes democracy when parties treat elections as something to purchase, not something to earn.
Published in July 1896 in Judge, this large-format cartoon anticipates imperial conflict before it arrives, responding directly to the Venezuelan Question while widening its critique to empire more broadly. European powers and the United States appear as caricatured figures advancing with official statements rather than weapons, as a dark shadow stretches between them, signaling consequences already in motion.
Drawn by Grant E. Hamilton, the image targets rhetoric instead of combat. Authority speaks in proclamations, but the direction of power is already visible. Appearing nearly two years before the Spanish-American War, the cartoon reflects a strain of American satire skeptical of expansionist logic and the claims used to justify it.
Original illustration from an 1896 issue of Judge, preserved as an archival artifact of anti-imperial dissent.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
Drawn by Fabien Fabiano for the 1915 issue of La Baïonnette, this spread gathers a series of small scenes around a bold red cross, each capturing a different facet of wartime nursing. The illustrations move from quiet conversations to quick moments of comfort, revealing how medical care relied as much on presence and steadiness as on skill.
Among the vignettes, a bedside exchange offers the clearest expression of the plate’s spirit: a nurse leaning close to reassure a wounded soldier, “You will heal here.” The line distills the mixture of duty, tenderness, and resolve that shaped the daily rhythm of First World War hospitals.
A richly composed portrayal of nursing as both labor and refuge within the broader landscape of war.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
This 1915 La Baïonnette cartoon by Emmanuel Barcet skewers the militarized paranoia that swept France during World War I. Two refined men peer over a ruined hillside and whisper about how “perfect” it once was for a 420-mm gun — the kind of fear-logic that turns ordinary places into imagined battlegrounds. The joke isn’t the woman; it’s how war rewires civilians to see threats everywhere.
A century later, the warning remains the same: fear is a powerful storyteller, and it can redraw a whole landscape long before the fighting begins.
This 1916 page from La Baïonnette, illustrated by Jacques Nam, presents a compact allegory of wartime transformation. In the upper panel, Médor lies at ease, a domestic companion guarding private virtue. Below, the same dog stands alert and watchful, recast as a sentinel of national duty. The caption makes the shift explicit: “Before, I guarded Ninette’s virtue. Now, I guard the honor of France.”
Simple and striking, the image reflects how war quietly redraws the boundaries between private life and public obligation. Loyalty, once personal and familiar, is redefined as a national resource.
Without depicting battle or heroics, the cartoon captures the moral logic of total war, where even everyday symbols are pressed into service.
Published in October 1916, this cover from La Baïonnette presents a stark “before and after” rendering of Kaiser Wilhelm II himself. Split cleanly down the center, the image shows the same imperial figure before the war and after its toll: on one side intact and authoritative, on the other hollowed, darkened, and visibly eroded by prolonged violence.
Signed by Gus Bofa, the image avoids battlefield spectacle in favor of moral indictment. Uniform, rank, and medals remain intact, but the face of command bears the cost of what it has unleashed. The symmetry turns caricature into accusation, suggesting that militarism ultimately consumes those who wield it.
Created at the height of the First World War, the cover reflects a broader current in French wartime satire that treated empire as self-corrosive rather than heroic. Power survives, but only as something depleted.
Illustrated by Adolphe Willette during the First World War, this La Baïonnette image shows the imperial German eagle wounded and forced low, its promise of dominance reduced to exhaustion and blood.
French wartime satire regularly used the eagle to embody militarism and authoritarian power. Here, the symbol is stripped of grandeur and made to confront its own limits.
A century-old example of resistance art: unsentimental, direct, and openly contemptuous of the myth of invincible empire.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
A century-old French satire, now on a mug. From the WWI magazine La Baïonnette, this caricature page mocked the “undesirables” of its day — politicians, profiteers, and blowhards who thought they were untouchable.
The caption reads:
“Quelques têtes d’indésirables — History will take out the trash.”
Perfect for desks, offices, and anyone who appreciates anti-authoritarian humor.
Drawn by Opnor and originally published in the French political magazine La Baïonnette, this 1916 cartoon skewers the machinery of authoritarian bureaucracy. The figure at its center is not solving problems or producing results—he is generating paperwork, defending procedure, and mistaking process for authority.
The satire cuts deeper than its moment. Authoritarian systems do not require effectiveness to function. They require documentation, repetition, and compliance. When power turns inward to protect itself, paperwork becomes not a byproduct, but the weapon.
This is resistance art — not nostalgia. In 1916, the French satirical magazine La Baïonnette used cartoons to challenge authoritarian government culture. They couldn’t openly say “the system is failing,” so they drew the failure instead. A century later, the message still hits: power protecting paperwork instead of people.
Monsieur Lebureau, buried in documents, insists: “I swear the bureaucracy will hold!”
This 1916 La Baïonnette cartoon captures a pattern we still know too well: the comfortable lecturing the wounded about “sacrifice.” A plump rear-guard bourgeois complains about rising prices while a frontline soldier sits bandaged beside him—an early reminder that privilege has always tried to borrow the language of suffering.
In Gilded Age 2.0, the script hasn’t changed much. Those insulated from the consequences keep insisting they’re the ones who feel them most. Satire like this makes the gap impossible to ignore.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
“À la porte les tyrans” (“Out with the tyrants”). Drawn by A. Willette during the First World War, this La Baïonnetteillustration channels popular anger into blunt visual command. Tyranny is not debated, reformed, or negotiated—it is expelled.
Revisited today, the image reads less as propaganda than as warning. Authoritarian power rarely exits on its own. It leaves only when challenged, resisted, and pushed back beyond the threshold.
Illustrated by Charles Léandre and published in 1916, this drawing captures the weary theater of political power at work. Two officials confer, gesture, and posture, insulated by procedure while real consequences remain offstage.
The caption reads simply: La séance continue — “The session continues.” It is less an observation than an indictment. Meetings extend, debates circle, and responsibility dissolves into ritual.
A century later, the mechanics are familiar. Authority still performs continuity as a substitute for action. The language has changed. The routine has not.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
Drawn by Ray Ordner and published in 1916 in La Baïonnette, this French political cartoon targets the circular logic of authoritarian bureaucracy. An official issues the command: “Sort every document… then destroy them.” Obedience replaces purpose, and procedure becomes power even when the work itself is rendered meaningless.
A century later, the joke still lands. Bureaucratic authority continues to assert itself through rules, paperwork, and compliance for their own sake—proof that absurdity is not a flaw of authoritarian systems, but one of their tools.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
Cami stages an explosive encounter between Charlot and the Kaiser, turning imperial swagger into slapstick. The Tramp—balanced on a chair and armed with an oversized mallet—brings it down on the Kaiser’s spiked helmet with comic precision. The cartoon’s theatrical costumes and outsized props mock wartime pomposity, showing how performance and power often collapse into farce.
A sharp example of Cami’s 1917 satire, where humor doubles as critique.
La Baïonnette’s 1917 caricature imagines Kaiser Wilhelm II attempting to enlist “Master Charlot” in a theatrical imperial fantasy. The French caption has the Kaiser saying, “Voulez-vous jouer avec moi, master Charlot? Prenez cette couronne, vous allez me sacrer empereur du monde” (Do you want to play with me, Master Charlot? Take this crown and you will crown me emperor of the world). The joke turns on Charlot’s quiet refusal: instead of cooperating, he appears with an oversized mallet, poised to puncture the spectacle.
Pierre Henri Cami’s wartime satire exposes the brittle vanity of authoritarian ambition during the First World War, using Charlie Chaplin’s screen persona to puncture the pretensions of power. A striking piece of early twentieth-century political humor with enduring relevance.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
Illustrated by Fabien Fabiano in January 1917, this La Baïonnette cover captures a quieter side of the First World War. A decorated French soldier smiles while holding a small portrait of a woman—treated less as a keepsake than as a lucky charm.
Titled Fétiches et Mascottes, the image reflects how wartime culture encouraged soldiers to carry talismans and symbolic objects as emotional stabilizers.
Affection becomes portable; intimacy is reduced to an image meant to steady men amid industrial violence.
This 1889 Judge Magazine illustration shows a stagecoach halted on the snowy plains by a rowdy band of armed frontiersmen who treat intimidation as holiday cheer. The caption’s joke—calling the gang “Shanty Claws”—was Judge’s way of mocking America’s romanticized Wild West mythos, where mob rule and gun swagger were dressed up as folklore. Viewed today, the scene resonates uncomfortably: groups who imagine themselves as patriots while using fear and force to control others. Judge was warning that violence wrapped in cultural costume is still violence—and still a threat to the common good.
A bold piece of authentic resistance art from the Gilded Age, revived for a moment when democratic courage matters more than ever.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.