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.
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.
