The Compliments of the Season, A La Carte

By 1894 Thomas Nast had lost his position at Harper's Weekly, his fortune, and much of his political influence. This self-caricature confronts that ruin directly. A squat, scowling figure—Nast himself, rendered in his own exaggerated style with bulbous nose and heavy jowls, the physiognomic shorthand he had spent thirty years applying to enemies—turns out empty trouser pockets to the viewer. The gesture translates the seasonal greeting 'compliments of the season' into bitter irony: he has nothing left to give. The phrase 'a la carte' sharpens the joke—pick whatever you like from the menu; the cupboard is bare. Nast signs and dates the drawing at lower right, making the confession deliberate and public.