Life, 1910-10-06 · page 22 of 60
Life — October 6, 1910 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical poem parodies Longfellow's "The Midnight Rider," replacing heroic narrative with domestic complaint about bridge—the card game that was enormously popular among American society women in the early 20th century. The satire targets the obsessive nature of bridge culture: a woman describes her anxiety while playing, her husband's disapproval, her partner's silent contempt, and competitive social pressure. The illustrations show the chaos of a crowded bridge party (top) and whimsical vignettes (bottom). The joke is the gap between bridge's perceived importance and actual stakes. The poem escalates her emotional distress absurdly—from poor play to fleeing in tears—then her "liberation" from the game becomes equally melodramatic. The final lines mock bridge enthusiasts by treating cards as instruments of eternal torment. This mocks both bridge addiction among society women and the pretentiousness of applying grand poetic language to trivial social competition.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
558 The Bridge Player With Apologies to Mr. Longfellow SAT at bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, Though my partner mentally cursed me, Though openly he did glower. I saw the contemptuous pity In eyes marking my distress ; I heard the sneering laughter When I foolishly failed to finesse. And off in a distant corner Of that demon-peopled room, The frowning face of my husband, Noting my shame, did loom. Above the crowded tables A maddening babble arose— Somebody shouted, “ Our honors!" And somebody, “No trump goes! "’ My opponent, a vacuous vixen, Driveled the words, “Grand Slam!’ Her partner crowed, “ We've doubled !’" My partner muttered, “ Damn!" Right then in that bawling Bedlam "Mid laughter and scoffs and jeers, I flung my cards at my partner And rushed from the room in tears. How often, oh, how often, In the nights that kad gone by, I had sat on at bridge past midnight, My motto: “ Play cards, or die. How often, oh, how often, I had fingered those pasteboards neat, And longed to crumpie them out of shape And trample them under my feet FOSTER FOLLETT AW, GET A BALLOON! "" For my heart was hot and restless And my nights were full of care, And the burden of bridge upon me Scemed greater than I could bear. But now it has fallen from me And I stand forth gay and free, Though the sorrows of other players (?) Still cast their shadows on me. And whene’er I see a poor mortal Timidly playing a card, And carefully eyeing her partner's face, “come ON UP, FELLOWS, AND I watch with morbid regard. SAIL IN OUR AIRSHIP”? TAKE A And I think how large the number To whom “card sense '’ is denied, Who never have fathomed a point in the game, No matter how hard they have tried. But forever and forever, As long as bridge is played, Some baited, badgered creature Will sit at a table afraid— And the card with its pictured faces And the card with its dots shall appear The symbol of torment hereafter, And token of torture here. F. Page. comicbooks.com