Among the countless evils besetting us in our passage through this
vale of tears “to where beyond these voices there is peace,” the
button holds a conspicuous place, and is apparently inaccessible to
the spirit of reform. Less shocking than war, pestilence or famine,
less destructive than the Dingley tariff and less irritating than
the Indiana novel, it is thought by many observers to be, in the sum
of its effects in reducing the gayety of nations, superior to any of
these maleficent agencies, and by some to excel them all together. In
the persistent currency of the story of the man who killed himself
because of his weariness in buttoning and unbuttoning his clothes we
have strong confirmatory testimony to the button’s “natural magic
and dire property on wholesome life.” The story itself appears to
be destitute of authentication, and but for its naturalness, its
inherent credibility and the way that these bring it home to men’s
business and bosoms it would probably have had as evanescent a vogue
as the immortal works discovered weekly by the literary critics of
the newspapers. As it is, this simple and touching tale will probably
live as long as any language, possibly as long as the button itself.
For the button is apparently immortal. It has struck root deeply into
human conservatism—more deeply, I am constrained to admit, than it has,
generally speaking, into the textile fabrics with which it is commonly
but somewhat precariously connected.
That the button is in some sense a benefaction is not lightly to be
denied. In its unostentatious way, and when it stays on, it does a
good deal for the comfort of mankind, as, the police permitting, one
may readily convince himself by walking a few blocks without its
artful aid. Its splendid opportunities of usefulness, however, are
the creations, not so much of our ingenuity, as of our limitations.
If the human race had been born omniscient (in the tops of trees,
as is thought to be held by the Darwinians) instead of achieving
omniscience too lately to overcome the button habit, we should not have
had the primitive appliance thrust upon us, for we should never have
thrust ourselves into the tubular clothing which seems to require its
ministrations. Even in the endurance of that capital affliction we are
not intelligently aided by the button. It badly serves a needless need
and the common sense of the race cries out against it as clumsy, ugly,
inefficient and frequently absent from duty at a critical moment which
it has malevolently foreseen. It is better than nothing, doubtless, but
when considered along with the hook-and-eye, for example, it breaks
down at every point of the comparison. The tailor who, disregarding
the mandates of conservatism and tradition, and filled with a divine
compassion for his race, should rise to the great occasion and with
one foot upon the sea and the other upon the land declare that buttons
should be no more would accomplish an enduring fame and dispute
with Washington and draw-poker the first place in the hearts of his
countrymen. He would have only to replace the button, where it serves
as a fastener, with some simple adaptation of the hook-and-eye, and
where it exists as a mere survival (as for example at the back of a
frock-coat, where it once assisted in supporting the sword-belt) put
nothing at all, and the millions yet to be would rise up and call him
blest.
I have preferred to consider this matter with reference mainly to the
woes and wants of the coarser sex, but the button is known to woman.
With the charming superiority to reason which her detractors term
perversity she prefers it on the left-hand side of her garments, but it
dominates her life and poisons her peace none the less for that; albeit
she offers herself the solace of turning it into an ornament more or
less fearfully and wonderfully made.
In modern religious history women and buttons have a connection which
is as singular as interesting. To the great movement which resulted in
establishing Protestantism the name “Reformation” is not universally
deemed appropriate, but there is one of his many aspects in which
Martin Luther may be contemplated by all as a true reformer. Before
his day women invariably used the hook-and-eye exclusively, which was
well enough. Unfortunately, however, they had conceived the remarkable
notion that this simple and useful appliance for joining together what
man is not permitted to put asunder, would abate something of its
efficacy if placed where reason would naturally suggest. All women’s
dresses were made to hook behind, and in being fastened required the
services of another person than the wearer. For this reason, and
because God had made him so, Luther assailed the custom with all the
fire and fierceness of his polemical nature. So long as women could not
dress themselves without assistance, he argued, they must be slaves,
and their spiritual natures must remain undeveloped until they should
fasten their frocks in front. Calvin, on the contrary, found nothing in
the Scriptures authorizing women to enter their clothing backward and
set his face like a flint against the impious innovation. The contest
between the disciples of these two mighty minds was waged with great
bitterness, notwithstanding the efforts of the gentle Melancthon, who
stood for peace and tried to part them in the middle, enacting, indeed,
the role of Mr. Facing-both-ways. In the end Luther conquered. All good
Protestant dames and maidens save those of his antagonist’s immediate
following adopted his views and eventually the Catholic ladies swung
into line, too. But in some of the dark corners of Europe and America
a vestige of the Calvinist influence survives, and ladies’ gowns open
behind like the chrysalis of a locust.
The one change entailed another; for many years—until, indeed, the
button habit had become invincible—it did not occur to any of the
fair sex that the hook-and-eye could be used in front as well as
surreptitiously behind the back. That truth has now penetrated the
female mind and sometimes warms it into action: but for the most part
lovely woman is infested with the parasitic button as badly as the male
of her species, and of neither does it manifest a disposition to let
go. It has usually its buttonhole to bear it company, and doubtless
looks forward to a long season of domestic felicity and profound repose
while engaged in the business of breaking up families and promoting
breaches of the peace by sapping the foundation of temper, leveling the
outworks of patience and desolating the whole domain of the Christian
virtues.