GLOVES IN MANY MARTS
“She of the open soul and open door,
With room about her hearth for all mankind.”
—_Trade_: _James Russell Lowell._
The first glove-makers in Europe, we may suppose—certainly the first,
skilled in that art, to work together in brotherhoods—were the monks of
the early Middle Ages. In common with many other old-established
handicrafts, the glove trade is deeply indebted to the Church. On this
point, William S. Beck, the leading English authority on glove lore of
thirty-five years ago, has summed up the conditions most interestingly
and clearly. He says:
“Muscular Christianity is no new doctrine. Faith and works were once
literally united in a secular sense. Before corruptions crept in, and
while monastic establishments maintained the simple lines on which they
had been founded, their inmates were the most skillful and industrious
of artisans. Weaving, illuminating, gardening, embroidery,
woodwork—these and many other occupations were practiced sedulously by
the holy friars. The original idea of the founders of these institutions
was to bring together a company of Christians who were workers. Benedict
enjoins his followers to fight valiantly against idleness, the canker of
truth.
“‘Therefore,’ he prescribes, ‘the brethren must be occupied in the labor
of the hands, and again at certain times in divine study.’
“The brethren not only practiced,” says Beck, “but taught. The monastery
became as much the centre of industry as of intellect; and religion was
made an active worker with commerce in furthering national interests.
The efforts of the brethren often resulted in raising local manufactures
to great excellence, so that they obtained more than local celebrity. To
the monks of Bath, for instance, is attributed much of the fame which
the stout, woolen cloths of the west of England yet enjoy; and under
their active auspices, we are told, the manufacture was introduced,
established and brought to perfection. In their commercial curriculum
glove-making was certainly included, as well as the dressing of
leather.”
As early as 790, as has been mentioned in a preceding chapter,
Charlemagne granted to the abbots and monks of Sithin in ancient France
unlimited right of hunting the deer for skins of which to make gloves,
girdles and covers for books. These gloves, made in the monasteries,
assuredly were worn, not only by the higher orders of the clergy, but by
the king and his nobles. They may have been a direct means of revenue
among the monks; in any case, they were a favor exchanged for the
patronage and support of the feudal lords in maintaining monastic
property.
Needless to say, gloves were one of the luxuries of early trade and
barter, and it was a late period before they became, to any extent, an
article of common exchange. As gifts to kings and personages of high
rank, they were borne from country to country, and thus, to a limited
degree, were put into circulation. The Earl of Oxford, on one occasion,
curried favor with Queen Elizabeth by presenting Her Majesty with
beautiful, perfumed gloves which he, personally, had brought to her from
Italy. The Queen, we are told, was so vain of this particular pair of
gloves that she had her portrait painted in them. Little by little, as
the privilege of wearing gloves spread from sovereign to subject, their
trade was popularized, and the glove market, in the modern sense, grew
up in response to the increasing demand.
In France, glove-making as an industry, independent of the monasteries,
was certainly well established in the twelfth century. In 1190 we find
the Glovers of Paris organized under a settled code of statutes received
from the king. Across the channel, gloves are first mentioned, as an
incorporated trade, in Scotland, where the glovers formed a company
called “The Glovers of Perth” during the reign of Robert III., who
figures in Scott’s _Fair Maid of Perth_, and ruled between 1390 and
1406. This company was principally employed in making buck and doeskin
gloves. Thence the trade spread over Scotland, but it did not long hold
its importance. “Dundee” gloves enjoyed a picturesque fame; but Hull
remarks, in 1834, that “they had little more than the term to recommend
them.” Indeed, the greater part of them were made in Worcester, England,
and were sewn cheaply, with cotton, instead of silk. A few gloves were
also turned out in Montrose, Scotland; the leather for these, however,
was sent from London.
In London, the glove trade had existed for many centuries, and
originally was carried on in connection with the making of leather
doublets and breeches. Deer and sheep skins were used chiefly; but after
the introduction of kid gloves into England from France, the former
country began to make kid gloves also, under the name of “London
town-made gloves,” and thus to follow the more fastidious fashions of
the French. The glovers of London were incorporated in the fourteenth
year of the reign of Charles I., who, on the sixth of September, 1638,
granted them a charter, in which they were styled: “The Masters, Wardens
and Fellowship of the Worshipful Company of Glovers of the City of
London.” As early as 1464, however, they had received their
coat-of-arms. Even so, the Paris glovers must be acceded priority in
importance, as their statutes date from 1190. Moreover, it has justly
been said that gloves “came over with the Conqueror,” and were really
introduced into England from France. Previous to 1066, the glove
produced by the Saxons was a rude and shapeless thing, while the Normans
brought with them the clever prototype on which the future glove of
England was destined to be modelled.
Very early in their history the English began to experience commercial
rivalry with the French, and one of the first products to be strongly
affected, to England’s detriment, was gloves. As far back as the reign
of Edward IV., in 1462, we find the English glove trade protected by
prohibitory laws. These laws, in later years, must have become obsolete,
as they do not appear ever to have been repealed, and foreign gloves
were imported into the country soon after the Reformation. In 1564,
however, England forbade any gloves from abroad to enter her ports.
Nothing was said about the raw materials being brought from other lands;
but France saw fit to curtail the shipment of kid skins outside her
boundaries, and thus the English were thrown entirely upon their own
resources. French kid gloves—whose quality, after all, it has been
impossible to equal in other countries—continued to be smuggled into the
British realm to a greater extent, we may believe, than the authorities
then realized. The titled people, accustomed to having the best of
everything, infinitely preferred the French luxury to the homemade
article; and so, it was secretly procured. But, generally speaking,
after 1564, the English manufactured their own gloves from native skins,
and the trade increased and became prosperous.
On the occasion of the granting of the charter in 1638, certain abuses
had crept into the industry, and it was to obviate these conditions that
the document was demanded and granted by the king. It reads:
“Whereas, by an humble petition presented unto us by our loveing
subjects, living in and about our Cities of London and Westminster,
using the arte, trade or mistery of Glovers,
“We have been informed that their families are about four hundred in
number, and upon them depending about three thousand of our subjects,
who are much decayed and impoverished by reason of the great confluence
of persons of the same arte, trade or mistery into our said Cities of
London and Westminster, from all parts of our kingdome and dominion of
Wales, that, for the most parte, have scarcely served any time
thereunto, working of gloves in chambers and corners, and taking
apprentices under them, many in number, as well women as men, that
become burdensome to the parishes wherein they inhabit, and are a
disordered multitude, living without proper government, and making
_naughtie and deceitful gloves_: And that our subjects aforesaid, that
lawfully and honestly use the said arte, trade or mistery, are, by these
means, not only prejudiced at home, but the reputation the English had
in foreign parts, where they were a great commoditie and held in goode
esteeme, is much impaired. And also, that by the engrossing of leather
into a few men’s hands, our said subjects are forced to buye bad leather
at excessive rates, to their further impoverishment....” etc. ... etc.
In view of such abuses as these, the London Company was given very
exclusive powers, one of which was “to search for and destroy bad or
defective skins, leather or gloves.”
The name of the first Master of the Glovers’ Company has come down to us
in certain parish registers of the seventeenth century, in which he is
mentioned as “William Smart, of the parish of St. Giles, Cripplegate,
_Glover_.” In his parish the trade seems to have been especially
flourishing.
Perhaps the London industry labored under greater difficulties, on the
whole, than glove-making elsewhere. It had constantly to contend against
the secret importation of French gloves into the capital city, and also
to maintain its superiority over the imitations of the country
manufacturers; for, in England, as in France, competition between the
various glove centres was intense. Many London manufacturers, because
they could not make their ventures pay, actually became importers and
dealers in French gloves—either underhandedly, or openly, as the laws of
the land would permit. Invariably they found this greatly to their
advantage, since the price of French gloves was low, and the manner in
which the duty could be evaded, at that date, ridiculously simple.
Despite the feelings and the best efforts of those Englishmen who sought
to foster and strengthen the home glove trade, the prohibitory laws
remained always more or less lax—chiefly because the aristocracy and
gentry preferred the French glove, and, for the most part, were not
interested in the welfare of English glovers and artisans—until, in
1825, the ban on imported gloves was officially removed. The effect upon
France was electrical. The British ports were flung open to her at a
time when Grenoble, Paris and her other glove cities were swinging back
on the crest of the new wave of industrial prosperity and progress which
had received its momentum in the days of the Empire—a period which
witnessed the revival of much of the former elegance of France, so
lately eclipsed by the Revolution. In 1832, the legal importation of
French gloves into England was 1,516,663 pairs. As many more, in that
same year, we may believe, were also smuggled into the country by the
old methods. To France—and particularly to Grenoble—the English change
of policy was one of the greatest boons which could have befallen a
commercially ambitious people.
To English glovers, on the contrary, the results were anything but
fortunate. A brief survey of the vicissitudes of the English glove towns
may serve to show how dearly the glove industry was forced to pay for
the new national system of Free Trade.
In Worcester, close rival of London, the glove craft is known to have
existed since 1571, and in 1661 the Glovers’ Company of that city was
incorporated. Here an elaborate manufacture was carried on, including
“Venetian” gloves, made in imitation of those originally imported from
Venice. As long as French gloves were not freely admitted, the beaver
gloves of Worcester also enjoyed great prosperity; but with the
re-importation of the former, beaver gloves went out of fashion, and the
Worcester makers turned their attention to alum leather gloves which
were produced in large quantities until 1825.
The complete removal of the prohibitory regulations, however, was fatal
to this last-named article, which could not hope to compete with the far
finer product from abroad. From that date, the English manufacture
rapidly decayed, despite every effort of the masters and the work people
to readjust their difficulties. How hard Worcester itself was hit, is
shown by a statement given by the Committee of Operative Glovers in
1832. It reads:
“There are in Worcester 120 master manufacturers, who have been in the
habit of making, upon an average, one hundred dozens of gloves each, per
week, which would be 12,000 per week for the whole; but they are now
making something under one-third of that number. By this means, about
£3,000 (or $15,000) per week is taken out of circulation in wages alone;
which money used immediately to find its way into the hands of the
retail trader in the purchase of articles of consumption.”
In the year 1825, immediately before the introduction of French gloves,
there were few, if any, work people idle in Worcester, and the trade was
prosperous. On January 10, 1832, out of one thousand men, the state of
employment stood as follows:
In full employ 113
Partial employ 465
Unemployed 422
Of the 465, many did not average more than two shillings, sixpence, per
week. The number of children totally dependent upon these one thousand
men was 1,748. The poorhouses were overrun, and large sums for relief
were paid out of the public pocket. Worcester, the chief glove city
outside London, continued to decline.
In Woodstock the Glovers never were incorporated, but the manufacture
was pursued from a remote period. Some of the finest English craftsmen
labored here to produce a very beautiful glove; and that they attained
to a high degree of perfection is certified by the fact that the
University of Oxford, in 1616, presented James I. with “very riche
gloves” in Woodstock. Queen Elizabeth also received gloves from the
Woodstock makers in one of her festal “progresses.” In those times only
English deer, sheep and lamb skins were used in the Woodstock shops.
Since 1825, however, and the introduction of French kid skins, most of
their ancient prestige has been lost.
Hexham furnished a peculiar glove—so long-established that we may regard
it as having descended unbrokenly from the old Saxon _gluf_—called the
“Hexham tan glove,” made from native sheep skins. The gauntlets attached
to suits of armor were made in the same style; and many centuries ago it
was an important trade in that place. But even its modern substitute
fell into disuse about 1830.
York “tans” were popular in the days of protection. Beaver gloves
occupied 3,000 persons in Hereford, until the sudden industrial collapse
of that town in 1825. Ludlow turned out 70,000 dozen pairs of gloves
annually, and employed one-fifth of its population in that trade,
collecting the skins from Scotland. In 1832, “not six men,” we read,
were employed in glove-making there. Kington was another glove centre
which failed before the middle of the nineteenth century. The glove
workmen of Leominster numbered 900 in 1825; and on the eve of legal
re-importation its factories were among the busiest in the kingdom. In
1831, its shops were deserted by all but 163 artisans.
A community whose associations with gloves are particularly interesting,
was Yeovil, where the craft was established as early as the middle of
the sixteenth century, giving employment for hundreds of years to
peasant workmen and workwomen living over an area of some twenty miles.
At one period the number of its masters, cutters and sewers was 20,000,
and about 300,000 dozens of gloves of all kinds were produced annually.
An ancient folk song of the Yeovil glove-women has recently been revived
by the Fuller sisters, to simple harp accompaniment, just as it used to
be sung, as a “round” or “part song,” by the diligent sewers as they
drew their triangular needles in and out of their work. It is very
quaint and tuneful, marking the time of the motions in sewing; and its
rhythm, no doubt, facilitated the speed and ease with which the women
plied their task.
Yeovil was famous for its military gloves for many years. Later, a fine
imitation of kid gloves was made there; but these were crushed out by
the return of the genuine foreign product. An idyllic industrial
community was transformed almost over night into a desperate and
dangerous populace, demanding by force the means of bread-winning which
so suddenly had been denied it. Hull tells us that to quell these
disturbances, two troops of dragoons were kept continually in the town,
where, a few years before, “a horse-soldier would have been looked upon
as a sort of centaur by the lower orders of the people.”
A territory, not yet mentioned, which was closely bound up with the
prosperity of the glove trade in England, was Ireland. Limerick, Dublin
and Cork formerly were noted glove cities. The “Limericks”—a glove named
for its birthplace—were of exquisite texture, and were greatly in favor
among the aristocratic English for their property of rendering the hand
of the wearer smooth and soft. These gloves were made of “morts” or
“slinks,” the skin of the abortive, or very young, calf, lamb or kid.
Some of them were so beautifully delicate that they could be enclosed in
a walnut shell. “No glove ever exceeded the Limerick in beauty,”
declares Hull. Skin collectors went all over Ireland, and the trade was
a great boon to the peasantry. But after 1825, the skins were no longer
worth the trouble of collecting, and a great resource of the country was
lost.
To one who views these facts it must be apparent that England never was
intended to compete with France in the skilled making of the finest
gloves. She could content her people with the home product only by
excluding all foreign gloves; and even then, the privileged, who could
bribe the government, insisted upon the secret importation of gloves
from France. To be sure, the wave of protection rose high in 1462, in
1675 and in 1744; but, in every event there came a reaction, as far as
the complete prohibition of gloves was concerned. Instead of supplying
her own colonies with the home product, England even imported gloves
from France, stored them in her warehouses, and then shipped them at an
_ad valorem_ duty to her East Indian possessions!
The truth of the matter was, French glove-makers early had won the first
place in Europe. Struggle as she might, it is exceedingly doubtful
whether her rival across the Channel ever could have equalled her
prestige. In the heavier varieties of leather gloves, English makers did
enjoy—and still do to-day—an enviable reputation; but here their fame
stops. England had neither the inventive skill nor the natural climate
to produce the perfect kid glove, for which France is so celebrated.
In France itself, we already have traced in the course of other
chapters, more or less definitely, the development of the glove market.
Particularly we have followed the fortunes of the trade in Grenoble, as
being, most distinctively, _the glove city_ of the world. We have seen
Grenoble guarding her precious art from “the foreigner”; holding herself
on the defensive against other French cities, of which, under the old
laws and internal duties, she had no choice but to be jealous. We have
noted how the Revocation ruined many of her neighbors, even while it
stimulated competition beyond the confines of France. In the seventeenth
century, Paris and Grenoble enjoyed the monopoly of the glove markets of
Europe. During the eighteenth century, however, these cities began to
cope with Germany, Italy, Austria, and even Russia, in glove-making. The
vexed question of the exportation of skins was settled to the advantage
of the manufacturers at home, and unnatural rivalry between the
different French cities was smoothed away.
The Revolution saw the entire industry, apparently, snuffed out. And
yet, so deeply had the glove trade taken root in French soil that, at
the first breath of the revival of culture and refined manners, under
the patronage of the Empress Josephine, this ancient art again sprang
into being; and, like a miracle, the resurrection of the glovers was
complete. At this point the great clients of to-day appeared—the United
States, reconstructing itself, and building up its commerce with the
foremost marts of the world. The Americans demanded, among other things,
the most beautiful gloves of Europe.
Grenoble, on recovering from the shock of the Revolution, the long, dark
days of the Terror, found, to her chagrin, that she had a formidable
rival in Paris. Naturally, the capital city, the centre of the court,
was the first place to feel the effects of the renaissance of
glove-making. Paris swarmed with workers, and could get more sewers at
lower wages than Grenoble contained within its gates. In 1810, however,
the southern city began to reach out into the surrounding country for
apprentices; and quickly the peasant people responded by the hundreds
and thousands. Many of them flocked to the town, filling the places left
destitute by the violent events of the last twenty years; and, for miles
about, sewing was portioned out, to be done in the small villages and in
isolated households scattered among the mountains. Grazing and goat
rearing once more became a profitable occupation.
It proved a long, proud pull—but the glovers of Grenoble were not to be
daunted. At last that city’s ancient prestige was restored. The War of
1870, instead of being a set-back, was really a help; for the remoteness
of Grenoble from the seat of war permitted her to continue working, and
orders from England and America—which, ordinarily, might have sought
other channels—she filled in her factories and home shops. In 1872, to
be sure, Grenoble, and all the French glovers, suddenly found themselves
up against tremendous, and totally unexpected, competition with Saxony,
Austria, Luxembourg and Belgium. These countries had devised a means of
placing on the market remarkably handsome lambskin gloves, which
rivalled in appearance the fine French kid product and sold for far
less. But a few years of obstinately insisting upon the high prices they
always had exacted for their goods, soon taught the French manufacturers
the necessity of finding a less expensive kid; and with the development
of new mechanical inventions for cheaper cutting and sewing, Grenoble
presently regained her firm footing.
If the seventeenth century must be considered little short of marvellous
as regards glove-making in Grenoble—and it may be compared, indeed, to
the first five years of a child’s life, in which he makes,
proportionately, his most astonishing progress—the achievements of the
industry in the nineteenth century, if possible, have been even greater.
Apart from the facts of the vicissitudes the trade had had to face, the
battles it had waged—and won—all the vast accoutrements of modern
machinery and scientific appliances now come into play. Also, a great,
inventive genius has arisen, destined to revolutionize the art of
glove-making.