THE GLOVES WE BUY
“There’s nothing like leather. Leather is a product of Nature. Take
a piece of leather and observe the way the fibres are knit together.
It is Nature’s work. It is so wonderful that man cannot hope to
reproduce it. He cannot even re-create it. Boil a piece of hide or
skin. It will turn to gelatine. No power known to man can turn that
gelatine back into leather. Shred it. No machine can reweave the
fibres into their former wonderful fabric. Take all the chemicals
which go to make up a piece of leather, and mix them in all the ways
that can be imagined, and man cannot make a single inch of leather.
Synthetic leather seems farther away than the synthetic diamond.”
The person who enters a glove shop of reputation—or the glove department
of any high class store—to buy gloves, probably has a very limited
notion of the variety of fabrics and workmanship represented by the
goods before him. To this single line of merchandise nearly every
country in the world contributes to-day; not merely in the historical
sense, in which we have watched the glove evolve through the centuries,
but also in point of materials and processes actually used. The glove
counter, little as we may appreciate it, brings together the riches and
skill of the Orient, of Africa, of Europe, and of the Western World. A
glance at some of the names, familiar to us all, as cape and mocha,
immediately suggests their origin in far distant countries.
And yet, perhaps for economy of expression—if not from positive
ignorance—the general public divides all leather dress gloves into just
two classes, “dressed kid” and “undressed kid.” Everything with the
grain surface, or smooth finish, is designated by the former term; the
latter is popularly applied to gloves with the grain surface removed, or
finished on the flesh side of the skin. To the initiated, however,
gloves are distinguished primarily by the different kinds of leather of
which they are made; and, still further, by the great variety of
qualities which each kind of leather is capable of exhibiting.
In the glove trade men talk of “cape,” “suede,” “doeskin,” “lambskin,”
“kid”—nor is the meaning of each of these nearly so obvious, nor so
simple, as would casually appear. If, in every case, the name were
properly applied to skins which came from a distinct type of animal,
grown in one particular district, whose hide was tanned into leather by
its own peculiar process, then the quality and character of each kind of
leather would be practically uniform. But such is far from being the
fact. When first used, no doubt, each of these terms meant a certain,
well-defined thing. Now, however, in the evolution of processes of
production, the meaning has been enlarged; and virtually any of these
designations covers a much wider scope, even departing radically, in
many instances, from its original application.
Let us take, for example, the “cape” glove. In the first place this name
was used to distinguish a glove made of skins from the Cape district of
South Africa. These skins were large spread, heavy, rather tight
grained, and are still used in the production of genuine cape gloves.
But the soft, pliable, widely-worn glove, in various weights, now
commercially known as cape, is manufactured from sheep and lamb skins
grown in many lands, and tanned and dressed by the method called “napa
dipped.” What was once the name for a glove made from one type of skins
is now the designation for hand-wear made from leather of a particular
tannage, for which skins of many types, grown in many lands, are used.
Probably the best types of these skins come from Russia to-day—the
district furnishing the most desirable qualities being the province of
Kasan and the nearby territory of the Volga River. Others of varying
degrees of merit emanate from Spain, as well as from the European
Orient—Turkey, Roumania, Bulgaria, Montenegro and Servia; and, to a
small extent, from some other vicinities. All these are called Oriental
skins. Those with the finest grades of wool, oddly enough, are inferior,
usually, to those which have hairy, wiry wool—as far as their
desirability for glove leather is concerned. Evidently, then, the place
of origin, the character of the pelt, and the method of its tannage, all
have important bearing on the quality of the cape glove.
But if the cape is made from lamb skin, what, then, is the
distinguishing feature between the lamb glove and the cape glove? How
are we to tell them apart? Up to that stage in tannage referred to as
“in the white,” these two leathers are practically the same—except that
the skins which are to go into the capes are heavier and larger. It is
in the finishing and coloring processes that the distinction occurs. The
dressing and coloring—which, in fact, is a part of the tannage of the
capes and completes this process—is done by the “drum” or “dipped”
method. This colors the skin all the way through; whereas, leather for
the so-called lamb glove has the color brushed on the grain surface
only, leaving the flesh side of the leather, which is to be the inside
of the glove, in the white.
Thus, the visible marks of difference between the cape glove and the
lamb glove, so-named, are in the weight of the stock, and in the fact
that the cape, when colored, is dyed through the skin, instead of merely
on the grain surface.
German tanners have been the largest converters of lamb and sheep skins
into cape leather by the napa tannage, which is an alum process. And it
is the German stock which, until recently, was chiefly used in the
American-made cape gloves. In the year 1913, however, several American
tanners devised a chrome cape tannage, which appears to be even superior
to the napa process, and possesses the added merit that it may be
cleansed in water free of alkali of any temperature up to 212°
Fahrenheit. It is this leather—really an American discovery—which goes
into the gloves popularly known as washable capes. Since the outbreak of
the European War, in 1914, chrome tanning has been further improved in
this country; and as real Cape of Good Hope leather is used, the United
States is producing to-day the best cape gloves ever known, and the
German tanned napa cape is fast being discarded.
While mocha is made from skins grown in far distant lands, mocha gloves
are distinctly of American origin. With the march of civilization
westward in the United States, and the disappearance of the antelope
from the western plains of North America some thirty-five years ago, a
skin was sought by glove manufacturers in this country to take the place
of the antelope, which was used in making a glove in those days known as
doeskin. After patient search, and much experimenting with various
species of skins and different tanning processes, a tannage was
perfected for the skin of the Arabian hair sheep which produced the
strong, but soft, velvety finished mocha.
The skin derives its name, no doubt, from Mocha, a seaport town of
Arabia on the Red Sea, whence, it is said, these skins were first
brought. The Mocha hair sheep is a distinct type, and is not a species
resulting from cross breeding between the Mocha goat and a kind of wool
sheep, as often has been stated. While the Mocha goat and the Mocha
sheep herd together, they do not interbreed. The mocha market of the
world is Aden, at the southern end of Arabia. The buyers here keep
native collectors at the chief points to which skins are conveyed by
caravans. These points are Moka, Berbera, Bulhar, Djibouti and Zeylah in
Africa, and Hodeidah in Arabia. The skins are sorted and graded
according to size, weight and condition; then they are baled, about
three hundred in a lot. First, however, they are sun-dried, and are
treated with naphthaline to protect them from damage by worms.
In the vernacular of the trade, these skins are referred to as
white-heads, black-heads and red-heads. They are thus classified in
reference to the color of the hair on the heads of the animals, the
bodies being black and white, red and white, or all white. However, as
the head colors denote a type of skin with more or less well defined
characteristics, these designations are more scientific than would
appear. For glove leather the black-heads rank first in quality, the
white-heads second, and the red-heads third. The black-head type, which
comes principally from the African districts mentioned, is more
distinctly a hair skin than the other two types, and has a tighter,
firmer texture. With the white-heads, which are chiefly Arabian skins,
the hair is of a more woolly character and the fibre of the skin is
looser. This last is also true of the red-heads, in which these elements
are even more pronounced. Certain other kinds of sheep skins—notably
those found in the district between Cairo and Khartum, known as
“Sudans”—have been adapted for the manufacture of mocha leather. These
yield a much larger spread, coarser fibre skin than the mocha hair
sheep; but when tanned by the mocha process, sudans sufficiently
resemble the mocha to be sold for that article—except to the expert.
No other glove leather passes through so many different processes in
tanning and dressing as does the mocha. This is chiefly due to the fact
that the skins, at their source, are handled by the natives in a crude
sort of way, and under the crusted, sun-dried surface there are often
many defects which do not show until the skin is subjected to the
tanning process. Mocha skins invariably are scratched, scarred and
imperfect on the grain surface; for this reason the grain is removed. At
the same time, as much of the grain strength as possible must be
preserved while eliminating the imperfections.
This method, which is called “friezing,” distinguishes the mocha from
the suede glove. Though in appearance, when finished, they are very
similar, mocha and suede actually are extremely different in character.
In the friezed mocha, the outer or wearing surface of the glove, which
receives the finish, is on the grain and not on the flesh side of the
leather. Friezing merely removes the grain to take the finish, thus
leaving much of the strength of the outer skin—while in suede or other
“undressed” finishes, this strength is entirely lacking.
The name suede is derived purely from the sueding process, and not from
the kind of leather used. Skins with perfect grain usually are finished
on the grain surface side and are called glacé. But many with imperfect
grain are finished on the flesh side of the skin, by the sueding
process. Suede, then, is exactly the reverse of mocha, in that what was
the inside of the skin becomes the outside of the glove. Suede leather,
obviously, is inferior in strength, if not in appearance, to the same
types of skins dressed on the grain side. It has by no means the
durability of mocha—though a high-grade suede strikingly resembles
mocha.
Although “chamois” is not chamois, it is by no means a sham. And that
the “doeskin” is most likely a eweskin is nothing to its discredit. The
chamois of commerce is not the skin of the Switzerland animal known by
that name, nor is the doeskin of to-day the skin of the one-time
antelope. Both are sheep skins, or parts of sheep skins, tanned and
dressed as chamois and doeskins. Collectors and dealers in sheep skins
at their source, in some districts find it necessary, or advantageous,
to split the skins edgewise, making two thinner skins. The upper part,
with the grain surface, is termed a “skiver,” and the lower section a
“flesher.” It is from these flesher sheepskins that the leathers
commercially known as chamois and doeskin are produced.
The tanning processes of chamois are many, the most common being the oil
tannage, alum and chrome. The finest selections of fleshers, split from
sheepskins of the Scotch mountains, and from France, Spain and Turkey,
are oil tanned and are used for the production of the washable chamois
glove. Another, and comparatively recent, tannage of fleshers, is the
formaldehyde process which supplies the leather commercially known as
doeskin. Properly tanned for that purpose, these leathers will wash
perfectly under the prescribed rules for washing. Trade in these gloves,
however, has suffered from intense competition which has forced a cheap,
quicker tannage, and one which will preserve the largest possible spread
to the skin. And sometimes the washing quality has been sacrificed to
secure a finer “face” to the leather. Tannages even are used which
render the leather not washable but actually impervious to water—simply
for the sake of the pleasing appearance of the skin when new. These
things, coupled with the wearer’s careless disregard of proper methods
of washing, have cast some measure of discredit upon what are really
meritorious gloves.
But, as regards the really reputable chamois glove of to-day! In the
first place, how absurd to the initiated is the question, so often asked
by the customer, “Is this genuine chamois?” Think of it! An animal grown
in the Swiss Alps, and, like the American buffalo, now almost extinct,
is supposed by many people to produce chamois gloves for the whole,
civilized world! As we have seen, “genuine chamois” is sheep or lamb
skin, tanned by a simple process similar to that used on the real
chamois, many, many years ago. Sheep skins give the best results; but
lamb skins are used to a limited extent. The latter make finer gloves,
but not so durable, as these skins scarcely can stand the hard usage
this leather requires in preparation.
The entire tanning process of chamois leather calls for absolutely
nothing but fish oil. No dye, no acid, no alkali goes into this leather,
and thus its washing qualities are unquestioned. After the skins have
remained in the vats in this oil a sufficient length of time—a month or
more, as is determined by experts—they are wrung out and hung up in
drying rooms, without ventilation, and a few fagots of wood kept
burning. When thoroughly dry they have what is known as the “natural” or
yellow color, and no two tannings come out alike in shade. When a cream
color, or white, is desired, another process follows. An expert goes
through the skins, selecting those that have body and strength enough to
stand the severe washing they are to get. These skins are put into vats
or tubs of clear water and washed “French fashion”—which means, beaten
with a club—and are then wrung out again and laid on the grass in the
sun to bleach.
If cream color is wanted, a day or two on the grass in the sun will
suffice. But if white is desired—and it mostly is preferred—a week or
ten days is required for this bleaching, depending, of course, on the
weather. Good, sunshiny weather means good, white chamois leather; while
a long spell of dull, cloudy weather means a poor shade of white, with
plenty of white chalk rubbed into the skins to make them appear whiter.
Irrespective of the sun, they will all get _some_ chalk, however. It is
interesting to note that these skins are supposed to imbibe a great deal
of nourishment from the grass as they lie exposed to the sunlight. White
chamois gloves, which have been put away for some time in boxes, will
begin to turn back to a dull yellow; but if placed in the light, in a
store or in a window, they will turn white again.
After the yellowing or bleaching process, the chamois skins—natural,
cream or white—have only to go to the doler to be ready for the cutter’s
knife. At the best, this glove is rather rough looking, but it is simple
and artistic, and especially in keeping with the travelling or sport
costume. Also, at the end of the journey, or after the out-of-door game,
such a glove may be washed as easily and successfully as a
pocket-handkerchief. So, its popularity is enduring.
Already we are somewhat familiar with kid gloves, from our detailed
study of the great industry of Grenoble, including the dressers’ works
at Annonay. Nearly all the kid skins used in glove-making are procured
in Europe, and the production really is limited to a very few countries.
As we have seen, France leads. Next comes Italy, then Germany, Austria,
and—up to the disaster of August, 1914—Belgium. Several months are
consumed, and a dozen or more processes are necessary, before kid skins
are in the market as glove leather. These operations have been fully
described in the chapter immediately preceding. When the finished skins
appear “in the white” they are ready for the dyer.
An expert goes through the skins and assorts them for the different
colors for which they are best adapted. For instance, some skins will
make good tan shades, but would not make greys—and so on, through the
entire list of colors. As all skins take the black dye well, it follows
that the last sortings go into black. Black and white are the easiest of
all to dye; and perfect skins, dyed white, show to the best advantage of
any—while grey is a color which is a _bête noir_ to all manufacturers
and dyers. Hundreds of dollars have been literally thrown away in an
attempt to produce some particular shade. Suede leather yields more
readily and accurately to the dyer’s art than glacé, and furnishes a
greater variety of shades. For this reason, and because of their fine,
velvety surface, they are considered by many the most beautiful of all
gloves; and by the fastidious are preferred for opera and evening wear.
Kid skins produced in other countries than France all have about the
same characteristics. But French Nationals remain invariably the best.
It may be added that kids raised in low, flat countries, like Belgium,
while presenting a fine appearance, never have the strength of the
highland skins.
Lambskins, like kid, are nearly all found in Europe, but they cover a
much wider range of territory. Like kid skins, they are carefully
nurtured and guarded against imperfections. They are grown in Italy,
Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, Spain, France, Germany, Austria, Russia and
the Balkan States, the product of the latter being known—like the
sheepskins for “cape” purposes—as “Oriental leather.” For fine lambskin
gloves the best leather of all comes from northern Italy, and is termed,
commercially, “Tuscany skins”; these rival kid skins for fine grain and
durability. Next in value comes the fine French lamb known as “Rigord.”
Then follow the Spanish skins. The Russian (Kasan) and Oriental skins
are of equal value with some of the above named, many of them running
very fine in grain and producing remarkably durable gloves. As they tend
to be heavier in weight, however, the larger part of this class of
lambskins finds its way into men’s gloves. It is said that fully 80% of
Oriental leather goes to German and English tanneries, which prepare
more especially materials for the heavier grades of gloves.
In the tanning or dressing of lambskins, the processes are practically
the same as in the preparation of kid and goat skins for the glove
manufacturer. Lambskins also are subjected to the same examination by
experts to determine the colors they will take best. In fact, the only
real difference between fine kid and fine lamb gloves is that the former
is of a more delicate, yet firmer, grain, and produces a better wearing
article with more intrinsic value.
Nearly all colors, applied in dyeing both kid and lamb gloves, are put
on with a brush. The skins are laid on marble slabs, and the color
brushed on, a sufficient number of coats being given to produce the
desired shade and to fix it thoroughly and evenly. This explains why
colored gloves remain white on the inside, as the dyes do not strike
through. Some of the light, or extremely delicate tints, however—as
pink, cream, azure, lilac—will not take the color with brushing. In such
cases, the skin must be immersed in the dye, or “dipped”; and then the
color shows, of course, on both exterior and interior.
After the dyer’s work is done, and the skins would appear to a novice
ready for the cutter, still another process has to be gone through,
requiring an entirely different kind of skilled labor. This is the
process of “doling”—mentioned a few paragraphs back, in connection with
chamois—and it consists in reducing each skin to a uniform thickness
throughout, as nearly as possible. The doler lays the skin on a marble
slab and with a broad, flat knife, sharp as a razor, goes over the inner
surface, planing or doling off the uneven places. A thoroughly good
cutter always doles his own skins. Some manufacturers, however, employ
dolers for this purpose exclusively.
Such are the leading leathers used in the making of fine gloves.
Developments in tanning have also brought into use the skins of many
animals ordinarily considered of no value to the glove trade. While
deer, sheep, kid and calf skins in former days were used exclusively, in
our times the skins of dogs, foxes, bears, the cow, the colt, the
kangaroo—and almost every hair animal—are employed to some extent. Most
of these, however, could never pass for fine products, even among the
uninitiated—with the possible exception of colt; and they are used only
by inferiors in the trade, with whom the present discussion of
glove-making has nothing to do. These coarse leathers are honest enough,
however, in the hands of Esquimaux, backwoodsmen, and people who are
obliged to provide out of the materials within reach warm coverings for
the hands. But, in such cases, the fur is usually left on the hide,
deceiving no one.
And now we come to the actual turning of the leather into gloves. Since
Xavier Jouvin’s invention, the glove cutter has not actually cut out
gloves. The old method of tracing the pattern and following it with the
scissors has completely vanished. But the glove cutter, still so-called,
exercises a great deal of care and skill in cutting oblong-shaped pieces
of leather which will make exactly the size he stamps on them when,
later, the gloves are cut out by means of steel dies. In doing this, the
cutter uses pasteboard patterns, to be sure; but these are simply guides
to enable him to put exactly the right amount of leather into each piece
that he cuts, in order to produce the size desired. To the cutter each
skin he takes up becomes a new problem. As no two faces are alike, so
also no two skins are alike—not even those of the same class.
The cutter first stretches the skin carefully to ascertain or measure
its elasticity. Then he applies his pattern to see how he can get the
best results quantitatively. In other words, a cutter must exercise the
utmost ingenuity to get as many gloves as possible out of the skins he
is working on, and not let any of the leather go to waste. In many glove
factories, the foreman “taxes” the skins as they are given out to the
cutters; that is, he fixes the number of pairs of gloves the cutter must
turn out for a certain quantity of skins. After the cutter has
stretched, pulled, measured, and finally cut out his oblong piece of
leather, he marks the size on it and lays it aside for the calibres,
which will be shown in operation later on.
The skilled cutter’s work is done, and the pieces of leather he has cut
are called tranks. The cutter must know, of course, whether the tranks
he is producing are for overseam, piqué or prick-seam gloves, as each
requires a different pattern. The fragments of leather left from the
skins after the tranks are cut are used as far as possible for cutting
hems, bindings, fourchettes and “hearts,” which latter is the technical
name for the little “stay” at the bottom of the wrist opening. And
certainly there is very little of the skin which is not utilized after
all these items are subtracted. One would hardly realize what a jig-saw
puzzle, and in how many intricately fitting parts, a glove actually is,
until he paused to examine one and to count the different sections which
must be shaped and cut out to go into its making.
Next, the calibres demand our attention. These are the knives which
really cut the tranks into the shape of gloves and might, perhaps, be
called dies. They run, of course, in sizes; and the process might be
likened to the old-fashioned way of cutting cakes out of dough with a
tin cover, except that in stamping out gloves the position is reversed.
The calibre is locked into a heavy machine with the sharp steel
knife-edges up, and the tranks laid on top. A lever is pulled, a heavy
weight descends, and the cut gloves are then ready to sew.
Calibres are by no means uniform. That is to say, all manufacturers do
not use the same kind; and among the leading, large manufacturers, each
has his own cut, or set of calibres, differing from all others in some
one or more points. For example, one manufacturer will have the fingers
of his gloves made longer or shorter than the average; another will have
all the fingers gussetted, while another will have no gussets, not even
at the gore of the thumb. Still another has a cut with a specially short
little finger—and so on. This results in a very wide variety of “cuts”
in gloves, and each manufacturer of standard make is satisfied, and
thinks his own is the best. It is the discriminating woman who finds out
what cut or make fits her particular hand, and then sticks to that
manufacturer’s gloves.
Gloves are sewed in three different ways. First, the two edges are
brought together and sewed over and over. This is called overseam, and
sometimes round-seam, and is the method used on all fine, dressy gloves.
A second way laps the edges one over the other and sews through and
through. This is lap-seam, or piqué, and is popular on gloves for street
wear. Third, and last, the seams are brought together, the same as in
overseam sewing, but are sewed through and through. This method is
called prick-seam, and sometimes sadlers sewn, and is used only on heavy
leathers.
The first machine invented for glove sewing was put on the market about
forty-five years ago and did overseam work only. It was fought by many
of the best manufacturers who continued to make the boast of their
hand-sewn gloves. Time has overcome this feeling, and the invention of
piqué and prick-seam sewing machines has done away with all
handsewing—with the exception of a few sadlers sewn, made in England,
and their quantity so small as to be negligible. Even the embroidery on
the backs of gloves to-day is done almost entirely by machine. There are
one or two styles still shown that are sewn by hand, called tambour.
Tambour work is very handsome and cannot be done except by hand—yet; but
the limit of machines has by no means been reached.