“Right, Caxon, right as my glove! By-the-by, I fancy that phrase comes from the custom of pledging a glove as a sign of irrefragable faith.”—The Antiquary: Sir Walter Scott.

We are so matter of fact in these days that, rarely, if ever, do we speak in symbols. The elaborate code of the glove has almost entirely dropped out of use. “And speaks all languages the rose,” the poet reminds us, but it is doubtful whether the most romantic of flowers ever conveyed such wealth of meaning, even between tongue-tied lovers, as the glove. Certainly, in addition, the latter has expressed a far greater variety of lofty sentiments not connected with affairs of the heart. In the Church, on the throne, in civil law, on the bench, in private breaches of honor, at festivals of rejoicing and in the last solemn rites accorded to the dead, gloves for many centuries were an important part of the ceremonial, and still, to-day, are not without meaning.

Sometimes it is claimed that gloves became a symbol in the Church long before kings singled them out to embody a monarch’s good faith or the royal consent. Of course kings wore gloves before the Christian Church came into being. But, as we have seen, the ancients seem to have attached less allegorical significance to gloves and to have regarded them more as a personal luxury. In the Orient, however, as the Bible shows, challenge by the glove was a recognized institution. Also, in the sales of lands, the purchaser was given a glove to symbolize delivery or investiture—of which the passage from Ruth which heads the previous chapter is, probably, the most famous instance. From the Oriental custom MediÆval Europe derived the challenge, so picturesquely employed in history and in literature. A certain charter of the thirteenth century also names a case of re-investiture, or restitution of property, symbolically expressed by the person restoring the lands casting his glove upon the ground.

If the Greeks and the Romans were somewhat literal and coldly materialistic in their attitude toward gloves, it remained for mediÆval Europe to raise them to a cult. In the Middle Ages men had a passion for glorifying the common utensils of life. Whether it was the clergy or royalty which first seized upon gloves to exalt them into the realm of the mysterious, causing them to be scarcely less revered than the king’s or the bishop’s own person, it would be difficult to say. But, as the gloves bestowed upon the kings of olden France at their coronations were blessed and presented by the archbishop of the realm—who, in this act, was simply following the ancient Eastern practice of performing investiture—it would appear that gloves were granted by the Church to the thrones; and that thus the monarch received this sign of his sovereignty as the gracious gift of the Spiritual Power, which enjoyed precedence in honoring the glove.

Certainly gloves were a mark of religious dignity at an extremely early period, and played a distinctive part in the rites and services of the ancient Church. Officiating priests invariably consecrated the Holy Sacrament with gloves on their hands. This custom still obtains in the Church of England. Moreover, the laity always drew off their gloves within the sacred portals, where it was sacrilege to cover worldly hands even as the Fathers covered theirs.

To teach truth by sight was one of the great endeavors of the mediÆval Church. We should not forget that the masses of the people in those days were untaught and childlike in their mental processes. The clergy were profound scholars, but they understood how to appeal to the minds of their communicants; they knew that their imaginations should be impressed, that sacred imagery should be indelibly stamped upon the sensitive-plate of the soul. Not lipparables only, but allegories for the eye—visible symbols—conveyed sacred meanings where words could not. Thus art became the handmaiden of religion, and familiar objects were invested with hidden significance. In this catalogue gloves were by no means forgotten.

Bruno, Bishop of Segni, tells us that the gloves of the clergy were originally made of linen to denote that the hands they covered were chaste, pure, without blame. In 1287, Durandus, Bishop of Mende, went to great pains to prove that the sacred chirothecae—for the old Latin name had been kept—were white. He says: “It was specified that by these gloves the hands would be preserved chaste, clean during work, and free from every stain.” The gloves which encased the hands of Pope Boniface VIII., at the time of his burial, were of white silk, beautifully worked with the needle, and ornamented with a rich border, studded with pearls.

Considerably later—exactly when is not known—ecclesiastical gloves ceased to be invariably white, but changed their hue, like the other vestments, according to the current church seasons. Then the gloves of the church became glorious indeed in color, texture and design! St. Charles Borromeo prescribes that “they shall be woven throughout, and adorned with a golden circle on the outside.”

The most famous gloves of this type which have been preserved—though the circle is of red silk, not of gold—are those of William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, treasured to this day at Oxford. These gloves are at least five hundred and thirty years old. William of Wykeham was the founder of New College, Oxford, in 1379, and the gloves were probably worn by him at the opening religious ceremonial, April 14, 1386. It is extremely likely that they were made especially for that great occasion. They are still in a wonderful state of preservation, and some idea of their magnificence may be had even from their present appearance. They are made of crimson purl knitted silk, embroidered on the back and cuffs with gold, now faded and tarnished. The octagonal designs around the cuffs are separated by squares of emerald green silk; the cuffs are lined with crimson silk; and a double band of gold adorns each finger and thumb. The circles are on the back of the hand, and with their sixteen flame-pointed arms, worked in gold, surround the sacred monogram.

In inventories of church furniture in the Middle Ages, gloves, elaborately decorated, frequently appear. These usually were encrusted with precious jewels and were so valuable that they were left as legacies. A pair of gloves was among the bequests of Bishop Riculfus who died in 915 A.D. Even Thomas À Becket—though it is reported that he never bathed—was buried in immaculate gloves. And we have proof that old mother Becket had to be handled with gloves, for at her baptism, pictured in an ancient illumination, the officiating bishop is represented in long, white chirothecae reaching clear above his venerable elbows.

Gloves in the Church symbolized purity of heart and deed. In an olden missal, ascribed to the seventh century, the officiating bishop, just before offering mass, draws on his snowy linen gloves with this prayer: “O Creator of all creatures, grant me, unworthiest of Thy servants, to put on the clothing of justice and joy, that I may be found with pure hands in Thy sight.”

The royal glove, with which the king received his authority from earliest times, was usually purple, ornamented with pearls and precious stones. Such “were anciently deemed ensigns of imperial dignity,” as Pachymenera records. Previous to the French Revolution, at the crowning of the Kings of France, it was customary for the archbishop to bless a pair of gloves and present them to the sovereign as an emblem of secure possession. In the English coronation ceremonies the glove plays a double rÔle. His Majesty being seated in Westminster Hall, the champion enters, caparisoned as an ancient knight, and the herald-at-arms proclaims the challenge. The champion then throws down his gauntlet which, after it has lain a short time, is taken up by the herald and returned to him. The herald make a proclamation of some length, and the gauntlet is again thrown down by the champion of the realm. His Majesty next drinks to the champion’s health and presents him with the cup. The champion then takes up his gauntlet and retires. At the installation in the Abbey, the Duke of Norfolk presents the king with a right-hand glove of elaborate and beautiful design, and the monarch, putting it on, receives from the Archbishop of Canterbury the sceptre with the dove.

That gloves were actually synonymous with kingly power is shown by an instance which occurred in the year 1294, when the Earl of Flanders by the delivery of a glove into the hands of Philip the Fair, “granted him possession of the good towne of Flanders.” The wealth of sentiment they enshrined is further manifested by the act of a woman of royal blood. After the coronation of Louis XIII., we are told, Mary de Medicis, his mother, “had the piety to desire the king’s shirt and gloves, in order to preserve them carefully in her cabinet.”

One of the most dramatic episodes of its kind—when a glove under romantic circumstances was taken as the very embodiment of royal authority—is related in some papers of D’Israeli. Young Conraddin, the last of the Hohenstaufer male line, having fallen into the hands of Mainfroy, who had usurped the crown in 1282, was brought up for execution. On the scaffold the young prince raised his voice in lamentation and declared his right to the succession. In proof of this he cast his glove among the assembled crowd, beseeching that it might be carried to his kinsmen who would avenge his death. It was taken up by a knight and brought to Peter, King of Aragon, who, in virtue of the same glove, was afterwards crowned at Palermo.

The kings of France on the point of death religiously gave their gloves to their sons as a token that they were to be invested with the kingdom. That such should have been almost their last thought and act shows how real to them was the power symbolically invested in the glove.

Gloves, royalty, feudalism—these three are inseparable in history. The granting of lands by the king was the root of the feudal system, in which modern society had its rise, and the lein of the monarch over all lands was the first doctrine of Divine Right. Thus, the glove, by which tenure was given, became also the pledge of the service by virtue of which tenure was held; and on the hand of him who could both bestow the one and demand the other, it was indeed a symbol of supreme authority. In the attire of English monarchs, gloves were especially conspicuous under the Norman and the Plantagenet dynasties when the feudal system was yet young. One would infer that as the emblematical embodiment of the new order, kings found them indispensable to their dignity.

Kings were even buried with gloves on their hands, when “arrayed in ghostly state, they were gathered to their fathers.” Richard I. and John in their tombs wear richly jeweled gloves. It is said that Richard’s are the identical ones by which he was recognized in Austria on his return from the Crusades. In Canterbury Cathedral the gloves of Edward, the Black Prince, are hung above his last resting place.

The Bench inherited gloves direct from the Church. On the judge’s hands they symbolized incorruptibility, uprightness. In England a maiden assize—that is, a county session in which no malefactor is put to death—is commemorated by a gift of white gloves, even to-day. White gloves here typify a clean record, an absence of felony in the judge’s precinct. “They represent the zero of crime,” says Beck, “the antithesis of the black cap. They afford a foretaste of the millennium. The occasion of their presentation is held to reflect credit on any town or neighborhood, and is widely noticed in the newspapers.” The recorder of Cambridge was the happy recipient of this honor, we are told, three times in succession.

Pardoned outlaws, restored from a living death to all the pleasures of home, the privileges of citizenship and the protection of their king, were accustomed to thank their judges by presenting them with gifts of gloves. Later, however, this practice was abused. The offender was compelled to appear in person, and by a present of gloves filled with coins to implore and obtain the judges’ favor. Thus, by degrees, the glove fell away from its original significance and came to be synonymous with the bribe.

Sir Thomas More once received in grateful appreciation of a case won for a lady, a pair of gloves “lined” with forty angels. As was the custom, this delicate acknowledgment was conveyed to him on the first day of January. “Mistress,” wrote the honorable judge in reply, “since it were against good manners to refuse your New Year’s gift, I am content to take your gloves; but as for the lining, I utterly refuse it.”

So, gloves, like most of the good things of life, were exalted and degraded by turns, and made to contradict themselves. Persons taking legal oath are required to-day to do so bare-handed; and a Portuguese proverb expressive of private integrity, is, “He does not wear gloves.”

Keeping the hands covered in the presence of superiors was one of the worst social breaches one could commit in former times. No doubt, the practice of presenting gloves to visitors by universities meant that they recognized their guests to be of such personal standing and learning as to make them worthy of remaining with hands clothed even before the highest collegiate dignitaries. In addition to symbolizing religious, kingly and judicial eminence, therefore, gloves typified also a university honor and were the insignia of the scholar.

At the Trojan games, nearly one thousand years before the Christian era, the gauntlet was used both as a defensive weapon and as a symbol of defiance. Warlike challenge by the glove, accordingly, had a very ancient origin, and in the days of knightly adventure may have been deliberately imitated from the early epics by a more consciously romantic race of heroes. Challenge by the glove frequently is described by Sir Walter Scott—who, by the way, has more to say about gloves than any other writer, even excepting Shakespeare—but nowhere more eloquently, perhaps, than in Ivanhoe, when the Jewish maiden demands a champion.

“‘I am unskilled to dispute for my religion’ (says Rebecca), ‘but I can die for it, if it be God’s will! Let me pray for your answer to my demand for a champion.’

“‘Give me her glove!’ said Beaumanoir. ‘This is indeed a slight and fragile gage for a purpose so deadly! See’st thou, Rebecca, as this slight glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of the Temple, for it is our order which thou hast defied.’”

In the life of Sir Bernard Gilpin, relative to customs of the Scottish-English borders it is recorded, that in the year 1560, the reverend gentleman observed in one of the churches in which he was preaching, a glove, hung high against the raftered roof. On making inquiries he learned that it was placed there in consequence of a “deadly feud” prevailing in the district, and that the owner had suspended it in defiance, daring to mortal combat anyone who took it down.

The last instance of defiance by the glove occurred in 1818 in a wager of battle. The battle, however, never came off; and the instance was the occasion of the repeal of the law permitting the ancient trial by battle and ordeal which existed in England for more than eight centuries.

Gifts of gloves at funerals is a relic of ancient times, as was also their presentation at marriage festivals. In Ben Jonson’s play, The Silent Woman, we learn that a wedding without this token was suspiciously regarded, and passed for a jest. Cries one of the guests:

In Italy and Spain the glove was cherished with the most romantic feeling ever accorded it throughout all its long and impressive history. No king of olden days exercised more despotic rule over his feudal dependents than the Spanish and Italian ladies over their “cavaliers,” to whom even to be allowed to touch the fair one’s glove was a favor which sent the aspiring lover into ecstacies. Many a yearning Romeo of that chivalric age must have exclaimed:

Coquetry by the glove seems to have persisted down to a fairly recent period. The Spectator observes that “Ned Courtly presenting Flavia with her glove (which she had dropped on purpose), she received it, and took away his life with a courtesy.” Charles IV. of Spain appears to have been in Ned Courtly’s class, for His Majesty was so extremely susceptible, we are told, to any lady who wore white kid gloves, that the use of them at court was strictly prohibited. A charming picture is called to mind also by the recollection of a novel by William Black, in which the guileless heroine all unconsciously captivates the hero the first time he sets eyes on her, by the graceful, ladylike manner in which she draws on and fastens her gloves.

But if the symbolism of gloves and their old, romantic usages largely have fallen away, leaving us an article of familiar, practical, everyday concern, the language of gloves for us is not dead. When we take pains to be fittingly costumed for an important occasion, there is no detail of our dress which we are more anxious should be in perfect keeping, than our gloves. To them still clings a halo of sentiment, part and parcel of our own dignity. In view of their history we are justified in our feeling. “Gloves,” says Beck, “outweigh all other articles of apparel which have been the outward and visible signs of hidden things.”