menu_book Chapter 10

CHAPTER X. TEACHING POLYGAMY I now entered upon a new phase of my missionary life. The elders assured me that it was my duty to teach polygamy to the women of Switzerland. Hitherto, although I had suffered much from poverty and privation,

my work as a missionary had been very pleasant. I believed, with my whole heart, all that I taught, and my best wishes for the people around me were that they might become altogether such as I was, except for my sufferings. Now, however, all was changed.

It was no longer salvation, through faith in Christ, or repentance or baptism. It was no longer love and peace for this world, and the promise of everlasting joy in the world to come, that I was called upon to teach.

My task hitherto had been a labor of love. Now it was to be a weary work of pain. How could I teach the sisters the affection of whose guileless hearts I had won to myself? How could I teach them that which my own heart abhorred, a doctrine which I hated with my whole soul?

How I strove against my rebellious nature, how I battled with myself, that God had sent the revelation I never questioned, and all rebellion to his will I knew must be sinful. I had no thought of evading the responsibility. My heart must be subdued.

It might be subdued, it might be crushed and broken, but I could never again, I felt, be truly happy. I tried to reason with myself and to persuade myself that it was I who was to blame, and not the revelation. If the Lord required me to submit, it must be for some good purpose,

and I must not refuse the cross that he called upon me to bear. Sometimes, for a few moments, something would attract my attention and divert my thoughts, but the terrible reality, polygamy, refused to be ignored, and I felt all the more bitterly afterwards. I never was happy, for life had lost its charm to me.

Ere I slept at night, one dreadful thought was haunting my pillow. It disturbed my very dreams, and when I awoke in the morning, it was with the feverish apprehension of coming evil hanging over me. All through the long weary day it haunted my footsteps like a spectre, and like a fearful blight that had fallen upon me, it seemed to be withering my soul.

One thought was ever present in my mind, that thought, polygamy. It can be no wonder that I lost all interest in life, and that I should almost wish to die rather than live a life of degradation which I dreaded would be mine. But death flies from those who woo her, the wretched, the weary, the hopeless, they find her not. I felt that there was no rest for me. My only comfort was in my children.

No revelation, I felt, could change their relationship to me. But over my little daughter Clara I mourned, for I thought if this revelation were acted upon by the saints, as doubtless it would be, she would some day be called upon to suffer as I did. How little did I then, however, anticipate in what way my fears would be realized. My Clara is now the daughter-in-law of Brigham Young, having married his eldest son, Joseph A. Young.

I am afraid at that time I was somewhat of a trial to my husband, for my heart was not yet quite subdued. I grew impatient at the wrong which I felt had been done to me, and I often said bitter things against the prophet of the Lord, and all his sacks, including my husband, who was then and for years after a devoted Mormon, and was quite horrified at what I said. He often told me that I was a great hindrance to him, and that it was impossible for anyone who lived with me to enjoy

the Spirit of God, and I was afraid that he only spoke the truth. Then I repented and sought to chasten myself, and I fasted and prayed, and asked forgiveness of God and my husband. But even when most subdued I was as unhappy as ever, and someone was sure to say something which reminded me of my trouble, and whenever the elders came to the house they were sure to discuss the one painful topic. Then my indignant feelings all came back again, and I felt the Spirit of rebellion stirring within me.

I could not help it, for I felt that woman's nature itself was insulted by the degrading doctrine, and any mention of it excited my anger. My husband and the elders had anticipated that I would not readily submit, and they bore with me as patiently as they could, losing no opportunity of strengthening me in the faith, ever keeping before me the obligation that rested upon me in particular to explain the doctrine to the Swiss sisters. They knew very well that nothing tends

more to conform the faith of the wavering than setting them to teach others. Brigham Young has always acted upon this principle, and whenever any of the brethren have evinced signs of doubt or disaffection, they have been at once dispatched on mission. Their efforts to convert others established their own faith. Among the Swiss we had never spoken on polygamy or any kindred subject, and we were therefore spared the humiliation of which the British elders experienced

in having to retract their own teachings. Nevertheless, Mr. Stenhouse and the other elders felt great anxiety as to how the new doctrine would be received. My husband did not at once openly tell them that such a revelation had been sent from Zion, but whenever an opportunity presented, he took them aside singly and spoke to them about the ancient patriarchs who practiced polygamy, and so great was his influence with the converts that he soon won them over to the new

teaching and made them feel that they would not be justified in rejecting the revelation. Many of the Swiss saints before their conversion had been more socialists than Christians, and they probably thought that this change in the marriage institution was a sign of advancing intellectual supremacy, but their wives were very far from sharing these opinions with them. After many days and nights of prayer and fasting, I prepared myself for my work.

To a certain extent, I had brought my own self under control, or thought I had, and I almost felt anxious to begin, so that I might get over the painful scenes which I fully anticipated. It was agreed that Madame Belif, of whom I had already spoken, as being rather skeptical when my child recovered from her critical condition, should be the first to whom the intelligence should be imparted, for it was thought that if she accepted the revelation without much difficulty,

the other sisters would be more easily won over. She was a well-educated and intelligent woman and had seen a good deal of the world. She had met her husband while traveling in Russia, had married him, and they had returned to their native land. She was in every respect a lady, but she was a spoiled child and had her whims, and she possessed a great influence over the minds of the other sisters. On this account, it was that she was selected as the victim to whom should

first be imparted the mysteries of the revelation, for it was thought that whatever reception she might give to polygamy, her views would greatly influence the conduct of the rest. As I before mentioned, Madame Belif and her husband were models of affection to one another, and it seemed to me quite a sin that I should introduce into such a household a doctrine which could only produce disunion and misery. I had, however, schooled my heart to what I thought was

my duty, and I strove to smother the rebellion rising within me. But after all, it seemed to me hardly fair that I should be selected for this painful task. These husbands had not courage enough or were ashamed to tell their own wives about this wonderful revelation, and so I, a weak woman, hating in my heart the doctrine as much as a woman could hate, I was chosen to introduce this pleasant subject and to persuade those I loved to their own ruin. I had had it all fully explained

to me, and I thoroughly understood the beauties of the system in the sight of the elders, and what they considered the strong points in the revelation. But it is miserable work to try to convince others of a thing that you yourself detest. One day, quite unexpectedly to her, they had told Madame Belif that a new revelation had been sent from Zion, and that I would explain it to her. Then Monsieur Belif left the house and remained absent until the wife whom he so devotedly loved should

have heard this new thing. Madame Belif came downstairs singing in her usual gay spirits, little expecting what she was going to hear, and when she came to me I felt so unfitted for my task that I dared not look her straight in the face, although she was my dearest friend, and I had such an affection for her. I stood there, pale and trembling, and she thought that I was not well. I was not well indeed. I was sick at heart. Never before had the face of a friend been so unwelcome.

She asked me what it was that I had to tell her, and when I hesitatingly denied having wanted to speak to her at all, she said she knew there must be something, as her husband had told her so. I hesitated still, but at last found courage and told her all. It was a cruel task to impose upon me. Day after day I had observed her and her husband. I had noticed their deep affection, had seen her watching at the window for his return, and he would come with a little offering of choice fruit

or flowers, and I thought no woman could be happier than Madame Belif, and now for me to so cruelly awaken them from their dream of bliss. She sat and listened eagerly as I told my story, and when at length she began to understand what was meant by it, she thought that I must be playing some unseasonable joke upon her, and showed as much in her countenance. But when she saw that I really was in earnest, she sprang up and cried out, Oh my God, what a beastly religion! How dared your

husband and you come to a Swiss with such a religion as that? My eyes sank before her as she turned on me with mingled rage and disgust, as she would wither me with her contemptuous looks. I felt as humbled as if I myself had been the author of the revelation. And does my Sergei believe this? she cried. I assured her that he did believe it, and she paced the room to and fro as if she would go crazy. My heart ached for her. She gave

way to a perfect storm of rage, and then sobbed and cried like a child who had lost its mother. I was silent, for I knew how she must feel, and I felt that she would be relieved by tears. I had gone through the trial all alone, without one word from a woman's heart that could reach my own, and I tried to comfort her. I remembered how I had felt myself, and I believed that thus it was now with her. In an instant when I first realized that polygamy had anything to do with me,

just as I have heard it said of dying men, all my past life rushed to my remembrance, and every word or deed of love therein stood out in brightest reality. Thus I doubted not it was with my friend. Every tender word which her husband had ever uttered, every loving deed he had ever done, came to her recollection with a tenfold dearness as she realized the horrors which awaited in her future. How little did either of us imagine the story she would afterwards tell

me in Utah. I tried to soothe her, and she threw her arms passionately round me, and pressed me to her throbbing heart, and wept again. She thought of her husband and her little girls, but with all her fears she dreamed not how miserable was the life before her in poverty and polygamy. She was herself, handsome in form and fair in feature, and in the full enjoyment of all that could be desired in her sphere of life. She was as happy as a youthful wife could be. She pictured to

herself a time, not now, her Sergei loved her to truly now, when her husband might cast his eyes upon some blooming damsel, younger than she was then, and might begin to take a nearer interest in polygamy. She pictured him bestowing on the youthful beauty, the love and tenderness which he had always bestowed on her, how his affections would die out towards her, how her heart would be desolate and alone. I took her hand in mine and spoke very gently to her, and when she was calmer

I talked to her more freely. We found now, as we tried to look our common enemy in the face, how strong a hold Mormonism had taken hold of us, and it is in this that persons unacquainted with the saints have so greatly misjudged the women of Utah. They know how small a hold such a religion would have upon them. Now they look upon Mormonism and polygamy as identical, and they forget how all absorbing was our faith in Mormonism without polygamy. We confided not wisely, but too well.

Had polygamy been an invention of our husbands or a system which they capriciously adopted, we might have been grieved, but we should have known how to act, for we were in a Christian country where women had rights as well as men. It was our own hearts which were traitors to us. We had been taught to regard Abraham and Jacob and David and Solomon as types of holiness, as men who were fit objects for imitation. And now it was proved to us from Scripture

that these men were polygamists and yet were blessed by God, and we were called upon to follow their example. Thus we tried to crush out the remembrance of our own womanhood. Had we but followed the light of reason which God had given for our guide, we should have trampled in the dust that vile burlesque upon the holy religion of Jesus, called a revelation upon celestial marriage. As it was the religious teachings which we had received both before

and after we embraced Mormonism, alike combined to blind us to the truth. In this state of mind we knelt and prayed for the Lord to increase our faith in that very doctrine, which in our hearts we cursed and hated, and on our knees we wept again, and natural feelings of repugnance mingled with an earnest struggle to submit to the will of God. Madame Baliff had not so much faith in Mormonism as I had, and she had consequently lest trouble

her in that respect. But she loved her husband, and she knew that he was determined to go to Zion as soon as he could, and then not only would all the luxuries of a happy home be sacrificed, but all her anticipations of the future were overshadowed by a terrible apprehension. Thus we were equally troubled, though I had to endure most, as the task of teaching fell upon me. I did at last manage to persuade her not to offer any active opposition to the revelation,

but I could not satisfy her that all was right. She even went so far as to promise to try to overcome her own feelings, for if it was really true she did not wish to be found fighting against the Lord. She had, however, hardly ceased speaking when the thought of her little daughters crossed her mind, and once more she paced the room like an enraged tigress, declaring angrily that no vile polygamist should ever possess either of her sweet girls. I had felt like this for my own darling

Clara. I now had a companion in misery, someone who could sympathize with me, and I had no choice but to accept her. Even had my husband detested the doctrine as I did, he could not have comforted me as a woman and a mother could. My poor dear friend could feel as I felt, and her sympathy was very dear to me. Misery loves companionship. We were sisters in affliction. Not only so, Madame Bélif declared that this painful task should not rest on me alone. She would help me in speaking to

the sisters. Thus we helped each other in the time of our trouble. It must have been about this time that I received another letter from Mary Burton. The postmark is quite indistinct, but a week or two, one way or the other, does not signify much. In her usual quick and impulsive way she gave me her views of the beauties of polygamy, and perhaps the reader would like to hear what she said. I am very miserable Sister Stenhouse, and furiously indignant. I little thought when I last wrote to

you that I should have such news to tell, but I suppose you know it all without my saying a word. How we all felt when we first learned that polygamy was true. No words of mine can describe. We hardly dared look one another in the face. Let me tell you how it was. One night quite late Elder Shrewsbury came round in a hurry and asked to see me. I went down into the parlor to meet him, and Mrs. Ellsworth came down also and remained until he went away.

Elder Shrewsbury looked very strange that night, just like a man who had been doing something very wrong and was ashamed of it, and well he might feel so. He began by talking to Mrs. Ellsworth about the weather, and when they had both said all they could think of on that interesting and original subject, we all three sat silent for some time. Elder Shrewsbury at last spoke. He excused himself for coming so late, but he said he had only just received some important news

and could not rest until he had seen us. He had been round at the conference house and had there seen a good many of the elders. They were all talking earnestly upon the same subject, for that day they had received not only letters from the apostle at Liverpool, but also copies of the millennial star with the revelation in it, which I suppose you have seen. Of course it was impossible for them to doubt any longer, but most of them felt it was a cruel blow. Elder Shrewsbury said

they looked at one another, but did not dare to speak. Nearly all of them had been anxiously trying to get rid of the false scandal as they supposed the accusation of polygamy to be, and in public in their sermons and in private to all the weak brethren they had over and over again solemnly declared that polygamy was unheard of among the saints, that it was a gentile lie, and they had proved from the Bible and from the Book of Mormon that a doctrine so sinful

could never be believed or practiced by God's people. Now all this would be thrown in their teeth. Those who hated Mormonism would revile them for it, and worse still, the saints would despise and doubt them for the lies which many of them had innocently told. Who could tell where all this would end when they were found to have been deceived in a matter like polygamy, about which it was so easy to arrive at facts and certainty? Who could trust them concerning other doctrines

which depended on their veracity and testimony alone? Then too there was worse to be said about the American elders and apostles. Who could believe that Orson Pratt or Lorenzo Snow knew nothing of polygamy, and yet they denied it in the most solemn way? And oh, Sister Stenhouse, think of the apostle Taylor calling God to witness his truth when he proved from the Book of Covenants that there was no such thing as polygamy, and all the while he had himself five wives in Salt Lake

City. Oh my, this is dreadful. Whether the doctrine is true or not, I can never believe that God would forgive all that abominable lying about it. But I was telling you of that evening. Elder Shrewsbury told us all this, but he spoke slowly and disjointedly like a man whose mind is troubled. He said he hardly knew what he was doing. Then he gave Mrs. Ellsworth a copy of the Star, and he asked me, too, to read the Revelation carefully before I condemned it.

If the Revelation, as you call it, allows polygamy, I exclaimed, it is a lie, and I hate and despise it, and you, and Mormonism, and all. I was in quite a fury, and I did feel as if I hated him then. He did not answer me. He seemed too cut up to utter a word, but I did not pity him. I felt that men who would write such a Revelation as that, for their own wicked purposes, deserved all the hatred which the cruelest heart could muster up. They were loathsome to any pure-minded woman.

Then we went downstairs, for I generally go to see him out. He took my hand in his to shake it, and he held it there, although I tried to take it away, and he said mournfully, Sister Mary, I know you have good cause for anger, but be just. I have been just as much deceived as you ever have been. It has unsettled all my faith. Even our best and most tried missionaries are shrinking from it. Do not blame me for what I have not done. I never deceived you about it.

How can I tell that, I said, if the apostles thought nothing of deceiving us and perjuring themselves, how can I trust anyone? If they had only held their tongues, I should have thought it wrong for them to passively let us be deceived. But you yourself know how solemnly they affirmed that it was all false. I tell you fairly, I hate them. The apostles, he said, had told some who were strong enough in the faith to bear it,

all the truth, but they gave us milk, as the Bible says, because we were babes and our faith was weak. Nonsense, I said. To tell me such stuff as that, as if the Bible called lies and perjury milk. Nice food for babes, indeed. Why, it's blasphemy even to talk so. I cannot help it, Sister Mary, he said. I am more sorry than I can tell you, but what can I do? I did not answer him, and after a few moments during which he held still my hand in his,

he said, Mary, I want to speak to you alone about these things. I have much that I want to say, and I don't want Mrs. Ellsworth to be with us. Can I see you tomorrow evening if I call? Can I speak with you for half an hour by ourselves? I wish you would not call me Mary any more, Elder Shrewsbury, I said. It is too familiar now. We have been far too friendly, but thank God I have found out in time and know how to act.

I hardly think I ought to let you call me Sister Mary even. There can be no brotherhood or sisterhood with polygamy. But I don't want to be unkind to you. Then I told him that he might come as he said, and that I would ask Mrs. Ellsworth to let me see him. He went away looking most miserable, and Mrs. Ellsworth scolded me for being so long at the door. I suppose she thought we were love-making, but she was greatly mistaken. She did not see much pleased

or vexed about the revelation, and she told me that she knew quite well what she was doing. She told me that she knew quite well before that it would come some day, and as she said that there was a peculiar look of determination about her mouth that I have never seen before. I felt sure at once that she had formed a plan of some kind that she would carry out if it cost her her life. Then I went to my own room and tried to think the matter out. If I were married as you are,

Sister Stenhouse, and if my husband believed in the revelation, I think I should go crazy. As it was, I felt terribly. You know, dear, I told you that I liked Elder Shrewsbury very well, but nothing more. Well, that was very true then, but now I know that that was not all the truth. I take care that he shall never know what I think of him, but, aunt Ernie, I know that he is not the same to me as other people. I do not think I love him, no. I'm sure I don't now, but I do feel a

great deal of interest in him. That night, however, I felt very bad at him, that he had been deceived, I knew, and also that he must have felt sorry for having deceived me, and if he cares for me, he must have felt uneasy for what I might say or do. Now the doctrine was proclaimed, but I thought that as a man he ought to have shown more courage and not to have appeared so thoroughly frightened before a girl like me. Well, the more I thought of it, the more angry I became, and I couldn't sleep

all night. The next morning I wrote a little note to Elder Shrewsbury saying that after all that had happened, I had fully resolved not to see him again. Many of my friends, I said, were married and could not help themselves, but I both could and would. The Mormon sisters I should ever pity and love, but as for the Mormon men, I would never have anything to do with one of them as long as I lived. I did not want to be unkind to him personally, but I really could not trust anyone now.

I then showed this note to Mrs. Ellsworth and asked her to give it to Elder Shrewsbury that night when he came. He came, of course, and he came again and again, but I would not see him, and I did not even go to the meetings for fear of coming across him there. He had long talks with Mrs. Ellsworth and tried to get her to interfere, and at last he sent me a long letter entreating me not to refuse him. I was cooler now, and when Mrs. Ellsworth said I ought to at least see him,

even if I dismissed him then, I agreed to do so, and the next night he came. He was very humble that night. You know what torrents of eloquence he pours forth about anything that interests him and how earnest he is, but then all his eloquence had fled. He hesitated and blundered until I really quite pitied him. He came and sat by me and would have taken my hand, but I would not let him. He did not tell me that he loved me, but he spoke as if

I were conscious of the fact, and you know, of course, I couldn't help feeling that he cared for me, whether he spoke about it or not. He assured me over and over again that though he had often heard the scandal, as I had done, he did not for a moment believe it. He said that he should never himself act up to the revelation, that if he loved it should be an undivided and all-absorbing love, that he would rather have less glory in eternity with one whom he could idolize,

then obey the revelation on polygamy and obtain a higher position. All this time he hardly looked once at me, but when I did see his eyes they seemed very sorrowful and very earnest. I confess to you that what he said made me feel very differently for him, for a man of his ability and talents, who has such an influence and wins so much respect from everyone he meets, to be sitting there all bashful like a naughty child before a young girl like me,

and all because he loved me, made me feel for him a pity which was very near to love. But it was not love quite, and I did not let him read my thoughts. I asked him to tell me all he knew and to explain to me the meaning of different parts of the revelation which were rather obscure to me, and he did so. Then he tried to shake my resolution, and so anxious and troubled did he seem that I really do think that if I had asked him to give up Mormonism altogether he would have

done so for my sake. I told him that I had quite resolved now that polygamy was acknowledged, never to see him again except as I might see the other elders at meeting. I said I believed I was still a good Mormon, as Mormons used to be, but I would never receive polygamy or be more than an ordinary friend to anyone who did believe it. We talked together a good deal and we sat silently together a long while, and at last he rose to go. He kissed my hand sorrowfully, and I didn't like

to be vexed with him for doing so. He looked so doleful, and he said he'd wait and wait ever so long if I wanted him to do so, but that he would hope on trusting that someday I might change. I told him my thought. I knew I should never change. After that I only saw him at meeting, and oh dear you should see what meetings we have now. Half the people don't attend, and everything is so cold and lifeless, and it is said among the

brethren that polygamy will produce the greatest apostasy which the church has ever seen. Everyone seems ashamed of it. And now dear I have written you a terrible long letter, but you must please forgive me, for I have no one to whom I can open my heart except to you. I wish I had some keepsake to remember you by. Well I don't mean that, but I should like so to have your portrait. Did you not once tell me that Elder Stenhouse talked of learning photography? Does he practice it now?

And if so, couldn't you get him to take a shadow of yourself? I should so like to have one. Mine I will send you as soon as it is taken. I mean to write again to you in the course of a day or two, and then I'll tell you what Elder Shrewsbury said about the revelation itself. Meanwhile dear, kiss both the babies, please for me, and write soon to your most affectionately loving Mary Burton. Poor girl, I said as I folded up her letter. But it is better for her to suffer a little now

than for her to have been married first as I was, and then, when too late to go back, to have polygamy announced as an article of faith.