to many whose names I do not remember; in almost every case the
introduction was followed by some invitation. He now exchanged a word
with this “brother,” then a few sentences with that “sister,” carefully
suppressing the Mr. and Madam of the Eastern States. The fraternal
address gives a patriarchal and somewhat Oriental flavor to Mormon
converse; like other things, however, it is apt to run into extremes.
If a boy in the streets be asked, “What’s your name?” he will reply--if
he condescends to do so--“I’m brother such-and-such’s son.” In order
to distinguish children of different mothers, it is usual to prefix
the maternal to the paternal parent’s name, suppressing the given or
Christian name of monogamic lands. Thus, for instance, my sons by Miss
Brown, Miss Jones, and Miss Robinson, would call themselves Brother
Brown Burton, Brother Jones Burton, and so on. The Saints--even the
highest dignitaries--waive the Reverend; and the ridiculous Esquire,
that “title much in use among vulgar people,” which in Old and New
England applies to everybody, gentle or simple, has not yet extended
to Great Salt Lake City. The Mormon pontiff and the eminences around
him are simply Brother or Mister--they have the substance, and they
disdain the shadow of power. _En revanche_, among the crowd there
are as many colonels and majors--about ten being the proportion to
one captain--as in the days when Mrs. Trollope set the Mississippi
on fire. Sister is applied to women of all ages, thus avoiding the
difficulty of addressing a dowager, as in the Eastern States, Madam, in
contradistinction to Mrs., her daughter-in-law, or, what is worse, of
calling her after the English way, old Mrs. A., or, _Scotticè_, Mrs. A.
senior.
The dress of the fair sex has, I observed, already become peculiar.
The article called in Cornwall a “gowk,” in other parts of England a
“cottage bonnet,” and in the United States a “sun-bonnet,” is here
universally used, with the difference, however that the Mormons provide
it with a long thick veil behind, which acts like a cape or shawl. A
loose jacket and a petticoat, mostly of calico or of some inexpensive
stuff, compose the _tout visible_. The wealthier affect silks,
especially black. The merchants are careful to keep on hand a large
stock of fancy goods, and millinery.
* * * * *
About noon, after a preliminary visit to Mr. Gilbert--and a visit
in these lands always entails a certain amount of “smiling”--I met
Governor Cumming in Main Street, and we proceeded together to our visit
to the Prophet. After a slight scrutiny we passed the guard--which is
dressed in plain clothes, and to the eye unarmed--and walking down
the veranda, entered the Prophet’s private office. Several people who
were sitting there rose at Mr. Cumming’s entrance. At a few words of
introduction, Mr. Brigham Young advanced, shook hands with complete
simplicity of manner, asked me to be seated on a sofa at one side of
the room, and presented me to those present.
Under ordinary circumstances it would be unfair in a visitor to draw
the portrait of one visited. But this is no common case. I have
violated no rites of hospitality. Mr. Brigham Young is a “seer,
revelator, and prophet, having all the gifts of God which he bestows
upon the Head of the Church”: his memoirs, lithographs, photographs,
and portraits have been published again and again; I add but one more
likeness; and, finally, I have nothing to say except in his favor.
The Prophet was born at Whittingham, Vermont, on the 1st of June,
1801; he was consequently, in 1860, fifty-nine years of age; he looks
about forty-five. _La célébrité vieillit_--I had expected to see a
venerable-looking old man. Scarcely a gray thread appears in his hair,
which is parted on the side, light colored, rather thick, and reaches
below the ears with a half curl. He formerly wore it long, after the
Western style; now it is cut level with the ear-lobes. The forehead is
somewhat narrow, the eyebrows are thin, the eyes between gray and blue,
with a calm, composed, and somewhat reserved expression: a slight droop
in the left lid made me think that he had suffered from paralysis; I
afterward heard that the ptosis is the result of a neuralgia which has
long tormented him. For this reason he usually covers his head, except
in his own house or in the Tabernacle. Mrs. Ward, who is followed by
the “Revue des Deux-Mondes,” therefore errs again in asserting that
“his Mormon majesty never removes his hat in public.” The nose, which
is fine and somewhat sharp-pointed, is bent a little to the left. The
lips are close like the New Englander’s, and the teeth, especially
those of the under jaw, are imperfect. The cheeks are rather fleshy,
and the line between the alæ of the nose and the mouth is broken;
the chin is somewhat peaked, and the face clean-shaven, except under
the jaws, where the beard is allowed to grow. The hands are well
made, and not disfigured by rings. The figure is somewhat large,
broad-shouldered, and stooping a little when standing.
The Prophet’s dress was neat and plain as a Quaker’s, all gray homespun
except the cravat and waistcoat. His coat was of antique cut, and,
like the pantaloons, baggy, and the buttons were black. A neck-tie of
dark silk, with a large bow, was loosely passed round a starchless
collar, which turned down of its own accord. The waistcoat was of black
satin--once an article of almost national dress--single-breasted, and
buttoned nearly to the neck, and a plain gold chain was passed into
the pocket. The boots were Wellingtons, apparently of American make.
Altogether the Prophet’s appearance was that of a gentleman
farmer in New England--in fact, such as he is: his father was an
agriculturist and revolutionary soldier, who settled “down East.” He
is a well-preserved man; a fact which some attribute to his habit of
sleeping as the Citizen Proudhon so strongly advises, in solitude. His
manner is at once affable and impressive, simple and courteous: his
want of pretension contrasts favorably with certain pseudo-prophets
that I have seen, each and every one of whom holds himself to be a
“Logos,” without other claim save a semi-maniacal self-esteem. He
shows no signs of dogmatism, bigotry, or fanaticism, and never once
entered--with me at least--upon the subject of religion. He impresses a
stranger with a certain sense of power; his followers are, of course,
wholly fascinated by his superior strength of brain. It is commonly
said there is only one chief in Great Salt Lake City, and that is
“Brigham.” His temper is even and placid; his manner is cold--in
fact, like his face, somewhat bloodless; but he is neither morose nor
methodistic, and, where occasion requires, he can use all the weapons
of ridicule to direful effect, and “speak a bit of his mind” in a
style which no one forgets. He often reproves his erring followers
in purposely violent language, making the terrors of a scolding the
punishment in lieu of hanging for a stolen horse or cow. His powers of
observation are intuitively strong, and his friends declare him to be
gifted with an excellent memory and a perfect judgment of character.
If he dislikes a stranger at the first interview, he never sees him
again. Of his temperance and sobriety there is but one opinion. His
life is ascetic: his favorite food is baked potatoes with a little
buttermilk, and his drink water; he disapproves, as do all strict
Mormons, of spirituous liquors, and never touches anything stronger
than a glass of thin Lager-bier; moreover, he abstains from tobacco.
Mr. Hyde has accused him of habitual intemperance: he is, as his
appearance shows, rather disposed to abstinence than to the reverse.
Of his education I cannot speak: “men, not books--deeds, not words,”
has ever been his motto; he probably has, as Mr. Randolph said of Mr.
Johnston, “a mind uncorrupted by books.” In the only discourse which
I heard him deliver, he pronounced impĕtus, impētus. Yet he converses
with ease and correctness, has neither snuffle nor pompousness, and
speaks as an authority upon certain subjects, such as agriculture and
stock-breeding. He assumes no airs of extra sanctimoniousness, and has
the plain, simple manners of honesty. His followers deem him an angel
of light, his foes a goblin damned: he is, I presume, neither one nor
the other. I cannot pronounce about his scrupulousness: all the world
over, the sincerest religious belief and the practice of devotion are
sometimes compatible not only with the most disorderly life, but with
the most terrible crimes; for mankind mostly believes that
“Il est avec le ciel des accommodements.”
He has been called hypocrite, swindler, forger, murderer. No one looks
it less. The best authorities--from those who accuse Mr. Joseph Smith
of the most heartless deception, to those who believe that he began
as an impostor and ended as a prophet--find in Mr. Brigham Young “an
earnest, obstinate egotistic enthusiasm, fanned by persecution and
inflamed by bloodshed.” He is the St. Paul of the new Dispensation:
true and sincere, he gave point, and energy, and consistency to the
somewhat disjointed turbulent, and unforeseeing fanaticism of Mr.
Joseph Smith; and if he has not been able to create, he has shown
himself great in controlling circumstances. Finally, there is a total
absence of pretension in his manner, and he has been so long used to
power that he cares nothing for its display. The arts by which he
rules the heterogeneous mass of conflicting elements are indomitable
will, profound secrecy, and uncommon astuteness.
Such is His Excellency President Brigham Young, “painter and
glazier”--his earliest craft--prophet, revelator, translator, and seer;
the man who is revered as king or kaiser, pope or pontiff never was;
who, like the Old Man of the Mountain, by holding up his hand could
cause the death of any one within his reach; who, governing as well as
reigning, long stood up to fight with the sword of the Lord, and with
his few hundred guerrillas, against the then mighty power of the United
States; who has outwitted all diplomacy opposed to him; and, finally,
who made a treaty of peace with the President of the Great Republic as
though he had wielded the combined power of France, Russia, and England.
Remembering the frequent query, “What shall be done with the Mormons?”
I often asked the Saints, Who will or can succeed Mr. Brigham Young? No
one knows, and no one cares. They reply, with a singular disdain for
the usual course of history, with a perfect faith that their Cromwell
will know no Richard as his successor, that, as when the crisis came
the Lord raised up in him, then unknown and little valued, a fitting
successor to Mr. Joseph Smith--of whom, by-the-by, they now speak with
a respectful reverential _sotto voce_, as Christians name the Founder
of their faith--so, when the time for deciding the succession shall
arrive, the chosen Saints will not be left without a suitable leader.
The conversation, which lasted about an hour, ended by the Prophet
asking me the line of my last African exploration, and whether it was
the same country traversed by Dr. Livingstone. I replied that it was
about ten degrees north of the Zambezi. Mr. A. Carrington rose to point
out the place upon a map which hung against the wall, and placed his
finger too near the equator, when Mr. Brigham Young said, “A little
lower down.” There are many educated men in England who could not
have corrected the mistake as well: witness the “London Review,” in
which the gentleman who “does the geography”--not having the fear of a
certain society in Whitehall Place before his eyes--confounds, in all
the pomp of criticism upon the said exploration, lakes which are not
less than 200 miles apart.
When conversation began to flag, we rose up, shook hands, as is the
custom here, all round, and took leave. The first impression left upon
my mind by this short _séance_, and it was subsequently confirmed,
was, that the Prophet is no common man, and that he has none of the
weakness and vanity which characterize the common uncommon man.
A desultory conversation cannot be expected to draw out a master
spirit, but a truly distinguished character exercises most often an
instinctive--some would call it a mesmeric--effect upon those who come
in contact with it; and as we hate or despise at first sight, and
love or like at first sight, so Nature teaches us at first sight what
to respect. It is observable that, although every Gentile writer has
represented Mr. Joseph Smith as a heartless impostor, few have ventured
to apply the term to Mr. Brigham Young. I also remarked an instance
of the veneration shown by his followers, whose affection for him is
equaled only by the confidence with which they intrust to him their
dearest interests in this world and in the next. After my visit many
congratulated me, as would the followers of the Tien Wong, or heavenly
King, upon having at last seen what they consider “a per se” the most
remarkable man in the world.
I was unwilling to add to the number of those who had annoyed the
Prophet by domestic allusions, and therefore have no direct knowledge
of the extent to which he carries polygamy; some Gentiles allow him
seventeen, others thirty-six, out of a household of seventy members;
others an indefinite number of wives scattered through the different
settlements. Of these, doubtless, many are but wives by name, such,
for instance, as the widows of the late Prophet; and others are married
more for the purpose of building up for themselves spiritual kingdoms
than for the normal purpose of matrimony. I should judge the Prophet’s
progeny to be numerous from the following circumstance: On one
occasion, when standing with him on the belvidere, my eye fell upon a
new erection: it could be compared externally to nothing but an English
gentleman’s hunting stables, with their little clock-tower, and I asked
him what it was intended for. “A private school for my children,” he
replied, “directed by Brother E. B. Kelsey.” The harem is said to have
cost $30,000.
On the extreme west of this block, backed by a pound for estrays,
which is no longer used, lies the Tithing House and Deserét Store,
a long, narrow, upper-storied building, with cellars, store-rooms,
receiving-rooms, pay-rooms, and writing offices. At this time of the
year it chiefly contains linseed, and rags for paper-making; after
the harvest it is well stuffed with grains and cereals, which are
taken instead of money payment. There is nothing more unpopular among
the American Gentiles, or, indeed, more unintelligible to them, than
these Mosaic tithes, which the English converts pay, from habit,
without a murmur. They serve for scandalous insinuations, viz., that
the chiefs are leeches that draw the people’s golden blood; that the
imposts are compulsory, and that they are embezzled and peculated by
the principal dignitaries. I have reason to believe that the contrary
is the case. The tithes which are paid into the “Treasury of the Lord”
upon the property of a Saint on profession, and afterward upon his
annual income, or his time, or by substitute, are wholly voluntary.
It sometimes happens that a man casts his all into the bosom of the
Church; in this case the all is not refused, but--may I ask--by what
Church body, Islamitic, Christian, or pagan, would it be? If the
Prophet takes anything from the Tithing House, he pays for it like
other men. The writers receive stipends like other writers, and no
more; of course, if any one--clerk or lawyer--wishes to do the business
of the Church gratis, he is graciously allowed to.
* * * * *
I was eager to attend the services at the Tabernacle on my first
Sunday in Zion and found it, as I expected, overcrowded. All wore
their hats till the address began, and then all uncovered. By my side
was the face of a blear-eyed English servant-girl; _en revanche_ in
front was a charming American mother and child: she had, what I have
remarked in Mormon meetings at Saville House and other places in
Europe, an unusual development of the organ which phrenologists call
veneration. I did not see any Bloomers “displaying a serviceable pair
of brogues,” or “pictures of Grant Thorburn in petticoats.” There were
a few specimens of the “Yankee woman,” formerly wondrous grim, with a
shrewd, thrifty gray eye, at once cold and eager, angular in body and
mind, tall, bony, and square-shouldered, now softened and humanized by
transplantation and transposition to her proper place. The number of
old people astonished me; half a dozen were sitting on the same bench;
these broken-down men and decrepit crones had come to lay their bones
in the Holy City; their presence speaks equally well for their faith
and for the kind-heartedness of those who had brought the encumbrance.
I remarked some Gentiles in the Bowery; many, however, do not care to
risk what they may hear there touching themselves.
At 10 A. M. the meeting opened with a spiritual song. Then Mr.
Wallace--a civilized-looking man lately returned from foreign
travel--being called upon by the presiding elder for the day, opened
the meeting with prayer, of which the two short-hand writers in the
tribune proceeded to take notes. The matter, as is generally the case
with returned missionaries delivering their budget, was good; the
manner was somewhat Hibernian; the “valleys of the mountains”--a stock
phrase, appeared and reappeared like the speechifying Patlander’s
eternal “emerald green hills and beautiful pretty valleys.” He ended
by imploring a blessing upon the (Mormon) President, and all those
in authority; Gentiles of course were included. The conclusion was
an amen, in which all hands joined: it reminded me of the historical
practice of “humming” in the seventeenth century, which caused the
universities to be called “_Hum et Hissimi auditores_.”
Next arose Bishop Abraham O. Smoot, second mayor of Zion, and
successor to the late Jedediah M. Grant, who began with “Brethering,”
and proceeded at first in a low and methody tone of voice, “hardly
audible in the gallery,” to praise the Saints, and to pitch into the
apostates. His delivery was by no means fluent, even when he warmed.
He made undue use of the regular Wesleyan organ--the nose; but he
appeared to speak excellent sense in execrable English. He recalled
past persecutions without over-asperity, and promised future prosperity
without over-prophecy. As he was in the midst of an allusion to the
President, entered Mr. Brigham Young, and all turned their faces, even
the old lady--who, dear soul! from Hanover Square to far San Francisco,
placidly reposes through the discourse.
The Prophet was dressed, as usual, in gray homespun and homewoven:
he wore, like most of the elders, a tall, steeple-crowned straw hat,
with a broad black ribbon, and he had the rare refinement of black
kid gloves. He entered the tribune covered and sat down, apparently
greeting those near him. A man in a fit was carried out pumpward.
Bishop Smoot concluded with informing us that we should live for
God. Another hymn was sung. Then a great silence, which told us that
something was about to happen: _that_ old man held his cough; _that_
old lady awoke with a start; _that_ child ceased to squall. Mr.
Brigham Young removed his hat, advanced to the end of the tribune,
expectorated stooping over the spittoon, which was concealed from sight
by the boarding, restored the balance of fluid by a glass of water from
a well-filled decanter on the stand, and, leaning slightly forward upon
both hands propped on the green baize of the tribune, addressed his
followers.
The discourse began slowly; word crept titubantly after word, and the
opening phrases were hardly audible; but as the orator warmed, his
voice rose high and sonorous, and a fluency so remarkable succeeded
falter and hesitation, that--although the phenomenon is not rare in
strong speakers--the latter seemed almost to have been a work of art.
The manner was pleasing and animated, and the matter fluent, impromptu,
and well turned, spoken rather than preached: if it had a fault it was
rather rambling and unconnected. Of course, colloquialisms of all kinds
were introduced, such as “he become,” “for you and I,” and so forth.
The gestures were easy and rounded, not without a certain grace, though
evidently untaught; one, however, must be excepted, namely, that of
raising and shaking the forefinger; this is often done in the Eastern
States, but the rest of the world over it is considered threatening
and bullying. The address was long. God is a mechanic. Mormonism is a
great fact. Religion had made him (the speaker) the happiest of men.
He was ready to dance like a Shaker. At this sentence the Prophet, who
is a good mimic, and has much of the old New English quaint humor,
raised his right arm, and gave, to the amusement of the congregation, a
droll imitation of Anne Lee’s followers. The Gentiles had sent an army
to lay waste Zion, and what had they done? Why hung one of their own
tribe! and that, too, on the Lord’s day![20] The Saints have a glorious
destiny before them, and their morality is remarkable as the beauty
of the Promised Land: the soft breeze blowing over the Bowery, and the
glorious sunshine outside, made the allusion highly appropriate. The
Lamanites, or Indians, are a religious people. All races know a God and
may be saved. After a somewhat lengthy string of sentences concerning
the great tribulation coming on earth--it has been coming for the last
1800 years--he concluded with good wishes to visitors and Gentiles
generally, with a solemn blessing upon the President of the United
States, the territorial governor, and all such as be in authority over
us, and, with an amen which was loudly re-echoed by all around, he
restored his hat and resumed his seat.
Having heard much of the practical good sense which characterizes the
Prophet’s discourse, I was somewhat disappointed: probably the occasion
had not been propitious. During the discourse, a Saint, in whose family
some accident had occurred, was called out, but the accident failed to
affect the riveted attention of the audience.
Then arose Mr. Heber C. Kimball, the second President. He is the model
of a Methodist, a tall and powerful man, a “gentleman in black,” with
small, dark, piercing eyes, and clean-shaven blue face. He affects the
Boanerges style, and does not at times disdain the part of Thersites:
from a certain dislike to the Nonconformist rant and whine, he prefers
an every-day manner of speech, which savors rather of familiarity than
of reverence. The people look more amused when he speaks than when
others harangue them, and they laugh readily, as almost all crowds
will, at the thinnest phantom of a joke. Mr. Kimball’s movements
contrasted strongly with those of his predecessors; they consisted now
of a stone-throwing gesture delivered on tiptoe, then of a descending
movement, as
“When pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist and not with stick.”
He began with generalisms about humility, faithfulness, obeying
counsel, and not beggaring one’s neighbor. Addressing the hand-cart
emigrants, newly arrived from the “sectarian world,” he warned them to
be on the look-out, or that every soul of them would be taken in and
shaved (a laugh). Agreeing with the Prophet--Mr. Kimball is said to be
his echo--in a promiscuous way concerning the morality of the Saints,
he felt it notwithstanding his duty to say that among them were “some
of the greatest rascals in the world” (a louder laugh, and N.B., the
Mormons are never spared by their own preachers). After a long suit of
advice, _à propos de rien_, to missionaries, he blessed, amen’d, and
sat down.
After Mr. Kimball’s address, a list of names for whom letters were
lying unclaimed was called from the platform. Mr. Eldridge, a
missionary lately returned from foreign travel, adjourned the meeting
till 2 P. M., delivered the prayer of dismissal, during which all
stood up, and ended with the benediction and amen. The Sacrament was
not administered on this occasion. It is often given, and reduced to
the very elements of a ceremony; even water is used instead of wine,
because the latter is of Gentile manufacture. Two elders walk up and
down the rows, one carrying a pitcher, the other a plate of broken
bread, and each Saint partakes of both.
ON THE COMSTOCK
J. ROSS BROWNE
“A Peep at Washoe,” and “Washoe Revisited.” Reprinted by permission
of _Harper’s New Monthly Magazine_, Vol. XXII, No. 123 and Vol. XXXI,
No. 181. Harper and Brothers, New York.
I
1860