When he told her that he had gone beyond the apostolic twelve, although
he lived with only a few of the number, she exclaimed: "_Um Gottes
Himmels Willen!_"
The Herr Director wanted to know how he managed so many of them when he
had difficulty in managing one.
"_Ach!_ in those days," he said, "the wives were subject to their
husband, knowing that without him they could not live comfortably here,
nor safely hereafter. They were docile enough, and it did not cost so
much to keep them as it does now."
With a shrewd smile playing around his almost toothless mouth he added:
"You know if polygamy had not been prohibited it would have died out
gradually, because these are different times. We couldn't afford it
now."
The old man said he had known Joseph Smith and, of course, Brigham
Young. He spoke of them with reverence and awe, as men of God who
received revelations and could work wonders. There seemed to be little
or nothing of the mystic in his makeup; his religion was of a hard,
materialistic, matter-of-fact kind to which he clung most tenaciously.
There was an unmistakable coarseness about him which revealed itself in
his conversation. It may have been due to his peasant origin, but during
all the years, a really ethical religion would have refined him. In a
sense he still did not belong to the United States--he was a Mormon
first and last, and the government in Washington was to him as Pharaoh's
rule was to the Jews.
His religion evidently had taught him submission. He paid his tithes
ungrudgingly, and had gone on a mission uncomplainingly. He was a cog in
a great wheel whose resistless force he did not question.
From his farm we were taken to others, and to neighboring towns. The
whole system in all its minute details was explained to us, and the Herr
Director was quite fascinated by its efficiency, although I am sure he
would not care to be governed by it. Everywhere we found prosperous
conditions and outward contentment, but underneath, especially among the
young people, a brooding discontent and smouldering rebellion; yet at
the same time much stolid ignorance and fanaticism.
Our final visit was to the University, built solidly against the rocks,
its great U in purest white marked upon the mountainside, its very
existence seeming a menace to the system which supports it.
There was a fine group of students, both Mormons and Gentiles. The
library in which I spent some time astonished me. I wondered, as I
looked at some of the books, if the church authorities knew what was
between the covers. Dynamite under the Temple walls could not be as
dangerous as those volumes.
Possibly the students are as ignorant of their contents as the leaders
are. There are books on Philosophy and Psychology which do not seem to
me so menacing as those on Economics and Sociology; for it is upon these
subjects that the questioning will come first, and also the discontent.
After long and confidential conferences with some of the professors who
told me their views, and how they are struggling to maintain their
academic freedom, and after long talks with bright, energetic boys and
girls who expressed themselves freely, I could assure the Herr Director
that some problems, which have so long vexed the United States and have
threatened certain ideals of the American Spirit, are in process of
solution.
They are being solved by virtue of the broad tolerance of that spirit,
than which nothing is so feared by the reactionary forces in the Mormon
Church.
One thing which that institution desires more than anything else is
renewed persecution; not too much of it, but enough to rally the
children of the martyrs to face new martyrdom and so perpetuate the
waning power of the church.
One must remember that Mormonism is not only a sect, but a strongly
knitted society, and that men who have long ago ceased to believe in its
doctrines still hold to it with a loyalty born of past suffering, which
will be fostered by any future injustice or persecution.
When we left Salt Lake City and were safe in the Pullman on our way to
the Pacific Coast, the Frau Directorin put her stock question to the
colored porter when he came to make up the berths.
"How much wives you are?"
When I interpreted the question for him he smiled his broadest smile,
but looked puzzled. I told him that the lady thought him a Mormon.
"_No, ma'am._ I's a Baptist. But I sho'd like to be one. I likes de
ladies poheful."
He was not a Mormon, certainly not a saint, but he rendered us loyal
service on that long, dusty journey to the Coast. Perhaps because he
"likes de ladies poheful," or it may have been because I gave him half
of a generous tip in advance.