Not long did I remain under the mental paralysis. There was no time for
idle repining. The intelligence, derived from the torn leaf, had given
me a cue for action; and my spirit struggled to free itself from the
lethargy of grief. Hope whispered the watchword, "Up and be doing!" and
I arose to obey its mandate.
My heart was on fire--wildly, madly on fire. The contents of that
epistle, while it imbued my spirit with the sweetest of all earthly
pleasures, revealed to it the deadliest of dangers--imparting to it an
anguish beyond expression. It told me far more than the writer herself
knew--both of her love and what she had need to fear: for, in her
guileless innocence, was she alike unconscious of the passion and the
peril. Not so I. She had opened her heart before me. As on a printed
page, I could trace its tender inclinings. Had this been all, I should
have been happy--supremely happy. But, alas! that writing told me more:
that she who had pencilled it was in deadly peril. No--not _deadly_: it
was not of life; but of something fur dearer--to me a thousand times
more dear--her virgin honour. Now comprehended I, in all their
diabolical significance, those wild weird words: "The wolf has slept in
the lair of the forest deer--the yellow fawn will be his victim!" Now
knew I the wolf--a wolf disguised in the clothing of the lamb? It
needed no remarkable acumen to tell to whom the figure referred. The
writing itself revealed him--all but the name; and that was manifest by
implication. The man with whom "Marian went away"--he whom I had seen
in clerical garb and guise, was the wolf of the metaphor; and that man
was Stebbins, the _Mormon! With him, too, Lilian had gone away_!
Not with words can I express the suggestive hideousness of this thought.
To understand it in all its cruel significance, the reader should be
acquainted with that peculiar sect--known as the "Church of Latter-Day
Saints"--should have read its history and its chronicles. Without this
knowledge, he will be ill able to comprehend the peculiar bitterness,
that in that hour, wrapped and wrung my soul. Accident had made me
acquainted with the Mormon religion; not with its tenets--for it has
none--but with the moral idiosyncrasy of its most eminent "apostles," as
well as that of its humbler devotees--two very different classes of
"Saints."
In the animal world, we seek in vain for the type of either class. The
analogies of wolf and lamb, hawk and pigeon, cat and mouse, cannot be
employed with any degree of appropriateness--not one of them. In all
these creatures there are traits either of nobility or beauty. Neither
is to be found in the life and character of a Mormon--whether he be a
sincere neophyte or a hypocritical apostle. Perhaps the nearest
antagonistic forms of the animal world, by which we might typify the
antithetic conditions of Mormon life, both social and religious, are
those of fox and goose; though no doubt the subtle Reynard would scorn
the comparison. Nor, indeed, is the fox a true type: for even about him
there are redeeming qualities--something to relieve the soul from that
loathing which it feels in contemplating the character of a "ruling
elder" among the "Saints."
It would be difficult to imagine anything further removed, from what we
may term the "divinity of human nature," than one of these. Vulgar and
brutal, cunning and cruel, are ordinary epithets; and altogether too
weak to characterise such a creature. Some of the "twelves" and of the
"seventies" may lack one or other of these characteristics. In most
cases, however, you may safely bestow them all; and if it be the chief
of the sect--the President himself--you may add such other _ugly_
appellatives as your fancy may suggest; and be sure that your
portraiture will still fall short of the hideousness of the original.
Perhaps the most striking characteristic of these fanatics is the
absolute openness of their cheat. A more commonplace imposture has
never been offered for acceptance, even to the most ignorant of mankind.
It appeals neither to reason nor romance. The one is insulted by the
very shallowness of its chicanery, while its rank _plebbishness_
disgusts the other. Even the nomenclature, both of its offices and
office-bearers, has a vulgar ring that smacks of ignoble origin. The
names "twelves," "seventies," "deacons," "wifedoms," "Smiths" (Hiram and
Joseph), Pratt, Snow, Young, Cowdery, and the like--coupled as they are
with an affectation and imitation of Scripture phraseology--form a
vocabulary burlesquing even the Sacred Book itself, and suggesting by
their sounds the true character of the Mormon Church--a very essence of
plebeian hypocrisy.
I have used the word "fanatics," but that must be understood in a
limited sense. It can only be applied to the "geese"--the ignorant and
besotted _canaille_--which the "apostolic" emissaries have collected
from all parts of Europe, but chiefly from England, Scotland, and Wales.
The Welsh, as might be expected, furnish a large proportion of these
emigrant geese; while, strange as it may sound, there is but one Irish
goose in the whole Mormon flock! There are but few of these "birds" of
native American breed. The general intelligence, supplied by a proper
school system, prevents much proselytism in that quarter; but it does
not hinder the acute Yankee from playing the part of the fox: for in
reality this is his _role_ in the social system of Mormondom. The
President or "High Priest and Prophet" himself, the Twelves and
Seventies, the elders, deacons, and other dignitaries, are all, or
nearly all, of true Yankee growth; and to call these "fanatics" would be
a misapplication of the word. Term them conspirators, charlatans,
hypocrites, and impostors, if you will, but not fanatics. The Mormon
fox is no fanatic: he is a _professor_ in the most emphatic sense of the
word, but not a _believer_. His profession is absolute chicanery--he
has neither faith, dogma, nor doctrine.
There are writers who have defended these _forbans_ of religion; and
some who have even spoken well of their system. Captain Stansbury, the
explorer, has a good opinion of them. The captain is at best but a
superficial observer; and, unfortunately for his judgment, received most
courteous treatment at their hands. It is not human nature "to speak
ill of the bridge that has carried one over"; and Captain Stansbury has
obeyed the common impulse. In the earlier times of the Mormon Church,
there were champions of the Stansbury school to defend its members
against the charge of _polygamy_. In those days, the Saints themselves
attempted a sort of denial of it. The subject was then too rank to come
forth as a revelation. But a truth of this awkward kind could not long
remain untold; and it became necessary to mask it under the more
moderate title of a _spiritual-wifedom_. It required an acute
metaphysician to comprehend this spiritual relationship; and the
moralist was puzzled to understand its sanctity. During that period,
while the Saints dwelt within the pale of the Gentiles' country this
cloak was kept on; but after their "exodus" to the Salt Lake
settlements, the flimsy garment was thrown off--being found too
inconvenient to be worn any longer. There the motive for concealment
was removed, and the apology of a _spiritual-wifedom_ ceased to exist.
It came out in its carnal and sensual shape. Polygamy was boldly
preached and proclaimed, as it had ever been practised, in its most
hideous shape; and the defenders of Mormon purity, thus betrayed by
their pet proteges, dropped their broken lances to the ground. The
"institution" is even more odious under Mormon than Mohammed. There is
no redeeming point--not even the "romance of the harem"--for the
_zenana_ of a Latter-day Saint is a type of the most vulgar materialism,
where even the favourite sultana is not exempted from the hard
work-a-day duties of a slave.
Polygamy? No! the word has too limited a signification. To
characterise the condition of a Mormon wife, we must resort to the
phraseology of the _bagnio_.
_In company of a Mormon had Lilian gone away_! No wonder that my heart
was on fire--wildly, madly on fire. I rose from my seat, and rushed
forth for my horse. The storm still raged apace. Clouds and rolling
thunder, lightning and rain--rain such as that which ushered in the
Deluge! The storm! What cared I for its fury? Rain antediluvian would
not have stayed me in doors--not if it had threatened the drowning of
the world!