_The Rise and Fall of a Bent Little Prophet_
Down in the village the various dinners of ceremony to the visiting
officials were over. An hour had followed of decent rest and informal
chat between the visitors and their hosts, touching impartially on
matters of general interest; on irrigation, the gift of tongues, the
season's crop of peaches, the pouring out of the Spirit abroad, the best
mixture of sheep-dip; on many matters not unpleasing to the
practical-minded Deity reigning over them.
Then the entire populace of Amalon, in its Sunday best of "valley tan"
or store-goods, flocked to the little square and sat expectantly on the
benches under the green roof of the bowery, ready to absorb the
droppings of the sanctuary.
In due time came Brigham, strolling between Elder Wardle and Bishop
Wright, bland, affable, and benignant. On the platform about him sat his
Counsellors, the more distinguished of his suite, and the local
dignitaries of the Church.
Among these came the little bent man with an unwonted colour in his
face, coming in absorbed in thought, shaking hands even with Brigham
with something of abstraction in his manner. Prudence and Follett came
late, finding seats at the back next to a generous row of the Mrs. Seth
Wright.
The hymn to Joseph Smith was given out, and the congregation rose to
sing:--
"Unchanged in death, with a Saviour's love,
He pleads their cause in the courts above.
"His home's in the sky, he dwells with the gods,
Far from the rage of furious mobs.
"He died, he died, for those he loved,
He reigns, he reigns, in the realms above.
"Shout, shout, ye Saints! This boon is given,--
We'll meet our martyred seer in heaven."
When they had settled into their seats, the Wild Ram of the Mountains
arose and invoked a blessing on those present and upon those who had
gone behind the veil; adding a petition that Brigham be increased in his
basket and in his store, in wives, flocks, and herds, and in the gifts
of the Holy Spirit.
They sang another hymn, and when that was done, the little bent man
arose and came hesitatingly forward to the baize-covered table that
served as a pulpit. As President of the Stake it was his office to
welcome the visitors, and this he did.
There were whisperings in the audience when his appearance was noted. It
was the first time he had been seen by many of them in weeks. They
whispered that he was failing.
"He ought to be home this minute," was the first Mrs. Wardle's diagnosis
to the fifth Mrs. Wardle, behind her hymn-book, "with his feet in a
mustard bath and a dose of gamboge and a big brewing of catnip tea. I
can tell a fever as far as I can see it."
The words of official welcome spoken, he began his discourse; but in a
timid, shuffling manner so unlike his old self that still others
whispered of his evident illness. Inside he burned with his purpose,
but, with all his resolves, the presence of Brigham left him unnerved.
He began by referring to their many adversities since the day when they
had first knelt to entreat the mercy of God upon the land. Then he spoke
of revelations.
"You must all have had revelations, because they have come even to me.
Perhaps you were deaf to the voice, as I have been. Perhaps you have
trusted too readily in some revelation that came years ago, supposedly
from God--in truth, from the Devil. Perhaps you have been deaf to later
revelations meant to warn you of the other's falseness."
He was still uneasy, hesitating, fearful; but he saw interest here and
there in the faces before him. Even Brigham, though unseen by the
speaker, was looking mildly curious.
"You remember the revelation that came to Joseph in an early day when
there was trouble in raising money to print the Book of Mormon,--'Some
revelations are from God, some from man, and some from the Devil.'
Recalling the many chastenings God has put upon us, may we not have
failed to test all our other revelations by this one?"
Deep within he was angry at himself, for he was not speaking with words
of fire as he had meant to; he was feeling a shameful cowardice in the
presence of the Prophet. He had seen himself once more the Lute of the
Holy Ghost, strong and moving; but now he was a poor, low-spoken,
hesitating rambler. Nervously he went on, skirting about the edge of his
truth as long as he dared, but feeling at last that he must plunge into
its icy depths.
"In short, brethren, the Book of Mormon denounces and forbids our plural
marriages."
Even this astounding declaration he made without warmth, in tones so low
that many did not hear him. Those on the platform heard, however, and
now began to view his obvious physical weakness in a new light. Yet he
continued, gaining a little in force.
"The declarations on the subject in the Book of Mormon are so worded
that we cannot fail to read them as denouncing and forbidding the
practise of the Old Testament patriarchs in this matter of the family
life."
In rapid succession he cited the passages to which he referred, those
concerning David and Solomon and Noah and Ripkalish, who "did not do
that which was right in the sight of the Lord, for he did have many
wives."
There were murmurings and rustlings among the people now, and on his
right he heard Brigham stirring ominously in his chair; but he nerved
himself to keep on his feet, feeling he had that to say which should
make them hail him as a new prophet when they understood.
"But besides these warnings against the sin there are many early
revelations to Joseph himself condemning it."
He cited several of these, feeling the amazement and the alarm grow
about him.
"And now against these plain words, given at many times in many places,
written on the golden plates in letters that cannot lie, or brought to
Joseph by the angel of the Lord, we have only the one revelation on
celestial marriage. Read it now in the light of these other revelations
and see if it does not too plainly convict itself of having been
counterfeited to Joseph by an evil spirit. Such, brethren, has been the
revelation that the Lord has given to me again and again until it burns
within me, and I must cry it out to you. Try to receive it from me."
There was commotion among the people in front, chairs were moved at his
side, and a low voice called to him to sit down. He heard this voice
through the ringing that had been in his ears for many days, like the
beating of a sea against him, and he felt the strength go suddenly from
his knees.
He stumbled weakly back to his chair and sank into it with head bowed,
feeling, rather than seeing, the figure of Brigham rise from its seat
and step forward with deliberate, unruffled majesty.
As the Prophet faced his people they became quite silent, so that the
robins could be heard in the Pettigrew peach-trees across the street. He
poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and drank of it
slowly. Then, leaning a little forward, resting both his big cushiony
hands on the green of the table, the Lion of the Lord began to
roar--very softly at first. Slowly the words came, in tones scarce
audible, marked indeed almost by the hesitation of the first speaker.
But then a difference showed; gradually the tone increased in volume,
the words came faster, fluency succeeding hesitation, and now his voice
was high and searching, while his easy, masterful gestures laid their
old spell upon the people.
"It does not occupy my feelings to curse any individual," he had begun,
awkwardly; "in fact, I feel to render all thanks and praise for the
discourse to which we have just listened, but I couldn't help saying to
myself, 'Oh, dear, Granny! what a long tale our puss has got!'"
An uneasy titter came from the packed square of faces in front of him.
He went on with rising power:
"But it is foretold in the Book of Mormon that the Lord will remove the
bitter branches, and it's a good thing to find out where the bitter
branches are. We can remove them ourselves. We can't expect the Lord to
do _all_ our dirty work. Now hear it once more, you that need to hear
it--and damn all such poor pussyism as sniffles and whines and rejects
it! We don't want that scrubby breed here!--Listen, I say. The celestial
order of marriage is necessary for our exaltation to the fulness of the
Lord's glory in the world eternal. Where much is given much is required.
Understand me,--those that reject polygamy will be damned. Hear it now
once for all. I will give you to know that God, our Father, has many
wives, and so has Jesus Christ, our Elder Brother. Our God and Father in
heaven is _a being of tabernacle_, or, in other words, He has a body of
parts the same as you and I have. And that God and Father of ours was
Adam."
Again there was a stirring below as if a wind swept the people, and the
little man in his chair cowered for shame of himself. He had meant to do
a great thing; he had thrilled so strongly with it; it had promised to
master others as it had mastered him; and now he was shamed by the one
true Lion of the Lord.
"Hear it now," continued Brigham. "When God, our Father Adam, came into
the garden of Eden, he came into it with a celestial body, and brought
one of his wives with him,--Eve. He made and organised this world. He is
Michael, the Archangel, the Ancient of Days, _about whom holy men have
written and spoken_. He is our Father and our God, and the only God with
whom we have to do. I could tell you much more about this; but were I
to tell you the whole truth, blasphemy would be nothing to it, in the
estimation of the superstitious and over-righteous of mankind. But I
will tell you this, that Jesus, our Elder Brother, was begotten in the
flesh by the same character that was in the garden of Eden, and who is
our Father in Heaven."
A chorus of Amens from the platform greeted this. It was led by the Wild
Ram of the Mountains. In his chair the little bent man now cowered lower
and lower, one moment praying for strength, the next for death; feeling
the blood surge through him like storm waves that would beat him down.
If only Heaven would send him one last moment of power to word this
truth so that it might prevail. But Brigham was continuing.
"And what of this Elder Brother, Jesus? Did he reject the patriarchal
order--like some poor pusillanimous cry-babies among us? No, I say! It
will be borne in mind that once on a time there was a marriage in Cana
of Galilee; and on a careful reading of that transaction it will be
discovered that no less a person than Jesus Christ was married on that
occasion. If he was never married his intimacy with Mary and Martha, and
the other Mary also, whom Jesus loved, must have been highly unbecoming
and improper, to say the best of it. I will venture to say that, if
Jesus Christ was now to pass through the most pious countries in
Christendom, with a train of women such as used to follow Him, fondling
about Him, combing His hair, anointing Him with precious ointments,
washing His feet with tears, and wiping them with the hair of their
heads,--that, unmarried or even married, He would be mobbed, tarred and
feathered, and ridden, not on an ass, but on a rail. Now did He
multiply, and did He see His seed? Others may do as they like, but I
will not charge our Saviour with neglect or transgression in this or any
other duty."
He turned and went to his seat with a last threatening gesture, amid
many little sounds of people relaxing from strained positions.
But then, before another could arise, a wonder came upon them. The
little man stood up and came quickly forward, a strange new life in his
step, a new confidence in his bearing, a curious glow of new strength in
his face. Even his stoop had straightened for the moment. For, as he had
listened to Brigham's last words, the picture of his vision in the
desert had come back,--the cross in the sky, the crucified Saviour upon
it, the head in death-agony fallen over upon the shoulder. And then
before his eyes had come page after page of that New Testament with a
wash of blood across two of them. He felt the new life he had prayed for
pouring into his veins, and with it a fierce anger. The one on the cross
who had been more than man, who had shirked no sacrifice and loved
infinitely, was not thus to be assailed. A panorama of wrong--wrong
thinking and wrong doing--extended before his clearing gaze. For once
he seemed to see truth in a vision and to feel the power to utter it.
There was silence again as he stood in front of the little table, the
faces before him frozen into wonder that he should have either the power
or the temerity to answer Brigham. He spoke, and his voice was again
rough with force, and high and fearless, a voice many of them recalled
from the days when he had not been weak.
"Now I see what we have done. Listen, brethren, for God has not before
so plainly said it to any man, and I know my time is short among you. We
have gone back to the ages of Hebrew barbarism for our God--to the God
of Battles worshipped by a heathen people--a God who loved the reek of
blood and the smell of burning flesh. But you shall not--"
He turned squarely and fiercely to the face of Brigham.
"--you shall not confuse that bloody God of Battles with the true
Christ, nor yet with the true God of Love that this Christ came to tell
us of. Once I believed in Him. I was taught to by your priests. War
seemed a righteous thing, for we had been grievously put upon, and I
believed the God of Israel should avenge our wrongs as He had avenged
those of His older Zion. And hear me now--so long as I believed this, I
was no coward; while you, sir--"
A long forefinger was pointed straight at the amazed Brigham.
"--while you, sir, were a craven, contemptible in your cowardice. I
would have fought in Echo Canon to the end, because I believed. But you
did not believe, and so you were afraid to fight. And for your cowardice
and your wretched lusts your name among all but your ignorant dupes
shall become a hissing and a scorn. For mark it well, unless you forsake
that heathen God of Battles and preach the divine Christ of the New
Testament, you shall come to hold only the ignorant, and them only by
keeping them ignorant."
The commotion among the people in front was now all but a panic. On the
platform the sires of Israel whispered one to another, while Brigham
gazed as if fascinated, driven to admiration for the speaker's power and
audacity. For the feverish, fleeting moment, Joel Rae was that veritable
Lion of the Lord he had prayed to be, putting upon the people his spell
of the old days. Heads were again strained up and forward, and amazed
horror was on most of the faces. Far back, Prudence trembled, feeling
that she must be away at once, until she felt the firm grasp of
Follett's hand. The speaker went on, having turned again to the front.
"Instead of a church you shall become justly hated and despised as a
people who foul their homes and dishonour beyond forgiveness the names
of wife and mother. Then your punishment shall come upon you as it has
already come for this and for other sins. Even now the Gentile is upon
us; and mark this truth that God has but now given me to know: we have
never been persecuted as a church,--but always as a political body
hostile to the government of this nation. Even so, you had no faith.
Believing as I believed, I would have fought that nation and died a
thousand bloody deaths rather than submit. But you had no faith, and you
were so low that you let yourselves be ruled by a coward--and I tell you
God _hates_ a coward."
Now the old pleading music came into his voice,--the music that had made
him the Lute of the Holy Ghost in the Poet's roster of titles.
"O brethren, let me beg you to be good--simply good. Nothing can prevail
against you if you are. If you are not, nothing shall avail you,--the
power of no priesthood, no signs, ordinances, or rituals. Believe me, I
know. Not even the forgiveness of the Father. For I tell you there is a
divinity within each of you that you may some day unwittingly affront;
and then you shall lie always in hell, for if you cannot forgive
yourself, the forgiveness of God will not free you even if it come
seventy times seven. I _know_. For fifteen years I have lain in hell for
the work this Church did at Mountain Meadows. A cross was put there to
the memory of those we slew. Not a day has passed but that cross has
been burned and cut into my living heart with a blade of white heat. Now
I am going to hell; but I am tired and ready to go. Nor do I go as a
coward, as _you_ will go--"
Again the long forefinger was flung out to point at Brigham.
"--but I shall go as a fighter to the end. I have not worshipped Mammon,
and I have conquered my flesh--conquered it after it had once all but
conquered me, so that I had to fight the harder--"
He stopped, waiting as if he were not done, but the spell was broken.
The life, indeed, had in the later moments been slowly dying from his
words; and, as they lost their fire, scattered voices of protest had
been heard; then voices in warning from behind him, and the sound of two
or three rising and pushing back their chairs.
Now that he no longer heard his own voice he stood quivering and
panic-stricken, the fire out and the pained little smile coming to make
his face gentle again. He turned weakly toward Brigham, but the Prophet
had risen from his seat and his broad back was rounded toward the
speaker. He appeared to be consulting a group of those who stood on the
platform, and they who were not of this group had also turned away.
The little bent man tried again to smile, hoping for a friendly glance,
perhaps a hand-clasp without words from some one of them. Seeing that he
was shunned, he stepped down off the platform at the side, twisting his
hat in his long, thin hands in embarrassment. A moment he stood so,
turning to look back at the group of priests and Elders around the
Prophet, seeking for any sign, even for a glance that should be not
unkind. The little pained smile still lighted his face, but no friendly
look came from the others. Seeing only the backs turned toward him, he
at length straightened out his crumpled hat, still smiling, and slowly
put it on his head; as he turned away he pulled the hat farther over his
eyes, and then he was off along the dusty street, looking to neither
side, still with the little smile that made his face gentle.
But when he had come to the end of the street and was on the road up the
hill, the smile died. He seemed all at once to shrink and stoop and
fade,--no longer a Lion of the Lord, but a poor, white-faced, horrified
little man who had meant in his heart to give a great revelation, and
who had succeeded only in uttering blasphemy to the very face of God's
prophet.
From below, the little groups of excited people along the street looked
up and saw his thin, bent figure alone in the fading sunlight, toiling
resolutely upward.
Other groups back in the square talked among themselves, not a few in
whispers. A listener among them might have heard such expressions as,
"He'll be blood-atoned sure!"--"They'll make a breach upon
him!"--"They'll accomplish his decease!"--"He'll be sent over the rim of
the basin right quick!" One indignant Saint, with a talent for
euphemism, was heard to say, "Brigham will have his spirit disembodied!"
To the priests and Elders on the platform Elder Wardle was saying, "The
trouble with him was he was crazy with fever. Why, I'll bet my best set
of harness his pulse ain't less than a hundred and twenty this minute."
The others looked at Brigham.
"He's a crazy man, sure enough," assented the Prophet, "but my opinion
is he'll stay crazy, and it wouldn't be just the right thing by Israel
to let him go on talking before strangers. You see, it _sounds_ so
almighty sane!"
Back in the crowd Prudence and Follett had lingered a little at the
latter's suggestion, for he had caught the drift of the talk. When he
had comprehended its meaning they set off up the hill, full of alarm.
At the door Christina met them. They saw she had been crying.
"Where is father, Christina?"
"Himself saddle his horse, and say, 'I go to toe some of those marks.'
He say, 'I see you plenty not no more, so good-bye!' He kissed me," she
added.
"Which way did he go?"
"So!" She pointed toward the road that led out of the valley to the
north.
"I'll go after him," said Follett.
"I'll go with you. Saddle Dandy and Kit--and Christina will have
something for you to eat; you've had nothing since morning."
"I reckon I know where we'll have to go," said Follett, as he went for
the saddles.