LIFE AMONG THE SAINTS—MY NEW ENGAGEMENTS.
I was now a Mormon in every sense of the word, although entirely ignorant
of Utah politics and polygamy.
My dreams were of a life of happiness spent in seeking to convert the
whole world to the religion of Jesus, which I believed had been restored
again to earth by the ministry of holy angels. It is easy to say that
such an ambition was ill-directed when associated with Mormonism, but no
one can deny that, in itself, it was the noblest and purest that could
inspire the heart of man. There was no sacrifice too great for me to
make; there was no object too dear for me to resign, if it stood in the
way of my sacred calling. The whole current of my thoughts and plans was
now changed. It was henceforth my duty to be entirely forgetful of self,
and to devote my energies—my all—to the advancement of the Kingdom of
God. My life was to be identified with the Saints,—my faith required it,
and I was willing that it should be so.
But what of my beloved France, all this time; and my betrothed husband?
This reflection aroused within me a most painful train of thought. How
many fond and endearing memories entwined themselves around my heart
at that moment, when most I needed to banish them for ever! With what
lingering love did I look back to those dear ones from whom I had parted
but a few short weeks before, and whom I might perhaps never see again!
To return would be to desert my newly-adopted friends and faith—to
violate the covenant which I had made at baptism to “be ever afterwards
governed by the servants of God.”
No; it was too late—I could not now return;—I tried to persuade
myself that I did not even wish to;—in a word, affection, and what I
thought duty, were at war together in my heart. All my former ties and
associations must now be severed, however terrible the cost might be; and
I was bound not only to submit, but even to glory in the sacrifice. Thus
I argued away the regrets which would at times agitate my very soul, and
cause me much painful thought.
The trial of my profession in the new faith came swiftly to my door. My
marriage-engagement must be broken off, though I knew not how that could
honourably and conscientiously be done. Of myself I had no wish to draw
back from anything that I had promised of my own free will; and much less
did I desire to be faithless to my solemnly plighted word.
I now first realized the all-absorbing influence of an earnest religious
faith. I was brought face to face with the fact that I could not marry
out of the Mormon Church. The teaching of the Elders was against it, and
I saw that in this they were consistent. Great as was the trial, and
painful as was the sacrifice, I resolved to be true to my religion. How
very earnestly the Elders insisted upon such sacrifices, may be seen from
an appeal made at a later date by the “Apostle” Orson Pratt. Brother
Orson was in Europe, and, speaking authoritatively, he set forth the
duties of mothers and daughters in “Babylon,” as he graciously styled the
rest of the world, in the following terms, which unmistakably show the
purposes of the leaders relative to marriage:—
“Many of you have daughters, some of whom are grown to womanhood; others
are now young. Would, you have them gather with you to a land where
virtue and peace dwell, where God has promised to protect and bless the
righteous? If so, teach them, as they love their parents, and the Saints,
and the truth, not to throw themselves away by marrying Gentiles; teach
them to _keep themselves entirely aloof from Gentile_ courtships and
associations. Scores of women who once were counselled as you are now,
are mourning in wretchedness, in bondage to Gentile husbands, cut off
from all privilege of gathering with their fathers, mothers, brethren,
and sisters; and, in some instances, cut off from even attending the
Saints’ meetings. But this is not all. They are raising up children in
these lands to perish with themselves in the general desolations coming
upon Babylon. But what is still more aggravating and heart-rending, they
are raising up children not only destined for temporal judgments, but who
must for ever be cut off from the presence of God and the glory of the
celestial kingdom.... What fearful responsibility for any young sister to
voluntarily take upon herself, after all the warnings she has received.
See to it, then, parents, that you not only do not give your consent,
but actually forbid all such marriages....
“_Let them marry according to the holy order of God_, and begin to
lay the foundation of a little family kingdom which shall no more be
scattered upon the face of the earth, but dwell in one country, keeping
their genealogies from generation to generation, until each man’s house
shall be multiplied as the stars of heaven.”
These were the influences which were brought to bear upon my mind at
a time when it was peculiarly sensitive, and open to impressions from
without.
While in this uncertain state a little incident occurred which, though
in itself of the most trifling nature, assisted in forming my ultimate
decision.
It was a beautiful evening in early summer, and my mother and sister
asked me to accompany them to one of the testimony-meetings which I have
already described. This meeting was very similar to the others, with one
notable exception:—it was here that I saw and heard, for the first time
in my own experience, the “gift of tongues” exercised.
Long before I had even heard of Mormonism, I had frequently thought how
wonderfully useful this gift must have been to the Apostles. One of the
great difficulties encountered by the missionary is learning the language
of the people among whom he works and lives. To be able to dispense
with all this labour, and to be understood wherever he went, must have
lightened the mind of the holy man of half its load; and naturally, when
I heard that the Mormons had “the Gift of Tongues,” I supposed it was
the self-same power of diverse speech as that exercised by the Apostles;
and I presume the reader will conjecture with me that it was the same
“gift,” or, at least, some imitation of it. How surprised I was when I
first discovered the meaning of the term “speaking in tongues” among the
Mormons, may perhaps be imagined when I explain what happened at that
testimony-meeting.
After prayer, and singing, and listening to several very fervent
addresses from some of the elders, Brother Seely had delivered a most
impassioned speech, and had hardly concluded, when Sister Ellis, who
was sitting near me, gave evidence of being in an abnormal condition of
mind, which to me was painful in the extreme. Her hands were clenched,
and her eyes had that wild and supernatural glare which is never seen,
save in cases of lunacy or intense feverish excitement. Every one waited
breathlessly, listening to catch what she might say;—you might have heard
a pin drop.
Then in oracular language and with all the impassioned dignity of one
inspired of heaven, she began to speak.
I say “speak,” as that term is generally applied to the utterances of
the human voice; but she did not _speak_ in the sense in which we always
employ that word; she simply emitted a series of sounds. They seemed to
me chiefly the repetition of the same syllables—something like a child
repeating, _la, la, la, le, lo_; _ma, ma, ma, mi, ma_; _dele, dele,
dele, dela_—followed, perhaps, by a number of sounds strung together,
which could not be rendered in _any_ shape by the pen. Sometimes in
the Far West, in later years, I have heard old Indian women, crooning
weirdly monotonous and outlandish ditties in their native tongue. These
wild dirges, more nearly than anything else I ever heard, resembled the
prophetic utterances of Sister Ellis; save only, that the appearance of
the latter was far too solemn to admit of even a smile at what she said.
Ridiculous as this appears when I now write it down on paper, and strange
as even then it was to me, there was something so commanding, so earnest,
so “inspirational,” if I may be allowed the term, in Sister Ellis’s
manner, that I could not wonder at the attention which the brethren and
sisters paid to this gifted speaker in tongues.
I now know that these extraordinary displays are by no means confined to
Mormonism. People of a certain temperament, excited to frenzy—generally
by religious enthusiasm—have in all ages given painful illustrations of
this mental disease; as the student who remembers the _Convulsionnaires_
of the middle ages, the Munster Anabaptists of Luther’s time, and the
various emotional sects of more modern days, will abundantly bear me
witness. But at that time, new in the faith, and believing as I did
that, as the Elders said, it was the manifestion of the power of God,
as foretold by the prophet Joel, though I secretly felt a sense of
repugnance, I tried to combat my better sentiments.
Overcome by the excitement of the moment, Sister Ellis suddenly paused,
not so much intentionally as from sheer inability to proceed; and the
leading Elders looked round from one to another to see if any one was
present who could interpret. The gift of interpretation is very rarely
possessed by the same person who has the gift of tongues, and you may
often hear one after another arise and “speak,” but there is no one to
“interpret,” and the Saints go away unedified. Even when an interpreter
is present, there is no authority to determine whether he gives the
proper rendering of the sounds uttered, and I have over and over again
heard the most ludicrous stories of the comical interpretation placed by
some half-witty or half-witted expounder upon these oracles.
When Brother Brigham—then a man who was lowly in his own eyes—first met
the prophet Joseph Smith, at Kirtland, Ohio, there was a scene somewhat
like the one I have described; and the future leader of “this people,”
as he calls the Saints, himself spake with tongues and uttered wonderful
things. But even supposing his words at that time to have been of the
wisest, we all know from the example of Balaam’s _reprover_, that it
does not require a very high order of intellect to speak in unaccustomed
language—and that, too, to some purpose. In later days the exercise of
this gift has been discouraged by the Elders, and especially by Brigham
Young. Going one day, some years after, to the Lion-House to see a
certain member of the Prophet’s little family concerning a subject which
lay very near to my heart at that time, we prayed together earnestly
and anxiously; when suddenly the lady’s face was lighted up with a
supernatural glow, and placing her hand on my head she, sibyl-like,
poured forth a flood of eloquence which—although I did not understand a
single word that was uttered—I confess sent through me a magnetic thrill
as if I had been listening to an inspired seeress. Another of Brigham’s
wives who was present interpreted the words of blessing to me, but added:
“Do not speak of this, Sister Stenhouse, for Brother Young does not like
to hear of these things.” Thus we see that one inspired prophet in the
presence of another “prophet, seer, and revelator,” could himself take
part at one time in a miraculous manifestation, which in later years he
“would not like to hear of,” if it was only one of his many wives who
enacted the prophet’s _rôle_.
But my meeting! I have wandered far away from that. Let me proceed.
After more testimony, more “speaking,” and much enthusiasm, the Saints
separated. My sister was talking with a young-lady friend, and regretting
that no one present had been able to interpret; and I stood by, but did
not join in the conversation. Suddenly the young lady turned to me and
said: “Sister Fanny, do you not see in all this, more and more, the
convincing power of God?”
Rather hesitatingly I replied, “Yes, I think I do.”
“_Think!_ sister?” said she, with warmth. “Oh, yes, I see by your looks
that you are only half convinced; your faith is not strong enough yet;
but remember, whatsoever is of doubt _is sin_!”
“But,” I answered, “I do not see clearly what good we receive from these
manifestations when no one can understand them.”
“That is your want of faith—nothing else; you have the evidence of
the truth before you, and you see how these miraculous powers build
up the belief of God’s people; and yet you doubt. _To doubt is sin_:
whatsoever is not of faith is sin. You must pray and strive, sister, to
be strengthened against temptation.”
All this was not very logical, and it certainly did not help to dispel my
doubts. But twice in the course of a few short sentences, she had used a
certain expression which, though trifling in itself, was recalled to my
mind very forcibly before many days had passed.
This was my first experience of speaking in tongues.
But there were every-day matters of much more real importance to me than
those strange speculations which had recently employed so much of my time
and attention. It was now necessary that I should either return to France
and fulfil my engagement with Monsieur D—— or else resolve, once and for
ever, to renounce all those ties which had become so dear to me.
Meanwhile, religious theories were not the only influences brought to
bear upon my mind.
While day by day I began to be still more doubtful whether it would not
after all be sinful in God’s sight for me to leave my friends in the new
faith and go back to France and my betrothed, who I knew neither was nor
ever could become a Saint, other thoughts began to intrude themselves,
and to shake my determination.
Elder Stenhouse’s visits to my father’s house began to be more frequent
than ever, but as he desired to become familiar with the French language,
and would bring his French grammar with him “to get a lesson,” as he
said, no particular notice was taken of his frequent coming. He was
always welcomed with pleasure by the whole family, and, of course, by
myself, who was his teacher. After awhile he took so much delight in his
studies that he could not endure to let an evening pass without a lesson;
and somehow or other, I must confess, it was the first time since I
had been a teacher that I felt such a peculiar pleasure in imparting
instruction. I suppose it was the interest which all teachers experience
when their pupils are studiously inclined. My pupil was particularly
studious—so much so that he told my father and mother that he could not
study very well in the parlour where every one was conversing, and begged
the privilege of having the folding doors thrown partly open, that we
might sit in the back parlour and be more quiet.
This was granted. But after a few evenings my pupil took a notion to
partly close the folding doors after him, and, as mother’s eyes are
ever watchful, one of my sisters was sent in with her sewing to keep us
company. But my pupil by this time had made rapid progress in the French
language, and while my sister was innocently sewing, he was repeating his
lesson to me; and it was not our fault if in those French phrase-books
there were passages expressive of love and devotion. Unconsciously to us
both, he formed the habit of repeating those phrases to me at all times,
and I formed the equally bad habit of blushing whenever he made use of
them.
This my sister observed, and communicated the fact to my mother, who
immediately said that we had better discontinue our French for awhile,
as it was monopolizing too much of our time, and keeping both of us from
attending to other and more important duties. But the discontinuation of
the French lessons did not put an end to the visits of Elder Stenhouse.
He was a persevering young man; but the secret of the great interest
taken in the French lessons was soon discovered.
Then it was that arguments of all kinds, and strong reasons, were brought
forward to shake my purpose of returning to France. I was “in doubt;”
when one day, discussing the point, Elder Stenhouse made use of the
very same expression which had fallen from the sister’s lips at the
testimony-meeting—“Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.” My mind unsettled,
with all the strength of argument and religion on the one side, and on
the other no one to plead for reason and for my return to France, who can
wonder that I—at best only a weak and inexperienced girl—listened to the
entreaties of my friends, and resolved to stay.
In the course of a few months I was engaged to be married to Elder
Stenhouse. It may, perhaps, seem strange that I could so soon forget
the past, with all its pleasant memories and renouncing my betrothed
husband, accept the attentions of another; but it should be remembered
that I now firmly believed it was my duty—a duty which I dared not
neglect—to blot out for ever all past associations, however dear to my
heart they might be. Besides which, I, in common with all around me, had
learned to look upon Elder Stenhouse as almost an angel, on account of
what he had endured for the gospel’s sake; and I thought that any girl
might consider herself honoured by an offer of marriage from a man in his
position in the Church. My marriage in France would, I feared, have been
but doubtful happiness in this world, and certain ruin in the next; but
heaven itself would bless my union with one of its own ordained and tried
servants.
Thus it came to pass that on the 6th of February, 1850—eight months after
my arrival in Southampton—I was married to the young Mormon missionary,
Elder Stenhouse. I entered upon my new sphere as a missionary’s wife,
feeling that there were no obstacles so great that I could not overcome
them for the gospel’s sake. How little could I then imagine the life that
was before me!
I wrote to my friends in France. I told them frankly _all_. In return
they wrote to me—especially Monsieur D——, entreating me to alter my
determination. Kind, and very gentle, were those letters. Dear, very
dear, has been the memory of them, and of their writers, in later days.
But at the time I felt that the influence which they still retained over
me was in itself a sin.