MY HUSBAND’S MISSION—I AM LEFT ALONE.
When the Apostle Snow called upon Mr. Stenhouse to go to Italy, the
Saints willingly accepted the responsibility of providing for me during
his absence.
They thought it was more an honour than a burden to have this charge
committed to them; but it was very humiliating to me to be placed in such
a position, however anxious they might be to assist me and to serve the
general cause. To face opposition, or to give my all for my religion,
I was willing indeed; but to depend upon others for my daily bread was
utterly repugnant to my feelings, although, of course, if the Church
sent away my husband, whose proper place and duty it was to support
his family, it was only right that the members of that Church should
undertake the responsibility. But then, and at many other times during my
life, I have learned the truth of Christ’s precept, “It is more blessed
to give than to receive.”
The American Apostle was not without worldly wisdom when he proposed that
an unmarried man should be appointed to preside over the Southampton
Conference, as his wants would be few. But Mr. Stenhouse had been
solicited by a friend, who had a wife and children, to secure his
appointment; and with ready confidence in that friend, he overlooked his
own interests and my welfare, and I was left to pass through trials and
privations which I can never forget.
The Saints were very kind, and took pleasure in doing all they could for
me; but the mistake which my husband committed in leaving his friend
to succeed him as president of the Conference was soon apparent. The
“friend” thought of his own family first, and the family required all
that the Saints could reasonably be expected to contribute; and even then
they had not enough. I therefore received only such little sums as could
be withheld from them; and to make the matter worse, those who had any
property or estate were counselled to sell all, and “gather to Zion.”
The more wealthy Saints were soon gone; and the current expenses of the
church fell heavily upon those who were hardly able to support their own
families.
They tried to send me something every week, and I have no doubt they did
send me all that they could. When their contributions reached four or
five shillings (about $1) I thought myself fortunate; more often I did
not receive the value of fifty cents in the whole week, at times less,
and sometimes nothing at all. That unfailing comfort to respectable
English poverty, a cup of tea, was my greatest luxury, but at times for
weeks together I had not even that; I had nothing but bread; but I never
complained.
Whenever it was possible I concealed my true situation from every one,
and in my almost daily letters to my husband not a shadow of a hint was
ever dropped relative to my own privations. I wanted him to be successful
in his mission, and I feared that his energy would desert him if he knew
of my difficulties. I was in extreme poverty, certainly, but for myself I
was not in trouble. God would provide for me, I felt; and it was glorious
to suffer in a sacred cause.
But darker days, days of severer trial, were creeping slowly near me. Up
to this time I had worshipped God and loved my husband with a perfect
heart. Now the dark shadow of an accursed thing was looming in the
distance, and approaching surely if slowly.
In some way an idea had got abroad that the Mormons were somewhat unsound
respecting the marriage question. Still the elders stoutly denied the
charge, and the more they were accused the more strenuous became their
denials.
At a public discussion at Boulogne-sur-mer, in France, the Apostle John
Taylor, in reply to the accusations of Polygamy which were brought
against him, said,—
“We are accused here of actions the most indelicate and disgusting, such
as none but a corrupt and depraved heart could have conceived. These
things are too outrageous to admit of belief.... I shall content myself
with quoting our views of chastity and marriage from a work published by
us, containing some of our articles of faith—Doctrine and Covenants.”
He then proceeded to quote from the “Book of Doctrine and Covenants” such
passages as the following:—
“Marriage is ordained by God unto man; wherefore it is lawful that he
should have _one_ wife, and they _twain_ should be _one_ flesh” (p. 218).
He quoted many other things also, among which might be enumerated the
following:—
“Thou shalt love thy wife with all thy heart, and shalt cleave unto her,
and none else.”
He quoted also many other passages of Scripture which had reference to
the subject—each powerful to put aside even the idea of polygamy; and
each equally powerful as an argument against polygamy itself.
Let the reader here note the value of what Mormons say when their faith
is called in question. See and judge.
Brother Taylor, who spoke at that meeting, and utterly denied polygamy,
had himself—at that very moment when he so atrociously perjured himself,
and when he swore that no Mormon had more than one wife—_five wives_
living in Salt Lake City. One of his friends there present had two wives;
and the other was married to a mother, and her own daughter!
Any conclusion, any expression of disgust at these abominations and
deliberate perjuries, I leave to the reader.
Among those who came to see Mr. Stenhouse before he left for Italy,
was Elder Margetts, an English elder of some prominence in the British
mission. At the picnic of which I have already spoken, I noticed that
this elder was more than usually attentive to a pretty young sister who
was also present. There was always an affectionate familiarity among the
Saints; as I previously mentioned, they were like brothers and sisters,
and addressed each other as such. But the attentions of the elder I speak
of pointed a little beyond all this. He could not, perhaps, be accused of
any open impropriety, but he certainly looked much more like the girl’s
lover than an ordinary friend or her spiritual adviser.
I knew this Elder’s family in London, and his conduct pained me a good
deal. So I drew the attention of my husband to the circumstance; and he
said the Elder was foolish, but he would speak to them both; and this he
did.
After the departure of the missionaries, this elder remained for several
days. He then returned to London, but it was not long before he was again
in Southampton, and he still paid marked attention to the same young
sister. This caused unpleasant remarks among the Saints, who at this time
certainly did not believe that polygamy was practised in Utah.
At a later date this Elder, with some others, was again in Southampton,
and I was invited to take tea with them at the house of one of the
Saints. In the course of the evening there was a general conversation on
“the work of the Lord,” in which I, of course, was greatly interested.
Whenever any of the missionaries were visiting, the Saints would seek
their society, just like children who were glad to meet again their
parents after a long absence; and at such times they were at liberty
to ask what questions they pleased. On the evening I speak of, I well
remember that the general subject of conversation was the apostasy of
the Christian Church from the true order of God’s salvation. Prominence
was given to the history of Abraham and his descendants, and occasional
allusion was made to their marital relations; but nothing directly was
spoken. It was very evident that these elders only wanted to drop a word
or two here and there, to suit those who wanted it; but nevertheless they
spoke so obscurely and mysteriously that they could easily have retracted
what was said if any one had accused them of teaching a doctrine which
they were unwilling openly to avow.
When I returned home that night I was fully satisfied that the Elder I
have spoken of had a reason for his frequent visits to Southampton, and
shortly after the young sister went to London. Whether Polygamy was ever
to be a doctrine of the Church or not, it was very clear to me that the
London Elder was a polygamist at heart. The more my mind dwelt on these
things, the more sick at heart did I become, and faint and weary.
I had, however, personal cares and trials enough to engage my attention.
I found that I could not depend upon the Saints to provide me with even
the barest necessaries of life, so I looked about me and made inquiries
for some light employment by which I might support myself. My health
at that time would not have allowed me to do much, but for a long time
I could not get anything at all to do. I had, of course, been used to
teaching, but employment of that kind it was just then impossible for me
to take, even if I could have got it; the only resource which seemed left
to me was to find occupation for my needle, and it was a long and weary
time before I could obtain even this.
At length I got a little plain sewing to do, and out of the miserable
pittance thus earned I contrived to pay my rent and provide a few
necessaries; but at times that too was beyond my power, and I have gone
a fortnight at a time with nothing to eat but dry bread. Still my faith
never failed. And thus the weary days passed by.
Now, however, a new interest began to gather round my life, for I
expected before the end of the year the arrival of a little stranger to
share my affections and my care. This certainly was a sad beginning of
domestic bliss, but still the thought was pleasant to me. I had at that
time no one to aid me or comfort me. The Saints were very kind, but they
could not supply the place of an absent husband. My dearest friend, Mary
Burton, used to come as often as she could to see me, and her presence
was like a gleam of sunshine; but she was so young, and innocent, and
happy, that I had not the heart to trouble her with my sorrows. All
my jewellery and trinkets, and the greater part of my wardrobe, had
gone in providing for my daily wants, and in preparing those necessary
trifles upon which a young mother bestows so much loving care. My health
was daily failing, and sometimes I doubted if I should ever be well
and strong again. But all that I suffered was for the Church, and that
thought sustained me.
Often I would sit alone and think—think of the past, and all my early
day-dreams of love, and hope, and bliss; think of my husband in a far-off
land devoting his life and all his energies to the preaching of the
latter-day glory; think of those whisperings of that accursed doctrine
which has since brought desolation and anguish to the hearts of so many
weary women; think of my future life, dark as its promise even then
appeared.
Sometimes I heard from Italy—heard how my husband was progressing
with his work, and with wifely love I sympathized with him in all his
difficulties, for he told me how arduous the task was in which he was
engaged.
It was not the expectation of the Mormon Apostles that the missionaries
would do much in Catholic Italy. The same causes were in operation there
as affected the work in France. Few, if any, really good Roman Catholics
have ever joined the Saints. The Irish mission was never successful, and
the same may be said of the French and Italian missions. In France and
Italy by far the greater part of the people might be classed under two
heads—Roman Catholics, and infidels. The first had already an infallible
guide in which they trusted; and as for the infidels, they ridiculed
the idea of any guide at all. Both classes were utterly devoid of that
acquaintance with Scripture of which the Mormon missionaries understood
so well how to take advantage, and which rendered those so susceptible to
religious influences who took the Bible as their basis. The missionaries
in Italy soon experienced the difficulties presented by these facts.
After their arrival in Genoa, Mr. Stenhouse was directed to carry the
gospel to the Waldenses—those brave old Protestants of the dark ages, who
so manfully suffered, even unto death, for conscience sake; and some time
after he had begun his labours among them, the Apostle Snow joined him.
Whatever they might believe or teach theoretically, there can be no doubt
that the American Apostles were largely endowed with the “organ” of
caution. Preaching without purse or scrip among people who either detest
you as a heretic or else regard you with profound indifference is not a
pleasant task, and the Mormon Apostles very prudently “took up” liberal
collections in England before they started. Had it not been for this
common-sense proceeding, I am at a loss to say what would have become
of the missionaries in Italy; and as it was, their lot was not a very
enviable one.
Besides the scarcity of money, the other great difficulty experienced by
the missionaries was learning the language of their destined converts.
For many years it was supposed among the Saints that the “gift of
tongues” would be all-sufficient for this purpose. The two distinguished
Apostles, Orson and Parley P. Pratt, whose writings did so much for
Mormonism, had both of them eloquently discussed the subject in print;
but the missionaries soon discovered that for practical purposes the
“gift” was not of much service; and the two Pratts themselves afterwards
experienced—the one in South America and the other in Austria—the fallacy
of their theories. Without the “gift” in any shape the work in Italy
was necessarily very slow, and an Elder who could speak a little French
was sent out from London to assist them. They had at last come to the
conclusion that if the Lord would not bestow the “gift” upon them, they
must try to acquire it themselves.
The Apostle Snow now thought of sending the Gospel to the Swiss, and Mr.
Stenhouse was selected for the work. But before he went it was determined
that the Church in Italy should be “organized,” and about a week later, I
received a long account of how this was done. I heard how, one pleasant
November morning, the Apostle Snow, Elders Stenhouse and Woodward,
together with several Waldenses whom they had converted, ascended the
mountain side contiguous to La Tour, and overlooking the fertile valley
of Pinerello. There they sang praises and prayed. They christened the
place “Mount Brigham;” and the stone upon which the three elders stood
and offered up a written prayer, they named “The Rock of Prophecy;” and
there they organized the church, dedicating the soil of Italy to the
Lord. Moreover, then and there my husband was solemnly consecrated a
“High-Priest after the Order of the Son of God.”
All this I heard, and much more; and in confiding faith that this was
indeed a great and glorious work, I rejoiced that I had been accounted
worthy to suffer patiently at home, if only my husband might successfully
fulfil his task abroad.
After that I heard that he had left Italy, and had arrived in Geneva,
believing that he would be more successful among the Swiss than the
Italians.
A few days after the arrival of the missionary in Geneva, an event
occurred which interested my own self personally—my little Clara was
born. Very happy was I when I looked upon her tiny little face for the
first time, and kissed her for being the prettiest baby in the world;
very happy was I when I folded her in my arms, and talked to her as if
she could understand all that I said; very happy indeed, as I looked at
her again and again, and marvelled whether she really could be, indeed
and certainly, my own baby girl. It seemed as if baby’s papa would never
come back again, but I had a companion now in my child; and weak and
weary as I was, with new responsibilities and less power to help myself,
I found comfort in my new care, and realized the truth of the old Scotch
song:—
“Muckle lichter is the load
When luve bears up the creel.”
I was not now alone.
Then, too, came round to see me, Mary Burton. She was as fond and tender
to me as ever, and tripped quietly about the room, and tried to wait upon
me, and sat by the bed, playing with baby, calling her all the pretty
things she could think of; and I felt that her presence brought new light
and life to my room. She brought me another letter from my husband, and
I found that he was now acquiring for himself the “gift” of the French
tongue, unable to do much else, as he and everybody didn’t understand
each other. He could not yet talk to the French-speaking Genevese; and
the English-speaking residents would not listen to him; they had only
heard of Mormonism as a clumsy fraud, and looked upon the prophet Joseph
Smith as an impostor. So, for a whole winter, he sat shut up in his own
room, poring over a French grammar, and deploring his hard fate in being
denied the gift of tongues.
In the spring of the new year I received a distinguished visitor, who
kindly interested himself in my welfare. The Apostle Lorenzo Snow left
Piedmont for England, and passed through Geneva _en route_. On his way
to London he called upon me at Southampton, and expressed much sympathy
for me. He noticed the change in my appearance, and immediately sent for
Mr. Stenhouse to return to England. He acted very kindly by me at that
time; did all that he could to assist me, and said that he never again
would ask any man to make such a sacrifice. I fully appreciated all his
kindness; but much as I wanted to, I did not venture to ask him about
the truth or falsity of those terrible suggestions which I had heard
whispered of late.
My husband hastened home, coming by way of Calais, in order to meet his
president and receive his instructions. The Apostle showed much sympathy
for him, and very early in the morning accompanied him some miles to the
railway station; but he never once mentioned how I had been situated in
Southampton until he left him, and then he exacted from him a promise not
to open his lips whatever he might learn.
I need not say that I was happy to see my husband once again, and to
present to him his little daughter, who was now five months old. He was,
of course, soon busy in visiting the Saints, and he received from them
many tokens of attachment.
In the beginning of June a General Conference of the branches of
the Church in Britain was held in London. The Apostles and foreign
missionaries were present, and my husband and I were also there. We had
speeches and prayers. The business of the Conference occupied but very
few minutes, for no measure was questioned. Among the Mormons there are
no opinions, no discussion. The presiding head has made out his programme
before he comes to the Conference; he knows what he wants to do, and
no one ever questions him. He may perhaps for form’s sake invite the
brethren to speak on any point he introduces; but when he has furnished
the clue to his wishes, the Elders who speak only spend their time in
arguments in favour of his measures. At the Conference of which I speak
the reports of the native elders were very cheering to us. Throughout
England and Wales they had been most successful in adding members to the
Church. Mormonism was then most successfully preached in Britain. There
were more Mormons there than in all Utah Territory: there were fifty
Conferences, with over seven hundred organized “branches,” and more than
six thousand men ordained to the priesthood. That peculiar influence
which the Mormons call “the Spirit,” of which I have spoken elsewhere,
was spoken of by the Elders as being a common experience everywhere.
During all that Conference I listened carefully for a word from the lips
of any of the speakers which might indicate in any way that Polygamy was
part of the Mormon faith; but not a whisper, not a hint, was uttered.
I naturally concluded that the Elders, whose doubtful expressions at
Southampton had so troubled my mind, were misinformed or unsafe men.
Still I could not altogether banish my apprehension of coming evil; but
so bound to secrecy were those who did know of Polygamy being practised
in Utah, that there was not one who would admit it, and even my own
husband’s lips were sealed to me. He did not deny it, but he would not
talk about it, and did everything he could to banish the thought from my
mind.
At that Conference the Apostle Snow spoke very strongly of the way in
which I had been neglected; and it was arranged that Elder Stenhouse
should return to Switzerland, and that I should accompany him. My
knowledge of French was expected to be very serviceable.
We now made preparations for an early departure, and prepared to leave
our friends. To the reader it may seem strange for a man, his wife,
and babe, to be sent out in this way on a mission without any proper
arrangement for their maintenance; but to my mind, at the time, it seemed
to me not only perfectly proper, but altogether in accordance with God’s
word and commandment.
My young friend, Mary Burton, came round to bid me good-bye; and the poor
girl wept, and I wept with her, and we kissed one another tenderly as our
tears mingled. We had become very dear to each other, and the thought of
separation for years, or perhaps for ever, was very painful to us. She
hung about my neck at the last moment, kissing me, and begging me not to
forget to write to her very, very often; and this I gladly promised her,
asking the same in return. Then with a fond embrace we parted, and it was
years before I saw her dear face again.
Thus it was that we three—my husband, my babe, and myself—set forth on
our pilgrimage to convert the Swiss.
It was with no ordinary feelings that I entered the ancient city of
Geneva. I was not ignorant of its history, and the struggles of its
inhabitants for civil and religious liberty. It had been the refuge for
the English Protestants during the fiery days of Queen Mary; just as
in the time of the French Revolution it was the refuge of infidel and
Papist, royalist and republican alike. There Calvin lived in gloomy
austerity, battling with Rome; there Servetus, the Unitarian, was
condemned to be roasted alive as a heretic; and there we expected in our
own humble way to be able to testify, by our suffering and patience, to
what we firmly believed was the truth.
In free countries like England and the United states—free from the
surveillance of a military police, it is easy, if he wishes it, for the
missionary to mount a chair at a street corner, or hold forth under a
tree; and such has often been done. But all over continental Europe
there is hardly a place where this would be possible. In the various
grand duchies, kingdoms, and empires, paternal governments look too
closely after the morals and religion of their subjects; while under the
ephemeral republics, as long as they happen to last, there is often to be
found, under the name of liberty, a despotism more despotic than under
the rule of royalty. It is the _colporteur_, the man of books and tracts,
who makes the converts there; and in this slow way we soon found that we
were destined to proceed.
During my husband’s former stay in Geneva he had had neither Mormon books
nor Mormon papers, with the exception of a paper published at Boulogne,
containing a letter by the Apostle Taylor, in French and English. This
single copy he lent to a Genevese to read, and never saw it again; and
yet in a short time, even before he could properly speak French, he
converted and baptized two men in the Rhone, one of whom is to-day a
devoted Mormon in Southern Utah.
His first attack was upon a shoemaker, whom he visited for the purpose
of repairs. While the shoemaker worked, Elder Stenhouse talked; and
as the English are all reputed wealthy on the continent, the friendly
overtures of the Mormon missionary were graciously received. As they grew
intimate, Elder Stenhouse would sit down on the bench beside the man as
he worked, and taking from his pocket a French Testament, which he always
carried about with him, would try to read it aloud—the good-natured
shoemaker undertaking to correct his pronunciation. In this way he kept
his auditor’s attention constantly fixed upon certain passages, more
especially those which spoke of baptism for the remission of sins, and
the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. So persistent was
he that at last the shoemaker’s curiosity was awakened, and finally he
was baptized; but unfortunately, not long after a small pamphlet upon the
mission of Joseph Smith fell into his hands, and made shipwreck of his
faith.
With his second convert he was much more successful. This time it was
his landlord who was to be the subject of attack. He was a tailor, and,
fortunately for the missionary, somewhat talkative. The same arrangement
was made about reading and correction, and with a like result—the tailor
was baptized. Just at this time came the Apostle Snow’s letter, telling
my husband to return to England; and as he might not leave the country
without a representative, he ordained the tailor a priest in the Mormon
Church.
When we arrived in Geneva, _Monsieur le tailleur_ was all that
constituted the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in
Switzerland.
Soon a few personal friends began to gather, to hear the English
missionary tell about the new religion; and my husband being very much
in earnest, interest before long began to be excited. I remember well
our first meetings among the Swiss—half-a-dozen people sitting round a
table with open Bibles before them, passages from which Mr. Stenhouse
was trying in very bad French to make them understand. I pitied him very
much, but those who were present made as if they did not notice his
embarrassment, and listened with marked attention. Among the Mormons it
is a woman’s duty to keep silence; I therefore remained a listener only.
But at the close of the service—for such it was regarded—when I might
speak, my missionary labours began; I was aroused to eloquence, and our
parting was longer than our meeting.
The warmth with which the few who were present responded to our efforts
satisfied me that they had come under the same mysterious influence
which I had observed in England. I was then convinced that Mormonism
could awaken the Christian soul more to a realization of what it already
possessed, than impart to it any new moral or religious qualities.
Mormonism of itself never made Christians, but Christianity built up
Mormonism. It was an awakening to the teachings of Christ and His
Apostles that begat confidence in the mission of the Mormon Prophet.
Although we observed the very strictest economy, it did not take long
for us to exhaust what little money we brought from England. This placed
us in a very awkward position. It is inconvenient enough to be without
money in one’s own country, where one understands and is understood by
everybody; but to be in a strange land, especially in a country like
Switzerland, where every Englishman is supposed to be a “milor” and the
bounteous dispenser of unlimited wealth, it is more than inconvenient.
We left our first quarters, where we had had so many visitors, and
rented a room from a widow woman, who fortunately was not inquisitive.
She had a family of children to support; and as we paid our rent monthly
in advance, she had no occasion to know whether or not we kept a bank
account; and we were thankful that it was so, for, had it been so
ordained, we could there have starved to death without attracting the
notice of any one. A nice thing to be thankful for!
We were not hopeless, though we were heavy hearted; but we had expected
trial, and could not complain, for we knew from the beginning that thus
it would probably be.
One day my husband received a letter from an infidel gentleman who lived
in Lausanne, a neighbouring canton, requesting him to come and see him,
that they might talk together over Mormonism, for he had heard of us and
of our doctrine; and my husband resolved to visit him before our money
was all gone.
When Mr. Stenhouse reached Lausanne, he visited first a Protestant
minister with whom he had some slight acquaintance, and who was also
interested in Mormonism, and told him that he was going to call upon the
Gouverneur de l’Hôpital. The minister was greatly opposed to my husband
visiting such a man. “He is a socialist,” he said, “a revolutionist; he
fought at the barricades; he is a _mauvais sujet_, and anything but a fit
person to be spoken to about religion.”
This only increased the interest which Mr. Stenhouse felt in the
governor, and made him more than ever determined to see him; and he did
see him, although the good minister had represented him “_aussi noir que
le diable_.” So they met; and my husband began the work for which he had
come. They had long talks together, and my husband—as did the elders
ever in such cases—spoke to the governor of redemption through Christ,
and baptism for the remission of sins. Faith is not an act of the will.
Like the unseen wind, it comes, and we see the power thereof, but know
not whence it proceeds. Thus at first the unbelieving governor found it;
he might find himself no match for the arguments of his opponent, but he
could not force his heart to believe, and he was by no means a willing
convert. My husband, however, remained with him; and before he left, the
governor had been baptized into the church.
Our new convert proved to be a most excellent and worthy man,
notwithstanding his former infidelity, and he was subsequently a great
aid to us in our mission. We felt satisfied that the expenses of that
journey had been well spent, although a few francs at that time could ill
be spared.
But our circumstances seemed to be getting worse and worse, and my health
began to fail. For several months neither of us had had sufficient
nourishment, and my anxieties increased my physical weakness. I was
dispirited, yet I feared to complain, or even to let my husband know
what I felt. At length I fell really ill, and could not leave my bed. I
well remember the solemn silence that reigned in our home one day. I had
risen from my bed, weak, and oh, so faint-hearted that I had scarcely any
desire to live; and I was sitting with my little daughter in my arms.
She had cried herself to sleep, cold and hungry, and, much as I loved
her—nay, idolized her—I confess that for an instant I harboured in my
soul the impious, the unnatural wish, that rather than see my darling
awake again to cold and hunger, she might sleep her sweet young life
away. For _me_ to yield to such a thought—to wish my child to wake no
more! I, who would have given gladly the last drop of my life-blood to
save her! For _me_ to look upon her innocent little face with such a
thought! I can hardly now believe that such a thing was possible, even
for a moment. But I was desperate, and bold, and cowardly—all at the same
time; or my heart was humiliated by poverty, and my faith was rousing
bitter thoughts in my mind.
My husband was pacing the room. I knew too well all that was passing in
his mind, although we had long been silent. At length I said to him,
“Take courage, dear, for we are the servants of the great God, and surely
He will find a means of escape for us. We were sent here; we came because
the Lord wanted us to come, and surely He will provide for us!”
He turned to me in reply, and said kindly, “We can at least have some
water;” and he went for some water; and then, with as reverential feeling
in his soul as ever inspired a grace before dinner, he blessed it, and we
drank.
We had scarcely done so when the mail-courier brought a letter to our
door.
Governor Stoudeman, with a feeling of delicacy, had hesitated, when my
husband visited him at Lausanne, to offer him any assistance; but, he
said in his letter, he had been “impressed” to do so, and hoped that we
should not be offended. As the letter was opened, a piece of gold fell
upon the table. We could hardly believe that God had so soon answered
our prayers, and sent us relief; and our emotions of gratitude for this
timely aid, found expression in tears.
All this time our landlady knew nothing of our distress; she was as
ignorant of our situation as if she had never seen us. So long as I was
able to walk about, I used at regular hours to go to the kitchen, get the
cooking utensils, and go through the routine of cooking, as if we had
had a well-filled larder all the time. I set the table with punctilious
care, and the good old widow never suspected but that we had plenty. Thus
supposing that we wanted nothing, she and her children were more than
ordinarily kind to us and to our little girl, who was now old enough to
toddle round and go from room to room. Very often they would get her into
their room at meal-time, and give her little things to please her; and
while they felt honoured in being permitted to do so, we were silently
thankful for our child’s sake, for her sufferings were more than we could
endure.
The temporary aid from Lausanne was very welcome to us, though it only
served to make us feel more keenly our dependent position. I might relate
stories, alas, too true! of cold and want; of days, and even almost an
entire week, passed at one time without food—stories which for painful
detail would eclipse romance. It was a weary waiting for Providence! Such
things are better forgotten. And yet I feel that in after years my temper
was more subdued, and my mind more patient under affliction, than it
would have been had I not experienced this preparatory discipline.
People who have heard, with a sneer, of Mormon missionaries and their
work, would perhaps have realized that faith may be sincere, although
mistaken, if they could have seen us at that time. The first teachers
of a doctrine, whether it be good or evil, if only it stems the current
opinions of the hour, have ever found that at the end of a rocky way
there was waiting for them a crown of thorns.
Many a time since then I have felt the weight of anxious care in
providing for my family; the trial of our faith has not been light, or
seldom repeated; but those days of trouble in Switzerland were, I think,
the darkest I ever experienced. We realized literally the necessity of
trusting to God’s daily mercies for our daily bread; and the assurance
that the Lord would provide, was our only hope. To say that we practised
the strictest economy, would be to give but a faint idea of the way in
which we had to consider and contrive in order to exist at all. For
years we kept the “Word of Wisdom”—a “Revelation of Joseph Smith,” which
enjoined abstinence from wine, coffee, tea, or, in fact, warm drinks of
any kind; and trifling as such self-denial may at first appear, it was
not really so when other privations were added thereto. For months at a
time we existed—for I dare not say lived—without what are considered,
even by the poorest, the most common necessaries. I can even recall to
mind one trying week in Switzerland, when, for the whole seven long days,
we had less than a pint of corn-flour to live upon, and that was chiefly
reserved for our poor child.
As I look back to those dark, painful times I feel that it was by little
short of a miracle that our lives were spared. Our faith alone saved us.