MYSTERIES OF THE ENDOWMENT HOUSE—FEARFUL OATHS AND SECRET CEREMONIES.
Not many weeks after our arrival in Salt Lake City, my husband told me
that we might now enjoy the privilege of going through the Endowment
House.
This was intended as a great favour to us, on the part of the
authorities, for most people have to wait a long while before receiving
their Endowments; but my husband’s influence and position in the Church
was, I presume, the reason why we were admitted so soon.
Now, I had heard so much of the Endowments and the Endowment House that I
quite dreaded to pass through this ordeal. The idea of the whole ceremony
was, that thereby we should receive the special grace of God; be united,
man and woman, making one perfect creature; receive our inheritance as
children of God; and, in fact, be made partakers of the plenitude of
every blessing.
I knew well that no marriage was considered binding unless it had been
celebrated in that place. I knew that the Saints, however long they might
have been wedded, were under the necessity of being reunited there before
they could be considered lawfully married and their children legitimate.
According to the highest Mormon authority, no marriage is valid unless
the ceremony is performed in the Temple. The Temple is not yet built,
and as Joseph, the Prophet, said, “No fellow can be damned for doing the
best he knows how,” the Saints, meanwhile, do “the next best thing,”
and are married in the Endowment House. I knew that there and then the
faithful were said to be “endowed” with their heavenly inheritance. I
saw how _absolutely needful_ it was that my husband and myself should
become partakers of those mysteries; but I was influenced by the strange
stories which I had heard of unhallowed and shameful doings in that same
Endowment House, and consequently I feared to enter in.
My fears were not, however, altogether groundless or visionary. It has
been whispered—falsely perhaps—that in that Endowment House scenes have
been enacted so fearful that words would falter on the lips of those who
told the tale concerning them. I have _heard_ of such things from men
of integrity and honour; but they were not eye-witnesses of what they
related, and they could not, or would not, give me their authorities.
One thing I am certain of; if such horrible deeds were ever perpetrated
within those walls, there remains no _living_ witness to testify of them.
The lips of those who alone could tell the whole truth are sealed in a
silence which the trump of doom alone shall break.
It was, of course, no fear of any personal violence or any painful
disclosures in that respect, that made me reluctant to receive my
Endowments, for at that time I was by profession apparently a good
Mormon; if I had my doubts and misgivings, I had them in common with
nine-tenths of the Mormon women, and had therefore nothing to fear. The
true cause of my reluctance was of a more delicate and personal nature.
I had been informed that, if I refused to go, my husband could not go
alone; he would be compelled to take another wife, and go with her. This
was not all. I found that it was quite common for the Elders to take a
second wife when they took their first Endowments, and thus, as they
coarsely expressed it, “kill two birds with one stone.” Moreover, I had
heard of men who feared to introduce Polygamy into their households,
presenting to their wives, while going through the House, a young girl as
their intended bride, feeling sure that the wife would not dare to make
a scene before the Assembly. How could I know that my husband also had
not such an idea in his mind? True, I trusted him implicitly, and did not
believe it possible that he could deceive me. But had not men who were
universally known for their integrity and honour acted in the same way
to _their_ wives; and with so many evidences of the best and most honest
natures being corrupted by the unrighteous teachings of their religion,
could I be blamed for doubting him whom I loved best?
There was also another reason why I particularly objected to passing
through the Endowment House. I had been told many strange and revolting
stories about the ceremonies which were there performed, for it was said
that in the Nauvoo Temple the most disgraceful things were done. About
what was done at Nauvoo I can say nothing, as it was before my time, but
still it is only fair to say, that people who in every other relation
in life I should have deemed most reliable and trustworthy were my
informants respecting those strange stories. Of the Endowments in Utah I
can, of course, speak more positively, as I myself passed through them;
and I wish to say most distinctly that, although the initiation of the
Saints into “The Kingdom,” appears now to my mind as a piece of the most
ridiculous absurdity, there was, nevertheless, nothing in it indecent or
immoral—of which the reader himself shall presently be the judge.
It is an invariable rule among the Mormons, as I have before intimated,
for every man or woman to mind his or her own business, and nothing
else. Thus it was, that until I myself went through the Endowments,
I was totally ignorant of what they were; although, of course, many
people, with whom I had daily intercourse could easily have enlightened
me if they had been thus minded. Besides this, every Mormon’s mouth was
closed by the oath of that same Endowment House—the penalty of which was
death, a penalty which no one doubted would be sternly enforced. Thus,
totally in the dark, and remembering only the strange stories told about
“washings” and “anointings,” and an imitation of the Garden of Eden, with
Adam and Eve clothed in their own innocence alone, it can be no wonder
that any modest woman should wish to evade all participation in such
scenes.
I spoke to my husband about it, and he tried to reassure me, but what he
said had rather a contrary effect.
Before we left England, when speaking of these ceremonies, my husband
told me that they were simply a privilege and a matter of choice. But
what a choice! I might go or refuse to go; but, if I refused, he must—if
he went through it all—take another wife in my place, and, as I knew,
there would be no difficulty in finding one. I should in consequence be
known as a rebellious woman; annoyance and indignity would be heaped upon
me; while within my own home I should be compelled to occupy the position
of second wife—as the one who is married first in the Endowment House is
considered the first wife, and has the control of everything.
My husband told me that now he was most anxious to go; he had already
been notified three times that such was his privilege, and there were, he
said, good reasons why we ought gladly to accept the opportunity. It was
an honour, he said, for which many people had waited for years.
My husband reminded me that we had been married by a Gentile, and while
living among Gentiles, and that, as I said before, our marriage was
not valid, and our children were not legitimate. Only those children of
ours who were born _after_ the ceremony in the Endowment House would be
legitimate; the others were outcasts from the “Kingdom” unless we adopted
them _after_ our initiation, and thus made them heirs. In any case, poor
children, they could never be considered the _real_ heirs; they could
only be “heirs by adoption.”
So I agreed to go, trying to persuade myself that it was a sacred duty;
for, although my faith in Mormonism had been roughly shaken, I still
believed that its origin was divine.
The Temple robe, which is a long, loose, flowing garment, made of white
linen or bleached muslin, and reaching to the ankle, had been placed
upon us just before we took the oaths. It was gathered to a band about
twelve inches long, which rested on the right shoulder, passed across the
breast, and came together under the left arm, and was then fastened by
a linen belt. This leaves the left arm entirely free. The veil consists
of a large square of Swiss muslin, gathered in one corner so as to form
a sort of cap to fit the head; the remainder falls down as a veil. The
men wear the same kind of under garment as the women, and their robes
are the same, but their head-dress is a round piece of linen drawn up
with a string and a bow in front, something after the fashion of a Scotch
cap. All good Mormons, after they have received their first Endowments,
get whole suits of Temple robes made on purpose for them, so that they
may be ready for use at any time when they are needed. All marriages in
the Endowment House are performed in these robes, and in them all Saints
who have received their Endowments are buried. Besides our robes we were
instructed to take with us a bottle of the best olive oil.
At seven o’clock in the morning of the day appointed, we presented
ourselves at the door of the Endowment House, and were admitted by
Brother Lyon, the Mormon poet. Everything within was beautifully neat and
clean, and a solemn silence pervaded the whole place. The only sound that
could be heard was the splashing of water, but whence the sound proceeded
we could not see. In spite of myself, a feeling of dread and uncertainty
respecting what I had to go through would steal over my mind, and I
earnestly wished that the day was over.
We waited patiently for a little while, and presently a man entered and
seated himself at a table placed there for that purpose, upon which
was a large book. He opened the book, and then calling each person in
turn, he took their names and ages, and the names of their fathers and
mothers, and carefully entered each particular in the book. Our bottles
of oil were then taken from us, and we were supposed to be ready for the
ceremony.
First we were told to take off our shoes, and leave them in the anteroom,
and then to take up our bundles and pass into another room beyond. This
was a large bath-room, which was divided down the middle by a curtain of
heavy material placed there for the purpose of separating the men from
the women. Here my husband left me—he going to the men’s and I to the
women’s division. In the bath-room were two or three large bathing-tubs
supplied by streams of hot and cold water. We were as much concealed from
the men as if we had been in an entirely separate room, and everything
was very quiet and orderly.
Miss Eliza R. Snow, the poetess, and a Mrs. Whitney, were the officiating
attendants on that occasion. The former conducted me to one of the
bathing-tubs, and placing me in it, she proceeded to wash me from the
crown of my head to the soles of my feet. As she did this she repeated
various formulas to the effect that I was now washed clean from the blood
of this generation and should never, if I remained faithful, be partaker
in the plagues and miseries which were about to come upon the earth. When
I had thus been washed clean, she wiped me dry, and then taking a large
horn filled with the olive oil which we had brought, she anointed me. The
oil was poured from the horn by Mrs. Whitney into the hand of Eliza Snow,
who then applied it to me. The horn was said to be the horn of plenty
which, like the widow’s cruse of oil, would never fail as long as the
ordinance should continue to be administered. In addition to the crown of
my head, my eyes, ears, and mouth were also anointed; my eyes that they
might be quick to see, my ears that they might be apt at hearing, and
my mouth that I might with wisdom speak the words of eternal life. She
also anointed my feet, that they might be swift to run in the ways of the
Lord. I was then given a certain garment to put on.
Now this garment is one peculiar to the Mormon people. It is made so as
to envelope the whole body, and it is worn night and day. I was told
that after having once put it on, I must never wholly take it off before
putting on another, but that I should change one half at a time, and
that if I did so I should be protected from disease, and even from death
itself; for the bullet of an enemy would not penetrate that garment, and
that from it even the dagger’s point should be turned aside. It has been
said that the Prophet Joseph carelessly left off this peculiar garment
on the day of his death, and that, had he not done so, the rifles of his
assassins would have been harmless against him.
When thus arrayed, I proceeded to put on a white nightdress and skirt,
stockings, and white linen shoes. A new name was then whispered into my
ear, which I was told I must never mention to any living soul except my
husband in the Endowment House. This name was taken from the Bible, and
I was given to understand that it would be the name whereby I should be
admitted into the celestial kingdom. This was of course very gratifying.
A circumstance, however, occurred which took from me all the pride which
might have been mine in the possession of a new name. There was among
our number a deaf woman; Mrs. Whitney had to tell her her name once or
twice over, loud enough for me to hear, and thus I found that her new
name, as well as mine, was Sarah. To make the matter worse, another
sister whispered, “Why, that is my name too.” This entirely dispelled any
enthusiasm which otherwise I might have felt. I could well understand
that I might yet become a Sarah in Israel, but if we all were Sarahs,
there would not be much distinction or honour in being called by that
name. As a matter of course I supposed that the men would all become
Abrahams.
Our washing and anointing being now over, we were ready for the
initiation—there were about fifteen couples in all.
A voice from behind the curtain asked Miss Snow if we were ready, and was
answered in the affirmative. We were then arranged in a row, the curtain
was drawn aside, and we stood face to face with the men, who had, of
course, on their side of the curtain, been put through the same ordeal. I
felt dreadfully nervous, for I did not know what was coming next, and I
could not quite dismiss from my mind the stories that I had heard about
these mysteries. But in spite of my nervousness, curiosity was strong in
me at that moment, as it was, I suppose, in the others; for, as soon as
the curtain was drawn aside, we all cast our eyes in the direction of the
men. They, as might be expected, were looking in our direction, and when
I beheld them I must say that my sympathies were drawn out towards the
poor creatures. However little vanity or personal pride they possessed,
they must have felt it unpleasant to have to appear in the presence of
ladies in such a dress—or rather _un_dress; and notwithstanding the
solemn meaning of the ceremony, there was just the ghost of a smile upon
our faces as we looked at each other and dropped our eyes again. To any
one who did not feel as we did the religious nature of the initiation,
the scene must have appeared perfectly ludicrous. In fact, some of us
felt it so. One sister, just as the curtain was drawn up and we came in
full view of our lords, cried out, “Oh dear, oh dear, where shall I go?
What shall I do?” This, as may be supposed, caused a laugh, which was, of
course, immediately suppressed.
We could see how the men looked, but of our own appearance we could not
so easily judge. Certainly, we must have looked anything but handsome in
our white garments, and with the oil trickling down our faces and into
our eyes, making them smart and look red. There was nothing, however, for
us to do but to submit quietly and make the best of it we could. Ashamed
as I was, I thought I might venture to look at my husband; there could be
no harm in that; but when I saw his demure-looking countenance and his
efforts to keep his clothing in order, I thought I should be compelled
to laugh outright, for I could see that his thoughts were more occupied
about his personal appearance than with the solemnity of the occasion.
The men were all dressed in the same kind of garment as the women—drawers
and shirt all in one, very much like those which are used for children to
sleep in, and over that an ordinary white shirt, such as men always wear;
that, with socks and white linen shoes, completed their toilet.
Clad after this interesting fashion, we sat opposite to each other for
several minutes, and then my husband and myself were instructed to come
forward and kneel at the altar while all the rest remained standing.
It is the custom thus to select two persons, and we were either picked
out by chance, or it might be, as my husband was thought a good deal of
by the authorities, that they considered he would feel honoured by the
preference.
Suddenly a voice was heard speaking to some one, who also replied.
This voice from the unseen was supposed to be the voice of Elohim in
conversation with Jehovah, and the words that were used were much the
same as those contained in the first chapter of the book of Genesis,
describing the creation of the world. Finally, Jehovah and Elohim declare
their intention to come down and visit the earth. This they do, and
pronounce all that they behold very good; but they declare that it is
necessary that one of a higher order of intelligence than the brute
creation should be placed in the world to govern and control all else.
Michael the Archangel is now called, and he is placed upon the earth
under the name of Adam, and power is given him over all the beasts of
the field, the fowls of the air, and the fishes of the sea. Moreover,
the fruits of the earth are all given to him for his sustenance and
pleasure; but he is strictly charged, as in Bible story, not to eat of
one particular tree which stands in the midst of the garden. This tree is
represented by a small real evergreen, and a few bunches of dried raisins
are hung upon it as fruit.
It is now discovered that it is not good for man to be alone; Elohim and
Jehovah, therefore, hold another conversation upon that subject, and they
finally determine to give a companion to Adam. They, therefore, cause
a deep sleep to fall upon Michael—or Adam as he is now called—and they
prepare to operate upon him. Here we were all instructed to assume the
attitude of deep sleep by dropping our heads upon our breasts. Elohim
and Jehovah then come down and go through the motions of removing a rib
from the side of the sleeper, which said rib appears immediately upon the
scene in the person of Eliza R. Snow. Elohim and Jehovah are generally
represented by two of the Twelve Apostles. When Brigham is present he
plays a prominent part.
And now the devil makes his appearance in the person of W. W. Phelps.
Phelps used always to personate the devil in the Endowments, and the
_rôle_ suited him admirably. He is dead now, but whether it has made
any difference in his _status_ I cannot tell, nor do I know who has
succeeded him in his office. The devil wears a very tight-fitting suit
of black muslin, with knee-breeches and black stockings and slippers.
This dress had all the appearance of a theatrical costume, and the man
looked as much like what one might imagine the devil would look as he
possibly could. He began by trying to scrape acquaintance with Eve, whom
he meets while taking a walk in the garden. The innocent, unsuspecting
woman is fascinated by his attentions. Father Adam—who seems to have
had a touch of the Mormon about him—perhaps was not the most attentive
of husbands; or he may have made the same mistake as that which so many
of his sons have since made—neglecting to pay the same attentions after
marriage as he was wont to before—and left his young wife to the mercy of
the tempter. However that may be, Satan and Eve are soon discovered in
conversation together, and Eve appears to be particularly pleased with
Satan. At length he offers her some of the fruit of the forbidden tree,
and after some little demur she accepts it and eats thereof.
Then the devil leaves her, Adam makes his appearance, and Eve persuades
him also to eat of the fruit of the tree. After this they make a dumb
show of perceiving their condition, and an apron of white linen is
produced, on which are sewn pieces of green silk, in imitation of fig
leaves, and in these they both attire themselves.
Then all the brethren and sisters produced similar aprons which they had
brought with them on purpose, and these they put on, as Adam and Eve
had already done. Elohim now appeared again, and called Adam; but Adam
was afraid, and hid himself in the garden with Eve. The curse was now
pronounced upon the serpent—the devil—who reappears upon his hands and
knees, making a hissing noise as one might suppose a serpent would do. We
were then all driven out of the Garden of Eden into another room which
represented the world—and this ended the “First Degree.”
We were now supposed to be out in the world, earning our daily bread by
the sweat of our brows, and we were informed that although we had been
driven out from the presence of the Lord, yet a plan of salvation would
be devised for us, by which we should be enabled to return to our first
estate. We were to wait patiently until this plan should be disclosed to
us.
There was here such a mixture of persons and events that I could not
exactly follow the idea that was intended to be conveyed—if there was
any idea at all. Men representing the ancient prophets entered, and gave
instructions to the people to prepare themselves for the first coming
of our Saviour upon earth. Then we were taught certain pass-words and
grips; and then we were all arranged in a circle. The women covered their
faces with their veils, and we all kneeled down, and, with our right
hands uplifted towards heaven, we took the solemn oath of obedience and
secrecy.[1] We swore that by every means in our power we would seek to
avenge the death of Joseph Smith, the Prophet, upon the Gentiles who had
caused his murder, and that we would teach our children to do so; we
swore, that without murmur or questioning, we would implicitly obey the
commands of the priesthood in everything; we swore that we would not
commit adultery—which, with reference to the men, was explained to mean
the taking of wives without the permission of the holy Priesthood; and
we swore that we would never, under any circumstances, reveal that which
transpired in the Endowment House.
The penalty for breaking this oath, which was worded in the most
startling and impressive way, was then explained to us. His bowels
were—while he was yet living—to be torn from him, his throat was to be
cut from ear to ear, and his heart and tongue were to be cut out. In the
world to come, everlasting damnation would be his portion.
Let not the reader think that this was merely an imaginary penalty,
or that it was expressed merely for the purpose of frightening the
weak-minded; for, as will be shown, punishments quite as horrible as that
have been deliberately meted out to the Apostate, the Gentile, and the
suspected Saint, by the Mormon Priesthood. The innocent blood which cries
for vengeance against Brigham Young and some of the leaders of the Church
is sufficient to weigh the purest spirit which stands before the throne
of God down to the nethermost abysses of hell.
After these fearful oaths had been taken with due solemnity, we were
instructed in the various signs representing those dreadful penalties;
and we were also given a “grip” peculiar to this degree.
We were next entertained by a long address from the Apostle Heber C.
Kimball.—Never in my life—except from Brigham Young—have I listened to
such disgusting language, and I trust I never shall be compelled to
listen to anything like it again. Brother Kimball always used to pride
himself upon using “plain” language, but that day I think he surpassed
himself; he seemed to take quite a pleasure in saying anything which
could make us blush. The subject of which he discoursed was the married
life in the “Celestial Order;” he also laid great stress upon the
necessity of our keeping silence concerning all that we had witnessed
in the Endowment House—even husbands to their wives, and wives to their
husbands, were not to utter a single word. With the sermon ended our
“Second Degree.”
We were now taken to another room for the purpose of passing through
the “Third Degree” of the Order of the Melchisedec Priesthood. When we
were all arranged on one side against the wall, a number of individuals
entered who were supposed to represent the ministers of every
denomination and religion upon the face of the earth. The devil also
makes his appearance again. The ministers set forth the various claims of
their respective creeds—each one striving to show that his is the purest
and the best—but the devil sows division and hatred among them, and a
good deal of confusion ensues.
Then came in personages representing Peter, James, and John, the
Apostles; and they commanded ministers, devil, and all to depart. They
then appeared to organize a new Church, in which the true principles of
the Gospel were to be taught; our Temple robes were also all changed from
the right shoulder to the left, indicating that we were now in the true
Church, and that we were to be absolutely and in every way dependent upon
the priesthood. Another grip was then given to us, and thus we received
the third degree of the Order of Melchisedec Priesthood. In that room
was a division made of bleached muslin; in the division a door and in
the door a hole, with a lap of muslin over it, through which to pass
the hand. Whoever was on the other side could see us, but we could not
see them. The men first approached this door. A person representing the
Apostle Peter appeared at the opening and demanded who was there. He
was told that some one desired to enter. Hands came through the opening
in the muslin curtain, and mysterious fingers cut a mark on the left
breast of the men’s shirts—one mark also over the abdomen, and one over
the right knee—which marks the women religiously imitated upon their
own garments when they got home. The applicant was then told to put his
hand through the opening, and give the last grip belonging to the “Third
Degree,” and mention his new name. He was then permitted to enter. This
was called “going behind the veil.” When the men were all admitted, the
women were suffered to approach, and were passed through by their own
husbands. When a woman has no husband she is passed through by one of
the brethren, and to those who are not going to be married or sealed for
eternity here the ceremonies end.
Now, as I before stated, according to Mormon ideas we had never before
been legally married. It was therefore, necessary that we should now pass
through that ceremony. We accordingly were conducted to a desk, where
our names were entered, and we were then passed into another room. In
that room was a long, low altar, covered with red velvet, and an armchair
placed at one end of it, in which sat Brigham Young. My husband knelt at
one side of the altar and I at the other, with our hands clasped above
it in the last grip which had been given to us. Then the ordinary formula
of marriage was gone through with, and we were informed that we were
sealed for time and for eternity.
Thus we passed through the mysteries of the Endowment House, and at three
o’clock in the afternoon we found ourselves at liberty to return home.
The various ceremonies had occupied eight hours.
When we reached home, my husband said, “Well, what do you think of the
Endowments?” But I did not dare to answer him truthfully at that time.
Had I done so, I should have told him that I was ashamed and disgusted.
Never in all my life did I suffer such humiliation as I did that day;
for the whole time I was under the impression that those who officiated
looked upon us as a set of silly dupes, and I felt annoyed to think
that I dared not tell them so. So I told my husband that I would rather
not speak about it, and we never have spoken of it to this day. What
were his own feelings about the matter, I do not know, for Mormon wives
are taught never to pry into their husband’s feelings or meddle with
their actions. But notwithstanding all my feelings in reference to the
Endowments, so foolish was I that when I afterwards heard the brethren
and sisters talking about the happiness which they had experienced while
going through, and saying how privileged we ought to feel at being in
Zion among the Saints of God, secure in His Kingdom where we could bring
up our children in the fear of the Lord, I began again to think that the
fault was all in myself, and that it was I who was wrong and not the
Endowments. I wondered how, with such a rebellious heart, I should ever
get salvation, and I mourned to think that I had not accepted everything
with the simplicity of a child.
Some time after our initiation I met the Apostle Heber C. Kimball, and
he asked me how I felt upon the occasion. I frankly told him all, but
added that I regretted feeling so. He said, “I shall see if you cannot
go through again; it is not just the thing, and I shall try and make
the opportunity.” Nothing more, however, was said about it. But that
which troubled me most was the fact that while the oaths were being
administered, I dropped my hand and inwardly vowed that I would never
subscribe to such things, and at the same time my heart was filled with
bitter opposition. This, although I did it involuntarily—my better nature
rising within me, and overcoming my superstition—I thought at the time
was sinful. I now, however, rejoice that such was the case; for not
having actually vowed to keep secret those abominable oaths, I can say,
without any cavil or equivocation, that I have broken no promise and
betrayed no trust by the revelations which I have just made.