MY DAUGHTER BECOMES THE FOURTH WIFE OF BRIGHAM YOUNG’S SON—THE SECOND
ENDOWMENTS.
After I had consented, and in reality had given my husband a second wife,
my _status_ in Mormon polygamic society was very considerably improved.
First wives who lived in, and firmly believed, this “Order of Celestial
Marriage,” tried in every way to make me feel that I was one with them;
and those who had not much faith felt more kindly towards me, because I
had been caught in the same snare with themselves.
Every polygamic wife, whether first, second, third, or tenth, no matter
how much or how little she may believe in “Celestial Marriage”—no matter
how refined or how coarse and degraded her nature may chance to be—must
feel that her position is inferior to that of a monogamic wife. On this
account, many of the Mormon women are never satisfied until they have
drawn every woman of their acquaintance down to their own level. The
influence of this supposed “Revelation” is by no means elevating or
refining.
I was now upon an equal footing with other first wives. They had,
therefore, no hesitation in confiding to me their griefs; and, situated
as I was, I had abundant opportunities of hearing stories of cruelty,
wrong, and suffering, under the “Celestial” system—many of them so
utterly revolting that I would not dream of relating them again. Polygamy
among the Mormons is so full of disgusting and disgraceful details, that
a modest woman would not dare to relate all she knew. In this book I have
endeavoured to be true to my title and to “_tell all_,” as far as such a
thing is possible. But there are thousands of horrible incidents, which
form part and parcel of the system of Polygamy, but which no woman who
had any respect for herself would think of putting upon paper.
Previous to the time when my husband took his second wife, although I
had learned too much, I had to a certain extent been kept in the dark
respecting some of the vile and loathsome practices of Polygamy; but
after that, by slow degrees, I was thoroughly initiated into the system.
Visitors to Utah would perhaps notice in the faces of the Mormon wives
a dull, careworn, weary expression, altogether the reverse of that
contented look which is seen among “Gentile” women. But those very women
would never disclose to the stranger the depth of that sorrow which is
wearing away their lives. Some few, indeed, have been led to speak of
their troubles; but they have afterwards found that the very persons in
whom they confided most distorted and exaggerated every word that they
had uttered, for the sake of making a good story for the press. In many
cases the names of those who were thoughtless enough to expose their
sorrows, together with little personal matters which should never have
been made public, were put into print; and when the matter came before
the Church authorities, as in course of time it was certain to do, there
was a great deal of trouble and unpleasantness. Women, consequently,
as a rule, tell nothing; and book-makers and people connected with the
press, while they give to the world astonishing stories of what they
have heard, know really nothing of the truth. When a smart man, or a man
connected with the press, comes to Utah, the Church authorities take
him in hand at once. He is carried here and there, and treated with the
utmost deference; a pair of Mormon spectacles is placed by Brigham, or
one of his numerous factotums, upon the visitor’s eyes, and through them
he looks at all that transpires. Then comes a glowing account in the
papers, or else apocryphal stories appear in the visitor’s last new book;
and unsophisticated people, who innocently suppose that all that is in
print must be true, begin to think that the stories of the evil-doing
of the Prophet, which from time to time have crept out, were only
scandalous reports, and that Brigham Young—like somebody else who shall
be nameless!—was, after all, not quite so black as he has been painted.
A gentleman, who had for five years resided in Salt Lake City, said to
me a few months ago: “Mrs. Stenhouse, when I had been here about three
weeks, I thought that I knew enough of Mormonism to write a book; when I
had been here three months, I began to think that I did not know quite
as much; and now, after five years, I have come to the conclusion that I
really know nothing at all. I have lived in a Mormon family for the past
year, but that has not increased my knowledge. They are constantly upon
their guard. They treat me kindly, but they never let me know anything.”
This, I believe, has been the experience of nearly all the Gentiles
resident in Salt Lake City. Gentlemen had no chance of learning anything,
and the opportunities of ladies were only a trifle better.
Up to this time I had said very little to my children about my doubts and
fears. With the exception of my daughter Clara, they were all too young.
Clara was just budding into womanhood, and day by day gave promise of
more beauty and interest in her future life. I dreaded to cast a cloud
across her way by telling her of my own apprehensions in respect to
Polygamy. If that were the “Order” of “Heaven,” she would certainly have
to live in it; and in any case it was the “order” of Brigham Young, and
my child could not escape from it.
We had lived together in Polygamy about a year, when my husband told
me that his young wife desired to have a home of her own, and that he
intended to provide her with one. This was very pleasant intelligence to
me; for the sight of that other wife constantly before my eyes, sitting
at my table, in the midst of my family, walking in the garden with my
husband in the evening, or _tête-á-tête_ with him in the parlour, was
more than I could bear. I began to feel, whether justly or not, that my
presence was a restraint to them, and that they felt annoyed when I was
with them. This feeling was so strong with me that I constantly avoided
them, and I finally concluded to spend the evenings in my own room with
my children, for, being out of their presence, I should perhaps be at
peace.
This, however, was all changed when my husband established a second home.
I did not mind being deprived of his society so long as I could get rid
of _her_: her presence was painful to me, and when she was near me I
hardly felt able to breathe.
Just at that time the marriage of my daughter Clara first began to be
talked about seriously. One day my husband being out driving with Joseph
A. Young, the eldest son of the Prophet, the subject was discussed
between them, and Joseph A. made a proposition of marriage. This, to me,
was the cause of considerable uneasiness, as Joseph A. was a Polygamist,
and at first I altogether refused to listen to the suggestion. At that
time Clara was not fifteen years of age, and not only did I consider her
altogether too young to think of marriage, but I was shocked at the bare
idea of her becoming a polygamic wife. I almost hated Joseph for asking
for her.
Personally I had no objection to Clara’s lover. I had known him for
several years. He was an intelligent, generous-hearted, and handsome
man, of very good standing among the Saints, and wealthy. As a friend, I
valued and esteemed him; but that he, a polygamist, should wish to marry
my darling daughter, was very repugnant to my feelings. Clara was then
growing old enough to understand my more serious thoughts and sentiments,
and her companionship was very precious to me. The thought of her
marrying into Polygamy was to my mind almost as painful as the thought of
her death would have been.
My husband agreed with me that she was too young to marry; but on that
point _he_ could not offer any great objection, as his own wife, although
very womanly in appearance, was but very little older in years. I told
Joseph A. of my reluctance to the proposed marriage, and he fully entered
into my feelings. I could not absolutely refuse him, but I wished to gain
time. Every day found me more and more weak in the faith, and I thought
that, if I could only postpone my Clara’s marriage for a few years,
something might transpire which would relieve me of my difficulty.
Joseph promised to wait just as long as we thought proper, if only we
would allow him to speak to Clara and explain to her the sentiments with
which he regarded her. In this he acted in a way very unlike the Mormon
men generally, and I respected him accordingly. I promised him that I
would not influence my daughter, but would let her decide for herself.
This, after much careful consideration, I came to the conclusion was
all that I could do. My mind at that time was in a very troubled state.
Day by day my doubts respecting the plural wife system became stronger
and stronger, and I felt that before very long some great change _must_
take place, both in my fate and in my life. At the same time, outward
circumstances gave no promise of any such change. My husband gave no
signs of apostasy, and, as a Saint, I knew he would never think of
undertaking anything without the permission of Brother Brigham. We did
not even dare to leave the city without consulting the Prophet. In times,
then very recent, it was at the risk, and sometimes, indeed, at the
sacrifice of life, that any one left Salt Lake Valley without permission;
and even at the present moment no good Saint who values his standing
in the Church would dream of going East without first obtaining the
approval of Brigham Young. I could not, therefore, at the time of which I
write, foresee the great changes which have since taken place. To refuse
my daughter to the Prophet’s son would, I knew, be utterly useless.
By partial submission I might gain some advantages; and the longer I
postponed the marriage, the greater chance there was that “something”
might turn up, which we all more or less look for when we are placed in
circumstances which admit of the exercise of very little choice or effort.
My only objection against Joseph A. was, as I just stated, that he was a
polygamist; but so long as we remained in the Church I could not openly
allege this in opposition to the proposed marriage. If my Clara married
a single man, there was every chance, if not an absolute certainty, that
after a while he would take another wife, or wives. This had been the
case with other girls with whom my child was acquainted. They had married
single men, trusting that their influence over them would be sufficient
to retain their affections ever to themselves alone; but they had soon
reason to see how groundless their expectations and hopes had been.
If, on the other hand, I gave my daughter to a polygamist, there was
certainly no reason why Joseph A. should be refused. I felt surrounded on
every side by difficulties, and out of them all I endeavoured to choose
the least.
One day my husband told me that Brigham Young had seriously spoken to him
about the matter, and had “counselled” him to let the marriage take place
at once, saying that my Clara was quite old enough. After this, objection
on my part would have been utterly unavailing. Everything was settled
at the _fiat_ of Brigham; and the feelings and judgment of a father and
mother in respect of their own daughter were, of course, of not the
slightest consequence.
The wedding-day was therefore fixed, when the sweet flower of my own
quiet garden was to be transplanted to another home.
We went to the Endowment House—my husband, myself, and our daughter,
together with some friends of the family. There we met with Joseph A.
Young, the expectant bridegroom; his father, Brigham Young; Joseph A.’s
first wife, Mary Young; and several of the brethren. The bride and
bridegroom, and the bridegroom’s first wife, were all dressed in their
Temple robes. We then entered a small room where the altar, of which I
have already spoken, is placed. At the end of the altar, Brigham was
seated in a large armchair covered with crimson velvet. The altar was
also crimson. Brigham officiated. Joseph A.’s first wife, Mary Young,
knelt in front of the long crimson altar; and my daughter Clara knelt
beside her on a sort of faldstool or ledge, arranged for that purpose.
Behind the altar knelt Joseph A. Brigham said: “Joseph, are you willing
to take Clara Stenhouse to be your lawful and wedded wife for time and
for all eternity?” Joseph answered, “Yes.” Then Joseph’s first wife was
told to place the right hand of my daughter in the right hand of her
husband, in token that she was willing; and then Clara was questioned,
as Joseph had been. When she replied in the affirmative, Brigham said,
“I pronounce you man and wife in the name of the Lord. Amen.” They were
now married; and Brigham Young, Joseph A.’s first wife, and a few other
friends, came home to the wedding breakfast, after which my daughter went
to her own pleasant home.
Thus my worst fears were realized. My own daughter had become a polygamic
wife; she was the fourth wife of her husband, Joseph A. Young.
It is a source of sorrow to any mother who really loves her children to
lose them, even if it be for their own good and happiness; but in my own
case there were reasons why I felt the loss of my daughter more than I
should have done under ordinary circumstances. I felt quite desolate
without her; for when left all alone, when my husband took his second
wife, and when I had no one else to turn to, my little daughter had
entwined herself about my heart in a thousand sweet and loving ways. She
knew how great an influence music had over me, and how much I loved to
hear her play and sing; and when she saw how sad my heart was, or caught
me in tears, she would go to her piano, and lure me to her side by some
sweet song which she knew was dear to my memory. But with her went all
that love and gentleness which in my time of deepest trouble sustained me
and kept me from absolute despair.
I have often wondered whether Joseph ever realized how great, how
dear a gift, I bestowed upon him when I gave him my little Clara. But
in saying this I do not mean to cast the shadow of a doubt upon his
true-heartedness and love towards her. He was always kind and thoughtful,
considering her comfort in everything; and although they have now been
married seven years, he has never changed, but is the same to her as on
the first day of their marriage. A good, kind, and gentle husband he has
ever been, anticipating her every wish, tenderly and carefully guarding
her from even a painful thought. My only regret has been that he is a
polygamist, and she a polygamic wife.
Not long after this, my husband one day told me that a select few had
been chosen to receive their Second Endowments, and that we were to be
honoured with the same privilege. This I was told was one of the highest
honours that could be conferred upon us, as the Second Endowments had
never been given to any one since the Mormons left Nauvoo.
The glory of this privilege I did not myself, however, feel; and,
notwithstanding any respect which might be intended by our names being
added to the list of chosen ones, I refused to see the slightest good in
the whole affair. I am afraid I was naturally perverse—or was it that the
light was now beginning to dawn more clearly upon my mind? I know not.
But I raised every possible objection, feeling, though I did, that all
opposition on my part was useless. I knew that I should have to go, but I
felt a dismal satisfaction in letting every one know how much I hated the
system.
“Our” second wife—I say “_our_,” because I had been taught that my
husband and myself were indissolubly one, even in the matter of taking
wives—“our” second wife seemed the happiest of us all when the day
arrived, and I believe she considered that we were very highly favoured.
After preparing our Temple robes, we started for the Endowment House.
The reluctance which I felt caused me to lag behind, and I was _gently_
reminded several times that I was making myself very disagreeable. I
did not, however, feel much remorse, for my husband had still one good,
obedient wife walking at his side, who I knew would sympathize with him;
and that, as every one is aware, is more than falls to the lot of every
man.
When we reached the Endowment House, we ladies were shown into one room
and _our_ husband into another. We then proceeded to array ourselves
in our robes, caps, and aprons—the same as when we received our first
Endowments—and when all was ready we were ushered into another room by
one of the brethren, who was also dressed in his Temple robes. There we
met _our_ husband and several other brethren, all dressed in the same
way. We sat down, and oil was then poured upon the head of _our_ husband
by two of the brethren—Daniel H. Wells and another—and he was then
ordained a King and Priest to all eternity. After that, we two wives were
anointed in like manner, and ordained Queens and Priestesses, to reign
and rule with _our_ husband over his kingdom in the celestial world.
Had I ever solaced myself with the notion, which some Mormon women
entertain, that first wives are queens over all the rest, I should have
been sadly disappointed when I heard “_our_” second wife ordained to the
same high office as myself. As it was, however, my faith was so small
that I should have been quite contented had they consecrated her alone
queen for Eternity, so long as they would have allowed me to rule and
reign by myself in my own home for Time.
The ceremony did not last long; but it all appeared to me such folly that
I was anxious to leave the place, and, though I dared not say so, I was
truly ashamed to be seen coming out of the House. While going through
these Endowments I was filled with a thorough contempt for everybody and
everything around me, and I suppose that my feelings were visible upon my
countenance; for, after leaving the House, I remember the Apostle John
Taylor asking me if I did not feel well, and I told him as plainly as I
dared what really was the matter. He spoke to me very kindly, and tried
to reassure me; but the scales were now falling from my eyes, and all his
arguments availed nothing.
Notwithstanding all this, I was not ready yet to cast off the yoke, and
a few months after our Second Endowments I again gave evidence of my
faith. An event occurred in the other branch of my husband’s family which
produced a strong impression upon my mind—a little daughter was presented
to him by his second wife. I was, of course, expected to go and visit the
young mother and child, and I thought I could never bring my mind to do
that.
It would be impossible for me to define my feelings at that time—loathing
and hatred for him and for her, and even for the poor innocent babe,
on the one side; and, on the other, thoughts of what I considered was
my duty towards God, my husband, and his other lawful wife. I was
bewildered. My heart said, Do not go; but my conscience said, It is your
duty to treat her kindly, for she believes she has done you no wrong.
Then I thought, She is a young mother, and, without you frowning upon
her, sorrow will come swiftly enough to her door.
I saw that my husband was troubled as to what my feelings might be,
although he had not had courage to tell me himself of the interesting
event. He was afraid of paining me, and sent a lady friend with the
intelligence. I spoke to him myself, and told him that I would go and
see Belinda and her child. He thanked me, and said, “God bless you for
that.” Then I went to see her; but I was thankful when the visit was
over; and although I went again many times, and tried my very best to
treat her kindly and even affectionately, I could never get over the
painful feelings which agitated my mind when in her presence.
[Illustration: ORSON PRATT, The Mormon Philosopher.
_Born in 1811._]