“OUR” HUSBAND’S FIANCÉE—A SECOND WIFE’S SORROWS—STEPS TOWARDS APOSTASY.
At one time I had almost begun to think that my husband had seen enough
of the discomforts and heartlessness of polygamic life, and that his eyes
were looking back wishfully to the time when, as the old Scotch ballad
says:
“One loving heart was all his own,
But there as king he reign’d supreme.”
My faith in my own acuteness and perception was, however, very
considerably shaken when one day he told me that he thought it was about
time for him to think of taking another wife. I suppose he expected that
I should express some astonishment or offer objections, for he proceeded
to give me excellent reasons for what he was about to do. His greatly
improved circumstances; his desire to sustain his brethren; and, above
all, the necessity that he should “build up a kingdom!”
There was no gainsaying all this. The Lord had certainly very greatly
blessed him in basket and in store; it was, moreover, praiseworthy in
him to wish to sustain his brethren; and nobody could deny that he ought
to have a “kingdom!” To crown all, the young lady whom he proposed to
honour this time could not possibly be objected to by any loyal Saint,
for she was of the seed royal of the modern Israel—a daughter of the
high-priestly house of Brigham Young!
I suppose, if I had been a right-minded woman, I should have felt the
great glory that there was in the proposed alliance. But, in point of
fact, such is the perversity of human nature, I did not feel at all
pleased, although I could say nothing in objection. I had had some slight
suspicion that my husband’s eyes, to say nothing of his heart, had lately
been inclined to wander in a certain direction, for he had become so
particularly regular in his attendance at the theatre. I mentioned the
matter to him once or twice, but he answered that as an editor it was
a matter of necessity for him to attend, and that he ought to be there
always. This I might, perhaps, have believed, had it not been that it was
now several years since his paper was first established, and hitherto
his personal attendance at every representation had not been considered
absolutely indispensable. Reporters had been able to do all that was
necessary.
His proposal to marry this young lady, now it was openly stated, shed
light upon many things which had before appeared to me rather obscure.
Her name was Zina, and she was the daughter of Mrs. Zina D. Huntington
Jacobs, whom I have already mentioned as one of the Prophet’s wives. She
was one of the actresses in the theatre—for many of Brigham’s daughters
at that time took part in the representations—and I had frequently
observed very pretty little notices of her in the Salt Lake _Daily
Telegraph_.
I did not much care now how many wives my husband took—he might as well
have twenty, as the one too many which he already had—his marriage to
another could not possibly make me feel any worse, provided I was not
compelled to associate with her. I had resolved that I would never live
on familiar terms with his other wives—not because I might disrespect or
dislike them personally, but because I could not overcome the purer and
better teachings of my early life.
My husband in due form proposed, and was accepted; and it was soon
rumoured abroad that he was going to many one of the “President’s”
daughters—Brigham is always spoken of as “President” Young among the
Saints. In the course of a day or two they were formally “engaged,” and
a more loving couple could not possibly have been found. The young lady
herself afterwards told me that their love was of no ordinary kind,
and I’m sure I did not doubt her word. But consider how pleasant such
intelligence must have been to a wife!
Zina’s friends, who wished to cheer me up and make me happy, told me that
my husband’s love for her was perfectly engrossing; they “thought he
could never have really loved before”—“there was something very beautiful
in their loves!”
Zina pitied us, I know, when she realized that _we_ could never know
the great depth of _our_ husband’s love for her. She spoke and acted as
if this were how she felt; and I have no doubt that she intended, after
her marriage with _our_ husband, to treat us with great kindness and
consideration, as a sort of recompense for what we never had truly known,
and never could know _now_—_our_ husband’s love!
As is almost always the case when the husband takes a third wife, a
better state of feeling was brought about between my own husband’s second
wife and myself. Belinda no longer centred all her jealousy in me. She
now, to a certain extent, began to realize what I had suffered when my
husband courted her; she felt badly, and I really did sympathize with
her when I remembered how young she was, and that she was the mother of
three little children. She had her moiety of a husband, it is true; but,
like all other polygamic wives, that was her misfortune rather than her
comfort and strength. Many a wife would be happier were she a widow; in
fact, widows are the happiest class of women in Utah, for they realize
that it is far better to have a dead sorrow than a living one.
Now, our husband always maintained that he was not in love with Miss
Zina, but that in making love to her he was acting entirely from
principle. So all the brethren say, and I have never yet heard of any one
of them ever confessing—except, of course, to the maiden herself—that he
was in love. To the maiden herself he says, not only that, but a great
deal more. But if our husband, at the time of which I speak, was not in
love, the saints forbid that I should ever see him in that condition!
I am sure when I heard his fiancée speaking of their devotion to each
other, and of the fond attachment of her heart to him (for she felt no
delicacy in speaking to me—his wife—about such matters), I came to the
conclusion that I had never known what it was to really love, and that
my nature was too crude and unrefined to understand the mysteries of the
tender passion. There was no love in the case, _our_ husband told us—all
pure duty!
Long courtships had become quite fashionable among the brethren in Salt
Lake City, and I dreaded a long courtship more than anything else, for
there is so much that is humiliating, and I might even say disgusting, to
a wife when her husband is engaged in love-making to another woman, that
I hoped, as much as possible, to be spared passing through such an ordeal
a second time.
As the accepted lover and affianced husband of Brother Brigham’s
daughter, our husband was, of course, constantly in attendance at the
Prophet’s house. But he was not the only good brother who spent his
evenings in Brigham Young’s parlour; for it was then—and I suppose it
is to-day—a regular rendezvous for middle-aged and young men, and
even boys; and there the Prophet’s little girls, as well as those who
were grown or growing up, obtained an excellent training in the art of
flirting and courting.
It has always been said among the Saints that Brigham’s girls, and the
daughters of Daniel H. Wells, were the boldest and least retiring maidens
to be found in Salt Lake City, and that they presumed greatly upon their
imaginary high position; which position nobody but themselves cared
anything about. It is well known that the very people upon whom they
look down are those who rightly should receive their warmest gratitude
and respect, on account of the more than liberal support which they have
given to their father, even to the detriment of their own children.
When first I heard that my husband had set his affections upon one of
these girls, I felt convinced that he could not have made a very wise
choice; and I could not help dreading that the mere fact of my husband
having selected a daughter of the Prophet as his future wife would
bring trouble upon us all. What shape that trouble would take I could
form no conjecture, but I felt sure that a change of some sort was fast
approaching. My faith was almost gone; I felt the degrading position in
which the “Celestial” system placed me and my children, and it seemed to
me that I could no longer endure it. My children I could not, and would
not leave, but it was impossible for me to continue to live as I had
been living; nor would I think of bringing up my children any longer to
believe and live a religion which had so cruelly blighted my own life. It
was for them that I feared now; I felt that for their sake I must break
away from this horrible system.
My own life, I thought, was not worth caring for, but the idea of my
little girls growing up and following in my footsteps and enduring as I
had endured, was more than I could bear. Something must be done to save
them from such a fate.
About this time I procured a copy of the “Revelation on Celestial
Marriage,” and read it through carefully and calmly, from beginning to
end. The reader may, perhaps, remember that when a copy of it was first
given to me, in Switzerland, years before, I was so angry and indignant
that when I had got only partly through it I cast it from me in disgust
as an outrage upon all that was good and true. From that time, although
I had heard portions of it quoted and read, I had never perused it as a
whole. On two occasions, at least, my friend Mary Burton was very near
reading it through with me, and had we done so, I have not the slightest
doubt that my eyes would have been opened to the absurdity and wickedness
of the whole system, and years of wretchedness would have been spared me.
Such, however, was not the case. It was not until I had almost drained
the cup of sorrow and degradation that, at last, I found an antidote in
the deadly thing itself which had been the source of all my unhappiness.
I was acting upon the homœopathic principle—“_similia similibus
curantur_”—and using a dose of poison to cure a disease caused by that
poison.
As I read, I saw plainly, _from the wording of the document_, that if
ever it was given to Joseph Smith—no matter by whom—it was given _long
after_ he had _practised_ Polygamy—or something as bad—and to sanction
what he had already done. I had read in the Book of Mormon:
“David and Solomon truly had many wives and concubines, _which thing was
an abomination before me, saith the Lord_.... Hearken to the Word of the
Lord: for there shall not any man among you have, save it be one wife;
and concubines he shall have none.” [_Book of Mormon_, p. 118.]
In the Book of the Covenants, given through Joseph Smith, and held sacred
by every Saint, I had read:
“Thou shalt love thy _wife_ with all thy heart, and cleave unto _her_ and
_none_ else.” [_Book of Covenants_, p. 124.]
And yet when I turned to the “Revelation” I found in the very first
clause:
“Verily, thus saith the Lord unto my servant Joseph, that inasmuch as you
have enquired at my hand, to know and understand wherein I, the Lord,
JUSTIFIED [!] my servants Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, as also Moses, David
and Solomon, my servants, as touching the principle and doctrine of their
having many wives and concubines,” &c.
What could I possibly think of a “Prophet” who, after having the law
laid down so clearly, and being told so distinctly that the doings of
David and Solomon were an “abomination,” and that a man should have
_but one wife_, should enquire of the Lord how He “justified” the very
things which He had just declared were “an abomination” unto Him?—Then,
too, what blasphemy to represent God as one day giving a “Revelation”
declaring a thing sinful, and the next day “justifying” it! I felt
perfectly humiliated with myself that I had never before had the courage
to look the matter calmly in the face and discover, as I must have
discovered, had I only used my unaided reason, the shameful imposture
which had been palmed upon us. I now made careful enquiry, and it was
soon clear to me that evidence was not wanting to prove that the doctrine
of plural marriages originated in the licentious hearts of Joseph Smith
and those associated with him. When once I was convinced of that, the
whole fabric of my religion crumbled before my eyes; and from that time I
can hardly say that I had faith in anything that had been taught me.
My husband’s second wife was also very unhappy now. She, too, after the
general rule, had flattered herself that _she_ was “his first and only
love,” and it was not pleasant to have her dream of happiness dispelled;
but now that another “jewel” was to be added to _our_ husband’s crown,
she could no longer deceive herself. She little knew, poor girl, when
she married, that a Mormon’s heart is like a honeycomb—there is always a
vacant cell wherein another may nestle.
Real trouble, too, she had. One of her children was taken very sick, and
after a very severe illness died. I remained with her night and day, and
did what I could for the poor child. Had it been possible for me to have
felt a greater loathing and detestation for that vile system of Polygamy,
that feeling would have been conceived while I watched at the bedside of
my husband’s dying child. It was there that I vowed that no polygamists
should ever marry another daughter of mine, and resolved that to my dying
day my voice should be raised against the unholy and unnatural teachings
of the Mormon Priesthood. I looked at that lonely young mother, who in
her hour of trial ought to have had _all_ her husband’s sympathy, _all_
his attention, to support her; but who, instead, knew that, however kind
he might be to her, he was contemplating a new marriage, and his thoughts
must of necessity be more or less with his purposed bride. All unkind
feeling was banished from my heart—I forgot that she was my husband’s
wife, and remembered only that, like myself, she was a suffering woman,
a victim to a false faith; and I felt very deeply for her in her time of
sorrow and bereavement.
My husband, at this time, had been a member of the Mormon Church for
twenty-five years. He had lectured, preached, written and published,
in Great Britain, Switzerland, and the United States, in support of
the Mormon faith. He had been a most earnest and consistent member of
the Church, and devotedly attached to Brigham Young. This attachment
to Brother Brigham he shared in common with all the staunchest of his
brethren; for while the members of the Church retain unshaken confidence
in the new revelation, they naturally acquire a great regard for the
Prophet, and render him unquestioning obedience. I believe that my
husband would willingly have laid down his life, if by so doing he could
have shielded Brigham Young from harm or have been of essential service
to him.
But causes were now in operation which, by-and-by, detached him from
the Church, and made it possible for me also to leave the Mormon faith.
Hitherto, for my children’s sake, I dared not leave the Church without
my husband, and I therefore anxiously watched for anything which might
rescue him from the bondage in which he was held.
As proprietor of a daily paper, his business had frequently called him
to the Eastern States for several months at a time, and I observed that
after those visits his editorials took a more liberal turn. My Mormon
friends frequently said to me, “Brother Stenhouse is doing himself no
good by his constant association with the Gentiles;” and subsequently,
when he did apostatize, our secession from the Church was attributed to
contaminating Gentile influences.
Then, too, we had frequent visits from strangers passing through Salt
Lake City. I saw, with pleasure, that this intercourse with the outside
world was gradually undermining my husband’s confidence in the teachings
of the Elders, and it gave me courage to hope that, after all, the day of
liberty might dawn at last. Feeling as I did thus, it will not surprise
the reader that I regarded with more and more distrust the proposed
marriage of my husband to Brother Brigham’s daughter; for I felt that
then he would be deeper than ever in the toils of the Priesthood, and I
sometimes almost believed that it was my duty to use every influence in
my power to prevent it.
Putting my own feelings out of the question, it is probable that I might
have done this simply for his own good; for I doubted not that some day
the scales must fall from his eyes, and then he would be thankful that I
had prevented the marriage. Our paths by this time had certainly diverged
far asunder, and my husband had another wife and family; but I believed
that he was sincere, though sadly mistaken, or I should not have felt so
kindly towards him as I did.
At other times, and observing his devotion, I almost myself began to
think that perhaps the nonsense that I had heard was, after all, true,
and that this girl _was_ the only one he had really loved; and, if so, of
course he ought to marry her. In fact, so divided was my attention that
I hardly knew what to think; I therefore resolved to act according to
circumstances.
Brigham Young, in one of his sermons, says that “the first thing
manifested in the case of apostasy was the idea that the Prophet was
liable to make a mistake: when a man believes that, he has taken the
first step towards apostasy; he need only take one step more, and he is
out of the Church.” This was spoken of Joseph and his saints, but it
suits just as well Brigham and his; I knew very well that my husband had
taken the first step, and I sincerely hoped that he might soon take the
second. For my own part, I had for some time not only believed that a
Prophet _might_ be mistaken, but, as Brother Heber would say, I _knew_ it.
My husband and his bride elect, like all other lovers, had frequent
little quarrels—I suppose for the purpose of making up again, and
being then all the more ardent in their affection. But they now had a
disagreement which lasted longer than all that had gone before; although
I suppose that neither of them had, at that time, the slightest idea how
it was going to end. They had been courting for fifteen months at least,
and after so much devotion on the part of my husband, and so much fervent
affection on the part of the young lady, it really did seem too bad that
so large an amount of love should be thrown away. It was hard that after
such a long strain upon their religious and devotional feelings—for
they were both very pious lovers—all their labour of love should come
to nought. Things had certainly taken a twist, for I knew well enough
that at one time they both firmly believed that their marriage was
pre-ordained in heaven, and that they were as completely one in feeling
as mortals ever could be. The mother, too, who was a very pious woman,
once told my husband that she had had a vision in which it was revealed
to her that they were destined for each other in the eternal worlds:—the
lovers of course firmly believed her. But, for all that, the estrangement
still continued, and my husband was constantly making it wider by the
articles which appeared in his paper, until at last certain of the
sisters whispered that the heart of the lady had been attracted towards
some brighter luminary.
Long courtships often end disastrously; but when I heard rumours of the
lady’s presumed faithlessness, it seemed to me hardly fair, for the day
had been fixed for the marriage and the wedding-dress actually made.
Of course I sympathized with my husband. Would any wife like to see her
husband disappointed in his love-affairs with another woman, I wonder?
While under these natural feelings of indignation, I one day told Brigham
Young that I thought, after all the courting that had been done—and it
was not a trifle—they certainly ought to be married. He said he was
willing enough himself, if they wished it; but girls, he said, often
changed their minds, and as they could but have one husband, it was only
fair that their wishes should be consulted. “If Zina has really changed
her mind,” he added, “I have plenty of other daughters, and they have all
got to be married; let him take one of them—if one won’t another will!”
The reader will see the liberal ideas which Brother Brigham entertains on
the subject of marriage.
It may, perhaps, seem rather strange that I should be anxious to have
them marry; but, after all that I had seen and endured in Polygamy,
can it be wondered at that I should no longer regard the father of my
children as my own husband? Had I thought him a bad man, or had he acted
as I know many of the good brethren do act; had he brought home girl
after girl with the hope of alluring one or more of them into Polygamy,
or had he been utterly reckless of my feelings, I might perhaps have
been able to cast him from my heart without a single regret. But I
really believed that he was acting consistently with the teachings of
his religion, and if I felt degraded by the life I lived, it was not his
fault—it was the fault of the system. I therefore felt that if things
came to the worst, and if I were driven to extremities, and forced to
separate from him, I should like to know that he had a wife whom he
loved. I felt certain that there was now but little love between him and
his second wife, and that some day a separation was sure to take place.
The idea of divorce was so repugnant to my feelings that it was only in
moments when grief overpowered me, and my heart was wrung with anguish,
and I felt utterly reckless, that I for one moment thought of anything
like it. Even then I only entertained the idea of a separate life—not
divorce.