An Englishwoman in Utah. Mrs. T. B. H. Stenhouse
to bring my mind to accept less from my husband than I should feel it my duty to render to him.
I loved the French people, and was pleased with their polite mannerism, but I was not French in character; and though the prospect before me of an alliance with a wealthy and noble family was certainly pleasant, and I was greatly attached to my fiancé, my mind was considerably agitated upon the subject of marriage, as it had before been occupied with religion.
During my sojourn in France I had frequently questioned myself whether I had not done wrong in remaining absent for so many years from my home and from communion with the church of my childhood, and I had always looked forward to the time when I should return to them again. To this occasional self-examination was now added another cause of anxiety, produced by the thought of marriage with a person of a different faith. Marriage, to me, was the all-important event in a woman’s life, and some mysterious presentiment seemed to forewarn me that marriage in my life was to be more than an ordinary episode—though little did I then dream that it would have a polygamic shaping.
My young ambition alone had led me to France. I had aspired to an honourable social position, and had found both it and also devoted friends. Sometimes I felt that I could not relinquish what I had gained; at other times I yearned for the associations of my childhood and the guiding hand of earlier friends. The conflict in my mind was often painful. My early prejudices and the teachings of those around me induced me to believe that the Roman Catholic religion was entirely wrong; yet, notwithstanding, while living among Catholics I saw nothing to condemn in their personal lives, but much to the contrary. In fact, Romanism fascinated me, while it failed to convince my judgment.
While labouring under these conflicting sentiments, I resolved to visit my native land, to consult with my parents about my contemplated marriage; and for that purpose I asked and obtained two months’ vacation. Surely some mysterious destiny must have been drawing me to England at that particular crisis, and before the fulfilling of my engagement, which would have changed so entirely the whole current of my existence.
CHAPTER II.
MY FIRST INTRODUCTION TO MORMONISM.
During my residence in France, my parents had left St. Heliers and returned to Southampton, England. To visit them now I had to take a sailing vessel from Portrieux to the Isle of Jersey, and thence I could take the steamer to Southampton.
Monsieur and Madame D——, together with the two little girls, accompanied me in their private carriage to Portrieux, a distance of forty miles, in order to confide me safely to the captain’s care. As they wished me “bon voyage” and embraced me affectionately, Mons. D—— handed me a valuable purse for pocket-money during my absence, and they all exhibited great anxiety for my welfare, saying over and over again au revoir, as they entered their carriage to return to their happy home;—thereby implying that this was not a final adieu, but that we should soon meet again.
I cannot tell why it was, but I experienced at that moment a painful feeling of mental indecision about the future. I had no real reason to doubt my return to France, and the certainty of a warm welcome when I should again greet those dear ones who were now leaving me in tears; but my mind was troubled by a vague feeling of uncertainty which made me anything but happy. Filial affection and a sense of duty drew me towards my parents in England; while a feeling of gratitude, and, I think, another and more tender sentiment, turned the current of my thoughts towards the happy home at St. Brieux.
It was not necessary for me to stop in Jersey for more than a few hours, but I wanted to revisit the scenes of my childhood’s happy days, and to speak again with those whom I had known and loved in early life. In later years the scenes and memories of childhood seem like the imaginings of a pleasant dream. A sweet charm is thrown around all that we then said and did; and the men and women who then were known to us are pictured in our recollection as beings possessing charms and graces such as never belonged to the common-place children of earth. The glamour of a fairy wand is over all the past history of mankind; but upon nothing does it cast so potent a spell as upon the personal reminiscences of our own infant years. To me that little island had charms which no stranger could ever have discovered; and even now, after the lapse of so many long, eventful years I often feel an earnest wish to visit again those rock-bound shores, to listen to the everlasting murmur of the wild, wild waves, to watch the distant speck-like vessels far away upon the swelling ocean, and to drink in the invigorating breezes which seem to give life and energy to every pulsation of the living soul.
But I must not theorize: life has been to me too earnest and too painful to admit of much sentiment or fancy as I recall the past. Little as I thought it, during the short visit which I paid to my birthplace the web of destiny was being woven for me in a way which I could not then have conjectured even in a dream.
At St. Heliers I heard for the first time of the Latter-day Saints, or Mormonites, as they were more familiarly called; but I cannot express how perfectly astonished I was when I learned that my father, mother, sisters, and one of my brothers had been converted to the new faith.
It was my own brother-in-law who told me this. He himself, with my sister, were “Apostate” Mormons. They had been baptized into the Mormon Church, but became dissatisfied, and abandoned it. The St. Heliers branch of the Latter-day Saints had had a turbulent experience. Their first teachings had been a mixture of Bible texts about the last days, and arguments about the millennium, the return of the Jews to Palestine, the resurrection of the dead, and a new revelation and a new prophet; but the improper conduct of some of the elders had disgusted the people with their doctrines, and the tales of wickedness which I heard were, if true, certainly sufficient to justify them in rejecting such instructors.
The more I heard of this strange religion the more I was troubled; yet, as I knew my parents were devoted Christians, I could hardly believe that Mormonism was such a vile delusion and imposture as it had been represented to me, or they would never have accepted it: still it was possible that they had been led astray by the fascinations of a new religion.
In this state of mind I met in the street the wife of the Baptist minister whom I have already mentioned. She greeted me affectionately and then began at once to warn me against the Latter-day Saints. I inquired what she knew of them; and she replied that personally she knew nothing, but she believed them to be servants of the Evil One, adding, “There is a strange power with them that fascinates the people and draws them into their meshes in spite of themselves. Let me entreat you not to go near them. Do not trust yourself at one of their meetings, or the delusion will take hold of you too.”
“I cannot ignore Mormonism in this way,” I said, “or pass it by with indifference; for my parents whom I tenderly love have been blinded by this delusion, and I can do no less than investigate its teachings thoroughly, and if I find it false, expose its errors, and, if possible, save my father’s family from ruin.”
She was not convinced that this was the wisest course for me to pursue, but I resolved at once to attend a meeting of the Saints and judge for myself. My brother-in-law, when he heard of my intentions, tried to dissuade me, but, finding me determined, finally offered to escort me to the meeting-place.
What I heard on this occasion made a great impression on my mind, and set me thinking as I had never thought before. On returning to my sister’s house she asked me what opinion I had now formed of the Latter-day Saints. I replied that I had not yet formed any conclusion, but that what I had heard had given me serious cause for reflection. “Oh,” she said, “you have caught the Mormon fever, I see.”
I felt a disposition to resent this implication, but I was half afraid that, after all, my sister was right. Much that I had heard could, I knew, be proved true from Scripture; and the rest seemed to me to be capable of demonstration from the same authority. I resolved, however, to fortify myself against a too easy credulity, and thought that probably if I heard more of these doctrines I might be able to discover their falsity.
On the following