An Englishwoman in Utah: The Story of a Life's Experience in Mormonism

by Mrs. T. B. H. Stenhouse

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.