“One thing, Mary,” I said, referring to her own personal experience in Polygamy; “one thing I do not quite understand. You, of course, had made your husband specially promise, before you married him, that he would never take another wife, and he was therefore bound, as a man, by every moral obligation, not to do so. But other women have not been situated as you were, and they have exacted no promises from their husbands. Yet it always seemed to me that your doing so was quite superfluous, for you must be aware, Mary, that the Revelation says that, before a man can take a second wife, he must have the full consent of the first. The elders in Europe used to make a great deal of that point, as you may remember, for they said that this provision took from the Revelation any harshness or injustice which it might otherwise appear to show. I know many women who submitted on this account, for they argued that, if their permission was necessary, they could always, by refusing, save themselves from any further trouble. Now if that was so, how came your husband to take another wife against your will? I say your husband, because I should have no difficulty in many other cases. I have been repeatedly told that husbands never troubled themselves about the Revelation when they wanted another wife, unless it was to silence the first wife with it, if she rebelled. But I always regarded Elder Shrewsbury as a conscientious man, and I firmly believed that he would never willingly give you a moment’s pain. When he made that promise to you, he had the Revelation before him, and had also the Apostle to go to if he needed the ‘Word of the Lord.’ He was therefore bound by that promise, notwithstanding anything that the Revelation might say to the contrary; and even had he made no promise, the Revelation was on your side. We are told that every woman must first give her consent.”
“That is all very true, Sister Stenhouse,” she said, “to a certain extent. The theory is as you say, but you have not heard the whole. I know the Revelation pretty nearly by heart, and so I can tell you exactly what it does say. The first wife is said to hold the keys of this power, by which is meant that she can refuse. But then it goes on to say that when her husband has taught her the law of the Priesthood—that is Polygamy—‘she shall believe or she shall be destroyed, saith the Lord your God, for I will destroy her.’ You see there is no loophole of escape for the woman. Her husband is to teach her the law, and she shall believe; and if she does not—and of course people have no power to make themselves believe what they please—she is to be destroyed, and God will destroy her! Do you know, Sister Stenhouse, there are stories whispered here of women who did refuse, and who stood in their husbands’ way; and it is said that the Priesthood did not wait for the Lord to destroy, but carried out the law themselves. But we have wandered sadly from your question. You were talking about the first wife giving her consent?”
“Yes,” I said, “and you were about to tell me whether it was really and practically necessary in every instance. You have been here longer, and have seen more, than I have.”
“The wife’s consent is by no means necessary, Sister Stenhouse. It may be asked sometimes as a mere matter of form, and, of course, in the Endowment House, when she gives the other wives to her husband, she may be said to give her consent to his marrying them. It is nothing but a piece of folly to talk about women having the power to withhold their consent, and it is simply an insult and a mockery for their husbands to ask it; they well know before they ask that their wives dare not refuse to give it. But it enables them to boast to the Gentiles that they do not take other wives until their first wife gives her consent. This is what is meant by ‘the liberty of the Gospel,’ I suppose, about which Brother Brigham talks so much. But every one knows perfectly well that this is all a farce. Without President Young’s consent there can be no marriage at all; but if it is the will of Brigham, the refusal of the first wife, and the parents, and the girl herself do not for a moment signify.”
“But did your husband, Mary, act in this way?”
“Well, not quite. He told me that, if I refused, it would make not the slightest difference; and as I believed him, I, of course, went, and did not make a scene. It would have only made matters worse. Some of the older sisters came round and talked me over, and explained and insisted, and ‘laboured’ with me as they called it, until I hardly knew what to think or do; my mind was quite unsettled. Eliza R. Snow is quite great at that sort of work. When my husband took his other two wives, he did not consult me at all, but simply told me that on a certain day I must go with him to the Endowment House. We went, and he married two sisters on the same day, but it did not do him much good. They are handsome girls, but have very bad tempers, and we often have a very unpleasant time. The second wife, poor child! suffered most when he married the other two. She did not seem to like me very well at first, which was quite natural; but, when the other two were brought home, she seemed quite to cling to me, and I have, strange to say, taken quite a fancy to her. In all our disputes she always sides with me, and in return I always stand up for her, as a matter of course. I am getting used to this wretched life; I try to stifle my love; and I am sorry to say that sometimes I almost hate every one around me, including my husband. Now and then the old longing for some one to love, for some one to confide in, comes over me. I felt like that this morning when I came here, and that is what made me act so badly.”
“Say nothing of that, Mary,” I replied. “I wish you would stay with me while you are in the city.”
“No,” she said, “we shall be here for a day or two, but I do not think my husband would like me to stay here altogether. He knows that you are aware of his attachment to me once, and his promises in the old times, and very likely he would be a little ashamed to meet you. He’ll make business an excuse, and in fact he is busy all the day. So I’ll come round alone as much as I can, and we’ll have a good talk again.”
I saw her to the door, and then she turned and said, “I’ll come again and see you, Sister Stenhouse, before we leave the city.”