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.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
SOME CURIOUS COURTSHIPS—BRIGHAM RUINS OUR FORTUNES—BELINDA DIVORCES “OUR” HUSBAND.
Mormonism had been, to my husband, everything. It had for years grown with his growth, until it had become a part of himself. Doubts had occasionally crept into his mind, it is true, but it required time to effect a change. The measures adopted by Brigham Young in the spring of 1869, for the purpose of controlling the commerce of Utah, as well as the property and faith of the people, caused great discontent. The teachings of the Tabernacle were wild and arrogant, and Brigham assumed that it was his right to dictate in everything, “even,” he said, “to the setting up of a stocking or the ribbons which a woman should wear.” Many of the people, when they heard these words and witnessed the fanaticism created thereby, were aroused to opposition, but Brigham only became more fierce in his denunciations and more harsh in his measures.
I could plainly see that all this had the, to me, much desired effect of alienating my husband from Mormonism, and I never allowed an opportunity of strengthening the impression thus produced to pass unimproved. The articles in his paper showed the condition of his mind, and brought down upon him the wrath of Brigham. At this also I rejoiced, and did not fail to make him feel that he ought to resent the Prophet’s interference. Brigham felt too certain of the submission of his slave, and accused Mr. Stenhouse of having published favourable notices of Gentile stores, also of having their advertisements in his paper, and otherwise aiding and abetting the wicked Gentiles—all which accusations my husband began to feel was an infringement upon his own private personal rights as a citizen and a man. One circumstance followed another, and I could plainly see that his confidence in Brigham’s inspiration was slowly but surely dwindling away, and that the day which I had so long anxiously watched for was breaking at last. Notwithstanding this, however, there was one bond which still united him by no weak tie to the Church—he was a Polygamist. The contemplated marriage between him and Brigham’s daughter could, I believed, never now take place; but, even allowing that, he still had another wife; and now that I had entirely lost faith in Mormonism generally, and the “Celestial Order of Marriage” in particular, I resolved that I would no longer have a partner in my husband’s affections—as if he were a “joint-stock concern!”—I would have the whole of my husband, or none. I had not yet, however, sufficient courage to speak to him of my feelings.