At that Conference the Apostle Snow spoke very strongly of the way in which I had been neglected; and it was arranged that Elder Stenhouse should return to Switzerland, and that I should accompany him. My knowledge of French was expected to be very serviceable.
We now made preparations for an early departure, and prepared to leave our friends. To the reader it may seem strange for a man, his wife, and babe, to be sent out in this way on a mission without any proper arrangement for their maintenance; but to my mind, at the time, it seemed to me not only perfectly proper, but altogether in accordance with God’s word and commandment.
My young friend, Mary Burton, came round to bid me good-bye; and the poor girl wept, and I wept with her, and we kissed one another tenderly as our tears mingled. We had become very dear to each other, and the thought of separation for years, or perhaps for ever, was very painful to us. She hung about my neck at the last moment, kissing me, and begging me not to forget to write to her very, very often; and this I gladly promised her, asking the same in return. Then with a fond embrace we parted, and it was years before I saw her dear face again.
Thus it was that we three—my husband, my babe, and myself—set forth on our pilgrimage to convert the Swiss.
It was with no ordinary feelings that I entered the ancient city of Geneva. I was not ignorant of its history, and the struggles of its inhabitants for civil and religious liberty. It had been the refuge for the English Protestants during the fiery days of Queen Mary; just as in the time of the French Revolution it was the refuge of infidel and Papist, royalist and republican alike. There Calvin lived in gloomy austerity, battling with Rome; there Servetus, the Unitarian, was condemned to be roasted alive as a heretic; and there we expected in our own humble way to be able to testify, by our suffering and patience, to what we firmly believed was the truth.
In free countries like England and the United states—free from the surveillance of a military police, it is easy, if he wishes it, for the missionary to mount a chair at a street corner, or hold forth under a tree; and such has often been done. But all over continental Europe there is hardly a place where this would be possible. In the various grand duchies, kingdoms, and empires, paternal governments look too closely after the morals and religion of their subjects; while under the ephemeral republics, as long as they happen to last, there is often to be found, under the name of liberty, a despotism more despotic than under the rule of royalty. It is the colporteur, the man of books and tracts, who makes the converts there; and in this slow way we soon found that we were destined to proceed.
During my husband’s former stay in Geneva he had had neither Mormon books nor Mormon papers, with the exception of a paper published at Boulogne, containing a letter by the Apostle Taylor, in French and English. This single copy he lent to a Genevese to read, and never saw it again; and yet in a short time, even before he could properly speak French, he converted and baptized two men in the Rhone, one of whom is to-day a devoted Mormon in Southern Utah.
His first attack was upon a shoemaker, whom he visited for the purpose of repairs. While the shoemaker worked, Elder Stenhouse talked; and as the English are all reputed wealthy on the continent, the friendly overtures of the Mormon missionary were graciously received. As they grew intimate, Elder Stenhouse would sit down on the bench beside the man as he worked, and taking from his pocket a French Testament, which he always carried about with him, would try to read it aloud—the good-natured shoemaker undertaking to correct his pronunciation. In this way he kept his auditor’s attention constantly fixed upon certain passages, more especially those which spoke of baptism for the remission of sins, and the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. So persistent was he that at last the shoemaker’s curiosity was awakened, and finally he was baptized; but unfortunately, not long after a small pamphlet upon the mission of Joseph Smith fell into his hands, and made shipwreck of his faith.
With his second convert he was much more successful. This time it was his landlord who was to be the subject of attack. He was a tailor, and, fortunately for the missionary, somewhat talkative. The same arrangement was made about reading and correction, and with a like result—the tailor was baptized. Just at this time came the Apostle Snow’s letter, telling my husband to return to England; and as he might not leave the country without a representative, he ordained the tailor a priest in the Mormon Church.
When we arrived in Geneva, Monsieur le tailleur was all that constituted the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Switzerland.