Such was Elder Shrewsbury, and such I thought he would always be; but what disposition, however good, can be relied upon when influenced by religious fanaticism? He stood before me, then, manly and upright in his bearing, truthful and honest—a man who would have scorned evasion or deceit; and his every thought of Mary was replete with tenderness and love. And yet I lived to see that man again, in Utah—alas, how changed a man!
Before we first left England I was acquainted with Elder Shrewsbury, but not very intimately. We had had one or two interesting conversations together, but I remembered him chiefly in connexion with Mary Burton. It was about her that he now came to see me;—he wanted me to talk to her, and intercede with her in his behalf. But I was no match-maker, and all my thoughts respecting love and marriage had recently been anything but pleasant. I told him plainly that I thought Mary had done quite right in refusing to see him, and, in fact, declining to receive the attentions of any Mormon man. I did not doubt his love for her at present, I said; but no one could any longer rely upon a Mormon Elder’s word. Years to come, when they had a little family growing up around them, and when it would be too late for Mary to repent of trusting him, he might suddenly be convinced of the necessity of obeying the Revelation, and then what could she do? No! Even supposing that she loved him, which, I said, was very questionable, it was better that she should suffer a disappointment now, than have her heart wrung with cruelty and neglect in after-years.
“What!” he cried, his eyes dashing with indignation; “do you take me for a dog that I should treat her so?”
“No, no,” I said, and tried to pacify him; “I do not think anything bad of you, but I look upon you as a man who is in love, and therefore blind. You think of nothing now but Mary, and are willing to sacrifice everything, and to promise anything, providing you can win her. But when she has become your wife, if she ever does, and you have time to cool down, you’ll begin to see things in another light. You’ll find that she is only an ordinary woman, made of flesh and blood, like all the other daughters of Eve, and with, I daresay, quite as many whims, and fancies, and perverse ways as any of them; and then, when she ceases to be ‘an angel’ in your eyes, and becomes merely a woman, you’ll begin to assert your right to think and judge for yourself, and very probably all your former devotion to your religion will return.”
“Sister Stenhouse,” he replied, “you do not seem to have a very high opinion of my constancy; but I can assure you that I have given this matter my most earnest, prayerful thought. My love for Mary I need not mention; my devotion to my religion you only partly know. While we were told that Polygamy was not true, no one could be more steadfast in the faith than I was; and when the Revelation came, I looked upon it as a blight and a curse to the Church of God. And how well-founded my fears were, you can see from this terrible apostasy which has come upon us. I almost myself left the Church. Then I went to the Apostle, and I told him how I was situated. I told him all about Mary, and my devotion to her; that I wished to win her for my wife, but that I knew she would not marry me if she thought there was the shadow of a chance that I should live up to the Revelation. I told him that I myself should be perfectly wretched in Polygamy, and that it was impossible that I should love more than one. The Apostle said that I was quite right in all this. We had no proof, he said, in the Bible, that Isaac had more than one wife, and he was accepted of God. He counselled me to do all I could to win Mary, and told me that I might truthfully promise her that I would never enter into Polygamy. But Mary would not so much as listen to me; in fact, since then she never would see me alone.”
“I am not sure,” I answered, “whether I am doing right; but I don’t mind saying to you that I think, from what I have seen of Mary, that she does not dislike you; but she is a sensible girl, and does not choose to risk the happiness of her whole life.”
He was vexed with me for saying this. How could I suppose that he would wreck her happiness? Was he not willing to die if it would give her a moment’s pleasure? And much more lover’s nonsense he talked.