This, I found, was the general opinion among the Mormon men. Even in England the American Elders had taught us that the man was the head and “saviour” of the woman, and that the woman was only responsible to her husband. It was necessary, we were told, that the woman should keep in favour with her lord, otherwise he might withdraw his protection and refuse to take her into the celestial kingdom; in which case when she got to heaven she would only be an angel! To be an angel is not considered by the Saints to be by any means the highest state of glory. Those who do not obey the “Celestial Order of Marriage” will, like the angels, neither marry nor be given in marriage; they will be located, the men in one place, and the women in another, and will serve as slaves, lackeys, and boot-blacks to the Saints. Brigham Young once publicly said of a certain President of the United States, that he would clean the boots of the Mormon leaders in heaven. He did not say this as a figure of speech, but meant it literally. Those who have obeyed the Gospel of the new dispensation, but who have failed to enter into Polygamy, will be as upper servants; but the rebellious—the “vile apostates” and the “wicked Gentiles”—will join the angels and do all the drudgery for the men of many wives. Thus I learned in Zion that my youthful notions about the glory of the cherubim were quite a mistake, and that it was not such a fine thing to be an angel after all.
But I have run away from my story, and had almost forgotten my poor acquaintance. She was a woman who was likely to preserve a painful place in the memory of any one who once saw her. Her face was pale as death, and her jet-black eyes glistened with an unearthly lustre; it was easy to perceive that she was very unhappy, although she tried hard to exhibit a cheerful disposition, and when our conversation turned to that subject which to women here is all-absorbing, the nervous twitching of her pale face showed how deeply painful such thoughts were to her. She told me that her husband was soon to be married to a young girl about fourteen years of age. “Do you see,” she said, “that he is building for her?” And sure enough he was, at odd hours, adding another hut to the miserable hovel in which they already lived; and thither, when it was finished, he intended to take his bride. As I looked at the poor wife, I felt little doubt that ere that time came, her troubles on earth would have ended, and her little ones would be motherless.
The Mormon women, as well as the Mormon men, are noted for attending to their own business—they do not care to tell their sorrows and trials to strangers or to people who are not of their own faith. In this way visitors to Salt Lake who have gone there with the intention of “writing-up” the Saints in the newspapers or in a book, have generally been misled. My own experience as a Mormon woman leads me to form anything but a flattering opinion of the Mormon stories told by Gentile pens. The following instance will show that the sisters are not quite so free in giving their experience as some writers would suggest.
One day, while passing through the city, I saw a young woman running across the road with a little child in her arms. The child was crying piteously, for the water was running from its clothing, and I saw in a moment that it had fallen into the stream which ran in front of the house. I followed, to see if I could be of any assistance, but fortunately found that the little creature was not seriously hurt, but would soon recover from the fright and cold. I helped the mother to change its clothing, and while she was lulling her baby to sleep we entered into conversation. At first she appeared to be very shy of me, and avoided speaking of anything in the slightest degree personal; but growing more interested, she said at last,—
“Are you a Mormon?”
“Certainly,” I answered; “but why do you ask me?”
“Because,” she said, “we have had one or two Gentile women among us, and they go round among our people and question the women, and get them to tell their troubles, which God knows are heavy enough; and then they go and write about it, and Brigham Young finds it out, and their husbands are called to account for allowing their wives to speak to the Gentiles. You are sure you are a Mormon?” she added, “and you are not deceiving me?”
“I’m sorry you should think such a thing,” I said; “but if you suppose I would deceive you, I will not trouble you with my company.” And I rose up to leave.
“Do not go yet,” she said, “and pray forgive me, if I have wounded your feelings; it is simply the fear I have of getting into trouble. Brigham Young and the Elders have frequently told us to have nothing to do with the Gentiles, for they are enemies to the kingdom of God, and are seeking our overthrow—and I suppose it is true.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.