The Complete Works of Artemus Ward Part 46

A Chinese play often lasts two months. Commencing at the hero's birth, it is cheerfully conducted from week to week till he is either killed or married.

The night I was there a Chinese comic vocalist sang a Chinese comic song. It took him six weeks to finish it--but as my time was limited, I went away at the expiration of 215 verses. There were 11,000 verses to this song--the chorus being "Tural lural dural, ri fol day"--which was repeated twice at the end of each verse--making--as you will at once see--the appalling number of 22,000 "tural lural dural, ri fol days"--and the man still lives.

Virginia City--in the bright new State of Nevada.

A wonderful little city--right in the heart of the famous Washoe silver regions--the mines of which annually produce over twenty-five millions of solid silver. This silver is melted into solid bricks--about the size of ordinary house-bricks--and carted off to San Francisco with mules. The roads often swarm with these silver wagons.

One hundred and seventy-five miles to the east of this place are the Reese River Silver Mines--which are supposed to be the richest in the world.

The great American Desert in winter time--the desert which is so frightfully gloomy always. No trees--no houses--no people--save the miserable beings who live in wretched huts and have charge of the horses and mules of the Overland Mail Company.

This picture is a great work of art.--It is an oil painting--done in petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was the last thing they did before dying. They did this and then they expired.

The most celebrated artists of London are so delighted with this picture that they come to the Hall every day to gaze at it. I wish you were nearer to it--so you could see it better. I wish I could take it to your residences and let you see it by daylight. Some of the greatest artists in London come here every morning before daylight with lanterns to look at it. They say they never saw anything like it before--and they hope they never shall again.

When I first showed this picture in New York, the audience were so enthusiastic in their admiration of this picture that they called for the Artist--and when he appeared they threw brickbats at him.

A bird's-eye view of Great Salt Lake City--the strange city in the Desert about which so much has been heard--the city of the people who call themselves Saints.

I know there is much interest taken in these remarkable people--ladies and gentlemen--and I have thought it better to make the purely descriptive part of my Entertainment entirely serious.--I will not--then--for the next ten minutes--confine myself to my subject.

Some seventeen years ago a small band of Mormons--headed by Brigham Young--commenced in the present thrifty metropolis of Utah.

The population of the territory of Utah is over 100,000--chiefly Mormons--and they are increasing at the rate of from five to ten thousand annually. The converts to Mormonism now are almost exclusively confined to English and Germans--Wales and Cornwall have contributed largely to the population of Utah during the last few years. The population of Great Salt Lake City is 20,000.--The streets are eight rods wide--and are neither flagged nor paved. A stream of pure mountain spring water courses through each street--and is conducted into the Gardens of the Mormons. The houses are mostly of adobe--or sun-dried brick--and present a neat and comfortable appearance.--They are usually a story and a half high. Now and then you see a fine modern house in Salt Lake City--but no house that is dirty, shabby, and dilapidated--because there are no absolutely poor people in Utah.

Every Mormon has a nice garden--and every Mormon has a tidy dooryard.--Neatness is a great characteristic of the Mormons.

The Mormons profess to believe that they are the chosen people of G.o.d--they call themselves Latter-day Saints--and they call us people of the outer world Gentiles. They say that Mr. Brigham Young is a prophet--the legitimate successor of Joseph Smith--who founded the Mormon religion. They also say they are authorized--by special revelation from Heaven--to marry as many wives as they can comfortably support.

This wife-system they call plurality--the world calls it polygamy.

That at its best it is an accursed thing--I need not of course inform you--but you will bear in mind that I am here as a rather cheerful reporter of what I saw in Utah--and I fancy it isn't at all necessary for me to grow virtuously indignant over something we all know is hideously wrong.

You will be surprised to hear--I was amazed to see--that among the Mormon women there are some few persons of education--of positive cultivation. As a cla.s.s the Mormons are not educated people--but they are by no means the community of ignoramuses so many writers have told us they were.

The valley in which they live is splendidly favored. They raise immense crops. They have mills of all kinds. They have coal--lead--and silver mines. All they eat--all they drink--all they wear they can produce themselves--and still have a great abundance to sell to the gold regions of Idaho on the one hand--and the silver regions of Nevada on the other.

The President of this remarkable community--the head of the Mormon Church--is Brigham Young.--He is called President Young--and Brother Brigham. He is about 54 years old--altho' he doesn't look to be over 45. He has sandy hair and whiskers--is of medium height--and is a little inclined to corpulency. He was born in the State of Vermont.

His power is more absolute than that of any living sovereign--yet he uses it with such consummate discretion that his people are almost madly devoted to him--and that they would cheerfully die for him if they thought the sacrifice were demanded--I cannot doubt.

He is a man of enormous wealth.--One-tenth of everything sold in the territory of Utah goes to the Church--and Mr. Brigham Young is the Church. It is supposed that he speculates with these funds--at all events--he is one of the wealthiest men now living--worth several millions--without doubt.--He is a bold--bad man--but that he is also a man of extraordinary administrative ability no one can doubt who has watched his astounding career for the past ten years. It is only fair for me to add that he treated me with marked kindness during my sojourn in Utah.

The West Side of Main Street--Salt Lake City--including a view of the Salt Lake Hotel. It is a temperance hotel*. I prefer temperance hotels--altho' they sell worse liquor than any other kind of hotels.

But the Salt Lake Hotel sells none--nor is there a bar in all Salt Lake City--but I found when I was thirsty--and I generally am--that I could get some very good brandy of one of the Elders--on the sly--and I never on any account allow my business to interfere with my drinking.

*(At the date of our visit, there was only one place in Salt Lake City where strong drink was allowed to be sold. Brigham Young himself owned the property, and vended the liquor by wholesale, not permitting any of it to be drunk on the premises. It was a coa.r.s.e, inferior kind of whisky, known in Salt Lake as "Valley Tan." Throughout the city there was no drinking-bar nor billiard room, so far as I am aware. But a drink on the sly could always be had at one of the hard-goods stores, in the back office behind the pile of metal saucepans; or at one of the dry-goods stores, in the little parlor in the rear of the bales of calico. At the present time I believe that there are two or three open bars in Salt Lake, Brigham Young having recognized the right of the "Saints" to "liquor up" occasionally. But whatever other failings they may have, intemperance cannot be laid to their charge. Among the Mormons there are no paupers, no gamblers, and no drunkards.)

There is the Overland Mail Coach.--That is, the den on wheels in which we have been crammed for the past ten days and ten nights.--Those of you who have been in Newgate*

-----------------------------------------------------------and stayed there any length of time--as visitors--can realize how I felt.

*(The manner in which Artemus uttered this joke was peculiarly characteristic of his style of lecturing. The commencement of the sentence was spoken as if unpremeditated; then when he had got as far as the word "Newgate," he paused, as if wis.h.i.+ng to call back that which he had said. The applause was unfailingly uproarious.)

The American Overland Mail Route commences at Sacramento--California--and ends at Atchison--Kansas. The distance is two thousand two hundred miles--but you go part of the way by rail.

The Pacific Railway is now completed from Sacramento--California--to Fulsom--California--which only leaves two thousand two hundred and eleven miles, to go by coach. This breaks the monotony--it came very near breaking my back.

This edifice is the exclusive property of Brigham Young. It will comfortably hold 3,000 persons--and I beg you will believe me when I inform you that its interior is quite as brilliant as that of any theatre in London.

The actors are all Mormon amateurs, who charge nothing for their services.

You must know that very little money is taken at the doors of this theatre. The Mormons mostly pay in grain--and all sorts of articles.

The night I gave my little lecture there--among my receipts were corn--flour--pork--cheese--chickens--on foot and in the sh.e.l.l.

One family went in on a live pig--and a man attempted to pa.s.s a "yaller dog" at the Box Office--but my agent repulsed him. One offered me a doll for admission--another infants' clothing.--I refused to take that.--As a general rule I do refuse.

In the middle of the parquet--in a rocking chair--with his hat on--sits Brigham Young. When the play drags--he either goes out or falls into a tranquil sleep.

A portion of the dress-circle is set apart for the wives of Brigham Young. From ten to twenty of them are usually present. His children fill the entire gallery--and more too.

The East Side of Main Street--Salt Lake City--with a view of the Council Building--The legislature of Utah meets there. It is like all legislative bodies. They meet this winter to repeal the laws which they met and made last winter--and they will meet next winter to repeal the laws which they met and made this winter.

I dislike to speak about it--but it was in Utah that I made the great speech of my life. I wish you could have heard it. I have a fine education. You may have noticed it. I speak six different languages--London--Chatham--and Dover----Margate--Brighton--and Hastings. My parents sold a cow--and sent me to college when I was quite young. During the vacation I used to teach a school of whales--and there's where I learned to spout.--I don't expect applause for a little thing like that. I wish you could have heard that speech--however. If Cicero--he's dead now--he has gone from us--but if old Ciss* could have heard that effort it would have given him the rinderpest. I'll tell you how it was. There are stationed in Utah two regiments of U.S. troops--the 21st from California--and the 37th from Nevada. The 20-onesters asked me to present a stand of colors to the 37-sters--and I did it in a speech so abounding in eloquence of a bold and brilliant character--and also some sweet talk--real pretty shopkeeping talk--that I worked the enthusiasm of those soldiers up to such a pitch--that they came very near shooting me on the spot.

*(Here again no description can adequately inform the reader of the drollery which characterized the lecturer. His reference to Cicero was made in the most lugubrious manner, as if he really deplored his death and valued him as a schoolfellow loved and lost.)

Brigham Young's Harem.--These are the houses of Brigham Young. The first on the right is the Lion House--so called because a crouching stone lion adorns the central front window. The adjoining small building is Brigham Young's office--and where he receives his visitors.--The large house in the centre of the picture--which displays a huge bee-hive--is called the Bee House--the bee-hive is supposed to be symbolical of the industry of the Mormons.--Mrs. Brigham Young the first--now quite an old lady--lives here with her children. None of the other wives of the prophet live here. In the rear are the schoolhouses where Brigham Young's children are educated.

Brigham Young has two hundred wives. Just think of that! Oblige me by thinking of that. That is--he has eighty actual wives, and he is spiritually married to one hundred and twenty more. These spiritual marriages--as the Mormons call them--are contracted with aged widows--who think it a great honor to be sealed--the Mormons call it being sealed--to the Prophet.

So we may say he has two hundred wives. He loves not wisely--but two hundred well. He is dreadfully married. He's the most married man I ever saw in my life.

I saw his mother-in-law while I was there. I can't exactly tell you how many there is of her--but it's a good deal. It strikes me that one mother-in-law is about enough to have in a family--unless you're very fond of excitement.

A few days before my arrival in Utah--Brigham was married again--to a young and really pretty girl--but he says he shall stop now. He told me confidentially that he shouldn't get married any more. He says that all he wants now is to live in peace for the remainder of his days--and have his dying pillow soothed by the loving hands of his family.

Well--that's all right--that's all right--I suppose--but if all his family soothe his dying pillow--he'll have to go out-doors to die.

By the way--Shakespeare indorses polygamy.--He speaks of the Merry Wives of Windsor. How many wives did Mr. Windsor have?--but we will let this pa.s.s.

Some of these Mormons have terrific families. I lectured one night by invitation in the Mormon village of Provost, but during the day I rashly gave a leading Mormon an order admitting himself and family--It was before I knew that he was much married--and they filled the room to overflowing. It was a great success--but I didn't get any money.

Heber C. Kimball's Harem.--Mr. C. Kimball is the first vice-president of the Mormon church--and would-- consequently--succeed to the full presidency on Brigham Young's death.

Brother Kimball is a gay and festive cuss of some seventy summers--or some'ers thereabout. He has one thousand head of cattle and a hundred head of wives. He says they are awful eaters.

Mr. Kimball had a son--a lovely young man--who was married to ten interesting wives. But one day--while he was absent from home--these ten wives went out walking with a handsome young man--which so enraged Mr. Kimball's son--which made Mr. Kimball's son so jealous--that he shot himself with a horse pistuel.

The doctor who attended him--a very scientific man--informed me that the bullet entered the inner parallelogram of his diaphragmatic thorax, superinducing membranous hemorrhage in the outer cuticle of his asiliconthamaturgist. It killed him. I should have thought it would.

*(Soft music.)