American Phoenix

by Jane Cook

  Seeing the French ambassador riding among the emperor’s intimate circle at the military review and watching him take his top spot in diplomatic circles showed the dynamics of John’s situation. His conversation with the count confirmed his conclusion. He may have been assigned to Russia, but he was really battling the French économie.

  How could he find success under such political duress? How could he take on Caulaincourt, much less Napoleon? Romanzoff seemed more interested in adding to the French equation, not subtracting from it. Finding success in these circumstances was as impossible as leaving St. Petersburg by boat in winter. Quitting was a simpler solution, but not a viable one, certainly not for an Adams.

  With the mettle of his arguments as frozen in the count’s mind as the Neva River, John also faced a new reality of his exile: his physique might also soon freeze in the chill of extreme social pressure.

  18

  Ice Hills

  “WE ALL HAD INVITATIONS FROM THE FRENCH AMBASSADOR TO the ice-hills, at his country seat at the Kamenny Ostrov. The company were to meet at noon, and pass the day and evening there,” John wrote in his diary.

  Fewer than five miles from the Winter Palace, Kamenny Ostrov was one of the two northernmost islands of the Neva River’s delta. Traveling an hour by carriage in below-freezing temperatures and crossing two waterways in the process—much less spending an entire day with Caulaincourt—were about as appealing to Louisa as repeating their ocean voyage to St. Petersburg. She could not possibly do as the diplomats were going to do. Sliding down an ice hill in a sled was just too much for her delicate health. The headache-prone Louisa and her sister invoked the era’s most acceptable excuse for ladies.

  “Mrs. Adams and Catherine, being unwell, could not go,” John recorded. As he prepared for the ice hills party the morning of December 29, depression irritated him more than his scratchy wool undershirt. He wished something would warm the Russian government into intervening on America’s behalf in Denmark.

  “Just as I was on the point of setting out, I received a note from Count Romanzoff requesting me to call upon him at two o’clock; I was therefore obliged to postpone my ride to the ice-hills until three.”

  While he didn’t want to insult Caulaincourt by missing half of the outing, he certainly couldn’t say no to the Russian chancellor. Why had Romanzoff requested the meeting? What was so urgent? He knew about the French ambassador’s party. John mulled the matter while his servant Nelson drove William and him to the chancellor’s Palace Square home.

  Romanzoff’s demeanor seemed different, less confident and austere—something Adams had not seen in him before. The count confessed he had made a mistake in judgment. The emperor held a different opinion. He had agreed to intervene on behalf of the United States with the Danish government after all.

  “He had ordered him [the count] immediately to represent to the Danish government his wish that an examination might be expedited, and the American property might be restored as soon as possible; which order he had already executed,” Adams joyfully wrote of their conversation.

  Alexander opportunistically saw this as “proving his friendly dispositions towards the United States.”

  John was delighted for his countrymen to “have the benefit of His Majesty’s powerful intercession.” He would inform his government of this “fresh instance of the emperor’s benevolence.”

  With his boss overturning his decision, the count was worried that he had lost some goodwill with his new American friend. Adams reassured the count that his confidence was “already as strong as possible.” Romanzoff told Adams to notify the Danish minister of the emperor’s decision the next time he saw him.

  At two thirty in the afternoon, just before sunset in winter, Nelson drove Adams and William to Caulaincourt’s country estate. Russian czars historically encouraged their favorite nobles to keep homes on the luscious Kamenny green belt, which was full of birch trees and great river views. Hence, Caulaincourt did as the wealthiest Russians did. He entertained at an estate there.

  “We got there about half an hour before dinner, just in time to see a little of the sliding down the hills and to take part in the amusement.”

  While the faces of the other fifty guests were familiar, their attire was quite different from their usual fancy clothes. The men wore fur-lined spencers and caps, pantaloons over their boots, and thick leather mittens. The women were dressed just as warmly but in fur-lined riding habits. They needed every inch of fleece for an evening of sledding, a nineteenth-century extreme sport.

  “The cold, which had been all day very severe, towards evening increased to fifteen degrees below Fahrenheit’s zero.”

  While he froze on the outside, Adams was as warm as ever on the inside, secretly celebrating the emperor’s decision to intervene on America’s behalf in Denmark.

  “I saw Baron Blome at the ice-hills, and had a long conversation with him on the detention of American property.” While many danced, slid down the hills, played cards, or gambled with dice in the house, Adams and Blome found a place to talk, most likely as far away from Caulaincourt as possible. Gazing over the sloping ice hills, which were now lit by torches and lanterns, Adams took a chisel to the ice between them. He told Blome about the czar’s decision.

  Was the Danish minister disappointed? Angry? Hardly. Blome seemed as relieved over the news as the other guests were to thaw by the fireplace after their final romp down the hills.

  Blome then bloomed. Opening up, he revealed that Denmark “had been goaded by France; that it was more injurious to themselves than to us.” He confessed that “this little trade in American vessels, which had given them an opportunity of laying a transit duty, was the only source of revenue left [to] them.”

  The Danish minister boasted that many European nations were jealous of Denmark’s supreme location on trade routes. Greedy merchants had convinced some French officials that the “Danes were carrying on a contraband trade with the English.” When France threatened to stop trading with them, the Danish government issued orders to search and seize all American cargo as well as English contraband to prove to Bonaparte they were serious about supporting France. This fit perfectly with Napoleon’s Milan Decree.

  Blome’s explanation added to the economic equation that Adams had formulated. Though officially France was a friend, Napoleon’s economic policies were threatening America’s ability to trade and establish itself as a respectable player on the world stage—and thus a sovereign power.

  What to do about Blome? Educate him. Find common ground. Adams told Blome he believed Denmark and America wanted the same thing: free trade.

  “I hoped the day would soon come when they might freely pursue those interests without reproach from any quarter.”

  Napoleon was blind. England was more prosperous than ever because the English were able to dominate the seas through their blockade while other European trade ceased. Napoleon was too good a general to continue on a course that advanced his enemy. The paradox perplexed Adams. Blome agreed. In sharp contrast to the initial chill between them, the men parted with summertime in their steps.

  When the New Year began in 1810, Adams reflected in his diary on the year that just ended: “It has witnessed another great change in my condition—brought me to face new trials, dangers and temptations.”

  His new post had relieved him from his embarrassment over resigning from the Senate in 1808. Despite this, the extravagance and social pressure of diplomatic life tested his principles of frugality, honesty, justice, and morality. He could not possibly subtract, much less divide, the formula of French influence over the Russian government. Each new incident multiplied his fears of failure for himself and his country.

  “It has changed also the nature of my obligations and duties, and required the exertion of other virtues and the suppression of other passions.” He turned to faith for hope: “From this new conflict may the favor of Heaven continue its assistance, to issue pure and victorious, as from the past. May
it enable me better to discharge all my social duties, and to serve my country and fellow-men, with zeal, fidelity, and effect.”

  The New Year also brought surprising news and a new attaché. Mr. John Spear Smith arrived by land. He carried a letter from his uncle, Secretary of State Robert Smith, dated July 31, 1809, to John. He had offered John passports and a government boat to Russia.

  “These dispatches it appears arrived at Boston the day after we had sailed. Had they reached Boston the day before, I should have availed myself of the permission to take passage in the Essex; and although it must have delayed my departure for several days, probably we should have accomplished the voyage in less time than we did on board the Horace,” he concluded in a reply to Smith.

  Unlike the six-gun Horace, the Essex was a hefty, thirty-two-gun military vessel. Congress authorized private citizens to loan the US government money at 6 percent interest through subscriptions to build this frigate and thus enlarge the nation’s naval capabilities. William Gray was one of the major contributors for the Essex, which was completed in 1799.

  “It [the Essex] would undoubtedly have had a more favorable effect, than the arrival of a public minister in a merchant vessel, upon the opinions of a court addicted to official parade beyond any other in Europe.”

  Louisa faced her own trial as the year began. Her health was worse. She not only turned down social engagements from the elite but also struggled to make it through daily pleasures, such as dinner. Whatever plagued her, whether a sudden burst of nausea, female health woes, or headaches from a feverish flu, Louisa was not well.

  “Went with Mr. Adams to a small party at Mrs. Krehmer’s but was so sick I was obliged to return home.”

  The New Year brought a custom she could not decline no matter how she felt. As one of only two diplomatic ministers’ wives in St. Petersburg, she was obliged to call on the ladies of the Russian court.

  “On this day I went with Madame de Bray and paid my visits,” Louisa recorded on January 1, 1810. Charles spent the day with Mrs. Krehmer.

  Paying social visits came with a price. She came face-to-face with the worst side effect of such social calls: gossip.

  “I was informed that Her Majesty the Empress Mother having heard of my being out at tea with a friend the evening of the ball to which I had been invited, intimated that it must not occur again or I should be omitted on future occasions,” she wrote with emphasis in her diary.

  The empress mother had learned of Louisa’s decision to spend that evening with Madame Colombi instead of attending the czar’s birthday ball. Louisa had shammed sickness, so it seemed to Her Royal Highness.

  “This was charming pour l’économie!! more especially as I had heard her [the empress mother] tell a lady who had worn the same gown several times that she ‘wished that she would get another for that she was tired of seeing the same color so often.’”

  Louisa knew good and well the empress was tired of seeing her in silver tissue. Had Mrs. Adams faked her illness? After all, pretending to be sick to avoid attending social events was common. Mr. Six told John that before the peace treaty with France and Austria, many Austrian women “shammed sickness” to avoid social events at the French ambassador’s. Now Caulaincourt’s parties overflowed, rivaling Alexander’s.

  Louisa wasn’t shamming sickness.

  She was pregnant.

  Years earlier, in Berlin, she had miscarried four times before successfully delivering George Washington Adams. If her husband’s success didn’t depend in part on the imperial family having a good opinion of her, too, Louisa would not have cared what the empress mother thought. Now she had a more significant reason to decline invitations.

  19

  Divorce

  WEARING THE EMPRESS MOTHER’S ADMONISHMENT LIKE A SHACKLE around her wrist, Louisa felt compelled to attend the many events launching the New Year. A slave of socializing no matter the cost to her health, she prayed for stamina to make it through the first ten days of January.

  The events were as different as French champagne was from German beer. Up first were the de Brays, who hosted a traditional Bavarian-style ball in their home.

  “Everybody felt at home and at ease there,” Louisa observed.

  Chevalier de Bray was full of hospitality with a genuine eye on making his guests comfortable. He didn’t need fifteen thousand wax candles to impress his guests or extreme sports for entertainment. The event was “a total banishment of all pretention—It was the house of réunion of the whole corps who in Petersburg live much together.”

  On January 8, 1810, John and Louisa attended a ball hosted by Caulaincourt in honor of a Russian princess. No sooner had Adams taken off his hat and Louisa removed her Turkish shawl than they immediately noticed this extravaganza was much larger than the de Brays’ ball. While they recognized the faces of the fifty members of the diplomatic corps, they did not know the eighty other guests, who were Russian nobility and French elite. The presence of so many Russian officials was purposeful. Absent, however, were Alexander and the imperial family. When they sat down for dinner at 2:00 a.m., the Adamses met a special guest.

  “He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw,” Louisa wrote of her pleasure in dining next to twenty-five-year-old Count Czernicheff, a “favorite of Alexander.”

  They quickly figured out why Czernicheff was so highly favored. Alexander had sent him on several special missions with the emperor of France. He was an open spy, of sorts.

  “He has been during the whole of the last campaign with Napoleon, and in his immediate family—constantly the companion of his table, and sleeping in his tent,” Adams explained.

  “I asked him if he [Napoleon] was subject to epilepsy. He [Czernicheff] hesitated about answering, but finally said, not to his knowledge. Then, casting his eyes on both sides, as if fearful over being overheard, he said, ‘il a la galle rentrée.’”

  In other words Czernicheff believed Napoleon’s thirst for conquest remained unquenched. Bonaparte also “slept little, waked often in the night, and would rise in his bed, speak, give some order, and then go to sleep again.” Czernicheff ’s insights turned out to be timely. Indeed, big news about Bonaparte broke at the ball.

  “Heard of the Empress Josephine’s divorce—rumor says to marry the Princess of Saxony,” Louisa wrote of Napoleon’s divorce.

  Though absent from the ball, Napoleon was talked about so much that he seemed to be the guest of honor. His wife, Josephine, could not give him a son, and he needed someone who could. “I still love you, but in politics there is no heart, only head,” he told her. Bonaparte arranged a nullification of their marriage, saying their 1804 church ceremony took place without oversight by a parish priest.

  Speculation about his next bride dominated the social parlors of St. Petersburg for days. Would he marry a Russian princess? Many in the Russian elite hoped that he would.

  The day after the French ball, Adams called upon Mr. Six, who weighed in on the matter: “It is certainly not a Russian princess that the emperor [Napoleon] is to marry, . . . the imperial family here, and especially the empress mother would never consent to it.”

  Two years earlier, Napoleon expressed interest in marrying Russia’s Grand Duchess Catherine. Unlike her brother Alexander, the duchess “detests the French.”

  “Though the most ambitious woman in the world [she] absolutely refused to have him. The Grand Duchess Catherine is her grandmother all over again,” Six observed.

  The Dutchman then praised his idol: “The Emperor Napoleon has been unanimously advised by all the persons in his confidence to this divorce of the empress. He is going to make his empire of the west, and will incorporate the whole of Holland in it. How wonderfully and how steadily he is favored by fortune.”

  By this time Louisa had formed her ironic opinion of Six: “A real plain spoken Dutchman shrewd, keen and very caustic—An enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon—Proud of his station, while he lives in perpetual fear of losing it.”

  For
the Adamses, the first ten days of the year were full of enough social activity to fill a year. So far none of these events involved the imperial family, which made them less formal and more enjoyable. When a messenger from the palace delivered the latest round of invitations, Louisa felt the social shackles tighten once again.

  “Received tickets for the ball and supper at the palace,” she wrote. “This was a masquerade ball and ten tickets were sent besides the three for Mr. Adams, Mr. Harris, and myself.”

  Because she had just attended the French ambassador’s ball, she could not say no to an imperial ball in spite of the difference in scale. Doing so would be an act of social suicide by indicating that America preferred France over Russia. No matter how much the smell of meat might make her nauseous or how imprisoned she felt, she could not refuse the invitation to the largest soirée of the year. She had already raised the ire of the imperial mother once and could not afford a fatal blow.

  “It is a very difficult thing for Americans to conceive of the restraints exacted by European society, and what are termed delicate proprieties—But I have found that we cannot reason upon mere forms . . . and if we break thro’ them we must submit to evil construction. . . . Custom is the law,” Louisa reflected.

  The ball took place January 13 (by the Gregorian calendar), the Russian New Year, a day of great “festivity and solemnity,” as Adams described it. At nine o’clock in the evening, their carriage clip-clopped toward the palace’s museum, the Hermitage. “It is called a masquerade; but there are no masques.”

  What distinguished this from previous imperial events was scale. Sixteen thousand had been invited, more than fifty times the size of the first ball they attended. The guests came from localities across Russia. “All the apartments of the palace are crowded with every description, and in all the dresses of the several provinces of the empire.” John noted.