by Jane Cook
Honesty was the very reason the president had chosen Adams. In a letter to Jefferson, Madison explained the sentiments of New England Republicans on the Supreme Court vacancy: “They wish for J. Q. Adams, as honest, able, independent, and untainted . . .”
Hypothetical questions can never be authentically answered—even under oath—but a few questions lingered. Had Louisa not been pregnant, would John Quincy Adams have accepted the 1811 nomination to the US Supreme Court? If an appointment to the US Supreme Court had been the pinnacle of Adams’s ambitions, would he have stretched the public’s trust and asked the president to hold the seat for him? Likely, yes, but he also had his doubts about his ability to weigh justice’s scales.
“I have long entertained a deep and serious distrust of my qualifications for a seat on the bench,” he confessed in his letter to Madison. Before learning of the nomination, he had written his brother Thomas that he did not long for a judicial post, suggesting that other men were better at banging the gavel of justice than he would be.
Though anguished at rejecting such an honorable position and returning home, he didn’t regret the decision. In his gut he knew he was not a man suited to wear a judicial robe any more than he should wear a clerical one. Though as knowledgeable about the law as he was religion, Adams’s mind was better suited for the plain suit of republican politics. Regardless, his choice had consequences.
“I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint the expectations of my country, by withholding myself from that judgment seat,” he admitted to his father, “but happier for me than it would be to disappoint their expectations upon the seat itself.”
By then Adams had informed Romanzoff of the appointment and explained his decision to decline. He wanted to assure his host government of the continued friendship of the United States. He also brought up a new subject. Among the packets of letters that he had received were a set of specific, confidential instructions. The secretary of state had given him permission to enter into negotiations with the Russian government for a commerce treaty with the United States. Just as Adams expected, Romanzoff replied the time was not right. The political seas in Europe were too turbulent. Not now, not yet.
“It has been painful to me to be brought to this test of my principles,” he confessed to his father.
John would have to wait for another honorable exit to his honorable exile.
That summer Louisa also struggled to juggle her delicate health against the tugging obligations she held as the wife of the most senior foreign minister living in St. Petersburg. Because Madame de Bray had returned to Bavaria in 1810, Louisa remained the only woman married to a diplomat of the official high rank of minister and a de facto ambassador in Alexander’s court. As a result, she was the unofficial leader of the women in the diplomatic corps, which placed burdensome social expectations upon her.
“Mr. Navarro brought Madame de Bezzara and introduced her to me.”
She was the lady of the Chevalier de Bezzara, the newly appointed Portuguese minister. Navarro had long served as the lower-ranking chargé d’affaires for Portugal. Now he had a new boss, thanks to Russia’s recent elevation of Portugal as an ally—an in-your-face move against France. Just as Mr. Harris had introduced Louisa to Madame de Bray, the only other minister’s wife at the time the Adamses arrived in St. Petersburg, so Navarro had asked Louisa to advise Madame de Bezzara on her introduction ceremony to the czar. Such pressure came at the most inopportune time. Nevertheless, culture remained the law. Though she felt imprisoned by the expectation, she graciously met Madame de Bezzara.
John also turned to other matters to keep him occupied. The peculiarities of St. Petersburg provided just that.
“In the evening I went to the top of the round tower at the corner of the house in which we dwell,” he wrote on June 19. The summer solstice was fast upon them. He observed “the redness of the sun as evening and morning twilight at the same time.”
He had witnessed the unusual effect of living so close to the Arctic Circle in summer, when the hours of daylight almost never end. The lingering colored effects of sunrise and the approach of sunset mingled together in a strange, mystical phenomenon. The white nights danced above him, capturing his amazement as if he were a ten-year-old child.
“I returned again to the tower a little after midnight and observed a second time the same phenomenon. I read without candle at midnight.”
John did not know it at the time, but this was the last time he would see the wonder of the summer solstice—at least from that round tower in his corner house.
40
The Removal
“MR. PLINKY CAME TO INFORM US THAT OUR HOUSE WAS SOLD AND that we must move out of it as soon as possible: that is in thirteen days as the emperor had purchased it,” Louisa wrote of their landlord’s surprising notification in July 1811.
No wonder Alexander had asked John if he was planning on taking up a country residence for the summer. He had so admired the American legation’s rented corner house by the Moika Canal that he'd decided to buy it, no matter how inconvenient it was to a family expecting a baby in August. The Adamses had not planned to move again, but now they had no choice.
“This was rather severe: To look for a house: to find a suitable one and to move by the first of August, which we thought to be absolutely necessary under the circumstances, [were] both trying and distressing to me, who had never entirely recovered from my illness and was not very well able to bear the fatigue and anxiety of a removal,” Louisa wrote.
John had no more time to admire mingling sunsets and sunrises or take long walks in the summer garden near the Winter Palace. Instead he needed to spring into action, lest his wife be without a residence for her impending confinement.
When they'd first arrived in St. Petersburg, John had looked for houses without Louisa. Perhaps her complaints about the places they lived induced him to share the responsibility with her this time. Or maybe Louisa had recently spoken so passionately on the capabilities of women, as she had written in her diary, that he sought her opinion on the location of their next home. Regardless, the choice to involve her was a sign of change in him, a deepening confidence in his wife’s judgment and capabilities. Involving her was something Louisa had long needed from John, particularly when he chose to leave their sons behind in Boston without asking her. The change was encouraging, though the process of finding a home was challenging.
“I accompanied Mr. Adams in the search for houses and we went to see one which was recommended to us opposite to the palace at Kamenny Ostrov—It is very pretty but too far out of town being eight miles from St. Petersburg—returned to town much fatigued to look farther.”
They faced what many house hunters encounter. No matter the generation, real estate has long been about location, space, size, and cost. Next they investigated a home recently vacated by an Italian duke, a man who generously invited them to use his theater box on many occasions. Though closer to town, this home was a budget buster.
“It is very large; very expensive; and very cold—We can procure nothing within our means,” she worried. “The rents are so high that we must submit to necessity and take the only house that offers, although it must occasion another removal in October.”
With no other options, they chose a house next to the surgery school on Apothecaries’ Island, across the river from Kamenny Ostrov. Because the home was not suitable for winter habitation, they could rent it only a few months. Moving again in the fall seemed a better solution than submitting to the distance of the first house or the expense of the second.
With only thirteen days to move, they wasted no time packing. Louisa not only took an interest in the preparations but also was intimately involved in the details.
“Went out to Kamenny Ostrov to make arrangements for the disposal of the furniture of my chamber, got ready immediately—Every hour is of consequence to me. It is a trial both for body and mind: but God in his mercy gives me strength in my need.”
No m
atter how much she might have longed to crawl in bed in the afternoons to rest her aching back, she persevered while also finding some humor in her husband’s penchant for distraction: “Again at the house with Mr. Adams to arrange books and papers—Slow work for he reads a page in every book that passes through his hands.”
John’s literary collection was what one would expect for a man nominated to the US Supreme Court. Adams was among the most well-read men in America and Russia. More than likely, he was the most well-read. The slower pace and long summer days of St. Petersburg gave him the opportunity to collect additional books on law, philosophy, religion, science, and literature. He traded volumes with his colleagues and spent many hours debating with them the finer points of Plato’s philosophy and sermons by respected theologians. He also spent many hours teaching Charles, an occupation that delighted him.
Within two weeks, they moved into their new place, which was near the summer homes of the French ambassador, the Danish minister, and the czar. They were so close to the czar’s Kamenny Ostrov Palace that they could hear the imperial band, which played on a pavilion jutting into the water.
“[W]ith the open doors and windows of warm weather, we heard it as if it had been before our own door,” John observed.
They enjoyed concerts each afternoon at four o’clock, when the emperor took his dinner. Yet the close proximity had one disadvantage.
“The situation is very pleasant—but from the windows of the palace they can see into the house and grounds all the time,” Louisa noted.
Despite the ability of palace occupants to watch them—or spy on them—she could take comfort in one fact. They had a home. If she went into labor now, at least she had a very large bedchamber to accommodate her and her newborn. Unlike many women of her social stature who hired a wet nurse, Louisa personally nursed her infants.
In this paradise of botanical plants and pleasant waters, they now had access to something they did not have before: a flagstaff. The house boasted a lush garden and a pier that extended into the river. At the pier’s end was a flagstaff, an important feature for a diplomatic legation.
“[O]n the days when we receive company [we] hoist the flag of the United States,” John proudly noted.
Another change came to their household. After living in St. Petersburg for two years, Mr. Everett returned to America. His departure removed some competition for Kitty’s attention, which for a time was focused on Mr. Gray, who would also soon depart. William Smith continued as Adams’s secretary.
No sooner had Louisa unpacked her clothing trunks than she faced another Eve-like dilemma in her garden of Eden. As a pregnant woman, she lacked proper fig leaves for another formal occasion.
“Madame de Bezzara and Monsieur Navarro were here in the evening—much exhausted,” Louisa wrote. No matter her urgent need to unpack, Louisa’s duty as the only foreign minister’s wife diverted her time. “She seems much interested in my troubles and is very kind in her manners.”
Though not insensitive to Louisa, the madame peppered her with multiple questions about her upcoming introduction to the czar. She needed encouragement about what to wear, how to bow, and what to expect.
“She is a remarkably sensible woman: full of that worldly knowledge which adapts a lady for a political station—Shrewd, observant, and practiced without any excess of sensitive delicacy,” Louisa commented.
As she had throughout her pregnancy, Louisa praised female virtues when she saw them and put a good spin on those qualities, such as Bezzara’s busybody nature, that were less appealing: “Every way she is full of anecdote, knows everything that passes and is ready to offer advice wherever it is needed.”
The madame, however, placed Louisa in a most awkward position: “She requests me to go and introduce her to Madame Litta.”
Though she expressed sympathy for Louisa’s advanced stage of pregnancy, her request was burdensome. Louisa’s extreme fatigue alone motivated her to say no. Yet she remembered the day of her own introduction. John had been obliged to go to the Winter Palace earlier for a liturgy, which had left her to go through the fright alone. She had longed for a sisterly type who could have whispered which of the palace murals to admire because they were the empress’s favorite or which side of the staircase was the easiest to ascend while wearing a full-length train. However, Louisa was unfamiliar with the czar’s Kamenny Ostrov Palace and could not advise the madame on which garden sculpture the czar preferred or other attempts at flattery.
Another glaring issue was her wardrobe. Once again, she lacked sufficient dress for her pregnant condition. As long as she felt as big and full as the moon, the idea of wearing a full court dress in her advanced stage of pregnancy was as far from her desire as the moon was. On top of that she was in mourning for her sister, which required her to wear black crape, such as a shawl or armband. “I cannot refuse but I am ashamed to go.”
By this time she was close enough to her expected confinement that other questions haunted her situation. What if she went into labor at the czar’s Kamenny Ostrov Palace? Nothing could hide her shame if the unthinkable happened right on the palace floors.
John also had social obligations to fulfill, namely, Chancellor Romanzoff’s diplomatic dinner. Because it was summer, the count encouraged his guests to wear their lighter frock coats instead of their heavier full court uniforms. Adams made a new discovery at this dinner. Like John, the new French ambassador appeared a bit disheveled no matter how nice his clothing.
John and Louisa had met Jacques Alexandre Bernard Law, the marquis de Lauriston, earlier in the summer, before their move. Caulaincourt came to their home to say good-bye and introduce Count Lauriston. Louisa thought the new ambassador was handsome but rough and unpolished, “not comparable in any way” to Caulaincourt “either in mind, person, or manners.”
Indeed Caulaincourt looked as distinguished as ever that day. He came “to take leave of us in full costume.” His uniform glittered with the usual golden braided epaulets and broad ribbon crossing his chest from right to left. He also wore “diamonds presented to him by the emperor as a mark of his personal regard.”
Much had changed since their earlier encounters, when Caulaincourt had told Louisa that she was too pretty to be so serious. She had proved her poise and grace when she danced the polonaise with the emperor at the ball hosted by Caulaincourt.
As it turned out, John’s success—and America’s rising stature—contributed to Caulaincourt’s downfall. When Alexander refused to fully bow to French pressure to reject US trade, the French ambassador lost the battle of wits and became ineffective. For these and other reasons, Napoleon recalled him. To Caulaincourt, all was politics. Nothing was personal. Adams had treated him with honor despite their differences.
Referring to Napoleon, Caulaincourt explained to John of his recall, “The emperor governs so much by himself, that a minister is nothing more than the pen, and not the hand that guides it.”
Napoleon offered him a good position for his return, which allowed Caulaincourt to leave honorably. The Adamses would miss his refined elegance.
Diplomacy is based on relationships. With Caulaincourt gone, Adams found himself with the unpleasant task of having to start over with Lauriston. Because they were just a year apart in age, perhaps they could find something to build upon, beyond the fact that both were disheveled gentlemen disdaining expensive clothes.
At Romanzoff’s dinner that July night in 1811, Lauriston engaged John in conversation. Though he was no less decorated than his predecessor, with a messy mane of dark curly hair, Lauriston was less distinguished looking. His tear-shaped, droopy eyes resembled those of a basset hound. Putting aside pretense, Lauriston got straight to the point. What was the state of America’s relationship with England?
“I thought it probable that his government would make our peace with England,” John answered.
“How?”
“By not keeping [your] word,” Adams replied, referring to the French government’s
failure “to repeal the Berlin and Milan decrees” as promised, which angered Parliament.
Lauriston understood the ways of war. As a cadet, he had been on friendly terms with Napoleon, which allowed him to rise in the ranks to a general and command the French division that conquered Pamplona, Spain. He knew the power of exerting even a touch of military force.
“Oh! But you must seize two or three English vessels, and then I will promise you that you may come freely to France,” he half-teased. The hound stuck to his scent. “And will never be troubled with the Berlin and Milan decrees. Only you must not bring English merchandise to us.”
Adams saw through the bluster and deceit: “Americans will not bring you any English merchandise except when you insist upon having it.”
Then the conversation turned to good-humored goading.
“Ah! Ah! my spies,” the Frenchman exclaimed, joking that his informants had told him that the Adamses had moved into his neighborhood. “My spies give me quite different information. Well, if we get English merchandise, it is only to burn it.”
“Yes, and you have burnt so much that now you are obliged to send for more for your own use.”
John reflected in his diary that “all this was said on both sides in a good sort of banter; half jest, half earnest.”
He must build trust with Lauriston. Diplomacy would take time, but at least they were off to a jovial start. Humor eased the tension of the ominous threat. Though the Russian government seemed deeply worried about a war between England and America, France seemed to be goading the very possibility.
