American Phoenix

by Jane Cook

  “After the mass was finished, the emperor went up to the shrine of the saint, knelt, and kissed the silver coffin three times—twice on the side and once on the top.” The rest of the imperial family imitated him, and the ceremony ended.

  “On going out of the church, the crowd was so great that the passage out to my carriage by the way at which we had entered was totally barred.”

  John made one final blunder. With William at his side, he decided that following the guards was the best way to exit the monastery and avoid the crush of the peasants.

  “I followed the crowd of imperial officers through the only passage-way that was open, supposing it led to another issue [exit], until I found myself unexpectedly in the archbishop’s apartments, where the emperor and his suite had been invited to breakfast.”

  Showing up to the monastery when he wasn’t expected was embarrassing enough. Barging in on the emperor and archbishop’s dining table couldn’t have been more awkward had he found himself in the empress’s dressing room. A monklike messenger approached the bewildered Americans.

  “The attendance of strangers there was not usual,” the man explained, ushering them away.

  The attendee’s words increased Adams’s turtle-like mortification.

  “I at length found the way out to my carriage,” he wrote of taking refuge in his coach’s shell. The crowds along the Nevsky were so great that they did not arrive home until three in the afternoon.

  Though Romanzoff’s warmth cooled his initial mortification, Adams wondered whether he had blundered. Caulaincourt and most of the other diplomats weren’t there. If he were General Armstrong, he wouldn’t have dared journey to the monastery that day. In contrast Adams was curious about his host country’s culture. He would take a sincere misstep for Armstrong’s apathy any day.

  A few days later, Adams faced Caulaincourt. “About four o’clock I went out to the French ambassador’s country-house, on the Peterhof Road, and dined with him.”

  This was the most intimate dinner he had ever partaken with the French ambassador. The only other guests were the ambassador’s family, Mr. Lesseps of the French legation, and four Russian officers.

  Before him sat a gentleman who had been used by Napoleon and rewarded handsomely for fulfilling his duty to murder a nobleman. More than ever, John was convinced that Bonaparte tightly controlled Caulaincourt. Undaunted, John got right to the point, launching his duel of words.

  “Before dinner I expressed to him my surprise at the measures of France towards the United States,” Adams said, referring to recent newspaper articles proclaiming that French consuls in America no longer granted licenses to US ships traveling to Europe.

  “These were subjects upon which his government said nothing to him,” Caulaincourt replied tersely, his small lips pursing under his long, slender nose.

  The French government had discussed only the Armstrong matter with him and nothing else related to the United States. As if taking up a fencing saber, Caulaincourt told John to write the US government of France’s displeasure with Armstrong.

  “I told him that I should certainly write to my government whatever I could think would have a tendency to reconcile the interests and policy of the two countries,” he jabbed with the utmost politeness.

  “My situation in relation to General Armstrong rendered me the last person who in delicacy or propriety ought to be the medium of indefinite complaints against him to his own government.”

  John proposed an idea. If the French government deemed it proper, they could make “any informal and unofficial observations” about Armstrong and relay them to Caulaincourt. John would pass them along to his government despite the “inconveniences of communication.”

  Adams made it clear. He would not write his government requesting Armstrong’s removal without any evidence of wrongdoing. However, he would pass along France’s concerns through informal letters written by the Frenchman in his own hand.

  “I should take great pleasure in giving every aid in my power to every purpose calculated to restore harmony and good understanding between the parties,” he said. Although his mission was to represent the US interests to the czar of Russia, John was fed up with this French game. He was ready to firmly but unofficially state the position and interests of the United States to France.

  “I told him the French Government appeared to me still too much addicted to that repulsive policy,” Adams proclaimed, boldly observing that France had lost all the influence and goodwill it had garnered years earlier with the United States during the American Revolution.

  “The influence of France might be great if she pleased, but that as England by her conduct seemed determined to reconcile us with France, so France by hers was rendering the same service to England,” Adams continued, scoring a jab in their phantom fencing match.

  Claiming to understand John’s viewpoint, the French ambassador agreed to write his government about the port closures in Prussia. He admitted that Armstrong wasn’t guilty of misconduct. The man hadn’t broken any laws; he'd merely broken the rules of custom. Custom was the law. By not participating in French court events, Armstrong was insulting his host government.

  Caulaincourt said that “[Armstrong] scarcely ever saw the minister [of foreign affairs for France]; that he never went to court; and that whenever anything was to be done, he was presenting testy notes.”

  Adams took one last jab, telling the French ambassador how much trouble his government was causing US merchant ships carrying licenses from French consuls in America. While France now claimed these licenses were forgeries, Adams knew they were legitimate. Once again this was another indication that France’s policies and practices were askew when it came to America.

  Putting aside their proverbial swords, the men then enjoyed dinner. They agreed to share the newspapers that they recently received, the French Moniteur to Adams and English newspapers to Caulaincourt.

  “So now I see the whole front of Armstrong’s offense is omitting to go to court, and presenting notes too full of truth and energy for the taste of Emperor Napoleon,” he wrote in his diary after returning home in his carriage.

  Compared to Armstrong, maybe John was making some progress. Perhaps participating in the customs and social outings of the Russian court was important after all. No matter his lean purse, he could find other ways to earn success—as long as kissing the culture didn’t violate his moral principles.

  John’s diplomatic dinner duel with Caulaincourt led him to change one of his habits.

  “I have made it a practice for several years to read the Bible through in the course of every year. I usually devote to this reading the first hour after I rise every morning,” he noted in his diary.

  He often turned to commentators, mostly English ones, to further understand many passages. “Imperfect as my method is, I regret none of the time thus bestowed.”

  Many people who attempt to read the Bible through in a year do not finish the feat by New Year’s Eve, much less before the end of September. “During the present year, having lost very few days, I have finished the perusal earlier than usual.”

  What to do? He began again, starting with Genesis but with a twist. He chose to read the Bible in another language—French. “I have begun this time with Ostervald’s French translation, which has the advantage of a few short reflections before upon each chapter.”

  Choosing to read the Bible in French had another benefit: he could improve his ability to speak the French language in the process. Perhaps he could also better duel in diplomacy against the Cain-like Caulaincourt.

  29

  Obstinate

  THE SUMMER HAD BEEN QUIET FOR MRS. ADAMS. WHEN THE emperor retired to his Kamenny Ostrov Palace, not far from Caulaincourt’s estate, Louisa no longer ran into His Royal Flirtiness on walks. The change relieved her of worrying about the emperor’s intentions toward her and her sister.

  The official social season ended with the start of summer, except for one big ball. Each
year the imperial family held a mammoth outdoor garden party at one of the grandest palaces in Russia, the Peterhof Palace on the mainland not far from Kronstadt. Thousands flocked to see the fountains, feast on the fresh fruit, and frolic under the fireworks.

  “Once a year, usually in the summer season, the emperor gives a great ball at this palace, to which the public in general are admitted. The gardens are all illuminated, and the water works all played by the light of the illuminations,” John described of the ritual in his diary.

  However, no uniformed messenger arrived at their hotel with imperial invitations to the party. Had Louisa lost favor with the empress again? No. They didn’t receive invitations that year—but neither did anyone else. The czar unexpectedly canceled his annual soirée. John asked if his family and attachés could privately tour Peterhof instead. He had fond memories of visiting the palace decades earlier when he served as Dana’s translator.

  With fall fast approaching, he decided that his family needed a late-summer getaway. Though Louisa had spent many nights entertaining US merchant captains at their hotel and attending the theater, she had not left town. John recognized that after all she had suffered since arriving in St. Petersburg—two miscarriages and scant letters from home—his wife needed a recreational break.

  Once again he paid homage to his host country’s culture by visiting an ancient architectural relic. He anticipated marveling at the palace’s gilded statues, but the excursion would show him something that he never expected to see in Russia.

  “The distance is between nineteen and twenty miles, which we went without stopping once, either to rest or water the horses,” John observed of their nonstop two-hour ride. “Such is the common practice here; and their small, mean-looking horses appear not to suffer from it at all.”

  The Adams party spent three hours exploring the early eighteenth-century palace, which Peter the Great envisioned as rivaling France’s grand Versailles Palace. Facing the Gulf of Finland, Peterhof ’s centerpiece was a grand cascade of fountains featuring three dozen gilded bronze statues, canals, and neat geometric green parks. The result was a terraced masterpiece.

  “But the principal curiosities of the place were the water works; all of which were set to playing for us to see.” Water poured from the mouths of bronze fish, dragons, lions, and mythological figures. From the showcase sculpture of Samson to the statues depicting Adam and Eve, the Adamses marveled at their host country’s finest outdoor attraction. What made the fountains and canals unique was the elaborately engineered plumbing system. Fed by nearby natural springs, hundreds of jets transported water with precision.

  “The waters are carried to the tops of some of the buildings, made to spout from the summit of their domes and roll down, streaming from their roofs,” John observed.

  A scene of a dog chasing three ducks, however, was embarrassingly rudimentary. The fountains attempted to mimic barking and quacking sounds, but failed miserably. “The imitation [of sound], besides its being ridiculous, is very bad.” The genius of Walt Disney had yet to be born.

  Though the grounds were gorgeous, when they entered the three-story palace, they made a startling discovery. “The palace is in a state of decay and looks forlorn,” Louisa observed sadly. Considered a baroque masterpiece, Peterhof ’s interior featured white paneled walls richly gilded with gold trim, intricate carvings, sculptures, paintings, and lacy black iron staircase railings. The gilded paint that once brilliantly ornamented the wainscoting had faded into a graveyard of chipped, stripped paneling.

  “The palace is an image of magnificence, in a late, almost the last stage of decay,” John noticed, remembering the splendor he saw decades earlier.

  Why was this imperial treasure in such bad repair? Weren’t rubles and rubies endless commodities flowing from royal coffers? Lack of funds was the real reason for canceling the event. Adams didn’t know it at the time, but Russia’s exports had fallen by 40 percent. The country’s membership in Napoleon’s Continental System was taking a toll, forcing an inflation of currency. Times were changing. Something dark hovered on the horizon. What it was, Adams did not yet know.

  The ceremonial monk summoned John and his nephew-secretary William to the Winter Palace on September 27 for a gathering of the diplomatic court. When they arrived in the long hallway outside the throne room, they learned that the court was canceled. The moment brought an unexpected opportunity for another diplomatic fencing match. “I had some conversation with the French Ambassador,” John recorded.

  Perhaps they sat on a bench under one of the hallway’s grand paintings. Or maybe they walked, conversing as they strolled past the painted panels. Above them was an arched domed ceiling with a sky window. Natural light may have shone softly on their faces as they talked. The conversation began cordially, as if between friends.

  “I mentioned to him that I had observed with pleasure the attendance of General Armstrong at Court [in Paris] on the occasion of Napoleon’s birthday,” John boasted.

  Since reading in the newspaper about Armstrong’s appearance at this important French function, he was eager to share the news with Caulaincourt. The gesture was a sign that US relations were improving in Paris, and Armstrong was finally showing some diplomatic sophistication.

  Caulaincourt concurred. He had recently received assurances that the “dispositions of his government were entirely friendly towards the United States.”

  With such goodwill on his side, Adams pressed forward on the core problem between France and America: US sovereignty. British ships had long hoisted the US flag and presented forged paperwork to thwart port authorities. In fact he had recently uncovered the scheme of a London man named Van Sander, who had forged many licenses. Once Adams and Harris figured out that Van Sander was the source of the forged papers, they began rejecting ships carrying licenses from him. As a result, ship captains stopped going to Van Sander for American papers, and the forgeries ended.

  If Caulaincourt was not willing to trust Adams or Harris on forgeries, then he needed to develop a new skill.

  “[France] should make a clear and strong distinction between the English and the Americans,” Adams said.

  It was time for the French government to learn how to tell the difference between Americans and Britons. Doing so was easier than detecting wine from water. Suddenly their cordial conversation halted, as if both men threw aside their gentlemen’s coats and grabbed fencing sabers from opposite corners of the hallway.

  “That in relation to commerce was very difficult,” Caulaincourt rebutted, referring to colonial trade, the goods of sugar, cotton, and others carried by both British and American ships.

  To encourage French industry and promote a commercial war with England, France’s pre-Napoleon legislators decreed years earlier in 1796 that any ship carrying British goods could be seized in French ports. This act also designated many products, such as cotton, wool, refined sugar, tanned leather, and others, as distinctly “English.” Thus many people in France, including Caulaincourt, didn’t know or believe that America grew its own cotton.

  “I assured him the only difficulty was in the inclination,” John replied pointedly, that “nothing was more easy.” American trade with Russia proved it. If the Russians could tell the difference between British and American ships, sailors, and cargo, why couldn’t France and the rest of Europe?

  John knew what the Frenchman was thinking.

  “Two days ago the minister of police had sent me two sailors who pretended to be Americans, but whom upon five minutes of conversation, I found not to be such,” Adams told Caulaincourt.

  He explained that he and Harris had easily caught others pretending to be Americans. As he had done with previous impersonators, he sent them to the police.

  “The different pronunciation of the language,” he explained, was the primary way to differentiate between the English and the Americans.

  Not only that, but official US paperwork was different. “The personal acquaintance we have with
many of the merchants who trade here and the secret marks of the papers,” he said, referring to the emblems on the licenses, were other ways to tell the difference.

  The question was quite simple. Who or what was France at war with? The British people or merchandise?

  “There was a pretty strong sentiment against the colonial trade in Paris, because they considered it as all English,” a peeved Caulaincourt replied.

  Adams immediately sensed French snobbery against colonial goods. Caulaincourt’s attitude shone more brightly than the early afternoon sun through the skylight above them.

  “You for instance, you raise no sugar,” the French ambassador accused.

  “A great deal of sugar was raised in the United States, and particularly in the country ceded to us by France—Louisiana,” Adams boastfully refuted. Though without access to the latest census at the time, he was correct. The United States produced nearly 8 million pounds of refined sugar valued at nearly $1.5 million.

  “But cotton—indigo—we were perhaps the greatest raisers of these articles in the world,” John continued.

  These statistics would have aided John’s argument. The Orleans Territory annually harvested more than forty-five housand pounds of indigo, valued at a dollar per pound in 1810.

  The French ambassador didn’t deny Adams’s assertions but disagreed on one particular matter. He was convinced that the certificates of origin presented by American ship captains were false. The French consuls in the United States no longer issued such licenses.

  “I assured him in the most earnest terms that this was a mistake; that to my certain knowledge, vessels which had sailed from the United States as late as the month of June had brought genuine certificates of origin from French consuls.”

  Newspapers had recently reported claims from the French government that French consuls in Boston, New York, and other ports had stopped issuing licenses to outward-bound American ships. After talking with recently arrived US ship captains and reviewing their paperwork, Adams concluded that those newspaper reports were false. The news was propaganda intended to deceive port authorities throughout Europe.