“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 matter 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.
“Mr. & Mrs. Bezzara came according to appointment and I was obliged to accompany in full dress mourning to introduce [them] to Madame Litta at the palace which was more than a mile round from us as we had to cross the river.”
Although she expected to give birth in early August, Louisa fulfilled her commitment to the Bezzaras on July 25, despite the risk of going into labor. Traveling over a bumpy road and crossing the river at such an advanced stage of pregnancy left her exhausted before her swollen feet ever stepped an inch into the Kamenny Ostrov Palace.
“Countess Litta received us very kindly but begged that I would go home directly and not wait for Madame Bezzara’s presentation to the empress.”
How she longed to take Litta’s kind advice. “As however she [Madame de Bezzara] had no carriage but mine, I was obliged to remain nearly an hour before I could get home.”
In this way she waited at the palace while the imperial family formally received Madame de Bezzara. Except for the palace’s exterior’s pale orange color, the entrance was similar in shape to the President’s House in Washington City. Both boasted a triangle pediment supported by a handful of white columns. With plenty of time to gaze at the views of the park and the water, what would happen if Louisa’s water broke? Though a rare occurrence, women have long feared going into labor in public. As she waited, she could not afford for her delicate condition to lead to a delicate embarrassment.
“And when the countess came back from the empress, she took my hand and sent me off saying, while she laughed, that she had never taken leave of anybody with so much pleasure in her life.”
Litta was relieved, and so was Louisa as she said good-bye and passed through the palace’s iron gate toward her new country estate.
“We reached home in safety and they stayed to pass the evening,” she wrote, adding that “this was a killing life.”
The day after his wife jaunted to the palace, like Mary to Bethlehem, John did something he rarely did. He wrote about his love for her. His diary often reflected his work, a method for documenting conversations so he could copy them into letters to the US government. Rarely did he reveal his deeper feelings about his private life. Most of his statements about family were mere facts, such as “went with Mrs. Adams” to the ball.
Perhaps observing how well his wife had made arrangements for their move led him to pick up his pen. Or maybe it was her willingness to reach out to Madame de Bezzara in spite of how she felt. Regardless of what motivated him, he was inspired.
“I have this day been married 14 years, during which I have to bless God for the enjoyment of a portion of felicity, resulting from this relation in society, greater than falls to the generality of mankind, and far beyond anything that I have been conscious of deserving,” he began his entry on July 26. “Its greatest alloy has risen from the delicacy of my wife’s constitution, the ill health which has afflicted her much of the time, and the misfortunes she has suffered from it.”
Their union had not been without dissension. She could be irascible; he, harsh. “But she has always been a faithful and affectionate wife, and a careful, tender, indulgent, and watchful mother to our children, all of whom she nursed herself. I have found in this connection from decisive experience the superior happiness of the marriage state over that of celibacy, and a full conviction that my lot in marriage has been highly favored.”
About this time, Louisa was also more reflective and appreciative: “At last for a few days we have obtained a little quiet—I go down to the end of the garden; have a chair on the bank of the river with Charles; and we catch fish not worth eating—It is an indolent sort of an amusement that just suits me for I do not think.” The countryside brought pleasure and quietude.
“When I look forward I tremble,” she wrote, reminded of her sister’s death in childbirth. “But I bow down with trust in him who has mercifully saved me through a life of trouble and granted to me so many blessings.”
As if gently draping her Turkish shawl around her shoulders, Louisa wrapped herself in faith and fortitude as she anticipated the birth of her child.