CHAPTER 3

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“Let There Be . . . No Deficiency of Earnest Zeal”

MUSING IN HIS DIARY AS 1808 DREW TO A CLOSE, JOHN Quincy termed it a more momentous year than any other he had previously experienced. During the past months he had been removed from office, ending up with the public opinion of Massachusetts Federalists against him. Only his conscience approved his course, he wrote, “and the conviction upon my own mind of having done my duty at every hazard.” His private affairs had also suffered. He pronounced them embarrassing with gloomy prospects. Still, he anticipated the future, for he had no doubt that God, who could bring forth good from evil, would do so for himself, his family, and his country. But no matter, “His will be done.”¹

In committing himself to God’s will, John Quincy acted in character. His faith in an active and personal God never wavered, though he admitted he did not always fathom the immediate meaning of the result shaped by that will. But if God’s will spurred another call from his country, he stood ready to hear it. His diplomatic and political experience had become so thoroughly imbued in him that he could never dismiss the prospect of public service.

Despite that fundamental truth, he could not bring himself to say openly that he wanted office. His desire surely matched that of his political peers, yet he differed in a notable way. Persuaded that the Founders such as Washington and his father, excepting Jefferson, whose motives and conduct he had grown to distrust, waited for office to find them, he felt he acted similarly, following in their steps. That conviction helped him keep his ambition in check. Of course, this approach also enabled him to guard against disappointment if no summons occurred.

Still, accepting the call could not be an end in itself, no matter the privilege and pride. For John Quincy incumbency must be accompanied by giving genuine benefit to his country. Thus, whenever he received the invitation, he would serve wherever he was wanted, with but a single caveat—that he considered himself temperamentally and intellectually qualified. As both diplomat and legislator, he believed that he had performed capably and, even more important, dutifully. He consciously tried to follow the example he perceived set by his founding elders. No one else in his generation so consistently attempted to imitate that model.

Practically, John Quincy’s immediate post-Senate future meant a return to the law and to his professorship. His practice would not be constrained to Boston and environs, however. He would also appear before the U.S. Supreme Court. He had been admitted to its bar back in 1804 and had advocated before it while a senator.

In early 1809 he returned to the capital to argue before the high court. He was counsel in one lawsuit that would give rise to a major constitutional decision, Fletcher v. Peck. The case involved a claim growing out of a grant of state land to private companies by the Georgia legislature, a number of whose members had been bribed. A succeeding legislature had voided the sale on grounds that fraud and corruption had tarnished the legislation. John Quincy’s client, John Peck, who had sold some of his land obtained under the original act, wanted the court to validate the legality of that transaction. The state of Georgia wanted the cancellation affirmed, maintaining that the land grant was not a contract as defined in the contract clause of the Constitution. Furthermore, Georgia asserted that, as a sovereign state, it possessed the authority to decide such matters, not the U.S. Supreme Court.

On March 2 John Quincy spent five hours before the court contending that the contract clause did in fact govern and should inform the justices’ ruling. Assessing his appearance, he gave himself poor marks. Once again it was his inability to speak in public. Notwithstanding all his preparation, he still judged that his remarks lacked clarity, with a ferociously dull exposition. He did note, however, that the court heard all he had to say. For technical reasons, the court at that time did not render a decision. But the next year, when it did, it upheld John Quincy’s position, affirming that the constitutional contract clause did control the case. Moreover, in Fletcher v. Peck the Supreme Court for the first time struck down a state law as unconstitutional, declaring that the court, not a state, had the final word on constitutionality.2

While in Washington in the winter of 1809, John Quincy visited and conferred with many notables, including President Jefferson, Secretary of State and President-elect Madison, solons, Supreme Court justices, and diplomats. On March 4 he attended President Madison’s inauguration and that evening the inaugural ball. The next day the new president asked John Quincy to call on him.

At that meeting Madison offered John Quincy a new diplomatic post, minister plenipotentiary to Russia. There had not previously been one. The chief executive told John Quincy that the Russian tsar Alexander I had suggested this new relationship between the two countries. For the United States the ultimate goal would be increased trade. Though surprised, John Quincy accepted on the spot. He did so without consulting either his wife or his parents, all of whom were in Massachusetts.

It was not to be, however. Within a week the Senate rejected the proposed mission, not simply the minister. With that information in hand, John Quincy wrote Louisa, recognizing the news would not disappoint her. He admitted that for their children and themselves the assignment would have been more troublesome than advantageous. He had certainly not expected that appointment, or any other. In the end, while he was grateful to the president for it, he informed his wife that he really preferred staying at home to going to Russia.3

In summer with John Quincy back in Massachusetts, the subject of Russia returned. In June, President Madison renewed his request that Congress authorize a Russian mission, with John Quincy in charge. This time he got it. When the news reached John Quincy, he again immediately said yes.

Why John Quincy Adams? While rumors of political payoff were heard, no evidence exists to indicate any direct reward for his having voted in the Senate for Republican measures. John Quincy certainly did not lobby for the job. The president was aware of his qualifications; no other American was better qualified. On two previous occasions, he had served ably as the country’s representative in European capitals. Moreover, his fluent French, the language of European diplomacy as well as the Russian court, would ease his way into this new posting. Yet Madison had firsthand knowledge of John Quincy’s support as a senator for Jefferson’s and his commercial diplomacy. All in all, John Quincy was a logical choice.

Still, John Quincy was at pains to explain why he agreed to take this situation in a far-off land—to his diary and himself as well as to others. He emphasized that he really did not desire the post. Family, particularly the youth of his children and the age of his parents, gave him reason for remaining in the United States. He asserted, too, that he would break his academic connection with Harvard most reluctantly. He also claimed that he could benefit public service more as a private citizen than as a diplomat in a foreign land. According to him, all personal interests tugged him to decline the offered undertaking.⁴

Yet the tug did not hold him. He cited numerous motives for his decision. But ambition was not one of them. Foremost among them, he avowed, was the call to serve the country coming directly from the president. He made clear to a friend that what he viewed as “the spontaneous and unsolicited” act of Madison powerfully influenced him. In his judgment he had been chosen solely because of merit. In his acceptance letter to the secretary of state, he underscored his conviction that the president’s chief goal was the well-being of the country. To that end he expressed a great wish to give all the assistance he could. He yearned for nothing more. His country required his service—selfless duty for the good servant. He had to accept the call. In doing so, he beseeched Almighty God for favor. He prayed for his country’s safety in a perilous world and for himself “the continued consciousness of purity in my motives, and, so far as it has been or may be deserved, the approbation of my countrymen.”5

John Quincy’s family did not welcome his prompt acceptance of the Russian post. As on the earlier occasion in Washington, he decided unilaterally, without consulting his wife or parents. Neither his mother nor his father thought he made the right decision; he was exiling himself. More importantly, his choice stunned Louisa Catherine, who believed her husband had deceived her.⁶

She had to cope with even more appalling news, however. Fearing for their schooling in Russia and worried about playmates and weather, John Quincy, again on his own, decided that the two older boys, George and John, ages eight and six, would not accompany their mother and father. Instead, they would remain behind in Massachusetts, boarding in Quincy with John Quincy’s aunt and uncle Richard and Mary Cranch, with his parents responsible for their general supervision. Even though this plan meant that Louisa Adams would be separated from her sons for three or more years, she had no voice in her husband’s decision. Of course, in that time husbands usually had total control of such decisions. Realizing how wrenching his judgment would be for his wife, John Quincy deputed his brother Thomas to inform her. “Oh this agony of agonies!” she wailed. She would have only two-year-old Charles Francis with her. A powerful melancholy enveloped her: “And from that hour to the end of time life will be to me a suscesion [sic] of miseries only to cease with existence.”⁷

Upon notifying the secretary of state that he would go to Russia, John Quincy moved quickly. On August 5 the ship with him and his party aboard sailed from Boston. In addition to Louisa and Charles Francis, his entourage included a nephew employed as a private secretary and Louisa’s younger sister, Catherine, known as Kitty, as a companion for his wife. As in all other matters involving this undertaking, Louisa had no say in inviting her sibling. It was solely John Quincy’s doing. There were also two servants, one each for husband and wife as well as two additional young men as unpaid, unofficial secretaries.

The passage all the way across the Atlantic and through the Baltic Sea to Russia took eighty days. Changeable weather marked by violent storms in the Baltic and interference from British warships and Danish privateers characterized the difficult voyage. Finally, in late October, John Quincy with his group set foot in St. Petersburg, the Russian capital. Twenty-seven years had passed since as a boy of fifteen he had left the city.

Promptly upon his arrival John Quincy presented himself to the host government in the person of Count Nikolai Rumiantsev, chancellor and foreign minister and principal adviser to His Majesty Tsar Alexander I. A week later the tsar received the American envoy at the Imperial Palace. Adams’s instructions were general rather than specific—to create goodwill, to watch over the interests of the United States, to gain favorable treatment for American trade. He was also to report back to the secretary of state and the president his observations on Russia and European affairs. Although his charge did not specify negotiating a commercial treaty, he was told that if the possibility arose, he was to request guidance from Washington.

From the outset John Quincy met with a favorable reception. To his father he commented on the marvelous welcome with which he had been received. He established an excellent relationship with Count Rumiantsev, the official with whom he would work most closely. He was also a success at the imperial court, where his fluent French served him well. Though a student of languages, he never mastered Russian. He even developed a personal relationship with Tsar Alexander himself. Because both men often exercised by walking in the city, they frequently encountered each other, which led to private conversations.8

Russia, of course, was part of Europe and occupied an influential position in the strife convulsing the Continent. Although war between France and various European powers had engulfed the Continent since the 1790s, the advent of Napoleon increased the intensity and scope of the conflict. A military genius with boundless political ambition, Napoleon had become the leader of France in 1799 and five years later declared himself emperor. By 1810 the French dominated most of Europe, from the Baltic Sea to the Mediterranean Sea and from the Atlantic coast to the Russian frontier, except for the Balkan Peninsula.

In many ways Russia served as the pivot, first an ally then a foe of Napoleon, whose ambition and military prowess made him master of most of Europe. Through it all John Quincy always proclaimed American neutrality, his country’s policy of not taking sides with either the French or their opponents. As he had since the 1790s, he wholeheartedly embraced America’s neutral position in the European wars.

In the summer of 1812 Napoleon invaded Russia, making that country the epicenter of the fight against the French conqueror. Attention was riveted on the person of Napoleon; even John Quincy was not immune. It appeared that all Europe thought the future of mankind depended solely upon the French emperor, he noted in his diary, and as a result many hoped for his death. Napoleon did not fall on a Russian battlefield, but the massive defeat inflicted upon his grand army by Russian defensive strategy and an early, brutal winter sent him reeling back toward France with but the shell of his forces about him. The disaster in Russia left him unable to restore himself and his cause to primacy. He ultimately confronted a coalition of all the major European powers, with Russia a leader. Forced to capitulate in the spring of 1814, he abdicated his throne, retreating to an island domain in the Mediterranean Sea granted him by the victors.⁹

John Quincy interpreted the fallen emperor’s career as history informed by theology. As Napoleon fled from Russia, John Quincy wrote his mother, “It has pleased heaven for many years to preserve this man and to make him prosper as an instrument of divine wrath to scourge mankind.” But with the Russian debacle “his race is now run, and his own turn of punishment has commenced.” To his diary he later confided, “I believe the man is abandoned of God, and that Heaven is breaking one of the instruments of its wrath.” Yet, with his doubts about the human condition still vibrant, John Quincy prayed that worse horrors would not replace the fallen emperor.10

Official business, even adding the whirlwind of Napoleon, did not take up the bulk of John Quincy’s time. The social life surrounding the imperial court and the diplomatic corps made serious demands upon him. During the season Minister Adams recorded in his diary an array of almost unending balls, card games, dinners, and receptions. In each venue his French made him a congenial guest. With so many diversions offered at these soirees, John Quincy often had to choose among them. He admitted that at some parties he had to dance in order to avoid card games of chance, though he occasionally found himself at card tables. He always paid close attention to the guidelines governing court etiquette, which required gentlemen to wear wigs. At a celebration of the tsar’s birthday Alexander noticed that John Quincy was without his. John Quincy replied that he had seen the tsar without one and accordingly followed His Majesty’s example. Alexander replied that he liked the comfort.¹¹

In his diary John Quincy recorded sights that amazed and occasionally amused him. The pervasive opulence of rooms, decorations, attire, and jewelry exceeded anything he had ever known. The quantity of medals adorning diplomats, members of the nobility, and military officers astounded him. He observed of a princess that she was “venerable by the length and thickness of her beard,” which he reflected was “no uncommon thing among ladies of this Slavonian breed.” In the Academy of Science he had seen a portrait of a deceased woman with a beard matching Plato’s. At an evening occasion with numerous titled people and their secretaries, his thoughts turned to the Old Testament. The diners reminded him “of the resurrection of dry bones in the Prophet Ezekiel.”12

The late hours of the events along with the available refreshments often gave rise to aftereffects that John Quincy decried. Many diary entries list functions lasting past midnight, at times until four or five. To cope with such marathons, he resolved to observe temperance, which he made an extraordinary effort to keep up. That commitment did not always hold, however. As his diary makes clear, those late nights always meant not rising until late morning and then slow days. Such festivities, he noted, always left a day of dissipation, with more of idleness following. Bemoaning a lengthy series of invitations, he confessed they had kept him from spending time where his best judgment said he should. No matter these lamentations, John Quincy never faltered in his social duties.¹³

His wife proved to be a superb sociable partner. Her French helped her immensely as did the fact that almost all other diplomats in St. Petersburg were without wives. Much more important, the imperial family warmed to her, particularly the tsar and his mother. He even danced with her and with her sister Kitty, whom he found quite charming. To them both the tsar issued an invitation to his private theater at his palace the Hermitage, an unusual privilege for any foreign woman. Louisa termed it “one of the greatest honors” bestowed on foreign ladies. She attributed the tsar’s generosity to his delight in Kitty as well as to his partiality to her husband. Despite her triumph in society, Louisa grumbled that the family finances precluded her always being able to dress as she thought she should, in her opinion a severe disadvantage. Still, she more than held her own on these lavish occasions. And she certainly aided John Quincy’s standing with Alexander I.¹⁴

Despite their undoubted social achievement, the Adamses’ life in St. Petersburg did not begin altogether smoothly. As in Berlin, they initially experienced difficulty in finding a suitable abode. Eventually, however, they located comfortable living quarters. At the outset their most critical problem concerned money. John Quincy quickly learned that his official allowance fell far short of covering the cost of living in St. Petersburg, especially given the seemingly requisite ostentatious display of wealth by Russia’s aristocrats and ambassadors from European nations and courts. Although he never attempted to emulate the wealth of either natives or diplomats—utterly unrepublican in his view—he feared that even so he would have to call on and deplete his personal assets just to get by. His resulting anxiety he shared with his mother, telling her that his limited resources caused discomfort and made him desperate to escape his irritating situation. Yet, by curtailing costs and with careful accounting, by the end of 1810, he had managed to bring his expenses in line with the funds provided by his government.15

While he did reconcile income and outgo, he never got used to the weather. The winters were unlike anything he or Louisa had ever known—interminably long, ferociously cold, with just a few hours of daylight even in fair conditions. Taking note of the short span the sun shone, John Quincy commented that he could only see to write from ten until two. The brutal cold did not deter him from his walks, however, for after writing he usually took to the streets. One winter he recounted seventeen successive days when the temperature never rose to zero. In a letter to his mother, he said that even stoves and double windows could not keep the cold from penetrating into their living space, remarking that when he wrote he could barely hold his pen. “It is certainly contrary to the course of nature for men of the south to invade regions of the north,” he concluded. His final judgment: he and Louisa were thoroughly disgusted with the climate.¹⁶

The climate never kept John Quincy from two of his treasured indoor pastimes, his diary and his reading. His determination had him entering in his diary the events of a given day on the following day. That effort could take hours, especially after an interview with Count Rumiantsev. The time spent with his pen caused him to wish he knew shorthand, which would have made his task much easier. But he resigned himself to the conviction that it was too late for him to learn the technique. At times, of course, he could not stick to his preferred schedule. Although interference could come from outside incidents, he admitted that when he had much to record, he was prone to postpone the work that he knew he must do. Inactivity then spawned sluggishness and an increasing backlog. As a result, he acknowledged that sometimes he did not record instances that he should have remembered.17

Even though diary keeping often preoccupied him, he did not neglect his reading. He generally started the day with chapters in the Bible. He also gave attention to newspapers and periodicals, stating in 1811 that for the past twenty years he had spent at least two hours daily with them. In Russia he continued his habit of ranging widely in books. His list included works of Sir Walter Scott, Lord Byron, and Thomas Malthus, books of sermons, and William Paley’s Natural Theology. Toward the end of 1813 he confided to his diary that the time spent reading enjoyable books took him away from other, more essential tasks. “The rule of not too much is essential to all things,” he reminded himself, “but I have not learned to observe it.”¹⁸

In his Russian years he substantially increased the volumes on science. They became part of his embrace of what he saw as a captivating subject. In this matter, as in others, John Quincy was quite unusual for his generation. He said he pursued such studies not only because he so enjoyed them but also because he wanted to help with his children’s education. In one exercise he calculated the circumference of the earth, specifying his calculations in his diary. Astronomy especially enthralled him. He conversed with a professor at the Imperial Academy of Sciences about Johannes Kepler, the great German astronomer. He also made his own astronomical measurements and observations. He noticed the precise times of the rising and setting sun and keenly observed the entire sky, detailing what he saw in his diary.¹⁹

In addition, he focused on what was close by on the ground, exhibiting his usual interest in his host country. The fairs and festivals in St. Petersburg appealed to him as avenues to study and understand popular customs. To learn about the Russian version of Christianity, on religious holidays he attended Russian Orthodox churches. Although he judged the message of Orthodoxy to be as Christian as his own Congregationalism, he did not take to the numerous festivals and elaborate ceremony and ritual. To him they seemed more appropriate for slaves than for free people.20

Not only culture and folkways attracted his attention. As in Prussia, he found manufacturing establishments fascinating. Visiting both a textile factory and a glassworks, he commented that he wanted to spend several hours in a manufacturing establishment every week. If nothing else, doing so would give him a powerful lesson in humility by making him conscious of his ignorance. He did not, however, duplicate one Prussian venture; he never undertook anything like his Silesian travels. Instead, throughout his almost five years in Russia, he never journeyed beyond St. Petersburg and its environs.²¹

Even with his many activities, John Quincy’s attention regularly returned to the sons he had left behind in Massachusetts. Less than a year after his separation from them, he expressed the sentiment that he never forgot his dear boys. And nothing about those boys concerned him more than their education. In his view a parent had no more sacred mission than guiding children in a manner that would prepare them for living worthy lives in the world. At the same time, however, he acknowledged soon after the birth of his eldest, George, that he could not mold a child as a potter did a piece of clay. Even so, for him it was of paramount importance to provide a moral foundation for his sons, which would begin with their proper education.²²

His general instruction commenced with a memorandum he prepared while sailing across the Atlantic to Russia. This missive looked to his determination to prepare George and John for the world of adulthood. That young boys, ages eight and six, could comprehend the contents of this document is more than problematical, but John Quincy obviously felt compelled to spell out the principles essential for them to follow the path he believed would lead to fulfillment and accomplishment. In this task he emulated what his mother and father had done for him. In fact, these ruminations repeated precepts that had long since become dogma for him. No doubt, he envisioned himself as the potter who, despite his explicit reservations, could successfully mold his sons.

He began by declaring that each boy should “consider [himself] as placed here to act a part—that is, to have some single great end of object to accomplish, towards which all the views and all the labors of your existence should steadily be directed.” That guideline he emphasized “as one of the directing impulses of life, that you must have some one great purpose of existence.” When selected, that object “should be as much as possible within your own control.”

With that admonition, he warned that it would be dangerous to combine that chief end with political office. Placing the primary goal as gaining such a station could bring little happiness to oneself and none to others. Moreover, one’s time in office might end abruptly, even involuntarily. Thus one must always be prepared for a return to private life.

Yet he charged that a patriot must be ready to heed his country’s call. When it comes, it must surely modify what a man decides to make most important in his life. While an officeholder had to discharge faithfully his duties, he also had to ponder how to become of more benefit to his country. The father wrote that public office “may be wanted but can never be desired.”

Beyond office, he instructed, cultivating the arts and sciences is always fulfilling. Even more important, it is a most honorable path for a man with leisure to follow. He cautioned, however, about a lurking temptation, the peril of wandering without direction. The real and only difficulty to be overcome is focusing on a particular and special object. His summation: “Let the uniform principle of your life . . . be how to make your talents and your knowledge most beneficial to your country and most useful to mankind.”23

John Quincy did not restrict his ardor about his sons’ education solely to general principle. Writing to his brother Thomas in Quincy, he discussed specific topics. Of course, he addressed academics. For classical studies, the languages included, he would rely on regular schools. He counted on Thomas to make sure they had instruction in French, public speaking, and writing. He also hoped they would have lessons in drawing and fencing, both of which he deemed valuable. In addition, he wanted his brother to teach his nephews to use and care for firearms because accidents usually occurred from ignorance about weapons. Finally, he advocated relaxing and sporting activities as became their age, naming ice skating and horseback riding.²⁴

While what happened with his two boys in distant Massachusetts clearly had his attention, he had his youngest, Charles Francis, in St. Petersburg with him. The father took direct charge of the lad’s schooling, though the child was just two when the family arrived in Russia. With the youngster at four, John Quincy recorded that only by using apples and sugarplums could he entice Charles Francis to read. Even at that age, however, the lad was learning to speak French and German. The father identified his young scholar’s greatest problem as focusing his attention, for almost anything from the sight of a boat or a fly flitting about would draw him from his book.

By the time Charles Francis had reached six, the father-schoolmaster had him reading chapters in the English New Testament. He was also drilling the boy in arithmetic. It bothered him that the child had difficulty with the principles of addition, but he was equally pleased that his pupil had learned the multiplication tables by heart and had taken up the same task in French. Moreover, a tutor provided lessons in writing and Russian. The dedicated parental pedagogue did recognize the tender age of his charge, however. He tried his best, he wrote, not to press too hard upon the young mind; he made his lessons easy.²⁵

Although John Quincy’s engagement in his sons’ education seemingly consumed him, his wife was never out of his mind. Far from elated about the Russian posting and despondent about departing from her two older boys, Louisa rallied to become stalwart in St. Petersburg. Her social triumph certainly did not hamper John Quincy’s success at court, which aided his overall mission. Still, she contended with her own struggles. She never embraced the climate, and ill health plagued her. As before, difficulties with pregnancy contributed significantly to her physical problems, including fevers and headaches. The regularly prescribed bleeding with leeches did not add to her well-being. In the spring of 1810 she once more miscarried. By the beginning of 1811 she was again pregnant, however.

In the summer of 1811 John Quincy reflected on his marriage. On his fourteenth wedding anniversary he thanked God for the happiness stemming from his union with Louisa, which he described as more than he deserved. He felt that way despite the difficulties and disagreements confronting them. In his catalog he listed the education of children, temper, and money. Yet the greatest tribulation concerned his wife’s delicate constitution, and the maladies resulting from that condition. At the same time he praised her for her faithfulness and affection. And he complimented her as a loving mother. His final judgment: “My lot in marriage has been highly favored.”26

Both husband and wife experienced true joy in that same summer of 1811 when on August 12 Louisa gave birth to a healthy girl, a relief after her customary troublesome pregnancy preceding delivery. The father named the infant Louisa Catherine in honor of her mother. In less than a month he had her baptized by an Anglican minister in the absence of any Congregational clergy or churches, asserting that of those available the Anglican service came closest to the Congregational of his tradition. He did not want to delay the rite that he cherished, dedicating his daughter to God. The mother rejoiced in her newborn: “O she grows lovely. Such a pair of eyes! I fear I love her too well.”²⁷

In just over a year that delight descended into overpowering grief. Shortly after her first birthday the small girl, heretofore healthy, contracted dysentery followed by high fever and convulsions. Nothing could relieve her; in the early morning of September 12 she died. Her death devastated both parents. A distraught mother could not attend the funeral. A month later, still overcome with sadness, she begged God’s mercy to give her strength to cope with the horror He had visited upon her. She was convinced she was being punished for her own transgressions. If she died, she wanted to be buried beside her adored child. In the next year, contemplating a return to the United States, she unbosomed to her diary, “My heart is torn at the idea of quitting forever the spot where my darling lays and to which my soul is linked.”28

Still worried about his wife’s emotional and mental stability eighteen months after the baby’s death, John Quincy pressed upon her a book by one of America’s most eminent physicians, Dr. Benjamin Rush of Philadelphia—Medical Inquiries and Observations, upon the Diseases of the Mind (1812). After reading it, she declared, “It produced a very powerful effect upon my feelings . . . and occasion’d sensations of a very painful kind since the loss of my darling babe.” Since that awful event, she admitted she was aware of a great change in her, even to her questioning her sanity. Even though Dr. Rush’s volume had a notable influence, it did not lift the gloom that had enveloped her. She struggled in vain against her deep anguish, fearing she would never be rid of it. Nearly thirty years later she could still cry out, “My child is gone to Heaven.”²⁹

Opening his heart to his own diary, John Quincy shared with her the sorrowful visit of heaven upon his family. While he mourned losing his precious gift from God, he tried to reconcile his sorrow with his Christian faith: “Yet in this fallen Condition of man so much of unavoidable bitterness is mingled up in the cup of human being on Earth that we ought perhaps to be no less grateful for the Death of a tenderly beloved Child than for its life.” To be sure, he could not wall off all doubt. To his mother he wrote that for the first time in his life he contemplated distrusting God’s goodness. Like his wife, he worried that perhaps he and she were being chastised for some terrible sin. Hope still broke through, however: “If there be a moral Government of the Universe, my child is in the enjoyment of blessedness, or exists without suffering, and reserved for unalloyed bliss hereafter.”30

The Christian religion and thinking about it had always been central in John Quincy’s adult life. Yet in Russia, and even before his baby daughter’s death, he devoted considerable energy and effort to trying to understand what he believed. In both his diary and several letters to his son George, which like his epistle on education to his Massachusetts-bound sons he wrote fundamentally about himself for himself, John Quincy pondered the depths of his faith.

His commitment to daily Bible reading underscored the importance of religion in his life. In order not to permit his busy schedule to interrupt that practice, most often he read his Bible during the first hour after waking. His goal, which he usually met, was to get through the entire book in twelve months, and then begin again in the new year.

He admitted that he found much of the Bible difficult to understand. To assist him he regularly turned to commentaries by biblical authorities. Moreover, he read it in different languages. He could utilize the Greek New Testament, but he lamented his ignorance of Hebrew, which could have helped him with the Old. He also turned to French and German translations for comparison with the English. In his diary he noted that many passages murky and even impossible for him to understand in his native language became clearer in French and German. In his judgment German had the least cloudiness.³¹

As a man deeply imbued with the Calvinist tradition of New England and simultaneously infused with the rationality of the Enlightenment, John Quincy struggled at the intersection between faith and reason. He wrestled with distinguishing the portions of the Bible that should be taken literally from those to be understood as symbolic. After discussing chronology in the Old Testament and the genealogy of Christ in the New, he commented, “I believe it best not to attempt consulting the Bible and Herodotus together.” He rejected the proposition that authority, whether clerical, institutional, or traditional, not reason, must rule the human response to religion in general and to the Bible in particular. Still, he never accepted that reason alone could or should suffice to govern man’s approach to scripture or his relationship with God.32

John Quincy did not doubt that the Bible represented “a Divine Revelation.” According to him the basis of morality rested on three truths elucidated in it: God’s existence, the soul’s immortality, and an afterlife with punishments and rewards. The fundamental moral truth taught by the Bible instilled the chief human virtue, obeying God’s will.³³

As a practicing Christian, John Quincy pondered his reason-faith question when considering the person of Jesus Christ and the events surrounding his life. Refusing to embrace the dogma that much should be received as religious mysteries existing beyond rational thought, he listed several verities of the Christian faith, including the divinity of Christ, the Trinity, the doctrine of atonement, and miracles. In his mind all seemed opposed to human reason. In his ruminations about religion he seemed more of a philosopher than a political man. No other political figure of his generation spent so much time and effort trying to comprehend and explicate the bases and even the mysteries of Christianity. But for John Quincy the strenuous undertaking to understand matched the commitment he felt.³⁴

Religion he defined as “one of the wants of human nature—an appetite which must be indulged, since without its gratification human existence would be a burden rather than a blessing.” Reason should thus “serve as a guard and check upon the religious appetite.” Reason could not triumph, however. He would not refuse to accept a particular doctrine just because it appeared unreasonable. He asserted, “I must appeal to a higher tribunal, and believe what I want to believe, am taught to believe, and may believe, without injury to myself or others.”35

From that position he meditated upon the divinity of Christ, confiding in January 1811 to his diary that he hardly knew how to escape doubt when he contemplated it, chiefly because as a layman he had never had the opportunity to research the subject thoroughly. Yet he found especially convincing a sermon on the question by Jean-Baptiste Massillon, an eighteenth-century French bishop. Reviewing the clergyman’s argument, John Quincy repeated its evidence. The scriptural declaration by Christ himself and others in the Gospels and Epistles of the New Testament made a persuasive case, which became even more powerful when contrasted with the care taken by prophets in the Old Testament and apostles in the New never to make any such claims. He summed up with the statement that he would surely return to Massillon’s exposition.³⁶

John Quincy wrote that the purpose of Christ’s earthly life was to emphasize immortality. For him this mission was critical, for “if the existence of man was limited to this life, it would be impossible for me to believe the universe under any moral government.” In his interpretation Christ replaced all temporal sanctions with a future spiritual life in which punishments and rewards would be bestowed. Preceding that immortal state, the doctrine of Christ was a moral system for mankind on this earth—in his judgment a system superior to all others. He quoted Christ’s charge to his disciples that they strive for perfection. “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your father in heaven is perfect.”³⁷

In a letter intended for his son George, John Quincy summarized his sense of Christian morality: “piety to God and benevolence to man.” Formal rites and burnt-offering sacrifices were not required. In their stead he listed the Christian virtues, which included repentance, obedience, humility, and worship of God from the heart. He emphasized Christ’s new commands to humans to love each person, even enemies. Yet this creed did not mean for his son, or for himself, to be too yielding, to allow himself ever to be led astray from what his conscience told him was good and right.38

Though some four thousand miles from St. Petersburg, Abigail Adams did not relinquish her active role in her son’s life. She certainly did more than merely correspond with him. Without John Quincy’s permission she placed in Boston newspapers parts of his letters explaining his effort to obtain favorable treatment for American commerce from the Russian government. These pieces were widely reprinted. Not pleased when he learned what his mother had done, he asked her to get his prior agreement before she made public any additional information from his correspondence.³⁹

She went beyond attempting to boost him in the public eye, however. Upon getting word early in John Quincy’s residence in St. Petersburg about his worry about his finances, she took forthright action. Again without consulting her son, in August 1810 she wrote directly to President James Madison asking that he allow John Quincy to come back home because of the financial ruin that faced him and his family.⁴⁰

President Madison took her request quite seriously. He brought up the matter with his secretary of state, who advised that no action be taken until they had heard from John Quincy himself. Madison felt that justice would necessitate permitting a return if that is what it took for his diplomat to avoid financial disaster. At the same time he hoped the depth of the mother’s anxiety did not represent her son’s.⁴¹

Having made that determination, the president in October sent to John Quincy a private letter stating that his worthy mother had informed him about a precarious financial condition. As a result, John Quincy would receive an official document authorizing his leave and providing for the handling of the government’s business until the appointment of a successor. Yet, because he had not received any comparable news of application from John Quincy, the president wished that the emergency specified by Abigail was not his but hers. He went on to tell John Quincy that he desired him to continue his able service unless confronting an unreasonable sacrifice. Concluding, Madison said he relied upon John Quincy’s patriotism to make the correct decision.42

Replying, after the five months it took for the president’s communication to arrive in St. Petersburg, John Quincy thanked Madison for his kind confidential letter. He did not dodge the role of his mother, who during his life had been his “guardian Angel” as well as a parent. Alarmed at the news of his financial anxiety, she acted, he assured the president, from the best of motives, obviously believing that tactfulness had kept her son from petitioning for a recall.

John Quincy then turned to Madison’s open-ended permission to leave Russia. He let the president know that he had informed Count Rumiantsev of it, but he did not anticipate an early departure. He found his financial burden much less onerous than he had initially feared. Moreover, the winter season and family concerns—Louisa’s condition, which he did not specify—made such a move implausible anytime soon. He could easily wait for more detailed guidance and would assuredly act upon the government’s direction. Finally, he declared that he concurred with the president’s reasoning for his staying on for the time being. He would stand by his duty.⁴³

At about the same time John Quincy penned his letter to Madison, the chief executive acted to offer him a new and significant position as well as a superb reason for leaving Russia. He nominated John Quincy to fill a vacancy on the Supreme Court; on the day after receiving the nomination the Senate voted unanimously to confirm him as an associate justice. The president chose John Quincy because New England was due a seat on the high court, and from all angles John Quincy appeared to be an excellent choice.⁴⁴

News of his February appointment reached St. Petersburg in June 1811. A flattered John Quincy wrote the president that he deeply appreciated the appointment. He also informed his father that the Senate’s unanimous support for him gratified him more than anything else ever had. His father was supremely pleased, as was his mother. Both considered the court a worthy place for their son, and because of it the son would come home.45

John Quincy nonetheless declined the honor. His response to President Madison gave two reasons. The first, his family situation; Louisa’s pregnancy, again unspecified, made immediate travel impossible. And the early onset of the Russian winter meant another year would go by before he could get to America. That delay being unavoidable, he certainly could not expect the president to keep such a vital office vacant for that long. He also informed Madison that he had never found the legal world gratifying. Moreover, because most of his career had kept him away from courts of law, he seriously doubted his fitness for the bench.⁴⁶

Even before he learned about the Supreme Court, he had been quite frank to his brother Thomas about himself and the law and the judiciary. “As for the law, the little metal I ever had of it has gathered such an inveterate rust, that it will never take an edge of polish again,” he revealed. He also stipulated that he was too much a political partisan to become a judge. He hurried to add, however, that even though he knew how to adopt a nonpartisan stance, he would not care to place himself where he would have to do that as regularly as his perception of his duty would require.⁴⁷

Aware of his parents’ wish that he accept Madison’s offer, John Quincy took great pains to assure his father that throughout his life he had given foremost consideration to how any of his actions would reflect upon his parents. No office or award from anyone, he avowed, could offset any pain he would give them from any voluntary choice he made. He closed by stating he had every confidence that after weighing all his father would approve his decision not to become a member of the Supreme Court.⁴⁸

Although family and personal matters required John Quincy’s attention, he never neglected his diplomatic assignment. That he got along famously with both Count Rumiantsev and Tsar Alexander, and gained their respect, surely aided his professional task. From the outset he worked successfully for his country. Within weeks after his arrival he persuaded the tsar to use his influence with Denmark to secure the release of captured American ships held in Danish ports. He then prevailed upon Alexander to permit American vessels and cargoes detained in Russian waters to leave. John Quincy succeeded chiefly because the tsar was moving away from his close ties to Napoleon. He had been adhering to the French emperor’s Continental System, which banned from the Continent all goods from the British Empire and subjected neutral shipping suspected of carrying such cargo to capture and detention. In 1810, however, he formally announced Russia’s separation from Napoleon and his policies. Yet John Quincy’s own diplomatic talent undoubtedly contributed to his achieving a positive outcome for the United States.49

With Alexander’s rejecting the Continental System, the prospect opened for a formal commercial agreement between Russia and the United States. In January 1811 John Quincy reported to President Madison not only that the Russians desired a regular and permanent diplomatic relationship but also that he had been repeatedly led to believe they wanted a commercial treaty with the United States. He received instructions to proceed with negotiating such a treaty. Additionally, his guidelines directed him to include in it an agreement on trade along the northwest Pacific coast of North America where Russia had set up trading posts. Serious negotiations never got underway, however. Russia and France seemed headed toward war, which would place Russia in England’s camp. Simultaneously, increasing tensions between England and the United States made very uncertain the continuance of peace between them.⁵⁰

On the issue of hostilities among European powers, as always John Quincy insisted that the United States would not become involved. As he informed Count Rumiantsev, the cornerstone of American policy was to refrain from taking sides in any European clashes. Still, in the midst of confrontation among the European powers, his goal and that of his country was to keep open the seas for commerce carried in vessels of neutral countries like his own. The neutrals should have the right to trade unmolested by the antagonists. Although he did not deviate from his insistence on neutral rights, he became more and more troubled about the direction of America’s relations with England.51

From his time in the U.S. Senate, John Quincy had worried that his country could not escape war with England. He dreaded the potential contest, fearing that the United States had little chance of gaining anything and could very well lose that which was most precious, its independence. Although he kept hoping that conflict could be avoided, by the spring of 1812 he concluded that eventual armed struggle could not be averted. In his judgment America had to counter England’s conscious insults to its rights, particularly impressment and the interdiction of American vessels by the British navy. Never doubting the legitimacy of the American cause, he proclaimed to his brother, after the fighting had commenced, that if ever Almighty God saw a valid cause for war, it would be the American position in this instance. He summarized that Britain pushed oppression while the American side stood for “personal liberty.”⁵²

Nothing so disturbed him as the possibility that war with England would exacerbate the partisan strife that had ended his Senate career and made him a pariah among Federalists in New England. According to him, in the turmoil of war the stubborn pro-English among the New England Federalists might cause the dismemberment of America. That outcome would create in place of a single American nation “an endless multitude of little insignificant clans and tribes at eternal war with one another for a rock or a fish pond, the sport and fable of European masters and oppressors.” He had a sharply different desire and vision: “The whole continent of North America . . . destined by Divine Providence to be peopled by one nation.” For the success of the United States, the federal Union had to be maintained.⁵³

Shortly after war had been declared by the United States in the summer of 1812, and even before John Quincy had received official notification of the declaration, Count Rumiantsev informed John Quincy that Tsar Alexander offered to serve as a mediator. Now an ally of England against Napoleon as well as a friend and trading partner of the United States, the tsar wanted to halt hostilities between the two combatants, if possible. John Quincy replied that although he had no guidance on that subject he was confident his government would gladly accept Alexander’s tender. And in the summer of 1813 word reached St. Petersburg that the Madison administration had indeed responded positively. England’s agreement appeared uncertain, however.

With the military contest going quite badly for their side, President Madison and his new secretary of state, James Monroe, had not hesitated to embrace the initiative coming from Russia. Madison appointed Secretary of the Treasury Albert Gallatin, Swiss born and French speaking, along with Senator James Bayard, Federalist from Delaware, to act as commissioners with John Quincy in the hope for forthcoming discussions with England mediated by Tsar Alexander. Gallatin and Bayard promptly departed for Europe. Arriving in England, they learned that the English government had little interest in any Russian-brokered mediation. Even so, they journeyed on to St. Petersburg, which they reached in late July. There the three commissioners awaited developments. And for six months they waited without any official information about what was or was not going to happen. Tired of sitting with nothing to do, Gallatin and Bayard departed in January 1814.

Finally, news came from London that England would be willing to engage in direct talks with the United States at GÖteborg, Sweden. Receiving instructions to proceed to the Swedish city, John Quincy in April bade farewell to Louisa and his son Charles Francis and headed west.

During his years in St. Petersburg, John Quincy maintained his usual regime of rigorous self-examination. Never did he relax these musings. None of his political contemporaries equaled him in this effort. This investigation of himself formed part of his philosophical bent, which also underlay his penetrating analysis of his religion. This determination to understand and articulate himself contributed massively to his uniqueness among his peers. He believed that in Russia he had ably performed his official duties. In addition, he told himself he could not indict himself for any intentional wrong in his personal life. Even so, as always, he mourned his idleness. He chastised himself for not using his leisure more profitably because he had not focused on any subject. Comparing himself with possible competing contemporaries, he noted the gravest error rested in his overrating himself, a temptation he must guard against.54

Yet measuring himself against the ideal would lead to an estimation that would rightly lead to humility. He had, however, to avoid underrating himself because that would be beneath his dignity. He had to shun the excessive humility that could result in surrender to the wants of others. Admitting that throughout his life he had found this difficult, he closed his analysis of this continuing quandary with the conclusion that he must rely on Almighty God.⁵⁵

He expressed great concern about the anxiety that gripped him, observing that it too often burdened him. The effort to hold to “the perfect line between self-denial and self-indulgence” consumed him. It led him to conclude that temperance, which to him meant self-denial, even in excess was superior to the opposite.⁵⁶

The attempt to identify, achieve, and maintain this emotional balance created immense struggle for John Quincy. It was made vastly more difficult because of his ambition to reach the pinnacle both he and his parents had set for him, whatever and wherever that might be. Its identity and location were so unclear because neither he nor they had ever been specific about it. In 1812, on his forty-fifth birthday, he confided to his diary that after two-thirds of his life had gone by he had done nothing notable for his country or for humanity. Again, this self-deprecation set him apart. Because he believed that he had fallen short of self-set goals, he would only strive harder to find that sense of success so elusive for him. He hoped that he had lived with a commitment to his duties to society and a determination to fulfill them. His shortcomings, however, had at times caused him to deviate from the path of right. He cataloged them as “passions, indolence, weakness, and infirmity.” He thanked his Maker for all the blessings He had showered upon him and entreated Him for future kindnesses. Still, he declared, it was past time for making useless resolutions.57

A month after his departure from St. Petersburg, his trip delayed on land and sea by the palpable remnants of winter, John Quincy arrived in Stockholm. Following a short stay he continued westward to GÖteborg. Even before leaving Stockholm, he learned that the negotiations would not take place in Sweden. In GÖteborg he received word that the site had been moved to Ghent, in present-day Belgium. With that news John Quincy turned south. Traveling through the Netherlands stirred memories; in his diary he recorded that it appeared that he had returned home. Approaching The Hague, he admitted he felt pulsing sensations. That city he remembered as the location where he had grown from youth into manhood, leaving an unforgettable imprint on his mind. Finally, on June 24, he entered Ghent.⁵⁸

Within a short time all of his fellow commissioners had reported to the small city. President Madison had appointed five commissioners, adding two to the original three he had designated following Tsar Alexander’s offer of mediation. The individuals composing the group made for an unusually strong contingent. The president could not have put together an abler and more inclusive group. Named to preside was John Quincy, the most experienced active American diplomat, well versed in European diplomacy and politics.

Joining him were the two holdovers, Albert Gallatin and James Bayard, both of whom had spent time with John Quincy a year earlier in St. Petersburg. There Gallatin had impressed John Quincy. The senior among the five, Gallatin was even more well-known in Europe than John Quincy and had a larger reputation. After immigrating to the United States from his native Switzerland and finally settling in Pennsylvania, he rose rapidly in the Republican party until he became Jefferson’s and then Madison’s secretary of the treasury. His foreign birth meant, however, that the presidency was beyond his reach. He vacated his cabinet office for this foreign duty. He brought not only recognition in Europe, along with knowledge of European culture and manners, but also an urbane outlook and a moderating temperament heightened by the use of humor. The third original member, the reasonable, thoughtful Bayard, a former Federalist senator from Delaware, ensured that his party had representation in Ghent, though he did not line up with the antiwar zealots dominating New England Federalism.

The two new appointees brought different strengths. Without question the more notable was Henry Clay of Kentucky, an extraordinarily talented politician, Republican leader, and ardent champion of the war, who had become Speaker of the House of Representatives and probably the most influential member of Congress. He stepped down from the speakership to accept Madison’s invitation to go abroad. Ten years younger, Clay had impressed John Quincy when both sat in the Senate. He was quite a figure, John Quincy then wrote, “an orator—and a republican of the first fire.” Completing the group, and its youngest and least distinguished member, Jonathan Russell of Massachusetts, though not a native of the state, had occupied diplomatic positions in both London and Paris and had just been named the first American minister to Sweden. At Ghent he attached himself to Clay, becoming practically an acolyte of the Kentuckian.59

For John Quincy working intimately with these four would mean a new experience. As his country’s chief diplomat in the Netherlands, Prussia, and Russia, he operated mostly on his own, with basically a free hand in how he carried out instructions from the government back in the United States. He had not had to interact with colleagues of real ability and equal rank. In the Senate he had surely belonged to a larger body, but senators basically remained on their own. Although committees did exist, senators were not separated into small units charged with the sole responsibility to find a solution to a complex problem. Even so, John Quincy discovered himself essentially an outlier, finding it hard to become a congenial and cooperative member of the club. Having to associate closely with other able, strong-willed men on such a critical mission was unprecedented for him, and the assignment would test his ability to manage his strong opinions and rein in his temper so that he could contribute to harmony within the group.

John Quincy fully grasped the gravity of the task at Ghent. Failure to negotiate an honorable end to the war could result in disaster for the United States, already reeling from a dismal military performance and with government finances in a shambles. Yet, as he assured his father, he would never countenance submitting to Great Britain, nor would his colleagues or their superiors back in Washington. That all five commissioners were of one mind on this topic signaled a unified approach to the most critical issue.60

In John Quincy’s view three of his fellows would pose no serious difficulty in maintaining unity of outlook and collegiality among them. He recognized real strength in both Bayard and Gallatin, though unsurprisingly he found neither without shortcomings. Bayard he considered capable and judicious. The worldly, talented Gallatin would make every effort to effect a cordial team endeavor. The most junior of all, Russell, who had traveled from Sweden with John Quincy, would defer to his seniors, originating no disputes.⁶¹

For John Quincy, Clay was the unknown quantity. From his observations in the Senate, he initially had a positive impression of the personable, tall, lanky Kentuckian. Still, the two men were both alike and different. Supreme ambition drove both. Each evinced self-confidence and self-importance as well as a volatile temper. Profound differences marked them, however. A social lion, Clay relished convivial occasions, imbibing alcohol, smoking cigars, and playing cards late into the night—a tonic for him. John Quincy barely tolerated such events and practices. A superb student of practical politics, Clay had little interest in intellectual pursuits. Regarding social and intellectual matters the two men were exact opposites. Each, however, counted himself an ardent patriot who would steadfastly guard the fundamental interests of his country.

Although the American delegation had gathered in Ghent, negotiations did not begin right away, for their British opposites had not yet arrived, and would not for another month. While locating suitable quarters and getting settled, the Americans discussed their mission among themselves. John Quincy reported that despite different backgrounds and temperaments they got along amazingly well.62

John Quincy’s assessment of the mission rang true, but he overstated the harmony. His own predilections and conduct contributed to a gap in sociableness. The smoking and drinking, led by Clay, put him off. He noted in his diary that they suited neither his habits nor his health. As a result he separated himself and dined alone. He asserted that such socializing took too much time, especially keeping him away from his writing, which always consumed many hours. In Ghent his normal practice differentiated him even more sharply from his colleagues, for each of them had a secretary to assist in their copying and correspondence. John Quincy had none; moreover, he had his diary to maintain. Displeased by John Quincy’s removing himself, the gregarious Clay expressed regret about the withdrawal. Accepting Clay’s intervention as a positive overture, John Quincy decided that hereafter he would dine with the others. That he did.⁶³

The three British commissioners arrived in Ghent in early August. Although they did not match the Americans in prestige in their own country, they had ability and made for a solid team. With Ghent so close to London, the British government, most importantly the foreign minister, Lord Castlereagh, wanted tight control over its men. While the deliberations in Ghent obviously mattered, for Great Britain was fighting a war with the United States, European affairs remained primary. Napoleon had been defeated; British and other allied troops occupied Paris, with the great British warrior the Duke of Wellington in command. To fashion a new order following the end of the Napoleonic Wars, the victorious powers had decided to meet in Vienna. That assembly and its outcome were much more crucial to the British than what transpired in Ghent.

Still, at Ghent the initial British strategy aimed at determining just how stalwartly the Americans would stand. The proposals the British first presented to end the fighting treated the United States as a foe already defeated. The major points were these: the United States must relinquish control of the Great Lakes, meaning American demilitarization, as well as portions of Maine; a new independent Indian state must be created between the Ohio River and the Great Lakes, a sine qua non for a treaty; maritime rights and impressment were off-limits; the special fishing privileges awarded to the United States at the end of the Revolution would not be renewed without a forthcoming equivalent. The British would consider their side triumphant if the Americans either agreed or indicated they would have to obtain further instructions from their government. The former, of course, would leave a measurably weaker and geographically hemmed-in United States; the latter would allow time for additional British military successes, which could lead to an even more draconian settlement.

The Americans were horrified by what they considered a harsh and utterly unacceptable proposal. To John Quincy the British initiative “opened to us, the alternative of a long, expensive and sanguinary War, or submission to disgraceful conditions, and sacrifices little short of Independence itself.” His fellows shared his bleak outlook, except for Clay. The inveterate gambler surmised that the British might back away somewhat from their extreme position. John Quincy thought that prospect impossible. In addition, the Americans regarded the British delegates as overbearing and insulting, as superiors talking down to inferiors.64

Even so, the five Americans had to decide how to respond. After deliberating, they agreed they would reject the British conditions, but not request further guidance from Washington. They had already concluded that Britain would not grant concessions on impressment and maritime rights, the expressed reasons for declaring war in 1812. They simply dropped these two items. On the question of territorial integrity and an Indian state, however, they refused to bend. They would prepare a written response.

Their reply rejected totally the transfer of the Great Lakes to Great Britain and the creation of an Indian state. The former would diminish the United States and leave it vulnerable to British depredations from Canada. In John Quincy’s words the latter would turn over an immense territory to “wandering hunters” who could never become “civilized” with “permanent habitations, and a state of property like our own.” Harking back to his Plymouth oration of 1802, he declared it completely unacceptable “to condemn vast regions of territory to perpetual barrenness and solitude that a few hundred savages might find wild beasts to hunt upon it.” He termed such a proposition “a species of game law that a nation descended from Britons would never endure,” denouncing it as inconsistent with moral truth and physical reality. No treaty he and his colleagues avowed could block Americans from immigrating to and civilizing that land.65

Although all five commissioners stood firm on American independence, differences did exist among them. Members differed on the lengths of notes to the British and on the language in them. As the chair of the delegation, John Quincy started out drafting the American papers. His compatriots applied a heavy editing hand to his prose, however. He did not welcome this kind of rejection, but he acquiesced in it. Eventually, with John Quincy’s consent, Gallatin, the peacemaker within the group, took over the drafting duties. Yet John Quincy felt it necessary for him to make drafts as if he were solely responsible.⁶⁶

He also noticed that neither Gallatin’s drafts nor anything else written by others encountered the disapproval that his did. If anyone objected to his production, he observed, all the others agreed, meaning he could not prevail. In contrast, his objections tended to be dismissed. No matter this discrepancy and slight, John Quincy accepted with good grace both Gallatin’s primary authorship and the criticisms his own efforts received.67

Throughout the autumn of 1814 the two parties sent notes with proposals and responses back and forth. Events on the battlefields in America surely affected the talks in Ghent. In August, British troops had successfully assaulted Washington, burning the presidential mansion and the Capitol, actions John Quincy condemned as “Gothic barbarism.” Even though that news, which they possessed by October 1, depressed him and his colleagues, they did not retreat on what they interpreted as American independence. Later, in September, a British advance southward from Canada had been turned back by American army and naval forces at Plattsburgh and on Lake Champlain, in northern New York State, thwarting the British effort to sever antiwar New England from the rest of the United States. In November, when intelligence of that outcome reached across the Atlantic, the British rethought their stance and the Americans took heart.⁶⁸

During the course of the negotiations John Quincy and Clay stood out as the most forceful members of the team. Despite their shared commitment to preserve their country’s independence, their perceptions of Great Britain’s basic negotiating strategy differed sharply. From the outset Clay believed that the British were running a bluff, that they would pull back their most onerous demands if the Americans held firm. He never gave up that conviction. In contrast, John Quincy was convinced that the British were deadly serious, determined to insist on tough terms that would weaken and diminish the United States. Like Clay, he clung to his belief.

Clay made his point in early December by urging that his side play “brag” with the British. According to John Quincy, he argued that the British had been doing so since the beginning and that now the Americans should respond in kind. He asked John Quincy whether he knew how to play the game; John Quincy replied that he had forgotten. Clay then gave a tutorial: “He said the art of it was to beat your adversary by holding your hand, with a solemn and confident phiz, and outbragging them.” Part of the conversation, James Bayard agreed that Clay correctly described the game. But he injected that you could lose by bragging once your opponent detected your weakness. John Quincy recorded that then Bayard spoke directly to him: “Mr. Clay is for bragging a million against a cent.” This exchange changed no one’s makeup or outlook.69

Not only did Clay and John Quincy read British diplomatic strategy differently; they also clashed on two serious substantive matters—British access to the Mississippi River and America’s ability to catch fish in Canadian (that is, British) waters and dry them in Canadian territory, combined as the fisheries issue. In less than a decade this contention would have repercussions for John Quincy. According to the treaty ending the American Revolution, both countries enjoyed freedom of navigation on the Mississippi, and Britain granted to America the “right” of the fisheries. An adamant Clay made clear that he would sign no treaty that permitted the British to reach the Mississippi, the great artery of the American West. At the same time he would give on the fisheries.

John Quincy, in turn, announced that he would put his name on no treaty that abrogated in any way the “right” of the fisheries, central to the economy of New England, especially Massachusetts. Regarding the Mississippi, he would compromise, allowing the British limited access through a single route with customs duties charged.

Even though deeply held beliefs led to vigorous discussions, John Quincy reported them as occurring with good humor. Clay claimed that John Quincy was obdurate on the fisheries only because his father had obtained that specific “right” in the earlier treaty. John Quincy admitted that his father’s accomplishments influenced him, but he insisted this was not central. He spoke of two crucial matters. First, in 1783 the British had granted a “right,” not simply a privilege, and in his mind the current war could not eliminate a “right.” Second, as a Massachusetts man and New Englander, he could not stand by and countenance the destruction of an essential segment of his state’s and section’s economy.70

On the Mississippi, he maintained that his compromise really gave Britain nothing consequential. Reminding his fellows that no water route connected Canada to the great river, he observed that any British traders would have to travel a considerable distance overland to reach it. Moreover, he would allow them to enter United States territory at just a single point and require payment of a customs duty. He foresaw no threating British traffic.

The arguments of neither man persuaded the other. Yet Clay clearly prevailed. He had support on his Mississippi position, while John Quincy had none on the fisheries. Jonathan Russell did indicate he would side with John Quincy, though not if doing so would torpedo a treaty. Confronting their standoff, the commissioners decided to press neither issue. Instead, they would see how the negotiations developed.

Even though occupied with arduous tasks, John Quincy strove to maintain his personal schedule. Following his standard practice, he detailed his routine in his diary. He usually rose between five and six, lit his fire, then wrote, including letters, until breakfast at nine, and for an hour or two afterwards. The mission met regularly at two in the afternoon, a session that normally lasted until four, though special meetings occurred when needed. At four the group dined, remaining at table for two to three hours. In the evening he engaged in a little reading or writing. He either took walks or joined his colleagues in various activities.

He had one notable complaint. He failed to maintain his habit of exercising. It was a fault he declared he had to correct, for it had led to his gaining too much weight, with the result “that industry becomes irksome for me.” His final judgment came in familiar form: he urged himself not to fall into an indolent state.⁷¹

In the midst of strenuous debates among themselves and vexing encounters with their British opposites, the American commissioners did enjoy an active social life, in which John Quincy fully participated. A company of French actors performed several times a week. John Quincy was critical, terming them the worst French performers he had ever seen. There was also a group of English players. Concerts and galas took place twice each week. Outings to public houses occurred. The townspeople were congenial hosts; in response the Americans on one occasion hosted a tea-and-card party attended by 130 people. At this affair John Quincy rebuffed neither the dancing nor the games of whist. He admitted that even while coping with their heavy workload, he and his fellows could enjoy themselves as much as they desired.72

As the autumn weeks passed, the two parties sent notes back and forth. Details changed, but the British kept pushing and the Americans kept holding on. Wanting to benefit from the army’s successes on the ground, the British pressed for language that would stipulate uti possidetis, meaning that each side would retain the territory it held at the signing of the treaty. Rejecting that approach, the Americans clung to the status quo ante bellum, no territory lost.

The last month of 1814 opened with little fundamental movement. Both sides seemed entrenched. The two most vocal Americans had not changed their minds about British intentions. John Quincy remained convinced that the British intended to humble the United States. Henry Clay was still persuaded that the British would back away from their most onerous demands.

Yet change, swift change, was about to occur. The combined reverses at Plattsburgh and on Lake Champlain prodded the British government to reassess its war aims and negotiating strategy. For more than two decades Britain had been battling France. The defeat of Napoleon brought enormous relief to a weary populace, who had grown tired of the mobilization and taxation essential to carry on the extended conflict. More of each would be required to continue the struggle in America. The government worried about public support. Moreover, British merchants were eager to reopen the profitable trade with America, long curtailed by policy and war.

There were additional considerations. Trying to decide whether to pursue its undertaking across the Atlantic, the British government asked the country’s greatest military hero to take command in America. The Duke of Wellington replied that as a professional soldier he would go if ordered. But he told his superiors that he saw little chance for real success unless the British navy could gain superiority on the Great Lakes, a goal that would require additional resources. He added that he did not believe the British military position on the ground supported the exacting of major territorial concessions from the Americans.

Finally, meeting simultaneously with the conference at Ghent, the Congress of Vienna was deciding on the future of Europe. The major European powers once united against Napoleon now advanced their own interests. The American war complicated Britain’s relations with its peers in Vienna, who had their own commercial and territorial objectives. Continuing its belligerent American policy could easily end up jeopardizing Britain’s agenda on the Continent and at sea. All these influences combined led the British government to decide that the American war had to end. It would not wait for the outcome of a major thrust underway that targeted the southernmost part of the United States, the coastal area along the Gulf of Mexico, including the city of New Orleans.

Having reached that decision, the British government determined to reach a quick agreement at Ghent. It would retreat from thorny issues like territorial acquisition, accepting the American position of status quo ante bellum. Other difficult questions, such as navigation on the Mississippi, the fisheries, impressment, and neutral rights, would simply be omitted from the document. Postwar commissions would be set up to handle other contentious matters like the precise boundary between northern Maine and Canada.

On Christmas Eve of 1814 the negotiators signed what became known as the Treaty of Ghent. Although the American commissioners had gained nothing on the stated reasons for going to war, impressment and neutral rights, they had not wilted under British pressure. The United States emerged whole, with no loss of territory. When the treaty reached Washington in mid-February 1815, a delighted and relieved President Madison immediately placed it before the Senate. On the very next day that body voted unanimously to ratify it. Of course, the treaty was signed in Europe prior to the major American victory over the British at the Battle of New Orleans on January 8. While that triumph lifted American morale, it did not cause any reconsideration of the treaty negotiated by John Quincy and his companions. The United States desperately wanted no more war.

With good reason John Quincy and his colleagues believed that their country had done as well as it possibly could have at Ghent. On the night of the signing, John Quincy confided to his diary that he thanked God for permitting the success of the negotiations. He also prayed that the peace would benefit his country. A week later he declared that 1814 had been the most exceptional year he had known. Writing to a friend, he acknowledged that Ghent had not gained the stated reasons for going to war, but, most importantly, the treaty did not disgrace the United States.73

In the immediate aftermath both delegations appeared delighted with their handiwork. A festival atmosphere prevailed in the small city. Dinners were held, with bands playing “God Save the King” and “Hail, Columbia,” and toasts given, the British to America and the Americans to Great Britain. John Quincy even raised his glass to the king of England, still George III, and still an infamous name to Americans. Henry Clay thoroughly enjoyed these celebratory social occasions, though he never mentioned prayers.

John Quincy also relished a less formal celebration. The daughter of a resident with whom he had become friendly sang couplets to honor him. In response he wrote four verses for her. To present them, he recorded in his diary, he “went to a bookseller’s shop, purchased three small volumes of Etrenne’s Géographiques, with colored plates, packed them up with [his] song,” and addressed them to the young girl with a note to her mother requesting that they be presented in his name.⁷⁴

He had one other self-assigned task to tend to prior to leaving Ghent. Early in January he agreed to sit for the Flemish artist Pieter van Huffel, who had already done pencil sketches of Bayard, Clay, and Gallatin. He persuaded John Quincy to permit him to paint an oil portrait. Although the painting had not been completed when John Quincy left, he liked what he saw, remarking to his wife that the artist had indeed captured the way he looked. In van Huffel’s portrait, John Quincy has the same dark eyes and eyebrows as the younger man painted by John Singleton Copley back in 1796, though he now has less hair and more jaw. This older man looks directly at the painter or the viewer, smiles quizzically, and holds a furled document, surely meant to be the treaty. He projects the self-assurance of a man of accomplishment, an emotion he certainly felt at the time.75

Within a month after completing their work, the American commissioners began exiting Ghent. They had decided that while awaiting news of the treaty’s final ratifications, they would decamp to Paris. Upon his own departure John Quincy mused in his diary about his stay in Ghent. He noted that he had resided there for seven months and two days and that it had been “the most memorable” period of his life.⁷⁶

He left for Paris on January 26. Although he did not know how long he would be in that city, he had two great desires. First, he did not want to go back to the perpetual Russian winter. Second, and more importantly, he anticipated a reunion with his wife and son, whom he had not seen for nine months.⁷⁷

Toward the end of December he had written Louisa, inviting her to join him in the French capital. He informed her that he did not believe he would return to Russia and that he had asked President Madison to recall him from that post. Additionally, he alluded to the possibility that he might get assigned to London. As a result he wanted her to close down their quarters, disposing of the furniture as she saw fit. Then she and Charles Francis should set out for Paris, where he would be eagerly awaiting them.⁷⁸

En route John Quincy made a stop in Brussels, which provided a preview of what awaited him in Paris. After the arduous months in Ghent, he eagerly embraced the opportunity to visit an extensive private art collection and library. In this place he spent hours devouring paintings by the Dutch and Flemish greats, including Holbein, Rembrandt, Rubens, and Van Dyck. Italian masters were also represented. There was a Leonardo da Vinci as well as one about which John Quincy commented that if it were his, he would not trade it for all the rest—The Holy Family by Guido Reni. This delightful interlude would have held no interest for John Quincy’s Ghent partner Henry Clay.79

On February 4 he arrived in Paris and took an apartment in a house. Describing his feelings in a later letter to his mother, he rhapsodized about “the great city where all the fascinations of a luxurious metropolis had first charmed the senses of my childhood and dazzled the imagination of my youth.” He remembered that then he “was at an age when the hey-day of the blood is tame, and waits upon judgement.” Now he had observed much of the world and could better assess the attractions of what he called “that fairy land.”⁸⁰

Yet the temptations of that “fairy land” remained strong. He remarked in his diary that he did not seem able to resist tending toward dissipation. Even at forty-seven he was not immune. “There is a moral incapacity for industry and application, a ‘mollesse’ against which I am as ill-guarded as I was at twenty,” he admitted.⁸¹

He feasted on the bounty of the city. He walked the boulevards, visited the courts and the National Museum, enjoyed the opera. His special delight the theater captured him; he attended night after night, no matter the quality of the plays or the performers. Works by Molière, the seventeenth-century French playwright, particularly engaged him. Then he visited men he had known in former times, notably the Marquis de Lafayette. He was also introduced at court to Louis XVIII, placed on the throne by the victorious powers. The king inquired whether he was related to the famous Mr. Adams.⁸²

During his initial weeks in the city he awaited the arrival of his wife and his son. While John Quincy had a tranquil, even pleasurable, trip to Paris, Louisa Adams was embarked on a harrowing and hazardous overland trek of nearly three thousand miles across eastern and western Europe. And she traveled in the midst of winter, leaving St. Petersburg on February 12 with Charles Francis and three servants. Determined to make as much time as possible, she pushed on day and night through lands still reeling from months and years of warfare. Finally, after forty days on the road, she reached her husband’s lodgings in Paris at eleven in the evening on March 23.83

John Quincy had returned from the theater just prior to her arrival. Nothing else could have so dramatized the difference in how they had spent the previous five and a half weeks. John Quincy luxuriated in the offerings of a magnificent city; Louisa Catherine heroically traversed the war-ravaged, still dangerous European continent. John Quincy’s diary provides no glimpse into his emotions on rejoining his long-absent family. Nor does her journal detail hers. What does seem evident is that he exhibited little interest in her remarkable journey, though she did indicate that her odyssey amazed him.⁸⁴

Once reunited, the couple appeared to enjoy the Parisian attractions together. Louisa Adams showed no ill effects from her dramatic adventure. They went on walks and frequented museums, with Charles Francis often along. Nighttime found John Quincy and Louisa in the theater, where they saw almost every kind of performance, from opera to pantomime. She also occasionally accompanied him on visits to acquaintances and associates, though she did not hesitate to decline invitations.⁸⁵

John Quincy was in Paris at a tumultuous moment—the return of Napoleon. The defeated emperor refused to stay in exile on the Mediterranean island of Elba. Escaping from Elba, he landed on the southern French coast on March 1 and by the twentieth had made it to the capital. Along the way the populace hailed him, and old soldiers lined up alongside him. Even troops dispatched to capture him refused to do so, instead joining his ever-growing band. The cry “Vive l’Empereur” resounded through the countryside and eventually in the city.

A fascinated John Quincy occupied a box seat for this extraordinary occurrence. Making every effort to view the great man, he succeeded, even though he never really got close. And he never received an introduction. He did observe the emperor in church, at the theater, and in a window appearing before a cheering crowd of French citizens. He reported that on one occasion he had a good look at the great man’s face. During John Quincy’s residence in Paris this wondrous character once again captured the attention of all of Europe.86

Napoleon both captivated and repelled John Quincy. The enthusiasm of the French for their returned leader impressed him. According to him Napoleon had gained more power on the Continent than anyone else since Charlemagne back in the eighth and ninth centuries. But he had also done more harm than any other living man. Later, after Napoleon’s death, John Quincy continued to think about him. In his estimation the emperor was undoubtedly a military genius, who also possessed an extraordinary imagination and did some good. He had a great failing, however—no moral principle guided him. John Quincy’s final assessment: “Napoleon and his preternatural power have crumbled into dust, and now he becomes the moral of a sermon against selfishness.”⁸⁷

While an onlooker at the resurgence of Napoleonic France, John Quincy waited on news about the official ratification of the Treaty of Ghent as well as about his new assignment. He learned in mid-March that his country had ratified the treaty; Great Britain had done so earlier. In early May he received notification of his commission, as minister plenipotentiary to Great Britain.

On May 16 he and his family left Paris for the French coast and the short voyage across the English Channel to his new diplomatic home. In his diary he mulled over his sojourn in the French capital. His reflections revealed his unending struggle with his sense of duty. He wrote that in Paris he had spent three leisurely and agreeable months, but had accomplished nothing useful.88

John Quincy and Louisa, with Charles Francis, arrived in London on May 25. They found waiting for them at their lodgings the two sons they had left behind in Massachusetts almost six years earlier. John Quincy observed that George, fourteen, had grown almost beyond their recognition, while John, nearly twelve, remained small for his age. Except for the phrase “my dear sons,” their father’s diary maintains silence on the emotion he undoubtedly felt upon seeing the boys from whom he had been apart for so long. The drama of this reunion he kept to himself.⁸⁹

During the summer he engaged in a variety of activities with his sons. They took walks in London parks, went to theaters and museums. He and Louisa were unfamiliar with rambunctious boys of George’s and John’s ages who created much commotion in the household. Still, on July 11, his forty-eighth birthday, John Quincy recorded his joy in his diary. The past year, he wrote, “has in relation to public affairs been the most important year of my life, and in my private and domestic relations one of the most happy years.”⁹⁰

Of course, John Quincy’s professional responsibilities required his attention. Two of his negotiating partners from Ghent, Henry Clay and Albert Gallatin, had preceded him to London. They had already begun work on the commercial treaty the three of them had been charged to complete. Because Clay and Gallatin had done so much, John Quincy did not take a major part in the discussions with British officials. It became clear, however, that a meaningful treaty was beyond their reach, for the British would compromise on neither critical trade matters nor impressment. Finally, both sides agreed upon a narrower convention that basically restated existing conditions, with a key added provision prohibiting discriminatory provisions on exports, imports, and port charges by either party. Castlereagh shifted the major issues to Washington, where additional Anglo-American talks would take place.⁹¹

Although deliberations among the Americans on what eventually became the convention were generally amiable, a sharp disagreement erupted over the order of signatures. The final document listed Great Britain ahead of the United States on every occasion. John Quincy insisted they should alternate, arguing that in treaties between European powers such alternation—the principle of alternat in diplomatic usage—always occurred. Neither Clay nor Gallatin thought the order mattered. They believed it of no importance, even though Secretary of State Monroe had set it as a guideline in his instructions.

An adamant John Quincy vowed he would not sign the convention without the alternat. He saw it as an essential signal of British respect for an equal power. American prestige required it. According to John Quincy, a heated exchange took place, in which Gallatin told him not to lose his temper. John Quincy replied that his two companions might sign, but he never would. In the end John Quincy prevailed, with the British acquiescing. Afterwards he reported that he and Gallatin remained composed and in good humor with each other. Immediately thereafter Clay and Gallatin exited the British capital, leaving John Quincy in sole charge of American affairs in the country.92

On August 1 the Adams family moved to the village of Ealing, only eight miles west. Finding their lodgings too small and London rental prices too high for a suitable house, Louisa searched elsewhere and discovered a delightful house in Ealing. It already had a most appropriate name, Little Boston House.

After moving, the parents made it a priority to find a school for their boys. Grandmother Abigail counseled John Quincy to use a light hand with her grandsons. You must realize that you cannot treat children as if they were adults, she advised. Her son determined, however, to adhere to the formula that he was convinced had succeeded with him. Only a mile from Little Boston House, he and Louisa found a boarding school, the Great Ealing School, that met their approval for John and Charles Francis. George would be kept at home, where his father would take charge of preparations for entering Harvard.⁹³

John Quincy established a strict regimen for his eldest. To ensure that his role as tutor in Ealing would not interfere with his job as diplomat in London, John Quincy roused George from bed by six for their lessons to begin. He had his son read from the French Bible while he followed in the Latin, after which they exchanged Bibles. Then, of course, there were the essential Latin assignments. Lamenting in his diary that George was proving an indifferent student, John Quincy realized a change had to occur. After only two months of this home schooling, George joined his brothers at Great Ealing School, though as a day student.

Even so, John Quincy kept his hand in the boy’s education. Because George had to be at school at seven, early morning lessons remained the norm. He had George continuing in the French Bible while adding the Greek New Testament and the Latin Vulgate Old Testament. Moreover, every day George recited fifty lines of Homer for his father.94

Although nothing mattered more to John Quincy than his son’s education, in the autumn of 1815 he had to cope with two serious health issues. In mid-October while firing a pistol bought to teach the boys the proper use of firearms, he suffered a serious accident. When he pulled the trigger, the weapon, overloaded with powder, flew from his hands. His right hand was wounded in several places, including the forefinger, which became infected. Complete healing took months.⁹⁵

Later that same month his left eye became inflamed. Heavy discharge flowed from the eye; he could barely open it. The treatment prescribed by his physician included applying leeches. “I was nearly delirious,” he recorded. With the leeches “it seemed to me as if four hooks were tearing that side of my face into four quarters.” For weeks he could not leave a dark room. By early November he had improved. Then infection struck the right eye, though not with equal ferocity. By midmonth his vision had almost returned to normal, but daylight still caused some pain. Although his physician claimed responsibility for saving his sight, John Quincy gave more credit to a natural remedy—the passage of time.⁹⁶

These afflictions affected John Quincy mightily. With his right hand incapacitated, he anguished over his changed lifestyle. He worried about when he could resume his duties, since with his eye disorder he could not read. At the end of November he noted that in the previous thirty years he had never read or written so little in a single month. So compulsive was he about his reading and writing during the month that his wife stepped in as reader and writer. She took dictation for his correspondence and diary, and she started reading to him, particularly novels by Maria Edgeworth and Sir Walter Scott, who at that time was all the rage in England. By the end of the year he was up and about and slowly beginning to read and write once more.97

By early 1816 he had fully returned to his official tasks. From the outset of his time in London, his chief contact with the British government was the foreign minister, still Lord Castlereagh. In their initial meeting John Quincy recorded Castlereagh’s conduct as gracious. He considered the foreign minister handsome, though with a frosty, albeit not repugnant, manner. Before their meetings John Quincy spent much time preparing a detailed agenda. He took particular care when writing to Castlereagh, confessing that his colleagues’ criticism in Ghent had made him distrust his own productions. Even though his experience there had jarred his confidence, he realized that now he had to act in his own way. He told himself that whatever mistakes he might make, “let there be . . . no deficiency of earnest zeal.”⁹⁸

His various responsibilities made for a full schedule. The correspondence and reporting with other American diplomats in Europe and with his government back in the United States took up many hours. Almost every American visiting England appeared in his office whenever any questions arose. American citizens who had been released from service in the British navy, into which they had been impressed, came to him for assistance in returning to the United States. In addition, Britons searching for some patronage from the American government crossed his threshold. A harried diplomat fumed, “One would imagine that the American legation at London was the moon of Aristo, or Milton’s Paradise of Fools—the place where things lost upon the Earth were to be found.”99

He spent much time, however, on more serious matters, especially issues that had been passed over or not finalized in the Treaty of Ghent. Most important to John Quincy was the fisheries question. Since Ghent, some difficulties had arisen for American fishermen off the coast of the Canadian maritime provinces. Although Castlereagh would not come to John Quincy’s position on the “right” of fisheries, he did repudiate the harassment of American fishermen by the British navy. Moreover, he continued the hands-off policy that permitted the fishing. Finally, as with the trade issue, he transferred the entire subject to Washington to become part of a more thorough settlement in British-American relations.

John Quincy also pressed on the treaty provisions requiring British compensation for slaves taken by the British military during the war—in his words at Ghent those “negroes seduced from their masters in our Southern States by promises of liberty.” Castlereagh argued that the British were responsible only for those slaves within British garrisons when the war ended, not for those on board British ships, or on vessels in American territorial waters. Even when the British made a moral case for those slaves, John Quincy insisted that the treaty recognized slaves as private property, requiring the British to compensate their owners. With the two sides unable to agree on how to resolve this dispute, John Quincy suggested arbitration by a third party. The British concurred.¹⁰⁰

John Quincy and Castlereagh discussed another slavery-related topic. An article in the Ghent treaty pledged both governments to make their best effort to end the African slave trade. The British had eliminated the trade to their colonies, and the United States in 1808 had outlawed the trade to its shores. Nevertheless, the trade continued to destinations in the West Indies and South America. The British wanted all maritime powers, including America, to join in a program that would allow naval ships of all to board any vessel suspected of transporting African slaves. With memories of Britain’s impressment policy so fresh, John Quincy could not endorse any plan permitting the British navy to stop and search American ships. This subject would recur.

During his months as minister plenipotentiary, John Quincy and Castlereagh grew to respect each other. John Quincy was always thorough and diplomatic in his dealings, while Castlereagh adopted a conciliatory posture toward his former enemy. That John Quincy could make little substantive headway on serious concerns did frustrate him. He could not achieve anything tangible, he informed his father. He adopted an overriding goal—to advocate peace, he told his father in another letter. He was absolutely convinced that peace served the best interests of both countries.101

Business did not totally occupy John Quincy when he was away from Little Boston House. He and Louisa experienced a social life that was simultaneously active and inactive. As a fully credentialed member of the diplomatic corps, John Quincy received invitations to many affairs in London, which he and Louisa attended. In fact, he complained that frequent calls to London interfered with his keeping up his diary and correspondence. On one occasion during dinner in Ealing, a card arrived inviting him to a party in the city later that same evening. He changed clothes and went to London, not returning home until almost daylight.

At the same time, the Adamses did little socializing with the British upper classes outside of official functions. Although John Quincy well understood “the benefit to a public minister of associating with people of rank and consequence in the country where he is accredited,” he had to contend with two facts. First, invitations from the upper classes did not flow to Little Boston House. Second, he was always aware of his financial limitations. As a result he did not seek out such bids, because he did not want to appear “only as a retainer, receiving unrequited favors, and not as an equal, sharing and dispensing by turns the interchange of social good offices.” He felt strongly, “If I cannot join in the chorus of the convivial song, and let him spread the table tomorrow, I would fain not be listening to it at the table of another.” To his diary he confided “the perpetually mortifying consciousness of inability to return the civility in the same manner.”102

His attendance at official social events placed him in situations that both perturbed and amused him. His old struggle with extemporaneous speaking reappeared when he was called upon to respond to a toast at a London dinner. According to him he made a gushing response that left him greatly embarrassed, though he asserted his remarks were well received. At another dinner when his blunt comments about the weather in Russia offended the Russian ambassador and his wife, John Quincy felt acute discomfort. On still another occasion the noted British chemist Sir Humphry Davy held forth on his travels and chemical discoveries. Describing this dinner table lecture, John Quincy quipped, in his diary of course, “If modesty is an inseparable companion of genius, Sir Humphry is a prodigy.” In general these functions did not suit John Quincy’s temperament. To his diary he identified himself as stodgy in these circumstances. Based on his own record of his behavior at numerous such affairs, he surely exaggerated. At the same time this description allowed him to indulge his penchant for self-deprecation.¹⁰³

He met another notable Englishman with whom he had an interesting relationship. Jeremy Bentham, an originator of modern social science and an advocate of political reform in his country, initially called on John Quincy. The two men saw each other often at meals and on walks. They discussed politics in America and Great Britain as well as numerous other subjects, including religion. Bentham’s learning along with his originality and kindness impressed John Quincy, though his feeling that his friend was an atheist did not. Later the Englishman stated that their friendship had become intimate.¹⁰⁴

John Quincy spent many of his private hours involved in the activities that had always engrossed him. He composed a multitude of poems in various forms on a variety of topics. In doing so, he gave in to a self-proclaimed and all-consuming ambition. To his diary he admitted that if he could have chosen his calling he would have been a great poet. Even so, his self-awareness made him recognize that he fell far short of that goal. He understood that he had written much mediocre verse. Even more, he judged the time spent on his versifying as time wasted.105

Books and the theater were always available. He did not neglect his constant companions, the Bible and Shakespeare. He also read a recently published canto of Lord Byron’s Childe Harold. Sir Walter Scott’s new novels occupied him, whether he did the reading or, while ill, listened to Louisa. Although he praised Scott’s delineation of characters and style, he considered the incidents overly romantic and unrealistic, and he disclaimed the credence awarded superstition. At the theater he relished Shakespearean productions. He did manage an unusual diversion, a visit to an exhibition featuring a rhinoceros, an animal that fascinated him.¹⁰⁶

No matter his myriad tasks and entertainments, John Quincy never forgot his commitment to his diary. In the summer of 1816 he noted that maintaining his diary put him under constant pressure. It was not only keeping his journal up-to-date that concerned him; he also worried about its inclusiveness. Following several engagements in London, he mourned his inability to record everything of consequence occurring in conversations. Ultimately, he noted that he became discouraged and gave up. Late in July 1816 he penned in his diary a history of it, in which he specified format and fallow periods. He also commented on his determination to prepare an index for each volume. Doing so would substantially increase the hours the diary required. He stated that he had to allot five days in the current month to make the index for the previous month.¹⁰⁷

Serious thinking about religion occupied him as well. In correspondence with his parents John Quincy became caught up in the religious turmoil racking Massachusetts. In the old Puritan commonwealth the new doctrine of Unitarianism was rocking the foundation of Calvinism that had been institutionalized in the Congregational Church. Unitarians denied the divinity of Christ as well as the Trinity. Instead, they portrayed Jesus as a superior human being and stressed toleration and benevolence. This new creed attracted a substantial portion of the Massachusetts elite, including John and Abigail Adams. Their son did not share the new inclination, however. He wrote his mother that he did not think Unitarianism and true Christianity harmonious, and he did not hesitate to spurn it. To his father he made clear that he aligned with the doctrine propounded by the Trinitarians and Calvinists.

In another long letter to his father, he spelled out in more detail why he held to what he termed “real Christianity.” First, to his mind the Bible provided indisputable evidence of Christ’s divinity. And he detailed the various languages and translations he had utilized. Replying to John’s assertion that believing that an omnipotent God could be crucified was blasphemy, John Quincy avowed, “God is a spirit.” That spirit, he went on, had not been crucified; rather, only the body of Jesus. For him “the Spirit whether eternal or created was beyond the reach of the cross.” Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount dominated and commanded his faith. It directed him to put his faith in heaven, not upon earth. Professing that Christ’s gospel provided the foundation for his belief in an afterlife, he declared, “I cannot cavil or quibble away, not single words and ambiguous expressions, but the whole tenor of his conduct, by which he sometimes positively asserted, and at others countenanced his disciples that he was God.” Despite their differences, John Quincy assured his father that they stood united for tolerance and “the doctrine of toleration and benevolence.”108

While residing in Ealing, John Quincy and Louisa Catherine had their portraits painted. They chose a young artist, Charles Robert Leslie, born in England of American parents. Both subjects indicated their approval of the results, especially the painter’s depiction of John Quincy; even he thought his likeness better than hers. According to Louisa, Leslie’s effort captured the most vivid likeness of her husband, who looked better than he ever had. Since his stay in Russia, John Quincy, standing five feet seven inches, had, as a diplomat who had known them there noticed, put on weight, evidently to good effect.109

Leslie painted the seated John Quincy with a three-quarter profile and with the same aquiline nose captured by John Copley in 1796. This painting portrays a man less of action than of reflection. He gazes into the distance, appropriately with a finger marking his place in a book. John Quincy’s expression here is not so bold as in the van Huffel portrait of the preceding year. He appears, however, more content but more than a year older.

In Leslie’s portrayal of Louisa, she also gazes into the distance. She has her own aquiline nose and the soft chin and dark eyes of a young matron. Her fashionable Empire gown and the elegant glove she is holding convey sophistication along with a worldly air. She has a smile on her lips and a faraway look in her eyes.

The Leslie portraits caught the Adamses at a special moment, for both enjoyed their interval at Little Boston House. In a real sense these months were the happiest of their marriage. For the first time in six years, they had their family together. John Quincy did have his work, which could be hectic, but it was less burdensome than it had been. He described their abode, its setting, and their life as a “little Paradise.” Upon his departure, he depicted Ealing in his diary as a delicious location, one of the most delightful in which he had ever lived.¹¹⁰

Louisa Adams’s idyll ended early in 1817, however. Another pregnancy dealt her health its usual blow. Now forty-two, she had experienced as many as eight miscarriages and a stillbirth; this, her final pregnancy, promised more difficulty. She spent much time in bed, with doctors attending with their leeches and bleeding. Social life was out of the question. By spring she was better. Though still weak, she had not lost the baby.¹¹¹

Even while relating the delights of Ealing, John Quincy was contemplating an uncertain future. He would not remain in England forever. In his diary he underscored his uncertainty and anxiety about the future. He focused not only on a probable and desired return to the United States but on what awaited him in his native land. Before the end of 1816 rumors reached him that the new president would name him secretary of state. James Monroe, the man John Quincy had reported to from St. Petersburg, Ghent, and London as James Madison’s secretary of state, had been elected president in November. Writing his father early in January 1817, John Quincy said he would make no comment about the whisperings until he received official notification, if that ever came.112

His diary revealed his hopes and doubts. Although he considered the possibility of that offer still doubtful, he pondered whether he should accept. Sincerely questioning his ability for the post, he concluded that skepticism should end the matter. Still, he told himself, he could reasonably justify taking it. He, of course, had not and would not engage in reaching for it.¹¹³

President James Monroe did indeed offer the position to John Quincy, who received Monroe’s letter of March 6 on April 16. As the third consecutive Virginian to be elected president, Monroe decided that making anyone from the South or West secretary of state would be a political liability. That cabinet office had apparently become an unofficial stepping-stone to the presidency—Jefferson had held it, and both Madison and Monroe had moved directly from it to the nation’s highest office. The assumption would follow that Monroe’s choice would be in a most advantageous spot to succeed him. And as Monroe informed Thomas Jefferson, when he looked to the northeastern states he found John Quincy, “who by his age, long experience in our foreign affairs, and adoption into the republican party, seems to have superior pretensions to any there.” In choosing John Quincy, Monroe made a calculated and thought-through political decision.¹¹⁴

Upon receipt of the president’s letter, John Quincy wrestled emotionally. He assured himself that Monroe made his choice without any pressure from himself or any of his friends, at least that he knew about. John Quincy decided the president acted purely in the public interest. Satisfied about the purity of his appointment, he reflected upon the severe blows that would come with the job. And he questioned his ability to do it, writing his mother that he had never questioned so seriously whether or not to accept any previous appointment. But he did overcome all his doubts and decided to accept. He told her and himself that he would rely on God’s favor, which had carried him through all the ordeals of his life. Moreover, he was convinced his doing so ensured his safekeeping.115

The very next day after he got Monroe’s invitation, he dispatched a letter of acceptance. He would become secretary of state. Moreover, he would depart for the United States as soon as he could get all his affairs in order. He would leave without regret. He recorded in his diary that he wanted to spend the rest of his life in his own country.¹¹⁶