On reaching the Russian capital, Dana and his young charge established themselves in a modestly priced inn rather than in the luxurious Hôtel de Paris that was favoured by visiting dignitaries. The two marvelled at the beauty of the elegant boulevards and squares, the colourful canals, and the imposing residences and churches. “The monumental city,” reported Dana, “far exceeds all my expectations; alone it is sufficient to immortalize the memory of Peter.” The two Americans were offered a tour of the Winter Palace, today’s Hermitage, a massive building that dominated the banks of the Neva. Dana and young John Quincy delighted in the expansive picture galleries, assembly rooms, card-playing salons, and, above all, the winter garden. This vast, glass-covered space of sweet aromas was a symphony of lush vegetation. The profusion of flowers, shrubs, and tropical trees blended together into an exotic forest of sorts, and among its branches frolicked colourful parrots and lively canaries, chattering and singing shrilly.
Catherine’s palms and parrots may have impressed Master Johnny but he was not much taken by her people. In a delightfully naive account, the fourteen-year-old records some impressions:
Upon the whole this nation is far from being civilized. Their customs, their dress and even their amusements are yet gross and barbarous. It is said that in some parts of the empire, the women think their husbands despise them or don’t love them, if they don’t thrash them now and then, but I do not give this as a fact. In St. Petersburg they have baths where they go pell-mell, men and women. They bathe themselves at first in warm water and from thence they plunge themselves into the snow and roll themselves in it. They accustom themselves to this from infancy and they think it preserves them from scurvy.
The city sported theatres, museums, a library, an art gallery, and even a zoo. Less than eighty years had passed since Peter’s initial turn of the shovel and within that brief time, the capital had bloomed spectacularly — “from nothing the thing sprung up with the rapidity of a mushroom,” as a Russian expression put it.
Catherine II (Catherine the Great).
George Edward Perine. Engraving, c. 1870. Library of Congress.
Dana and the young John Quincy Adams did not travel the vast distance from Paris to St. Petersburg merely to admire Catherine’s lush winter garden. They were there “to engage her Imperial Majesty to favor and support the sovereignty and independence of the United States,” as the orders read. In addition, Dana was to do what he could to stimulate trade between the two countries — in the charmingly archaic wording of his instructions, to establish a base for a “good understanding between both countries and for friendly intercourse to the mutual advantage of both nations.” Some historians carelessly refer to the envoy as having been America’s first minister to Russia — that is not so. The first minister of the United States was not Dana, but rather the same person with whom he had travelled, John Quincy Adams. At age twenty-eight, Adams was appointed to that post following Russian recognition of the new republic. At the time that the two Americans were in the Russian capital, Dana was merely an emissary of the Continental Congress, travelling with high hopes.
In sending Dana to Russia, the American leaders had taken a somewhat pretentious, perhaps wishful step. The mission was destined for failure, as anyone schooled in the rules of diplomacy and aware of great power interchange might have foretold. To begin with, the Russian foreign office was simply uninterested in exploring diplomatic relations with the United States; it had more pressing issues on the table. And then, the Continental Congress, having given Dana the mandate, offered him little encouragement or support, as there were greater, more urgent matters requiring attention.
The congressional emissary arrived in Russia with no official status; Dana was there “as a mere private gentleman” without formal credentials. Not only was he wanting credentials, but he was also lacking substantive financial backing — Dana had a paltry, miserly allowance. He could not afford lodgings worthy of his station, engage competent staff, adequately meet everyday expenses, or offer the exchange of precious gifts — jewelled snuff boxes, for example. “The diplomatic technique of the eighteenth century,” explains W.P. Cresson of the University of North Carolina, “reserved certain peculiar rewards. Accepted custom provided that costly gifts should be bestowed on foreign diplomats and the ministers of the European courts. These gratuities usually took the form of snuff boxes or objets d’art studded in such a manner as to make the removal of diamonds possible without difficulties.” For hapless Dana, all this was out of reach. During his twenty-five-month stay in St. Petersburg, a goodly portion of his own personal capital went to paying expenses. “I am sick, sick to the heart, of the delicacies and whims of European politics,” he complained bitterly.
To add to Dana’s frustration, he could not communicate effectively for lack of French, the language of the court and of St. Petersburg society. At first, he had the services of young John Quincy, but the boy was soon recalled to France to resume his studies. This left Dana in the hands of professional translators who more often than not were agents of foreign powers. Such were the travails of the deprived envoy. All the while His Britannic Majesty’s Ambassador to the Court of St. Petersburg, the urbane and experienced Sir James Harris, was ensconced in his lavish, well-staffed quarters, meeting brilliant successes in advancing his country’s interests. (And, it may be added, stirring up every sort of mischief for the amateur American. Where a spoke could be put into Dana’s wheel, it was.)
Dana’s mission was doomed to failure from the moment of his arrival in Russia. Despite the vicissitudes of court life and a lack of overall success, however, Dana was bathed in admiration by St. Petersburg society — he was, after all, an American, and things American were novel and admirable. Dana formed a circle of friends from within the growing and influential opposition to autocracy, particularly from among the young crowd.
The four decades that followed the American Revolution were the determinative years in the formation of Russian-American concord. The period was one of booming commercial development both for the United States and for Russia, and within it the interests of the two countries intersected regularly. Boston at the time had not only grown into America’s largest city, but it had become the country’s commercial hub. The venturous merchants of Massachusetts met success after success in expanding their trade networks and rapidly acquired international reputations for astuteness, reliability, and honesty. It was Massachussetts where the great merchant families — the Peabodys, Cabots, Endicotts, Russells, and Derbys — were founding their dynasties. These entrepreneurs moved goods along a triangular pattern of sea lanes; from Boston they sailed their vessels to the West Indies where they discharged finished goods, such as shoes, clothing, printed books, kitchenware, and household items. They then loaded up with raw sugar, coffee, rum, rice, cacao, and citrus fruit, which they transported to the Baltic, initially selling to Sweden but subsequently to Russia. In exchange, the merchants acquired hemp, tallow, cordage, linens, flax, furs, and, above all, iron. These goods, together with other raw materials, were then brought to Boston to supply the manufacturing plants of Massachusetts.
By the turn of the nineteenth century, a lively commerce had blossomed between the United States and Russia. The first American ship to enter a Russian harbour was the square-rigged trading vessel Wolfe, owned by a prominent Boston merchant, Nicholas Boylston, who in 1763 brought to St. Petersburg a cargo of West Indian goods, principally sugar, rum, and indigo. There followed many more ships — rough estimates have it that as many as five hundred American vessels had called at the Russian port by 1800. The growth in trade was spectacular and by 1803, fully 15 percent of all Russian exports were flowing into the United States. Between 1806 and 1811, American exports to Russia grew from $12,407 to an astonishing $6,137,657.
Even the White House relied on Russian goods. “I wish you to purchase me a piece of Russian sheeting,” wrote Abigail Adams to her sister. “I have not half sheeting enough for these people, which is stout. I also want you to get me a piece of the plain Russian toweling. The sheeting and toweling take a receipt for as thus, ‘for the use of the Household of the President of the U.S.’” One student of Russian-American trade relations of the time puts it thus:
Young America, more than we have ever realized,