Clara Barton, Professional Angel

Chapter Thirteen

thirteen In the early springof 1882, amidst piles of telegrams, letters, and cards congratulating her on her unparalleled achievement in bringing the United States into the Red Cross, Clara Barton sat contemplating her future and that of the fledgling society she had formed. Having "worked so hard and done so much for y[our] country, as well as for the benefit of all others," the Grand Duchess Louise had proudly written, "must have given you great happiness."' This ishardly how Barton would have characterized her mood. She wasonly too aware that the struggle to keep alive her ideal had scarcely begun. Financial difficulties, rival societies, an indifferent government, and her own shaky health threatened to turn the signing of the treaty into an empty victory. Too drained financially and emotionally to continue the work, too fearful of failure to quit, she pondered the best course for her future, and that of the American Red Cross. At sixty Barton was at the height of her personal powers. "If she had belonged to the other sex," Henry Bellows wrote about this time, "she would have been a merchant prince, a great general, or a trusted political leader."2 Those who described her noted a magnetism in her bearing and a self-possession in her voice that spoke of experience and confidence. "Miss Barton's face shows power," commented a reporter, who went on to mention that "her voice, so low, sweet, yet fine and tensly [sic] toned, has musical timbre in it, which when its possessor is roused can become clear and resonant with deep controlled notes, and tones having marked oratorical effects."3 The face that had been so homely at eighteen and "full of interest" at forty had now taken on an ageless quality and would change little for the remaining thirty years of Barton's life. Art and nature had combined to ease the lines of time. Her hair was dyed, but arranged in "an oldfashioned way, crimped over her temples." Most people who met her thought that she looked fifty. Even someone as close to her as Elvira Stone was astonished 212 at how little she had changed in middle life and exclaimed, "Does time stand still with you?"4 Though the physical changes were minor, in some respects her personality had hardened, sobered, grown more weary with the years. The commanding presence had a harsh, authoritarian tone to it now. Admirers from an earlier time had called her "my precious angel"; now even the most loyal co-workers would refer to her as "the Queen" or the "Great I Am."5 Though in public she kept her opinions in check, in private she wrote sharp, censorious words about anyone who differed with her. From her own point of view the worst change was her loss of humor: "I am alwaysafraid I am not as jolly as I was thirty years ago," she told a former pupil. "Somehow a good many things have happened in the time and some of them with sober natures, that I fear stole a little of the merry ring out of the clear laugh that my own ears remember." The cares of her life crowded out the hours of merriment. "I laugh," she concluded, "when I don't forget it and have time."6 Barton's mature personality was a complex combination of insecurity and forthrightness, rigidity and flexibility, and was frequently at odds with itself. Though possessed of immense personal magnetism—at times an almost charismatic charm—she herself was never convinced of the love or esteem of others and continually sought compliments from friends and praise from the public. She had, however, "a just and accurate estimate of her ability to master a situation ," as one friend attested.7 It was this face of the fearless, self-possessed, rational, and even-tempered leader that she preferred to show the world. Underneath bubbled emotions she found difficult to manage. Timidity still plagued her and caused her to shrink from new situations and new faces, though she controlled it so well that few ever guessed she was so shy. She was intensely loyal to her friends and in her multitudinouscorrespondence kept up with an astonishing range of people: her father's former hired man, half forgotten pupils, distant relatives , and kindred spirits, such as her beloved Aunt Fanny. Barton so cherished these friends that she wasanxiouslest they not reciprocate her love, andjealousy and self-pity appear frequently in her diary. Outwardly stoic, calm...