Keep Smiling

To some scoffers, the nation's capital is the city of the hard nose, the tough work and the political thumb in the eye. But last week it became, for a few exalted hours, something much different. This was the occasion of the unveiling of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, lent by France to the U.S. for a few precious weeks.* It required something special--and that was what it got.

The evening began in the candlelit dining room at the French embassy. There, Ambassador and Madame Herve Alphand were hosts at a dinner and a tableau that was worthy of Da Vinci himself. At the table sat President and Mrs. Kennedy, most of the President's brothers and sisters, France's Minister of Culture Andre Malraux, Vice President Lyndon Johnson and Lady Bird, the entire U.S. Cabinet, the Ed Murrows, the McGeorge Bundys, the Averell Harrimans, Columnists Joe Alsop and Walter Lippmann, and the National Gallery's Director John Walker.

Porto et Poires. Renowned in Washington not only for her looks and her style, but for her abilities as a hostess, Madame Alphand turned out a dinner that had Francophiles kissing their finger tips in joy. It was, in short, les works: a delicate jole gras from Landes, a filet de boeuf Charolais sous la cendre garni renaissance, accompanied by a profound Chateau Gruaud-Larose en magnum 1952; an unassuming little hearts-of-lettuce salad with mimosa dressing. And for a windup, poires Mona Lisa--poached pears, swaddled in hot chocolate sauce, bundled into a pastry shell--trailed by a superb Dom Perignon 1955. The Ambassador toasted President Kennedy. President Kennedy toasted President De Gaulle. John Walker toasted the Mona Lisa.

By the time the party set out for the National Gallery, more than 1,000 other guests had been jammed, black-tied and begowned, into the West Sculpture Hall. There the painting, encased in bulletproof glass, hung waiting for the official introduction. Most people couldn't see a thing except other people. The guests shuffled grumpily. Women slipped off their toe-squeezing high-heeled shoes, and one Southern Senator asked his wife if she wanted him to "go up and shake hands" with Lisa. Red Cross aides took their positions and waited gravely for the Gallery to be declared a disaster area.

Poor Women. At last, the presidential party arrived. As the President and Mrs. Kennedy stepped into the elevator that was to take them one flight up to the West Hall, the elevator operator panicked. The sight of Jackie Kennedy, elegantly coifed and exquisitely draped in a pink strapless creation, was perhaps too much for the man. In any event, his thumb froze on the STOP button, the elevator never got off the ground, and the Kennedys finally decided to walk upstairs.

When the ceremonies began, the specially rigged loudspeaker system proved to be totally ineffective. For the rest of the evening, the only people who heard anything were the speakers. Secretary of State Dean Rusk, standing in for Chief Justice Earl Warren, who was ill, opened the proceedings. "There are rare and sparkling moments which capture the imagination of an entire people," said he, "and this is one of them." From Andre Malraux came a graceful and civilized tribute. "Here, then," said he, "is the most famous painting in the world. Mysterious glory, which does not derive from genius alone. Other illustrious portraits can be compared to this one. But every year a few poor deluded women think they are Mona Lisa, yet not one ever thinks she is a figure by Raphael, by Titian or by Rembrandt . . . There has been talk of the risks this painting took by leaving the Louvre. They are real, though exaggerated. But the risks taken by the boys who landed one day at Arromanches*--to say nothing of those who had preceded them 25 years before--were much more certain. To the humblest among them, who may be listening to me now, I want to say, without raising my voice, that the masterpiece to which you are paying historic homage this evening, Mr. President, is a painting which he has saved."

Affectionate Irreverence. From the back of the room came a rising chorus of complaints from the spectators who could not hear. Rusk tried to rescue the situation with a few good-humored words. "The acoustics in the room are so good," said he, "that the private remarks made in the rear are amplified in the front."

Nobody heard him. But Jack Kennedy is not the sort to be defeated by a weak amplifying system. Shouting as though he were on the West Virginia campaign stump, he recalled the longtime bonds between the U.S. and France, praised France as the "leading artistic power in the world. In view of the recent meeting at Nassau, I must note further that this painting has been kept under careful French control, and that France has even sent along its own commander in chief, M. Malraux, and I want to make it clear that grateful as we are for this painting, we will continue to press ahead with the effort to develop an independent artistic force and power of our own."

The Eternal Feminine. With that, the historic meeting ended and everyone departed, leaving the Mona Lisa with Secret Service men and a pair of Marine guards. Next day the gallery doors opened to a rush of citizens eager to see the great painting. Soon, from Winston-Salem, N.C., came 36 art lovers who had chartered a plane to Washington and had a representation of the Mona Lisa painted on the fuselage. In Memphis and French Camp, Miss., in Myrtle Beach, S.C., in New Orleans and New London, Conn., other people made plans for pilgrimages.

As to that, it remained for Art Critic-Author Andre Malraux to venture his own explanation of La Gioconda's famous smile. Said he: "The antiquity which Italy revived proposed an idealization of forms. But the world of classical statues, being a world without sight, was also a world without a soul. Sight, soul, spirituality--that was Christian art and Leonardo had found this illustrious smile for the face of the Virgin. Using it to transfigure a profane countenance, Leonardo gave to woman's soul that idealization which Greece had given to her features. The mortal being with the divine gaze triumphs over the sightless goddesses. It is the first expression of what Goethe was to call 'the Eternal Feminine.' "

*It will be on display in Washington until Feb. 3, and at Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum of Art from Feb. 7 to March 4. * Actually the British, not the Americans, took Arromanches.

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