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 Hervé 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 André 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.