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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 André 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.