Party Line

Upstairs in the White House, Dwight Eisenhower and his lady delayed their entrance until the arrival of the tardy (by 15 minutes) Tunisian ambassador. When the ambassador had joined the throng in the East Room, the President, in white tie and tails, and Mamie, in a scarlet net gown set off by a heart-shaped diamond pendant, came down to greet the 78 guests and launch the most important diplomatic social function of the year.

So big is Washington's ever-growing diplomatic corps--the biggest in the world, with 82 heads of mission--that the White House had to divide its traditional state dinner into two separate functions a night apart; only the hosts and the menu (four wines, sole, turkey, spinach souffle, strawberry ice cream molds) were identical. Aside from the President's spectacular Atlas announcement on the second night, only one incident ruffled the traditional decorum: Belgium's veteran Ambassador Baron Robert Silvercruys, normally the very picture of diplomatic dignity, provided a giddy moment when he picked up his wife's train and did a few jolly jig steps in time to Marine Band music as the stately baroness (widow of Connecticut's late Senator Brien McMahon) strode elegantly into the East Room after dinner.

Who's Who? In Dwight Eisenhower's Washington, high society is not what it used to be. For one thing, the President has cut down on big social doings since his heart attack and stroke (only five White House dinners this season). For another, the Washington social set, symbolized by such flamboyant party givers as Gwen Cafritz and Perle Mesta, seems to wilt in a Republican administration. The social glamour has now been taken over by the diplomats, who see parties principally as an excellent means of scouting international business. So crowded are the big diplomatic functions that it is sometimes easier to recognize a fellow diplomat by his country ("Here comes El Salvador") than by his name.

Despite the formality of such occasions, some diplomatic hosts are better known--and liked--than others. "Some make the grade because of the countries they represent," a Brazilian diplomat once explained it, "and some in spite of the countries they represent." Britain's Sir Harold Caccia entertains infrequently, but the British embassy is decidedly a place to be seen (although Lady Caccia has earned many a raised eyebrow because of her custom of moving guests from one after-dinner conversational cluster to another). Belgium's Silvercruys gives small but elegant dinners at his home, forbids shop talk ("I do not work at meal time"), is widely regarded as a gourmet (who, when told that a friend was returning to Belgium, cried forlornly, "What a bad time! The sole will not be at their best!").

Goyas & Gielgud. Washington's most lavish diplomatic entertainments are given by Spain's Ambassador Jose Marie M. de Areilza, Count of Motrico, and his wife, who live in one of the capital's most breathtaking houses (white-walled ballroom, priceless tapestries, bubbling fountain). The Spaniards are hosts at huge New Year's Eve balls, an annual Columbus Day party (1,000 guests) and spring Verbena (carnival), bring in flamenco dancers who whirl to the clapping of the guests (including the ambassador, sitting on the floor). For perfectly detailed dinners and suppers, nobody surpasses Peru's Ambassador Fernando Berckemeyer, who boasts good Goyas on the walls, two excellent French chefs in the kitchen.

Berckemeyer, onetime (1920-23) Notre Dame student, is one of the few who never need a specific national reason for partying, once gave a soiree for British Poetess Dame Edith Sitwell, whose connections with Peru had hitherto been obscure. Last weekend Berckemeyer did it again: an after-theater supper for British Actor Sir John Gielgud. French embassy parties, while never very big, are among the most enjoyable, are distinguished by the beauty of Ambassador Herve Alphand's second wife (he was divorced, remarried last summer) and the ambassador's after-dinner impersonations of Winston Churchill and France's Rene Coty. ("If I had my choice between Maurice Chevalier and Alphand," says an admirer, "I'd take Alphand.")

But of all the party-loving diplomats in Washington, none is so indefatigable as Nicaragua's Ambassador Dr. Guillermo Sevilla-Sacasa, dean of the diplomatic corps (miniatures of 33 medals, one sash), who in his social seniority sometimes attends a luncheon, three receptions and a dinner all in one day, so far this year has been seen at 513 such functions. Busy, portly Sevilla-Sacasa scarcely has time to throw a party of his own.

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