Enhanced Beauty

One of the most pampered and mysterious ladies of the Italian Renaissance took up official residence in Washington last week. With a minimum of fanfare, Leonardo da Vinci's Ginevra dei Bend (see color), acquired from the private collection of Prince Franz Josef II of Liechtenstein for more than $5,000,000 last month, went on display in solitary splendor in the National Gallery's "Lobby B," a small anteroom with a 28-ft. ceiling, limestone walls and a marble floor.

The painting was protected by a bullet-resistant Plexiglas case surrounded by crimson velvet and framed in a period frame specially adapted for it by Manhattan Framemaker Robert Kulicke (who charged $1,240 for 62 hours' work). Visitors could observe both the 151-in. by 141-in. portrait and the juniper-and-laurel device on the reverse side of its wooden panel, inscribed with a scroll: Virtutem Forma Decorat (Beauty Enhances Virtue).

Berenson's Command. What was immediately apparent as Washingtonians filed past the most expensive painting in history was that their respect for its virtues had been distinctly enhanced by the beauty of its price tag, and that few among them who looked on the lady would be able, with the best of intentions, to admire her for herself alone. Washington's critics, however, welcomed the painting on esthetic rather than monetary grounds. "All in all," the Star's Frank Getlein sighed, "a lovely thing."

To the National Gallery's courtly, erudite Director John Walker, 60, who has spent years negotiating for the painting, the present hoo-ha is simply proportionate to the prize. He has coveted Ginevra dei Bend ever since he was first shown the painting in the prince's collection by the late Bernard Berenson, in 1930. "After I became curator of the National Gallery," Walker recalls, "Berenson would say to me, 'I don't care what else you get as a curator, but before I die, I want you to get the Leonardo.' "

Complex as Life. Walker himself came to understand Berenson's insist -ence when he observed the lady at length while it was on loan at London's Na tional Gallery between 1951 and 1953. "This picture," he explains, "has a mysterious way of growing on you the more often you see it. To me, Ginevra is utterly fascinating, more fascinating than the Mona Lisa, a miracle of psychological insight. Only once did Leonardo attempt to convey a mood of melancholy reserve, of disillusioned detachment. One feels, to quote Yeats, that Ginevra has 'cast a cold eye on life, on death.' " Concludes Walker: "Mona Lisa's smile is without gaiety; Ginevra's somberness is without dejection. In these two paintings Leonardo has presented us with personalities as complex as life itself."

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