"Da Vinci Code" inspires father and daughter sleuths

WASHINGTON, D.C. — Words and images from the novel "The Da Vinci Code" filled my head as I peered into the calm alabaster face, sleepy brown eyes and strawberry-blonde curls of a Florentine girl named Ginevra de' Benci.

Secrets of "the sacred feminine" swirled through my mind.

I scanned her chin, her eyes, her cheekbones, for symbols like the chalice and the blade, representing female and male — a central theme in the best-seller.

I pondered the question of androgyny, said to be found in Leonardo da Vinci's masterwork, "Mona Lisa" (which "The Da Vinci Code" suggests might actually be a self-portrait of Leonardo in drag).

My daughter hissed at me, nodding toward a nearby museum guard whose eyes were bulging as I got a little too up-close-and-personal with a priceless artwork.

Ginevra, you see, is another portrait by Leonardo. She is the Renaissance master's only painting on regular display in the United States, and my 14-year-old daughter and I were on a pilgrimage to visit her at her longtime home, the National Gallery of Art.

It was spring break. Inspired by an entertaining wave of pop-culture exposés of how symbols can tell history's secrets — in Dan Brown's pseudo-historical thriller "The Da Vinci Code," and in the 2004 Nicolas Cage movie "National Treasure" — we'd embarked on a symbology quest to the cradles of American culture.

And we were not long at the National Gallery before concluding that Ginevra's iceberg expression masked a few interesting secrets beneath the surface.

Beyond the familiar

In Brown's novel — the movie version of which hits theaters this week — the author has a heyday with Leonardo's playful use of symbolism.

In case you're the one person who hasn't read the novel, I'll tell you this much: Next time you get a peek at Leonardo's famed painting "The Last Supper" (see www.artchive.com/artchive/L/leonardo/lastsupp.jpg.html), look more closely at the disciple to Jesus' right (the viewer's left). Brown says it's actually a woman, Mary Magdalene, who supposedly married Jesus and bore his children.

The novel's theme is that the secret of Mary Magdalene is part of a centuries-long conspiracy by the church to suppress goddess worship — represented symbolically in "The Last Supper" by the prominent "V" shape formed by "Mary" leaning away from Jesus. The "V" represents womanhood, because, well ...

Likewise, in "The Da Vinci Code" the blade or pyramid represents manhood. You get the gist.

My daughter and I had a personal reason to seek out Ginevra. When I first visited D.C. as a child almost 40 years ago, the National Gallery had just acquired the painting for $5 million — at the time, the largest sum ever paid for a work of art. My mother had read a news story and made certain that her brood got to see the famous portrait. Ever since then, Mom's had a print of it in her home.

Seeing Ginevra again was like meeting an old friend. But — she was different.

As a kid, I somehow had the idea that Ginevra wore a feather-plumed hat. But now I recognized, with the help of a curator's explanation, that a dark halo surrounding her head was in fact a juniper bush in the painting's background — a prickly juniper. And having just re-read "The Da Vinci Code" during my flight east, a thought slapped me like a January wind: All that talk of "the sacred feminine." Holy cow, she has a crown of thorns!

More of the book's themes came back to me. Brown's protagonist, a symbology professor, said Leonardo "believed that a human soul could not be enlightened unless it had both male and female elements."

Ignoring the nervous guard, I scrutinized Ginevra. What about the whole "V" thing? Yes, she wore a collarless blouse buttoned to form a strong "V" shape at her neck!

And raising my eyes to hers, my gaze continued upward to her most prominent feature: a broad, pale forehead, emphasized by an extraordinarily high part in the center of her hair, drawn back to form a perfect, impossible-to-miss pyramid.

The chalice and the blade. Male and female together!

I felt like the professor in the novel. This was too weird.

Does history ring true?

So we'd discovered symbolism in art. And we were spending a few days in East Coast cities that make symbolism an art form. Suddenly, we were looking beyond the surface.

At the Liberty Bell, for instance.

An easy train ride from D.C., we stopped in Philadelphia, where the Liberty Bell is the most-visited tourist attraction. It not long ago moved into a swank new visitor center that plays up how much America values it as a symbol of freedom.

Funny thing, we learned as we toured the center: Despite popular belief, there's no evidence the Liberty Bell ever rang on July 4, 1776. It might have rung a few days later along with bells throughout the city to celebrate America's revolution. But even that's doubtful, because the steeple that housed it was so full of rot that ringing the bell would likely have toppled it. (Some symbols tell history's secrets; others get credited with more than history can support.)

In fact, the bell that once hung in Independence Hall held no vaunted status until abolitionists adopted it as a symbol against slavery in the 1830s. Yet, through the years, its legend grew. It's on our money. It's been a symbol in war: At the visitor center, we watched film of when Philadelphians rang the bell over national radio on D-Day (though because of its famous crack, it produced more of a "clonk, clonk" than a "ding, dong").

We saw cases filled with souvenir Liberty Bell plates, Liberty Bell fans and even a pewter ice-cream mold. As we proceeded through the displays, history became hyperbole, until we reached wall-size photos of Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama with the Liberty Bell, endorsing its importance to world freedom.

Myths creep in

"History is not the past; it's a story about the past," National Park Service ranger Glen Pataki told us as we toured Independence Hall. People lie, embellish and diminish, and every historian sees things differently, he said.

"So many myths creep their way into history. They get in and they're hard to get out."

He cited a highly symbolic date: the Fourth of July.

The Declaration of Independence wasn't signed July 4. The Founding Fathers approved it on July 2. They first read it publicly on July 8. And they didn't sign it until August 1776. But July 4 was when they announced their rebellion. Some historians call it "the day of the press release."

"Almost nothing happened on the Fourth of July," Pataki said. "But this is the popular-culture nation: We celebrate the announcement, not the act."

He said he enjoyed "National Treasure," the 2004 movie that featured Independence Hall as a prime location in a hunt for mythical treasure. But he said the story was full of factual holes.

"For one thing, if the Declaration of Independence was rolled and unrolled as many times as it was in that movie, it would be crumbs. The document was printed on sheep's belly."

Secrets of the Masons

We lunched on delicious turkey pot pie (Martha Washington's recipe, with oysters) at historic City Tavern. Then "The Da Vinci Code" and "National Treasure" steered us to the castle-like, symbol-saturated Masonic Temple in downtown Philadelphia, birthplace of the Masonic movement in the United States. Past members included George Washington and Benjamin Franklin (the latter having served as grand master).

The Masons are a fraternity of sorts, with roots that some trace back to the stonemason builders of King Solomon's Temple. Mostly known today for charitable works and "old boy" networking, their gatherings are rife with secret rites and ancient icons.

In the temple's museum, we gawked at Brother Washington's Masonic apron, embroidered with 43 curious symbols such as the "all-seeing eye," which is also on America's dollar bill. (The eye is said to stand for watchfulness and the Supreme Being; we found an interpretive key on the Masons' Web site, www.pagrandlodge.org/mlam/apron.)

During a tour of the temple's astoundingly ornate lodge halls (with Corinthian, Egyptian, Gothic, Ionic, Norman, Oriental and Renaissance architecture), guide John Minott brought up "The Da Vinci Code" before anyone asked.

"Many feel we are descended from the Knights Templar, and you may have read that in 'The Da Vinci Code.' I can only say that as far as I know, we started in England and Scotland in the 17th century. But I cannot rule it out."

One room, Gothic Hall, is where the modern-day Knights Templar still meet. Minott acknowledged that "sometimes people have very strange questions about Freemasonry. Go ahead and ask all you like. I shall just say, 'It's secret,' and move on."

He was joking. I think.

More symbolism, by George

Our friend the park ranger was right about the Declaration of Independence. The document symbolizing America's defiance of oppression is in bad shape.

We were in the rotunda of the National Archives back in D.C. The room was dimly lit, to help preserve the documents on display. We wished we could pull out a flashlight.

The Declaration was nearly illegible, faded from years of exposure to light during public display. All we could clearly make out among the signatures was the swooping "J" in John Hancock's name. The document as a symbol is grand; its reality is not.

Our final day, we ventured 14 miles into the Virginia countryside to see Mount Vernon, home of our first president, the man for whom our home state was named.

It's a beautiful white mansion overlooking the wide Potomac River. Dogwoods and redbuds bloomed among hickorys and oaks. We took a wagon ride behind two Shire draft horses to learn about George Washington's progressive farming techniques.

And in the formal garden, we came across more fuel for "Da Vinci Code" sleuths. There, outlined in low boxwood, was Washington's favorite symbol from France: a huge fleur-de-lis.

Fleur-de-lis, as in "flower of Lisa," as in Mona Lisa (so Dan Brown interprets it, anyway). In the novel, the fleur-de-lis is the symbol of the Priory of Sion, a secret goddess-worship society (and in reality the subject of fierce debate over whether it exists or is an historical hoax). In the book, the society's leader is caught in flagrante delicto during a steamy goddess-worship ritual.

So, does "father of our country" take on a whole new meaning?

Aaaagh. We decided not to go there. Instead, we strolled on through the tulip garden and enjoyed the spring day. If George Washington worshiped any women, let's just hope it was Martha.

She did, after all, make a darned good turkey pot pie.

Brian J. Cantwell: 206-748-5724 or bcantwell@seattletimes.com. He knows "The Da Vinci Code" is only a novel; he was just having fun with it.