CLINTON'S STEALTH CAMPAIGN

Everything about the moment invited Bill Clinton to overreach. In the great vaulted nave of the Washington National Cathedral, television lights chased away the shadows and 4,700 people leaned forward in their pews as the President began his eulogy for Commerce Secretary Ron Brown. Seven days had passed since the plane crash in Croatia that killed Brown and 34 others, days filled with the high emotionalism of flag-draped coffins and sobbing families, and during that time, Clinton stretched his verbal gifts to the limit. At Dover Air Force Base when the dead came home, he gave the speech of his life, a psalm of patriotism, sacrifice and redemption. "Life is more than what we know," he said. "Life is more than what we can understand. Life is more than, sometimes, even we can bear. But life is also eternal." How could he go beyond that now?

He knew better than to try. Clinton delivered a nice eulogy, full of humor and fond remembrance, but he didn't soar. Maybe he was tired of metaphysics; maybe his instincts told him to give it a rest. But when Brown's flag had been folded and taps had been played, Clinton did one more thing in memory of his friend. He got in a helicopter, flew to Baltimore, Maryland, and raked in $800,000 at two campaign fund raisers. If he hadn't gone, Clinton knew, Brown would have raised hell.

The day encompassed the two Clinton re-election campaigns, one ceremonial and the other stealthy, being run out of the White House. If neither looks much like the real thing--there's no campaign manager, not even a declared candidate--that's the idea. "The key to the campaign right now," says White House political director Doug Sosnik, "is not to have one."

The combination of lofty public appearances and quietly effective political operations helps explain why a President who polled historic levels of unpopularity a year ago now enjoys a 10-to-15-point lead over his Republican opponent and his highest favorable ratings in two years. Just last summer Sosnik was touring the country trying to persuade Democrats that the race wasn't hopeless. Now he has to remind them that it isn't in the bag.

Clinton can thank the Republicans for initiating his recovery: they let him make off with their best idea, balancing the budget in seven years. By claiming that goal as his own, and fending off the harshest ideas--never mind that his most painful cuts wouldn't kick in until after he left town--Clinton emerged with the upper hand. The White House message factory, run by political consultant Dick Morris, a two-party switch-hitter, helped him turn that success into a full-blown strategy. Suddenly, the Big Government, health-care blunderer had seized the political center, setting up shop ever-so-slightly to the left of the Republicans and positioning himself as America's last defense against G.O.P. "extremists." Since the Republicans control Congress, he opted for an illusion of control, which suits him just fine. In this almost holographic approach, speeches are as important as substance and rhetoric becomes its own reality. For this President, says senior adviser George Stephanopoulos, "words are actions."