'Madam Nhu Tran Le Xuan': A loveless marriage

In later interviews with Western journalists, Mrs. Nhu frankly admitted that her marriage to Mr. Nhu was a matter of practicality, not a romantic affair.

Mr. Nhu was the fourth son in the family.His father, Ngo Dinh Kha, had held an important position in the Hue court, but by the time Nhu was born in 1910, the French had deposed the emperor he had served. Out of loyalty to his master, he resigned and returned to his hometown with his family to raise buffalo and cultivate rice—a remarkable, if not admirable, step backward. This resistance to French interference in Vietnamese politics strengthened a sense of national honor and responsibility within the family—qualities that were passed down to all six of his sons.

Every morning at six o'clock, Mr. Kha's nine sons would gather together. Then, they would go to school. He also diligently encouraged them to work in the fields, getting their hands dirty with mud alongside the local farmers. Although Mr. Kha himself wore the traditional silk robes of an educated man and kept his fingernails five centimeters long as a sign of his official status, he constantly reprimanded his sons, saying, "A man must understand the life of a farmer."

Mr. Kha personally supervised his sons' education, both at school and at home. At school, he required them to follow the European curriculum. At home, he taught them classical Mandarin. Beyond the academic focus, Mr. Kha's home was a place of learning about anti-French, nationalist political views.

At the time Nhu and Le Xuan first met, the Ngo brothers had already established distinguished careers. The eldest brother was then serving as a provincial governor. The second brother was on his way to becoming one of the first Catholic bishops in Vietnam. The third brother, a member directly involved in shaping the nation's future, was the future President of South Vietnam, Ngo Dinh Diem.

In later interviews with Western journalists, Mrs. Nhu frankly admitted that her marriage to Mr. Nhu was a matter of practicality, not romantic love. “I never had a sweet love,” she confessed to Charlie Mohr of Time magazine. “I’ve read about it in books, but I don’t believe it really exists. Or maybe only for a very few people.”

A portrait of Mrs. Tran Le Xuan in her wedding dress in 1943.

But the young Le Xuan was a talented actress, and she knew how to recognize a suitable role. In 1940, just before meeting Mr. Nhu, the ballet students of Madame Parmentier were preparing to perform Snow White. Other French and Vietnamese students refused to play the hideous witch, but Le Xuan saw potential in the role. She would certainly never be given the role of Snow White; that role would go to a white French girl. Yet she could still shine on stage with an outstanding performance as the wicked witch.

Le Xuan saw Mr. Nhu as an opportunity. Whether out of love, ambition, or mutual exploitation, Le Xuan and Mr. Nhu became engaged not long after their meeting in the garden. They were betrothed for three years, a Vietnamese tradition, although this was not at Le Xuan's parents' discretion. But during that time, from 1940 to 1943, the world Le Xuan knew had completely changed.

World War II broke out in Europe.France's defeat nearly severed Indochina from the mother country. The Vichy government in France allowed Japan to move troops to southern China via North Vietnam, build airfields, requisition food supplies, and station 6,000 troops in Tonkin.

Japanese diplomats, interpreters, intelligence officers, and businessmen occupied the places of honor at the Tuesday afternoon armchair meetings at Mr. Chương's house, and the French colonialists in Indochina were deeply displeased by this. They simply could not, or refused to believe, that their surrender in Europe had jeopardized their rule in Indochina. So for a time, the French struggled to maintain their daily routines, keeping their servants, dressing formally for dinner parties, and gathering in cafés to chat about weekend seaside excursions or the winners of horse races. The French may have handed over the deed to their colonial property in Indochina to the Japanese, but for the next five years, they would do everything they could to save face. The French flag continued to fly. Bakeries, deprived of 20,000 tons of imported wheat annually, clung to a last illusion, stuffing bread with corn and rice. Indochina was the only Southeast Asian region under Japanese control that allowed white colonists to remain.

In 1942, food coupons were issued to Europeans to provide them with rice, salt, sugar, cooking oil, soap, matches, "good" cigarettes, and fuel. The French were still favored with items like meat and condensed milk, receiving priority in their supply. All of this was justified in colonial thinking by the notion that the Annamese were accustomed to a monotonous diet, while Europeans would fall ill from a less varied diet.

Although Mr. Chuong's familyIn truth, they weren't suffering; they were simply deprived of the luxuries they were accustomed to. But Mr. Chuong's family were masters of political maneuvering, and they managed quite well—at least for a time. The Japanese infiltration of the nominally French regime created a rather chaotic political situation. Who was in power, the Westerners or the Asians? Who would be more sympathetic to the nationalist aspirations of the Vietnamese? Mr. Chuong's family tried to cultivate important friendships with both sides, but ultimately they chose to share their fate with the Japanese under the banner of "Brotherhood of the Yellow Skin." The Japanese encouraged the Vietnamese to see themselves as part of the Asian Commonwealth—led by Japan, of course. At least the Japanese didn't assert superiority based on their skin color.

Le Xuan's mother enrolled in Japanese language courses, and her love for Yokoyama, the Emperor of the Rising Sun's envoy in Hanoi, was soon rewarded. In 1945, her lover Yokoyama was appointed Annamese envoy, and her husband, Tran Van Chuong, was promoted to the cabinet of the Japanese puppet government.

Le Xuan and Ngo Dinh Nhu got married.In the first week of May 1943, at Saint Joseph's Cathedral in Hanoi, or as the people of Hanoi called it, the Grand Cathedral, it was the second time Le Xuan had set foot in this towering Neo-Gothic church. The first time was the day before, for her conversion to Catholicism. She wore long gloves and a lace shawl wrapped around her long, flowing black hair. The profession of faith, which Le Xuan read aloud, affirmed her new belief in God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and the Church and all its sacraments. The priest, while reciting in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, sprinkled holy water on Le Xuan's forehead three times, after which all her sins were washed away. Then Le Xuan was given a baptismal name. The name Lucy was chosen, after Saint Lucia, the patron saint of the blind. As a Christian among pagans, Lucy had chosen to remain a virgin and blind herself rather than marry a pagan. Le Xuan's most striking feature was her sparkling eyes, wide open throughout the ceremony, a newfound caution toward the feelings she had to guard against most of the time—licentiousness, self-satisfaction, and arrogance.

Some time before the wedding, behind closed doors, the groom's family paid a dowry to Le Xuan's family. Traditionally, this money was to compensate for the family's loss after the bride's departure. The fact that the Chuong family was a wealthy urban family did not change this custom. The Ngo family could pay entirely in cash or with practical items: clothing, jewelry, meat, and tea. The amount of the dowry for Le Xuan was determined by her family's status, and thanks to their changing loyalty, the Chuong family's position remained quite good amidst a Japanese-occupied Hanoi.

Mr. Chương's garden transformed into a regal oasis for the post-wedding reception. The early May air was fragrant with blooming lilies and intoxicating magnolias. The women wore silk clothing and limited-edition cosmetics. Some might have retrieved carefully preserved outfits from storage, dating back to the carefree days before the ravages of war. Others were clearly dressed in tax-smuggled goods: women who knew how to choose their men wisely displayed the latest fashions.

Despite the wartime hardships, Mr. Chuong's family's supply of French champagne was not cut off. It flowed freely into the clinking stemmed glasses of the guests, who, as Mrs. Nhu wistfully recalled, were "all of Hanoi"—that is, all the important figures in Hanoi.

All eyes were on the eighteen-year-old bride as she entered the garden. In the formal wedding photograph of Le Xuan, taken on her wedding day, her expression was calm and dignified. Her hands were clasped in front of her, but obscured from the camera by the wide sleeves of her traditional wedding dress. The wide part of the red silk dress was embroidered with Chinese characters symbolizing marital happiness and dotted with delicate, multi-patterned flowers. Royal gold ribbons wrapped around her neck and sleeves, a style befitting the daughter of a royal princess. A large jade heart shone on her necklace; her diamond rose earrings were exquisitely elegant. A black headscarf was pleated across her forehead. Her hair was parted in the middle and coiled into a bun. Her eyes sparkled, lined with powder, and her eyebrows were meticulously drawn. Her lips were lightly painted with lipstick, and her cheeks were flushed with pink blush. She looked like a porcelain doll that would shatter the moment she dared to smile, but a lasting marriage alliance like this was a serious matter. Le Xuan had played her role impeccably. From now on, she would be Mrs. Nhu.

According to VNE