'Madam Nhu Tran Le Xuan': Marriage without love

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

Mr. Nhu is 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 served. Out of loyalty to his master, he resigned and took his family back to the countryside to raise buffalo and grow rice, a remarkable, if not admirable, retreat. His resistance to French interference in Vietnamese politics cemented a sense of family honor and national duty—traits that were passed on to all six of his sons.

Every morning at six o'clock, Mr. Kha's nine children gathered together. Then they went to school. He also told them to work hard in the fields, getting dirty with mud alongside the local farmers. Although Mr. Kha himself wore the traditional silk robe of a scholar and had five-centimeter-long fingernails as a sign of his official status, he constantly scolded his sons that "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 a European curriculum. At home, he taught them classical Mandarin. In addition to the academic emphasis, Mr. Kha's home was a place for learning anti-French nationalist political views.

By the time Mr. Nhu and Le Xuan first met, the Ngo brothers had already established distinguished careers. The eldest brother was now 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, who had a direct hand in shaping the nation’s future, was the future President of South Vietnam, Ngo Dinh Diem.

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

Portrait of Mrs. Tran Le Xuan in bridal dress in 1943.

But the young Le Xuan was a talented actress, and she knew how to recognize a suitable role. In 1940, shortly before meeting Mr. Nhu, the girls of Madame Parmentier's ballet school were preparing to perform Snow White. Other French and Vietnamese girls refused to play the hideous witch, but Le Xuan saw potential in the role. She would never be given the role of Snow White; the part would go to a white French girl. But she could still shine on stage with a brilliant performance of evil.

Le Xuan saw Mr. Nhu as an opportunity. Whether out of love, ambition, or mutual exploitation, Le Xuan and Mr. Nhu became engaged shortly after their meeting in the garden. They were engaged for three years, a Vietnamese tradition, even though it was not according to Le Xuan’s parents’ wishes. But during that time, from 1940 to 1943, the world that Le Xuan knew had changed completely.

World War II broke out in Europe.The defeat of France had virtually severed Indochina from the motherland. The Vichy government in France allowed Japan to move troops to southern China via North Vietnam, build airfields, requisition food, and station 6,000 troops in Tonkin.

Japanese diplomats, interpreters, intelligence officers, and businessmen occupied places of honor at the Tuesday afternoon salon meetings at Mr. Truong's house, and the French colonialists in Indochina were very upset about this. They simply could not, or would not, believe that their surrender in Europe had compromised their rule in Indochina. So for a while, the French struggled to cling to their daily lives, keeping servants, dressing up for dinner parties, and gathering in cafes to gossip about weekend trips to the seaside or the winners of horse races. The French may have handed over the deed to their colonial possessions 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 each year, still managed to maintain a last illusion, stuffing bread with corn and rice. Indochina was the only area of ​​Southeast Asia under Japanese control that allowed white colonists to remain.

In 1942, ration 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 things like meat and condensed milk, which they were given first priority. All this was justified in colonial thinking by the notion that the Annamese were accustomed to a monotonous diet, while Europeans would fall ill with a less varied diet.

Although Mr. Chuong's familyThey were not suffering, in fact, they were deprived of the luxuries to which they had become accustomed. But the Chuongs were masters of political maneuvering, and they managed quite well—at least for a while. The Japanese penetration of the nominal French regime created a rather confusing political situation. Who was in power, the Westerners or the Asians? Who would be more sympathetic to Vietnamese nationalist aspirations? The Chuongs tried to cultivate important friendships with both sides, but in the end they chose to share their fate with the Japanese under the banner of “Yellow Brotherhood.” The Japanese encouraged the Vietnamese to see themselves as part of the Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere—led by Japan, of course. At least the Japanese did not assert superiority based on their skin color.

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

Le Xuan and Ngo Dinh Nhu get marriedin the first week of May 1943 at Saint Joseph's Cathedral in Hanoi, or as Hanoians called it, the Great Church. It was the second time Le Xuan had set foot in this towering neo-gothic cathedral. The first time had been the day before for her conversion to Catholicism. She wore long sleeves and a lace shawl wrapped around her black hair, which flowed down to her shoulders. 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, speaking in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of 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 Christian name. Lucy was chosen, after Saint Lucia, the patron saint of the blind. A Christian among pagans, Lucy chose to remain a virgin and blind herself rather than marry a pagan. Le Xuan's most beautiful feature, her sparkling eyes, were wide open throughout the ceremony, a new wariness of the feelings she had to guard against most of the time - lust, complacency, and pride.

Some time before the wedding and 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 marriage. The fact that the Chuong family was a wealthy urban family did not change this custom. The Ngo family could pay entirely in money or in practical items: clothes, jewelry, meat, and tea. The amount of dowry for Le Xuan was determined by her family’s status, and thanks to his change of allegiance, the Chuong family’s status was indeed very good in Japanese-occupied Hanoi.

Mr. Truong’s garden was transformed into a regal oasis for the post-wedding reception. The early May air was fragrant with blooming lilies and heady frangipani. The women wore silks and rationed cosmetics. Some could be found in storage, carefully preserved outfits from the days of leisurely parties, before the whirlwind of war. Others were dressed in obvious contraband: women who knew their men well and were sporting the latest fashions.

The wartime shortages, however, did not cut off the supply of French champagne to Mr. Chuong’s family. It flowed into the clinking stemmed glasses of the guests, who were, as Madame Nhu wistfully recalled, “all of Hanoi”—that is, all the important people in Hanoi.

All eyes were on the eighteen-year-old bride as she entered the garden. In Le Xuan’s formal wedding photo, taken on her wedding day, her expression was calm and solemn. Her hands were clasped in front of her, hidden from the camera by the wide sleeves of her traditional wedding gown. The wide part of the red silk dress was embroidered with Chinese characters for marital happiness and dotted with delicately patterned flowers. Regal gold ribbons circled her neck and sleeves, a style befitting the daughter of a royal princess. A large jade heart sparkled on her necklace; diamond rose earrings were exquisite. A black turban draped over her forehead. Her hair was parted in the middle and wrapped in curls around her head. Her eyes were glittering with powder and her eyebrows were carefully drawn. Her lips were smeared with lipstick, and her cheeks were rosy. She looked like a porcelain doll that would crack if she dared to smile, but a lasting marriage like this was a serious matter. Le Xuan had played her role impeccably. From now on, she would be Madame Nhu.

According to VNE