A Vietnamese Family Chronicle

by Nguyen Trieu Dan

  Mandarins on the panel bore a heavy responsibility. The role of the monarch was formal and symbolic. Among the Le kings, only Le Thanh Ton, who ruled for thirty-seven years from 1460 to 1497 and was himself a renowned scholar and poet, took an effective part in the conduction of doctorate examinations. In 1511, King Le Tuong Duc was a young man of nineteen, in his third year on the throne. The real decision rested with the mandarins whose names and titles were recorded for posterity in full and who, therefore, were expected to exercise the greatest vigilance and care. In a way, the future of the country depended on them selecting the “right” people, who in our culture were men not so much of talent and knowledge as endowed with virtue and the intangible quality of wisdom. Candidates were thoroughly checked on their antecedents, moral character and any other aspects of their personality which could make them unfit for public office. Maturity of judgment was a main consideration and it could easily happen that a person was failed just because he was considered still too young. Recommendations made by panels may run something like this: A bright talent but too young, it would be better for him to wait and graduate at the next session.

  The account on the stele continued:

  On the fourth day of the fifth month, His Majesty went to the Palace of Kinh Thien. Officials using trumpet loudspeakers announced the names of the new doctors. The assembly of mandarins in full Court apparel attended the graduation ceremony. On His Majesty’s orders, officials of the Ministry of Public Service gave to the doctors their diplomas. Officials of the Ministry for the Rites brought out the golden board and hung it in front of the Palace of High Learning. The king also gave ceremonial dresses, hats, belts and a banquet to the doctors. The function to honour these good and wise subjects was very solemn indeed.

  The forty-seven successful candidates were grouped in three classes. The doctorate first class was awarded to the top three graduates, each of whom received a prestigious title inherited from ancient times in China, Trang Nguyen or First Laureate, Bang Nhan or The Eye of the Honor List for the second and Tham Hoa, a delightfully poetical title meaning Searching Among the Blossoms for the third man. In the banquet given by the Tang Emperor to the graduates, the custom was for the two youngest doctors to be sent to the apricot garden to pick the most beautiful blossoms. The third man’s title derived from that custom. Our ancestors Nguyen Tue and Nguyen Huyen did not obtain those coveted titles. As a matter of fact, none in our family ever did and even our village could not boast of ever having a doctor first class, in spite of its long tradition of scholarship. Nine graduates of that session were given the doctorate second class and thirty-five the doctorate third class. The two Nguyen brothers belonged to the last group.

  On the golden board mentioned above, the new graduates’ names were written in black ink over a background painted the color of gold. Before being treated to a banquet, the new doctors were given the honor of visiting the royal gardens. Like the other guests at the banquet, the Nguyen brothers only ate just enough of the food offered to them that good manners required. They kept the rest aside to bring home for parents and relatives. They would do the same during their mandarinal career, each time they had the honor to be called to a royal banquet. For the food given by a king was something special which a person must not eat all by himself. It must be saved to be shared, firstly with one’s parents, then with other members of the family.

  All those ceremonies recorded by the official historian took place in the capital. Now came a celebration deeply imprinted in the popular mind and so often sung by folklore, the Triumphal Return of the new doctor to his home village. Following the examination results, official messengers were dispatched to bring the news to the places where graduates hailed from. Welcoming ceremonies were prepared. The Nguyen brothers already had been given a taste of triumphal return after they won the regional competition, on their way to the doctorate. As licentiates holding a higher degree, they were welcomed home by more notables and more people, those from all villages forming our canton of Phuong Trung. Now that they were doctors effecting their Triumphal Return, they were greeted not only by their village and canton, but also by the entire prefecture of Thanh Oai. On the appointed day, the prefect of Thanh Oai and his officials, notables from villages in the prefecture and, of course, the local population of several thousand people turned out to meet the brothers on their return from the capital. A new doctor going home was already an extraordinary event; the spectacle of two doctors in the same procession would be seen only once in a lifetime, in fact it would remain unique in the history of our region. As a mark of respect, the welcoming party did not wait at our village’s gate but went to the boundary of the prefecture, some miles away from Kim Bai. Upon the new graduates’ arrival, a cortege was formed and the triumphal march home began. Nguyen Tue and Nguyen Huyen, riding on horseback and preceded by flags and banners announcing their ranks, were each shaded by two parasols painted gold. Their parents, teachers and wives followed, each sitting in an open palanquin shaded by a parasol.

  The cortege went to the Nguyen’s Ancestral Shrine for the doctors to report their achievements to our Original Ancestor, then to our ancestral home for them to kneel and pray before our ancestors’ altar. Oxen and pigs were killed to make offerings to the village’s deities. A feast was prepared for officials and village folks. Festivities lasted several days. Although expenses were heavy on our family, they were a must, for village rules were quite explicit: the recipient of a new honor or diploma must declare it to the village community by means of a religious service at the Communal Hall followed by a feast, otherwise the village would not recognize it, even though it may have been the highest diploma of the kingdom or a very high honor bestowed by the king. Such was the autonomy traditionally enjoyed by Vietnamese villages. A poor graduate might have to postpone the celebrations until he had the means; in the meantime, he continued to be treated by village folks as if he held no diploma.

  The honor conferred on a doctor extended to his village. From then on, he would not be called by his name, but by his title followed by the village’s name. Both Nguyen Huyen and Nguyen Tue would be known as The Doctor of Kim Bai. Our village in that year of the Goat must have believed itself blessed by Heaven. It had not just a holder of the doctorate, but two. And what about the family having them as sons? The brothers became legendary figures. A saying to praise their academic prowess has been handed down among villagers until today:

  Nguyen Huyen, Nguyen Tue,

  The two brothers.

  At the same session,

  They won the golden board.

  The Triumphal Return did not mark the end of ceremonies. The year of the Goat session was the first doctorate examination in King Le Tuong Duc’s reign. “His Majesty believes,” it was recorded on the stele, “that talent and wisdom are the lifeblood of the nation and should be constantly nurtured.” Following the session, therefore, he appointed the second highest mandarin in the country, the Duke of Nghia, Great Guardian, to oversee the renovation of the Palace of High Learning, which was another name for the Temple of Literature, and the construction there of two new wings to house the doctors’ stelae. Two years later, the king ordered that the new doctors be given the ultimate honor of having their names carved in stone and preserved for posterity in the seat of our nation’s culture. The order was recorded in detail by the historian:

  His Majesty gave to the Duke of Uy, Minister of Works, the task of supervising the carving and erection of the slabs, the Minister for the Rites that of writing an introductory text, and high mandarins in the Central Secretariate that of being calligraphers.

  The wings built in that time have since long gone. But under the shade of century-old trees, the stele bearing our ancestors’ names can still be seen on the Temple grounds today. Preceding the honors list was an introductory text composed by the Minister for the Rites, exalting the merits of the Le kings and their enlightened way of encouraging scholarship. Addressing the new doctors, it gave them praise as well as a
warning:

  Those scholars who have their names carved on this stone slab, how lucky they are! If they know how to prove themselves as loyal, honest and industrious subjects, then students of the future would point to their names in praise and seek to emulate them. But if they let their talents go to waste and behave like cowards who tie their own hands and know only to flatter, they would be the mockery of later generations.

  Our family chronicle only briefly recorded that Nguyen Tue was a minister under the Mac dynasty and on him was conferred the ba, a title of nobility corresponding to that of count. I searched for more information about him in the history books written in this century, but they were only school textbooks containing few details. Nothing could be found there. I knew that I would have to consult earlier writings and, in particular, the two basic works on Vietnamese history, the History of Dai Viet and the Mirror of Vietnam’s History. However, these were written in the old scholarly script and it was not before the early 1970s that I obtained a translation of the complete set of the History of Dai Viet. Having obtained it, I then put it away without looking at it. A full-scale war was taking place in South Vietnam, which was fighting for its survival against the communist North. The Paris Peace Talks had just ended, but instead of finding a peaceful solution to the Vietnamese conflict, they were followed by an all-out communist invasion. Left to itself, South Vietnam collapsed under the weight of the North Vietnamese army, armed and supplied by the communist bloc. Hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese had to flee their country to save their right to live as free men. Our family asked for asylum in Australia. Our first years here were extremely difficult. Only ten years after our arrival in Melbourne, did I find the time to read the History of Dai Viet, for the first time.

  The History was compiled in the fifteenth century by Ngo Si Lien and added to in the seventeenth century by later historians. The part I was interested in was the Mac period and I found that the Mac did not have a history of their own. What we know about them was written by their enemy, the Le. Like all other Vietnamese dynasties, the Mac attached great importance to establishing their historical records, but when they lost the throne, all their records were destroyed. Those who wrote the Mac annals in the History of Dai Viet were mandarins of the Le and they wrote it in the seventeenth century, after the Le had been restored. They branded the Mac rule as illegitimate. Their work was biased and sketchy.

  What happened was that by the start of the sixteenth century, a process of disintegration had started for the Le dynasty. Successive kings came to the throne at a young age and did not stay long. They could not come to grips with ruling the country. Power passed more and more into the hands of a military commander named Mac Dang Dung. In the sixth month of the year of the Pig (1527), the latter compelled King Le Cung Hoang to abdicate. I was reading the account in the History of Dai Viet of the seizure of power by Mac Dang Dung, the dramatic scene at the court where the Le mandarins deliberated whether or not to accept a new ruler, then the abdication and the pitiable death of the young Le king. After a few pages, I came to a passage starting with: “In the second month (of the year of the Rat [1528]), Dang Dung . . . promoted and conferred titles of nobility on fifty-six persons,” and there followed a long list of names and titles. Among them, I read “Hung An ba Nguyen Tue” (Nguyen Tue, Count of Hung An) and was going on to the next name when suddenly, these words seemed to spring out at me and pull me back. I read once again. Then, I realized it. That was my ancestor. I felt as if, from a distant past, he had reached down to me. My heart beat faster with the joy of reunion.

  The name attached to his title, Hung An, was not mentioned in any of our family documents. I later found out that it was not the correct one. As recorded by historian Le Quy Don, in a book published in the eighteenth century, the exact name was Hung Giao, a village close to ours and belonging to the same prefecture of Thanh Oai. The Mac dynasty observed the same rules of court protocol as those laid down by the former Le dynasty. Court precedence started with members of the royal family, then came the mandarins holding the following titles of nobility: vuong, cong, hau, ba, tu, nam, which could be translated as prince, duke, marquess, count, viscount and knight. The first title vuong, or prince, was normally conferred on princes of royal blood. Only in exceptional circumstances was it given to commoners, as its meaning was nearer to king than prince. It had happened that officials who performed outstanding services and received the title of vuong often began to think of themselves as royals and ended up by coveting the throne. Mac Dang Dung himself was made a vuong before he dethroned the Le king. Count was therefore the third highest title that a commoner could aspire to.

  Protocol rules stated that those given a title of nobility would take a name to go with the title: “Dukes will take the prefecture’s name, . . . marquesses and counts will take the village’s name.” Prefecture and village here did not mean their native place, for in that case our ancestor would have been called Count of Kim Bai, but the place where they were granted land. Under the Mac, ministers at the court like Nguyen Tue generally received the title of count. The higher titles of marquess or duke were mostly conferred on military commanders and on mandarins related to the royal family. Vietnamese titles of nobility were not hereditary. Sons of ennobled mandarins enjoyed certain privileges, such as being taught at special schools reserved for them and being admitted to the lower echelons of the civil service without holding a diploma, but they had to earn for themselves titles and honors. Throughout our history, there had never developed a stable and strong noble class which could act as a counter-weight to the absolute power of the king.

  Nguyen Tue’s career probably began before he obtained the doctorate. Winners of the regional competitions who became bachelors or licentiates, usually went into lower echelons of the mandarinate, then tried their luck with the higher diploma while pursuing their career. Some eventually graduated at a mature age, when already in the middle ranks of the administration. I believe that our ancestor came under that category, because when the Le fell from power sixteen years after his graduation, he was already among the top officials at the court. The mandarinate had nine grades, each divided into an upper and a lower echelon, or a total of eighteen rungs that a person had to climb to get to the top. Doctors, depending on the class they obtained at the examination, were appointed to functions ranking from the eighth grade to the sixth. Top graduates served in the capital, many of them going into the prestigious Academy. Those of the third class like Nguyen Tue and his brother would be made mandarins of the upper eighth class and sent to the prefectures. Following the customary career path of mandarins, they would work their way up from the prefectures to the regions, before being called to the center.

  It is not known in what prefectures and regions Nguyen Tue served. His whole career was spent in troubled and unstable times. The Le dynasty, after an unprecedented period of stability and prosperity under the great king Le Thanh Ton, had entered a decline. Le Uy Muc ascended the throne in 1504 at the age of seventeen and turned out to be so cruel and bloodthirsty that he earned the nickname of Devil King. He killed his own grandmother for having opposed him being chosen to succeed his father. In 1509, he was killed by his cousin who became king at sixteen years of age. This king was a spendthrift who led a dissolute life devoted to wine and women. Rebellion and banditry broke out in many places. Support was needed from military commanders to keep the country under control and soon, it was they who controlled the country and the king. In 1516, the king was killed by a military commander. His successor, a fourteen-year-old boy, stayed on the throne for six years before being disposed by another commander. Those were difficult times for scholar-mandarins like Nguyen Tue, who were taught and trained in the Confucian classics. Their model was a stable, orderly society in which each and everyone knew where they stood and what was expected of them. When asked how the ship of state should be run, Confucius gave this simple answer: “A king should act like a king, a subject like a subject, a father like a father, a son l
ike a son.” By subject, he meant a mandarin in the service of the king. Now scholar-mandarins were faced with a confused and moving situation where the king did not behave as a king should, royal authority was not respected and those commanders who took power unto themselves certainly did not act like subjects of the king. They had to adapt and devise their own line of conduct instead of being able to rely on the teachings of saints and sages from ancient China.

  Mac Dang Dung, the founder of the Mac dynasty, was a seventh-generation descendant of Mac Dinh Chi, a famous scholar and statesman living in the fourteenth century. A First Laureate at the doctorate examination, Mac Dinh Chi went in 1308 to China on a diplomatic mission and dazzled the Mongol court with his erudition and poetical talent. In the following generations however, as was the rule in our society where rise and decline often followed each other in quick succession, the Mac family became impoverished. Dang Dung earned his living as a fisherman before making his career in the army. When our ancestor obtained his doctorate, Dang Dung was an officer of high rank and a count. Ten years later, he was a duke and the commander-in-chief of all land and naval bases outside the capital. “His authority increased everyday, everyone looked up to him,” noted the official historian. Mac Dang Dung began displaying the trappings of royalty. “Whenever he went out, he was shaded by goldplated parasols bearing representations of the phoenix; on the river, his boat pulled by footmen was built in the shape of a dragon. He went in and out of His Majesty’s private chambers without any apprehension.” King Le Chieu Ton saw the writing on the wall and plotted to get rid of Mac Dang Dung. Instead, he had to flee and his brother, a boy of sixteen, was put on the throne. The stage was set for the overthrow of the Le.