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Version vietnamienne
Exile is sometimes a far crueler torment than death for people with a lively, sensitive character. The novelist Staël is right to say so. Exile is only the last resort contemplated by the Vietnamese when he can no longer live freely to the best of his knowledge, or when he feels frustrated or powerless, like the retired general of the talented novelist Nguyễn Huy Thiệp, in a country wrested from foreign powers after so many years of effort and sacrifice, only to fall into dreary self-colonization.
Exile is not only the beginning of a new life, it’s also the beginning of a new hope. Sometimes, it’s the surest way to escape all threat and suspicion. Such is the case of Duke Nguyễn Hoàng. The latter, who within a few years would emerge victorious from several dazzling battles against the Mạc, became a cause for concern for his brother-in-law Trịnh Kiểm towards the end of 1554. To monopolize power, the latter did not hesitate to eliminate Nguyễn Uông, Nguyễn Hoàng’s brother.
Faced with this malicious intent, Nguyễn Hoàng, worried and distraught, was forced to secretly send an emissary to the illustrious scholar of the time, Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm, our Vietnamese Nostradamus, to seek his advice. Arriving at his place of retreat Bạch Vân am, the emissary laid a hundred gold taëls before the scholar and begged him for advice. But the scholar continued to remain impassive. Only towards the end of the interview did he stand up with his cane and head for the garden. Then, gazing admiringly at a decorative miniature artificial mountain made of a dozen tangled pebbles, on which a few ants were still climbing, he began to say:
Hoành sơn nhất đái vạn đại dung thân
Một dãy Hoành Sơn có thể dung thân được ở đó.
The refuge can be found on the side of the Annamite Cordillera.
The emissary told Nguyễn Hoàng what the scholar Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm had said. Seized by this brilliant idea, he pretended to be struck by madness and asked his sister, Ngọc Bảo, Trịnh Kiểm‘s favorite, to intervene with the latter so that he could be sent at once as governor of the Thuận Hóa- Quảng Nam province, known as the most unhealthy and dangerous corner, inhabited by barbarians and infested with wild beasts. But it was also here that Mạc troops continued to wage war. Machiavellian Trịnh Kiểm accepted this request without hesitation, for he seized the opportunity not only to liquidate Nguyễn Hoàng through the Mạc, but also to establish his legitimacy against the followers of his deceased father-in-law, general Nguyễn Kim. Thanks to this stratagem, Nguyễn Hoàng managed to save his family and later founded the dynasty of nine Nguyễn lords in the South, enabling one of his descendants by name Nguyễn Ánh (or Gia Long) to begin the long march south and later found the Nguyễn dynasty.
Similarly, Nguyễn Ánh had to spend several years in exile in Bangkok (Thailand) before being able to reclaim the throne. Exile is not always Eldorado, as Vietnamese still believe, but it is sometimes the beginning of a perilous adventure and a never-ending nightmare. More than 200,000 Vietnamese boat people perished in this adventure at the mercy of the East Sea and Thai pirates during the first years after the fall of Saigon (1975). Others who managed to escape alive continued to be kept as prisoners in camps in Thailand, Malaysia or Indonesia during the 90s. Exile is also the beginning of a long banishment, the end of a national upsurge and a lived experience.
Such was the case of King Hàm Nghi. After three years of struggle in the mountainous regions of Quảng Bình, he was captured alive on November 1, 1888 following the betrayal of a Mường Trương Quang Ngọc chief. Despite his capture, he continued to fuel doubts among the colonial authorities, for they found in front of them a young boy aged 18, of average height, so slender in his gait and so cultured above all, which contradicts the fact that according to rumors, Hàm Nghi was a vulgar and coarse character placed on the throne by the regent Tôn Thất Thuyết.
No sign of weakness or fatigue appeared on his face, despite three years of tracking, misery and hunger in these mountainous regions. He continued to remain not only impassive, but also mute about his identity in the face of incessant interrogation by his jailers. Several mandarins were sent to identify whether the young captive in question was indeed King Hàm Nghi or not, but none succeeded in moving the latter except the old scholar Nguyễn Thuận.
On seeing the king continuing to perform this mockery, the latter, with tears in his eyes, prostrated himself before him, dropping his cane. Faced with the sudden appearance of this scholar, the king forgot the role he had played against his jailers, raised the latter up and knelt before him: “I beg you, my master”. At that moment, he realized that he had made a mistake in recognizing the latter, for Nguyễn Thuận had been his tutor when he was still young. He never regretted this gesture, because for him, respect for his master came before any other consideration. Thanks to this recognition, the colonial authorities were sure to capture King Hàm Nghi, enabling them to pacify Vietnam. King Hàm Nghi was deported to Algeria at the age of 18. He never saw Vietnam again. Even his body was not brought back to Vietnam, but buried in Sarlat (Dordogne, France).
The attachment of every Vietnamese to his native land is so deep that it’s impossible for him not to think of returning one day to Vietnam and dying there.
Exile is only a transitory period in one’s life but never an end in itself.