Because after the passing of Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi, many decades have passed, but the academic influence, scientific enthusiasm associated with the leisurely demeanor of the teacher, the revolutionary intellectual, continues to spread, lasting like the ringing bell of an era, spilling over into the 21st century.
Looking for a name for the nostalgic article about Mr. Nhi, I hesitated for a moment and then four words suddenly flashed in my mind: “great professor”. It could not be otherwise. To me, Mr. Nhi is certainly one of the great trees of the university village, of the new Vietnamese education. During his lifetime, he often self-deprecatingly said: “I am the longest serving dean in the world.”. We heard him say that many times, especially when he compared himself to Professor Nguy Nhu Kontum - “the longest-serving principal in the world”. Saying that, along with his hearty, satisfied laughter, we immediately recognized the complex tone of self-mockery and pride. Because during the years of war and revolution, the positions of Principal and Dean of a university did not change according to the term. Those positions were synonymous with great responsibility and fame. Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi was like a locomotive, pulling the Faculty of Literature, University of General Sciences through a whole term - the term of fighting against America.
In my fresh student memories, the tall figure of the Teacher still stands tall, reminiscent of the ancient trees in Hanoi in the 60s and 70s. The great impression of the Teacher is even deeper in me along with memories of the war.
Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi and students
In 1970, when I turned 16, I received a call-up letter.Literature Synthesis– the abbreviation of the Faculty of Literature - Hanoi University of Science. The dream of “general literature” that I had nurtured for 3 consecutive years, has come true. My university has the longest principal’s name: “Nguy Như Kontum”, which is different from the principal’s name of all other schools, when read aloud it sounds like a poem, and my faculty of Literature has the name of the professor - head of the department “Hoang Xuan Nhi” which is so gentle and warm!
Knowing that I was accepted into the faculty where the professor was teaching, my father asked me to bring a pair of mats as a gift to the teacher.If you want your children to be good at reading, love their teachers.. I sympathized with my father, but he did not sympathize with me. Looking at the pair of smooth, but bulky, white bean mats sent from Nga Son, I was extremely discouraged. How could I approach Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi, whom I had only seen a few times in a semester with his ba-do-suy shirt on his mobilet. In our class T1/E104, which is the 15th Literature and Language majors, only a few people skipped class to listen to Mr. Nhi lecture to the seniors. Every time he appeared in the schoolyard, our class would alert everyone to run to the window and look down to see him. My friend, a boy from Con Cuong, Nghe An, even bragged that he had smelled the smoke from the teacher's mobilet.The smoke is fragrant, the teacher must use more expensive gasoline than car gasoline."The guy said and laughed, I didn't know if he was joking or not.
The year 1971 came to me in the joy of excited students. That was the year that the KKoa Ngu Van celebrated its 15th anniversary. My class made a wall newspaper, “practiced arts”, did regular physical exercises, and celebrated. At first, the class planned to dance with bamboo poles, but when they found it hard to find bamboo poles, they gave up and switched to singing in chorus. We were both jealous and respectful of the seniors in the class – K14. They had a duet “Before the shooting festival”, and there was also a very pretty girl who pretended to be a boy, dancing “Hoa Champa” very skillfully. The 15th anniversary celebration organized by the Faculty was very grand. The collective water tank of the two faculties of Literature and History was so big, but the commemorative stage was built even higher than the surface of the tank. The performances were all good, but what I was most excited about was the poetry reading by Mr. Hoang Xuan Nhi. For a long time, I had longed to hear his voice clearly. I heard that there was a guy who played the flute very well, and wanted to play it as a background for the teacher to read poetry, but after trying it a few times, the teacher turned him down, because his poetry was very picky about music. It was time for the teacher's performance. All the audience from the two faculties of Literature and History stood up and crowded close to the stage. The speakers the faculty rented were a bit distorted, so the teacher suggested reading the poetry directly to make it more vivid. I managed to squeeze up close to the teacher's feet. This was the first time I had stood close to a professor. It was exactly as I had imagined. To be a professor, one must be old, with gray hair, tall, and dressed only for warmth, like Teacher Nhi. The teacher's coat was definitely Western, not new, even a bit wrinkled, but it was definitely luxurious and very warm. In winter, with the teacher's coat, skinny boarding students like us could fit in it as a blanket, and sleep well until morning. The teacher put his hand into his pocket. The pocket was very deep. He leisurely took out a cigarette, broke it in half, put half of it in his pipe, did not read the poetry right away, but lit it and took a small puff, then smiled. Students clapped and cheered. It seems that poetry performances have existed since then.
The teacher began to read. His voice was Ha Tinh, not very loud, a bit low, a bit dull but had the power to penetrate deeply, soaking into our hearts with each word like a drop of water falling in a cave:
But the soul of the commune of youth
This is a once in a thousand years opportunity.
Not far from the stage at that time was a small road, with several old-grown rosewood trees. Because they wanted to sit high to watch the performance and listen to the poetry, many students mixed in with the children climbing up the trees. This green grandstand could not bear the heavy load. Right when the professor's poems made the most impression, the audience on the trees simultaneously leaned forward, listening. The rosewood tree lost its center of gravity, tilted, was uprooted, and then fell down with a loud cheer, half panicked, half delighted. On stage, Mr. Nhi was still reading enthusiastically as if he did not know what was going on. My seniors commented: Mr. Nhi's poems were those of scientists, not for form but for content, although simple, they still had the power to move the roots of plants and people.
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In September 1971, without even a single hour of studying with Mr. Nhi, twenty of us, K15 students, had to enlist in the army. Every boy in the class had to write a volunteer application, but none of us wanted to go. It was such a pity that we had to leave after only one year of university. So many teachers with famous pen names: Dinh Gia Khanh, Bac Nang Thi, Ton Gia Ngan, Do Duc Hieu, Le Dinh Ky, Hoang Nhu Mai, Nguyen Van Khoa, Phan Cu De, Ha Minh Duc… we read them with admiration and longing. We enlisted that year in the middle of the flood season. The Red River was rising, threatening to break the dike. Before the day of the military deployment, I had the honor of moving the Literature Department library books from the first floor to the fourth floor, in case the city was flooded. I hugged the stacks of books as high as my chest, heavily climbing each step of the stairs, wondering about the day I would return. After the war, I wonder if I will still be alive, return to the faculty to read these books? Why did Mr. Nhi study in Western Europe, return to the country to write Russian literature textbooks and research President Ho's poetry? Such questions of course did not bother my marching steps. However, during the years of fighting on the Quang Tri front, I always encouraged myself that I was fighting for the peace of the University, where there was Professor Kontum, Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi, that after the war, I would definitely live, return to the North, that place.
The war had not ended yet, I was injured, fortunately I was able to return to school, earlier than many of my classmates. I had the chance to study Mr. Nhi's impressive lectures. I also witnessed the moments when he choked up because of Uncle Ho's poems. First is the devil, second is the spirit, third is the student. I don't know which class of students started the anecdote that every year he cried at exactly those places, because the textbooks he wrote always had parentheses reminding himself:this place cries. At first I thought very seriously: if that were true, it would not be funny, because it was a genius, proving a pedagogical skill, a school art. Because once when I saw the teacher cry, I cried too.
Later I learned that the rumor, that anecdote was also a form of idolatry by mischievous literature students. The teacher’s cries were real. They were sincere tears flowing from the innocent heart in the chest of an old man. Teacher Nhi lived with that innocent heart until the end of his life. Those were probably also the last tears of an era that, unfortunately… is passing.
I think, Mr. Nhi belongs to the group of intellectuals born at the wrong time. They are Vietnamese scientists who had to live and work in a situation that did not require much science. It is said that when he saw Tran Duc Thao traveling from France to the war zone, eagerly accepting the resistance mission, President Ho joked: Uncle Thao has no place to stay... Tran Duc Thao went to work as a secretary. Tran Dai Nghia was assigned to make guns, which was his forte, and Ngui Nhu Kontum was good at nuclear physics, so temporarily working as an education manager was also a waste. The resistance did not need philosophy or nuclear weapons. Every intellectual had to sacrifice his forte for the sake of the resistance, working in his weakness. Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi was the same in the early years of the school. Reading the pages "Memories of a Teacher" by Professor Ha Minh Duc, I understood this. Mr. Duc said, "If Mr. Nhi had researched in the area of foreign literature, he would have been more successful". Many other professors also believe that Professor Nhi's research and teaching of Russian literature and Uncle Ho's poetry mainly stemmed from the responsibility of a leader, sacrificing his Western learning to go into the wastelands that needed people to explore. Fortunately, thanks to his good command of French, German, and Chinese, he explored the fastest and most effectively, as a founder, a pioneer, paving the way for his students and colleagues to inherit.
Few people know that in 1936, Mr. Nhi went to study in France thanks to a scholarship from the Association for the Promotion of Overseas Study, specializing in literature and philosophy. Only one year later, he graduated with a bachelor's degree in philosophy (in 1937). During his time in France, he translated many classical Vietnamese literary works such as "Luu Binh Duong Le", "Chinh Phu Ngam", "Truyen Kieu"... into French, translated works on the history of Russian literature, works by M. Gorky and Mayacopxky published in the magazineMercure de FranceIn 1946, he returned to the country to participate in the resistance war and was in charge of the cultural sector in the South. In 1947, he was assigned by the Southern Resistance Administrative Committee to be in charge of the newspaper.The Voice of the Maquis(Voice of Resistance), was the first foreign language newspaper in the revolutionary war zone. Along with the newspaperThe Voice of the Maquis, the enemy agitation work of the resistance government caused European and African soldiers in the French army to desert the French army to join the resistance. Because he was good at English, French, German, and Russian, the committee assigned him the task of political commissar of the international army consisting of soldiers who deserted the French army. In 1947, the resistance government appointed him as director of the Resistance Cultural Institute. When the cultural sector was unified with the educational sector, he was appointed as director of the Southern Education Department. In 1949, Hoang Xuan Nhi participated in opening a special pedagogical class named after Phan Chu Trinh to provide cultural training for the resistance forces.
After the Geneva Agreement, he gathered in the North, was appointed professor, and taught at the following schools: University of Education, Hanoi University of Science from 1956 to 1982. He held the position of head of the Department of General Literature and was also a founding member of the Vietnam Writers' Association and the Vietnam Literature and Arts Association.
In 1978, after graduating, I was fortunate to be assigned to the Department of Literary Theory and Modern Vietnamese Literature with my teacher. I said “with my teacher” but after nearly ten years of working together, my teacher still did not remember my name. I was not sad because I had a consoling example. At that time, Mr. Nguyen Ba Thanh was so talented, not only was he talented, he worked in the union, every month he brought his salary to my teacher at home, in his hand, but my teacher only remembered half of his full name. My teacher often nodded to show that he knew my name very well: “I remember your name, Nguyen Ban, I love you so much.". If I, Pham Thanh Hung, worked for the union and paid a salary, I would probably be remembered by the Teacher like this:Pham Han… love you so muchthat's it.
In the post-war 80s, I never felt life was so sad. The salary of a young university teacher was not enough to live on for a few days. I mainly lived on my mother's salary in the countryside. My parents liked the title of their son teaching at a university, so I took advantage of them to dig for gold. Every few months, I wrote letters threatening to quit my job and transfer to another agency. My parents were afraid and provided support and encouragement. After falling for my trick for several years, one day, hearing my threat, my parents unanimously declared: Just quit your job, who will support you until you are old?
Having no support, I threw myself into learning Russian to forget my hunger. That was also the period when I was reminded and encouraged by Mr. Nhi. I don't remember his name, but he knew that I was in charge of teaching literary theory. One time he asked: What's new in Russian and Western theory this past year, comrade? I opened my mouth, unable to answer. After listening to my story, he told me: You have to try harder, in the old days, with Russian, you could read magazines fluently after a few months. Following his example, I went back to put aside all my worries, diligently looked up the dictionary, and practiced translating.
One time I went to my teacher's house and complained about the hardships of life. He looked at me for a long time and then gave me a sentence that I will always remember: "I'm a professor, still have to wake up early to fetch water, queue up to buy cheap vegetables.”. The teacher said and then slowly took a puff of his pipe, looking at the wall in front of him for a long time. Of course, there was nothing worth looking at on the wall. The teacher felt sad, looking somewhere in the distance, imagining. After a while, the teacher let out a few words, as if talking to himself:“The important thing is that the country is unified!”.
I walked out of the Teacher's room, out of the Kim Lien collective D area, carrying the Teacher's words with me like I had just been given a canteen of refreshing water during the war. I, in turn, looked up at the blue sky: "The country is unified!”. That is a truth, a daily truth, a true happiness, a happiness every day, why can’t I remember. Many times lying next to the bodies of my comrades, I longed for and dreamed of peace, still considering it an illusory dream. For the past few years, peace has come, the country has been unified, how could I forget. Teacher Nhi reminded me of the greatest, most fundamental value of national life. He inspired me with a belief. Difficulties will pass, when we are unified, we will have everything. I know he believes that. If he believes, I believe too.
The country was really miserable in the post-war years. After the excitement of ending the years of pain and death, breathing in peace, and misunderstanding the future of the nation, we began to be confused and disappointed with the economic prospects of the country. At that time, the whole country was hungry. We young teachers at that time did not dare to play sports, because after a few minutes of sports, we would feel hungry. At 11:30, the communal kitchen would ring the gong to signal the meal. Usually, by 10 o'clock, my stomach was growling, I could not sit still, and could not read a book. There was a young teacher who was so hungry that he decided to fall in love with the cafeteria worker, so that she would give him an extra piece of burnt food at each meal. Fortunately, that selfish love affair was later transformed into a wedding. I had a short story that won the Army Literature and Arts Award. So hungry, I asked Ba Thanh to go with me to the editorial office to receive the award, plotting to sell that artifact to eat pho. There was no need to keep it as a souvenir. We were not greedy for fame, but in the end, we were hungry. Giving away Kim Tinh fountain pens, Rang Dong thermoses, or cups of any kind, I would sell them. Selling them at black market prices… Almost noon, very hungry, Thanh and I received the prize. The two of us were so happy, we carried it to a quiet place to ask where to sell it. When we opened it, we found out that the prize was a statue of President Ho Chi Minh in Pac Bo translating the history of the Party. We carried Uncle Ho home, half smiling, half crying along the way.
It was during those years of famine that Mr. Nhi emerged as an example of overcoming difficulties. He read books and wrote books all night long. He even had essays against the expansionist forces of Beijing. The thinking style of a Western-educated intellectual and his patriotism turned him into someone who could not stand the idea of hegemony and expansion. Once, he had to curse the invading authorities, right in a scientific conference.
One year, Professor Ha Minh Duc took students of the Literature Department to do an internship, writing about good people and good deeds at the 103 Military Hospital. Perhaps thanks to Professor Duc's diplomatic talent, at the end of the internship, the Institute organized a very respectful farewell and thank you. "Sincerely" - those two words, whispered to each other at that time, meant having...a drink. I was very happy. My stomach was also full of joy. Near the time of the party, Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi suddenly rode his mobilet into the yard. The motorbike had not yet cleared its smoke when Professor Do Xuan Hop - the Institute's Director rushed out to welcome his friend. The two elders hugged each other, saying something in French, we did not understand. I and the whole group of interns followed the two elders. There were a few students studying French who followed, eavesdropping, understanding a little, occasionally turning back to translate for us, very enjoyable. However, listening too much was boring. The Institute's yard was connected to the Military Medical University's yard, so it was very long and very wide. Not knowing where the banquet was, it was best for us to stick close to the two old men. In ancient Greece, Aristotle and other philosophers led their students into the forest to have academic dialogues, probably similar to this. The two old men, one studying Uncle Ho's poetry, the other studying anatomy, two fields so far apart, talked to each other enthusiastically. The two professors left, we left too, the two old men stopped, our group of disciples also stopped, trying to keep a distance that was both close to the teacher-student relationship and respectful to each other. According to the teachers, it was impossible to get lost. Believing this, we followed the two old men for half an hour. Some impatient people were about to leave, separate from the group, but when we saw the professor leading Professor Nhi into a house, we excitedly followed. But after a while, we realized we were lost. We didn't know which way the two old men had gone. A moment later, Professor Nhi ran out and blamed: "I don't talk about literature, why follow me? I'm asking Professor Hop's opinion about the urinary tract.”. Professor Hop - the host added: “We're going to find a place to go. No food. The party is in the dormitory. If you need to go, go in and then come back there.”.
We laughed and jogged back, easily approaching the kilometer.
I remember and tell the above story not with any sense of humor. I just want to affirm one thing: we have gone through a difficult time. But that was the time when we lived by faith. We loved our teacher and believed in him. Whatever he did was right, so following him, no matter how far, we were assured that we would not get lost.
In 1990, I returned home after five years of doing research in Prague. I returned home with almost nothing, no money, no degree, and most importantly, a PhD degree. The 1989-1990 “Velvet Revolution” had swept away many things in the city of “the capital of a hundred golden towers”, including the speck of dust that was my thesis on Czech socialist realist literature. Czech education and academia abandoned communist ideology and Marxist methodology, so I had to rewrite my thesis. My supervisor was dismissed and fired. I did not have the courage to go and ask for help from overseas professors who had returned. I abandoned my unfinished thesis draft and returned home. I returned home in depression and heavy thoughts about the painful experiences through a revolution that was fierce and swift beyond imagination. I wanted to meet many friends, colleagues, and meet Mr. Nhi to say: the world is changing. Of course, that was just my intention. No one has time to listen to me and believe me.
After many years of hard work in research, teaching and dedication, Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi's apartment still has the same old lime layer. Only his footsteps have changed: his steps have become shorter and slower. No one in the Kim Lien apartment complex does not remember the figure of the teacher walking across the street in his last years. Some people compare his footsteps to the footsteps of the lonely old man Giăng Văn Giang when he lost Cô Dét - his last consolation. Professor Ha Minh Duc said that in his last year, Professor Nhi was exhausted very quickly. But when people came to visit him, on his sickbed, he still promised and encouraged: "Comrades, please try to keep the faith. When I recover from this illness, I will write a report to the Central Committee on the intellectual issue, the good and bad points in intellectual work.”
That's it. Until the last moment, Professor Hoang Xuan Nhi still lived by faith. He believed in the Party Central Committee, believed in himself. He believed in his ability to influence and that influence would bring happiness to others. His last words (try to keep the faith) reminded me of Professor Tran Van Giau's opinion when he heard that Professor Tran Duc Thao was persecuted after the Nhan Van-Giai Pham incident: "In any case, treating intellectuals like that is not right, especially with someone like Mr. Thao".
Professor Tran Van Giau was concerned with a victim, a typical case. Our teacher Nhi was concerned with the majority – all of us. And going further, he thought about the relationshipParty and intellectual work.
In 1991, after Mr. Nhi passed away, following his instructions and the family's common wishes, the Literature Department was assigned to take over and inherit the entire library of the teacher. I and Mr. Nguyen Ba Thanh (Mr. Thanh again) were assigned to take over and arrange for a cyclo to transport it back to the Department.
Entering the room, I felt a chill down my spine. In the past, when I read To Huu describing the stilt house after Uncle Ho passed away: “Three empty rooms without incense smoke”, I also felt a chill. But now, in Mr. Nhi’s library, before my eyes, the room was not empty, on the contrary, it was cramped, I still felt cold. Mr. Nhi’s office was full of books. Rows of German, French, Russian books, atlases, large and heavy dictionaries, like the paving stones of an ancient European square. Someone philosophized: the library is also a kind of cemetery, because books are like the remains of human intelligence…
Not having money to burn incense and ask permission to remove the first book from the shelf, I clasped my hands for a moment in remembrance of the Master: The books you wrote and read did not create wealth, villas, or cars. They only created fame and faith. But Master, if you had less faith, the pure faith of a classic communist, and had lived with doubts early on, your old age would not have been miserable.
Lieu Giai, May 14, 2014
Author:Assoc.Prof.Dr. Pham Thanh Hung
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