Photos of Professor Hanan are posted in a special image gallery.
We were greatly saddened to hear from Iris Arnold, the wife of Guy Hanan, that Guy recently suffered a heart attack and passed away. Guy was absolutely stalwart throughout the year and a half of Patrick Hanan’s illness. He kept up with emails from many students and colleagues, so that we were always well informed about how Pat was doing. And he, Iris, Pat’s wife Anneliese, and other members of the family put together a lovely service on Memorial Day weekend. We know, as well, that he was indispensable to family members throughout this difficult time.
-Ellen Widmer and David Wang
For information about the September 12 event, please click here.
Leo Ou-fan Lee
The Chinese University of Hong Kong; Harvard University (Emeritus)
July 18, 2014
In Memory of Patrick Hanan
When David Wang informed me of Pat Hanan’s (in his letters he always signed off his name as Pat) passing via email, I sat silent for a long time, staring at the email monitor, stunned. Knowing he was ill after one of his eyes suddenly went blind, I did not anticipate the rapid deterioration of his health; it was as if he had given up hope to live on. Now that his son has all of sudden joined him, the shock made me doubly saddened.
As we all know, Pat Hanan was a shy and reserved man; behind that deceptive surface was a warm heart. Though I never had the good fortune of studying under him I did the next best thing—by him to my seminar two years in a row in order to benefit fully from his immense knowledge of late Qing fiction and translations. We also shared advising duties to a number of doctoral students who have since gone on to distinguished careers. His many acts of kindness as a senior colleague had made my own academic tenure at Harvard a happy and most rewarding experience.
I a way I owed my entire career at Harvard to him. May I take this opportunity to acknowledge this immeasurable debt with a few words of personal reminiscences.
He was always kind to me from the very beginning of our friendship dating back to the early 1970s. I just got a job teaching at Indiana University where I had to fill a vacancy in premodern Chinese fiction and drama: modern Chinese literature was “extra”. Naturally I was in panic since I was never properly trained in traditional literature. So how and where should I begin? Of course I tried my best to make do with whatever scholarly books and articles I could find and read them feverishly. Still, that was not enough. I desperately needed someone to guide me and answer all my queries and questions. At that time, I knew Professor Hanan only by his reputation as an authority on the Jin-Ping-Mei. Somehow I mustered enough courage to write him letters in which I shamelessly asked him all kinds of questions. He replied to every one of them with clear-cut answers to every single question, big or small. The procure was almost like a private seminar by correspondence and I was the only student in this virtual classroom.
Another factor that connected us was Lu Xun. Pat had just published his two articles on the technique of Lu Xun’s fiction, and I was getting nowhere with my own book on this difficult writer. Reading his two long articles opened up a new vista for me. Though I disagreed with his rather “structuralist” approach, I was deeply impressed by his meticulous research into all possible sources in Russian and East European fiction that might have influenced Lu Xun: he dug them out one by one, and scrutinized each obscure text—be it a story by Andreyev or a novel by Sienkiewich—meticulously to the smallest detail to find possible traces of similarity and contrast. All this research serves only as preparatory ground for his analysis of the forms of irony in Lu Xun’s short stories. Wow! Reading them made me ashamed of the superficiality of my own work.
I cannot thank him enough for all the years of tutorship. To say that Pat was my benefactor or “enren” (恩人) is an understatement. I should also acknowledge that I owe at least a part of my academic career to him. I don’t know if he had written letters for me when I was being considered for Chicago and later for UCLA, but I can surely say that when I reached a nadir with my personal life at LA, he was the first person I called for help and advice. Over the phone I made a timid but direct inquiry: “Pat, I realize now coming to LA was a mistake. Is there a possibility, even a remote one, of a position in modern Chinese literature at your institution?” Pat’s answer was loud laughter and then a terse, ironic one-liner: ”Yes, only if I vacate my own.” Yet he persisted in creating such a position, which materialized four years after we spoke.
Fast forward to the 21th century.
After I took early retirement from Harvard in 2004 and returned to Asia, where I found myself teaching and giving lectures again in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and China, I took it upon myself to mention Pat’s name and scholarship every time I gave a talk on late Qing literature and/or traditional fiction, because for all his deserved renown in the Western Sinological world, Professor Hanan (韓南教授) was not a household name among Chinese scholars and students, especially on the Mainland. All this changed, I am glad to say, after the publication of the Chinese version of his book, The Rise of Modern Chinese Novel (中國近代小說的興起, 2004), for which I wrote a special article as its “afterword”. That was the only tribute I was able to pay him. His very last book, a superb translation of the 18th century novel, Mirage (set in pre-Opium War Canton), was recently published by the Chinese University Press. Apparently Pat intended this book to be published in Hong Kong, a city not far from Canton, or else wanted to forge his connection with this part of the world. As the news of Pat’s passing came to these shores, the Press editor in charge of Pat’s book called me to write something in his memory. Before I was able to gather my thoughts, she had already penned a long memorial piece and included it in a special two-page spread on Professor Hanan in a Guanzhou newspaper. In that article she describes in great and moving detail how Pat saw to every aspect of the format and design of this book, not to mention the page-proofs. Probably he knew this was going to be his last book!
Pat was a true scholar in every exalted sense of the term. He was exemplary and inimitable. We—his friends, colleagues, and students on both sides of the Pacific Ocean—will all miss him. As Pat has moved from the realm of mortality to immortality, I know that he will continue, with leisurely pleasure, reading and translating Chinese novels in Heaven.
Harvard University (Emeritus)
August 4, 2014
The first time I met Patrick Hanan was in January 1977. I was on my way to Honolulu where I would spend a semester as a visiting professor and I had decided that this was a good opportunity to make a few stops in the continental USA to see some leading scholars of traditional Chinese vernacular literature. Pat saw me in his room (no. 219) at 2 Divinity Avenue and kindly alerted me to some omissions in my Chinese Vernacular Fiction: The Formative Period which had come out in 1974. His room, filled with books, filled me with envy. Never did I imagine at that time that I eventually would come to occupy that same room. In Pat’s spirit, I have done my best to fill it with books as long as I was allowed to use it.
From his publications I knew Pat already as a meticulous scholar who combined an exhaustive knowledge of primary sources and secondary scholarship with a fine critical insight and solid common sense. He also had the discipline to limit himself to a single genre—traditional vernacular fiction—and to follow its development through the centuries. In this way his publications on later periods were always informed by his detailed knowledge of the earlier traditions. No modern scholar in the Anglophone world has covered the development of traditional vernacular novel from the Jin Ping Mei and Pingyao zhuan to missionary works and John Fryer’s fiction competition in such detail, and no modern Anglophone scholar equaled his knowledge of the origins, rise and decline of the traditional vernacular short story. It is only fitting that most of his publications have also been translated into Chinese. I very much hope that we also will soon see the appearance of a translation of his 1973 The Chinese Short Story: Studies in Dating, Authorship, and Composition. For me this remains the absolute foundation for any study of early huaben. The soundness of its methodology is clear to anyone who has read it; it was also spectacularly proven by the later chance discovery of the final page of a fourteenth-century printing of the tale of the Red and the White Spider—Pat had concluded the preserved version in Xingshi hengyan contained a few final pages that were a later addition, and it turned out he had exactly pinpointed the ending of the original story and the beginning of the extension. It was always great news to learn of a new study or translation by Pat, and it was always a great pleasure to acquire and to read it.
Once I had been appointed to Harvard I saw Pat more often. We often would run into each other on the staircase or in the corridor when he came to 2 Divinity to pick up his mail. He would always be his cheerful self, happy to talk about his own research and to answer questions but also eager to go home quickly. Whenever I taught a class on huaben I would invite him to discuss the issue of dating, and he always accepted that invitation to the great joy of the students. When in November of last year my colleagues had organized a workshop to mark my retirement, it was a great honor for me that Pat despite his health problems that had started to manifest themselves, took the trouble to attend.
The field has lost a great scholar; the world has lost a kind man.
Ron Egan (Stanford University) and Susan Chan Egan
“The Professor and Mrs. Hanan We Know” in 上海书评 (Shanghai Book Review), May 18, 2014
Two days after Pat Hanan’s passed away on April 26, Susan and I attended a dinner in Shanghai and found our Chinese friends had already heard the news. His name came up again the following afternoon at Fudan University, where I gave a talk on Yijianzhi. At the Q&A, a student asked why is it that all Chinese narratives seem to be short and there are no epics in Chinese literature. I said “There are certainly long novels in the Ming and Qing period.” Whereupon Prof. Chen Yinchi added, “As the late Pat Hanan pointed out: One has to separate vernacular narratives from stories written in classical Chinese. Vernacular narratives, which evolved from oral tradition, tend to be long. Even the bianwen stories from Dunhuang are long.”
Back home in California on April 30, we came upon, in the pile of mail waiting for us, Pat’s recently published Mirage, another landmark translation of a previously ignored late Qing novel, postmarked April 22, signed for him and mailed by his son. He must have already been quite weak.
We have been asked by our Chinese friends what Pat was like—he who transformed our view of Chinese vernacular literature.
Pat was born in New Zealand in 1927. He was well on his way to a doctorate in medieval English literature at the University of London when he “discovered” Chinese, and started all over. After teaching a few years at SOAS, where his earned his Ph.D., and then at Stanford, he spent the rest of his life at Harvard. Among a generation of sinologists known for outsized egos, Pat was exceptional in being very low-keyed. His field of study—vernacular literature, mostly pornographic—was at first regarded with skepticism and ridicule.
James Robert Hightower, my doctoral adviser, had the foresight to convince Harvard to create a position for him. In the classes I took with Pat in the early 1970s, He talked primarily about the dating of different editions. Some students found the discussion boring but Pat must have felt such a scholarly approach was necessary to put vernacular literature on a more serious footing. Victor Mair, being interested in Buddhism, wrote his thesis under Pat on the bianwen stories from Dunhuang.
After Pat worked through the daunting task of dating Ming dynasty stories, he was able to discern distinctive narrative patterns in stories from different periods. A coherent history of Chinese vernacular literature emerged. Having thus constructed the general framework, he turned his attention to individual pieces. Pat famously translated the seventeenth-century The Carnal Prayer Mat after writing a comprehensive study of its probable author Li Yu. Pat spent much of his later years analyzing and translating neglected nineteenth and early twentieth-century works.
Pat was an exemplary administrator in his long tenure as department head, and as director of the Harvard-Yenching Institute between 1987 and 1996. He got along with nearly everybody. He had the reserved manner of an English gentleman, albeit without the cynical detachment that often goes with the latter. He had a marvelous sense of humor. In 1979, when the celebrated polyglot Qian Zhongshu, having been shut off in China for decades, arrived on campus for a joyous reunion with his equally learned old Tsinghua classmate Achilles Fang, Pat said Qian was “like a shaken bottle of champagne being popped, different languages came bursting out all at once.”
At Pat’s retirement party, one woman stood up after another to say that when they were in graduate school, few professors took women seriously but Pat did. Among his students are Ellen Widmer at Wellesley, Judith Zeitlin at the University of Chicago, Lydia Liu at Columbia and Sophie Volpp at UC Berkeley. Pat donated all his books to Harvard-Yenching Library. He was proud of the move as it freed him from taking care of them yet, living nearby, he still had instant access.
Pat was also exceptional among his peers in that he remained true to his wife Anne in more than sixty years of loving marriage.
Susan and I remember a cocktail party the Hanans held when I was a new graduate student, in their small but elegantly furnished apartment. When Susan ran into Anne in the kitchen, which was made bright and airy by a skylight Anne had installed, she confessed, “I am so nervous!” Her candor, which occasionally flustered Pat, was like a skylight in the then stuffy Harvard milieu where people felt compelled to utter something brilliant every time they opened their mouths.
Susan and Anne became close after our daughter was born. Anne came bearing gifts and shared with Susan her own difficulties as a new mother. When Guy was born, he simply could not keep his milk down and was wasting away by the day. Pat and Anne took the ailing baby around London by bus from one doctor to another, until they found he had an intestinal obstruction which required immediate surgery. It was a searing episode for the young couple.
Anne grew up in Lubeck. She described what life was like under the Nazis and the hellish devastation of the city in the firestorm set off by heavy Allied bombardment. She was working in a hospital in London when she met Pat. It was love in first sight and they were married in three weeks. When Pat decided to study in Cbina in 1957, Anne took their toddling son on the long sea voyage to New Zealand to live with his family, where she found that despite having produced a bishop, some of the Hanans in rural area still did not have electricity. Every one went to bed when the sun went down. Anne speaks no Chinese but loves Peking operas. She later accompanied Pat on some of his China trips. One time, Pat asked her to get some books copied at a library, handling her a list written in Chinese. When she gave the list to the girls at the counter, they covered their mouths and giggled. Anne asked Pat what kind of books they were, and was told they were pornographic.
Anne took care of everything on the home front so Pat could focus on scholarship. She managed their finances wisely and built a house on Cape Cod to enable Pat to do his work far from the hubbub of Cambridge on weekends and on breaks. There was nothing she loved better than, sitting across a table from Pat on Sunday morning, sipping coffee and going through the New York Times with him. She is intensely antiwar, particularly upset about the invasion of Iraq, saying to Susan, “Do Americans realize what war does to people? After men are taught to kill, how could they possibly live a normal life?” She has been a staunch supporter of United Way and Blood Drive.
Susan was attracted to Anne’s clear-eyed conceptualization of the world. She grew close to Pat as well after he disclosed he liked her biography of William Hung so much he read it in one sitting and lent his strong support to have it published by Harvard. After our move to California, Susan visited the Hanans whenever she was in the Boston area. Anne joined Susan and Louisa on their quinquennial “Easter in New York” trips, going to museums and shows, showing off their hats on Fifth Avenue in the city’s peculiar “Easter parade”, having a good time.
After Anne was diagnosed with Parkinson, Pat told Susan with equanimity that “The good thing about getting Parkinson at our age is that the disease advances slowly.” Anne felt bad that Pat had to wait on her. “You have been taking care of him all these years. It’s only fair that he now takes care of you.” Susan said to her, meanwhile urging Pat to hire more help.
Anne finally moved into a nursing home last year. Unfortunately, Pat also fell ill and had to enter another nursing home due to the different nature of their ailments. Their son and daughter-in-law, who lived several hours away, kept an eye on them. Among Pat’s regular visitors were David Wang, Pat’s replacement at Harvard; Ellen Widmer, who lived not far away; and Joanna Handlin Smith, editor of the Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies. When I saw him last August, bringing with me from California a Kindle from Sophie Volpp, Pat was in good spirits despite having lost the vision of one eye. He said now that he had finished work on Mirage, he could start translating the Pingyaozhuan, which he found to be great fun.
Victor Mair, with whom I sat in Pat’s class, e-mailed he might be the last person to see Pat. “…he greeted me when I came into the room: ‘Oh, Victor, it is so good to see you!’ He said it with such deep feeling and a clear sense of relief. And then he repeated the exact same sentence: ‘Oh, Victor, it is so good to see you!’ I shall never forget the way he said that, especially the way he spoke my name with such tenderness.” Pat seemed confused as to Anne’s whereabouts, saying he had not seen her for a while. He told Victor their son was good to them, and wanted him to assure Guy he was alright and Anne was alright.
A smooth, successful career undoubtedly deepened Pat Hanan’s basic cheerful and considerate disposition. He shall be remembered, apart from his monumental achievements in sinology, for his kindness.
Prof. Cyril Birch
UC Berkeley (Emeritus)
August 6, 2014
Patrick Hanan and I were among the first to complete the doctoral program in Modern Chinese established at London University’s School of oriental and African Studies in the early nineteen-fifties. Dr. Walter Simon, the chief architect of the new program, had borne already the main responsibility for the undergraduate honors degree in the same subject. Simon’s own scholarly training had been in the German discipline of comparative linguistics, in his case originally in Romance languages. He moved on into classical Chinese, then modern Mandarin acquired in years of study in Peking prior to world war two. He became celebrated for researches into such arcana as Sino-Tibetan equations, but what made his teaching so inspiring to Pat and myself was his passionate interest in and deep understanding of the evolution of Chinese, from the etymological riches of the ancient monosyllables, through the emerging forms of the late medieval centuries down to the spoken languages and written vernacular of China today.
With the intention of fostering an overview of the history of the language, the set texts for the honors degree included three papers, each of three hours duration, one on the Confucian Analects and Mencius, one on Xixiangji and Hongloumeng, and one on the twentieth-century essays of Hu Shi. Literary works had always been my chief interest, and Pat Hanan had already completed a master’s degree in English, so it was not surprising that the work of the Yuan play and the eighteenth-century novel formed for both of us the most attractive part of the syllabus. Searching subsequently for a doctoral thesis topic, I lit upon Feng Menglong’s collection of Ming stories, newly reprinted in the People’s Republic. Dr. Simon was less enthusiastic than I hoped. He turned my attention to Jinpingmei: he himself had advised Egerton in his work on the first English (Latin-leavened) translation, and suggested that since there existed a Manchu translation of this vast masterpiece it would be a good idea for me to learn Manchu in order to make a comparative study. I was still struggling with the small amount of Japanese I eventually conquered, and felt thoroughly daunted in face of the rigors of learning a third non-Indo-European language at this stage of my education. I stayed with Feng Menglong and his stories.
Dr. Simon concealed his disappointment at my polite relinquishment of his suggestion, but repeated it a year or two later when it became Pat’s turn to discuss thesis plans. I don’t know whether Pat ever got very far with Manchu, but with characteristic grace he accepted the challenge of the Jinpingmei and evidently recognized at once the wealth and variety of sources that went into its making. It was the beginning of Pat’s long and definitive series of studies and analyses of Ming vernacular literature. His wise acceptance truly paid off.
It was a privilege to enjoy Pat’s friendship from our early years in London, then in California and later in all-too-infrequent meetings coast-to-coast or on delegations to China. A vivid memory survives from, I believe, January 1980, a day when I realized to the full the heroic nature of Pat Hanan’s dedication to scholarship. It was one of the coldest days I have ever experienced, the one free day in Beijing during an ACLS-sponsored delegation visit. Wearing a padded jacket I had bought for the trip, I braved the frozen streets to pay a courtesy call on a graduate student temporarily working at Beida, and another on the family of a Chinese student back in Berkeley. Back in the warmth of our hotel I waited for Pat’s return. I have never seen anyone so literally blue from the cold. Dressed in his ordinary suit, he had spent all the hours available deep in the unheated archival warrens of obscure libraries. He was shivering and needed time to thaw out enough to contemplate dinner. But happy – he had made discoveries, the day had been a beautiful one.
I believe I took the snapshot I enclose a few days later during the same delegation visit, when Pat and I made a side-trip from Shanghai to Suzhou, only passengers in the regal splendor of a carriage traveling through what seemed a desolate land still slowly recovering from a Cultural Revolution.
Professor, University of Tokyo
I first met Professor Hanan in Shanghai in 1984, when I was a visiting student at Fudan University. At the time we talked about Feng Menglong, and he encouraged me to visit Cambridge. I was not able to do that until 1993, when I got a budget from Japan’s Ministry of Education and made my first visit to Harvard as a visiting scholar at EALC. When I knew I could have a chance to get the budget for researching abroad, I wrote a letter to Professor Hanan and he agreed to be a sponsor immediately. I spent three months in Cambridge. I got acquainted with many scholars and young graduate students then. Many of the graduate students of those days are now playing a leading role in the academic world in the US and all over the world. At that time Professor Hanan encouraged me again to apply for a visiting scholar position at the Harvard-Yenching Institute. My application was successful and I was at Harvard for an entire year from 1999 to 2000 with my wife and daughter. During that year I had many occasions to talk with Professor Hanan. I have since turned out several studies of Feng Menglong and of late-Ming publishing culture more generally. One year at the Harvard Yenching Institute was really one of the golden ages in my life. Although I was never Professor Hanan’s student, I very much benefited from his encouragement and our many conversations about the late Ming. And through the Harvard-Yenching Institute, I met a number of scholars from several countries who have been important to my career. On both counts I am in Professor Hanan’s debt, and I wanted to take the opportunity to express my admiration and gratitude as we celebrate his life and career.
Professor Shang Wei
韩南先生于1997年退休，但退休后，不仅一如既往地致力于学术研究，而且成果丰富，不亚于退休之前。在我们的印象中，还很少有谁像先生这样健康地适应退休生活。记得1997年的荣休仪式上，韩南先生说：很多人在退休之前，心里犯嘀咕，或老大不情愿。可是，转念一想，所谓退休，不就是一次永久性的学术休假吗(a permanent sabbatical)？不用教课，也不做行政，一门心思做学问：天底下哪儿有比这更好的事情？这话出自先生之口，绝非场面上应景的机智修辞。他是真正做到了这一点。退休以后的学术，是出自纯粹的乐趣。直到去年年底，在目力极度微弱的情形下，韩南先生还在修订和校对刚刚译出的两部作品。他还有很多事情要做。去年四月在芝加哥大学的一次小型聚会上，见到了先生，他仍然敏捷如常。问起接下来做什么，他回答说，人过了85岁，就不敢想几年的计划了，但短期的事情倒还不少，够我忙上一阵了。当时，他正在修订《三遂平妖传》的英译本。先生早在1964年，就在亚洲年会上宣读过关于这部小说的论文，在此基础上整理的那篇〈《平妖传》著作问题之研究〉发表于1971年，对这部小说的材料出处、与《水浒传》等作品的互文关系，及其别具一格、看似朴拙的幽默和在小说史上的重要地位，都做出了精当的分析。把《平妖传》译成英文，也是他多年的夙愿。可是，那次交谈的时候，我无论如何也不可能想到，先生不知疲倦的学术生涯，竟然在一年后，悄然终止了！
Professor, Chinese Studies, University of Melbourne, Australia
August 28, 2014
I am very saddened to hear of the death of Patrick Hanan, who I recall as a giant in the field of Chinese vernacular fiction and a very kind mentor to numerous younger generation scholars. I first met Pat in December 1986, when, after receiving advice from Pat, I was invited to join the Fairbank Center as an Associate for the 1986-7 academic year. We met in his spacious office at the Harvard-Yenching Institute on Divinity Lane. I recall that I could just detect faint echoes of an Antipodean accent beneath the mellow Boston tones. At that meeting I bore messages from some Beijing scholars close to Pat, including a man he claimed as his ‘good friend’, Liu Shide, who many of us know as the long-time head of the Classical Literature Institute at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. I had just spent a month in China as an Australian visiting scholar at the invitation of CASS. One of these messages was to a mysterious American individual who I only knew at that time as Wei Kailian, who had apparently done work on the Shuihu houzhuan. Pat immediately pronounced that this unknown person was in fact Ellen Widmer. The message was, and I recall it even at this distance, that she had given a paper in China that they wished to publish and had written to her but had no response. At that time communication with Chinese scholars was still somewhat fragile due to political conditions and our Chinese friends often worried about letters going astray.
Over lunch with Pat in the University Staff Club we discussed the state of Chinese scholarship and areas of common interest in Ming vernacular fiction. I was delighted at last to meet the scholar who had enlightened us about the composition of the great Ming novel, the Jin Ping Mei, and then gone on to complete outstanding analytic works on the formation of the Ming huaben genre. Pat’s work has stood the test of time and I am still reminding my own graduate students to refer to his now canonical works.
What I remember most of all is the huge favor Pat did in introducing me to the department’s talented constellation of postgraduate students, beginning with the mysterious Ellen herself, but including Cynthia Brokaw, Judith Zeitlin, Nancy Hodes, Valerie Hanson, Lisa Raphals and Catherine Yeh. Joanna Handlin Smith welcomed me to the Fairbank Center and proved a warm friend over many years. The stay at Harvard allowed me to take part in the Peter Bol’s wonderful graduate seminar on Su Shi and his circle. While at Harvard I was fortunate to get to know many luminaries in the field who were associated with the Fairbank Center at that time, particularly Wilt Idema, visiting from Leiden, also Rudolph Wagner, James (Woody) Watson, Ruby Watson, Ron Egan, Robin Yates, Suzanne Ogden, Miriam Levering and many others.
From time to time I met up with Pat at Harvard gatherings, especially the 2007 conference on the literature of Chinese women. My last correspondence with him concerned the whereabouts of Kathryn Lowry, another of Pat’s doctoral students, who I came to know at a later stage. Two or three years ago, Pat was kind enough to congratulate me on a chapter I wrote about Wu language song-cycles in an edited collection of Vibeke Bordahl and Margaret B.Wan. The latter, of course, is another of the talented postgraduate students who flourished under Pat’s guidance and mentorship.
I send my warmest wishes to the Harvard community gathering to celebrate the life of Patrick Hanan and my sincere condolences to his family in Boston and New Zealand.
Duan Huaiqing, Department of Chinese Literature, Fudan University
上海时间4月28日上午，我收到美国韦斯礼学院（Wellesley College）东亚系主任魏爱莲教授邮件，告知韩南先生去世消息。邮件中还描述了魏教授在韩南先生去世前一周去探望他时的情景，说当时韩南先生两眼已不能视人，且只能卧床，病重已近半年，还说“我为他感伤不已，但我确信他已经做好了离开的准备。”（I’m feeling very sad about him, but I do think he was ready to go.）
Leonard Chan, The Hong Kong Institute of Education
Lydia H. Liu, Professor, Columbia University
Five months before Pat Hanan’s passing, I drove to Cambridge to visit him at the assisted living center next to Spaulding Hospital. Pat was delighted when I showed up on that chilly early winter afternoon, and he insisted on coming down to the lobby to greet me. We chatted in his small studio for a couple of hours and had dinner together. I had brought him a large audio file of Roberto Bolaño’s novel 2666 and tried to install it in his computer so he could listen to the book to spare his eyesight. But I spent a few moments fumbling with the machine looking for USB ports and was completely baffled as to why his computer didn’t have one. Pat laughed and said he would check with his son Guy who had installed that machine for him and who knew all sorts of tricks about computers. Pat was in excellent spirits. When I hugged him and said goodbye that night, I promised to come back and visit him again within a year. It was not as if I did not have any premonitions—I was worried enough to go and visit him—but Pat’s seemingly improved health gave me the false impression that he had overcome the worst and would live to finish the next book he had in mind. Blindly trusting my own sense of optimism, I neglected to take a picture with him.
One should not have made the same mistake twice. Twenty years ago, as I waved goodbye to my ailing father, I did not think of taking a picture with him then, because I fully intended to go home and visit him the following year, but I was never to see my father again.
Lying on my desk is a copy of Pat’s last work of translation, Mirage, recently brought out by the Chinese University of Hong Kong Press. When I visited Pat last November, he had just finished going through the page proofs of the book. I confess that I had never heard of this early 19th-century Chinese novel until he mentioned it. He urged me to read it when the book comes out. “You’d be interested because this fascinating bildungsroman is set in Guangzhou and is modeled after the business community of Hong merchants.” Pat’s face glowed with enthusiasm as he went on to describe how his editor, Ms. Yanni Yang, corrected the errors in the manuscript and helped improve his translation. His voice was filled with gratitude.
As I sat listening to him, I noticed Pat’s eyes twinkling with wit and intelligence as before, his cheeks slightly flushed. As usual, he spoke English with an accent—tinged with a little bit of Antipodean or British English—that somehow endeared him to all of us when we took seminars with him many years ago. My classmates and I met weekly in his second-floor office at 2 Divinity Avenue and, after each class, Professor Hanan would send us downstairs to the Harvard-Yenching Library on some kind of research assignment. He always addressed graduate students formally, such as Ms. Liu, Mr. Shahar (Meir Shahar), or Ms. Peng (Hsiao-yen Peng) and so on; we used to giggle about this behind his back. The walls of his spacious office were lined with huge bookshelves and, in the midst of a seminar discussion, he would stand up and take a book from one of the shelves as if he carried a card catalogue in his head.
Patrick Hanan’s scholarly expertise focused on Ming and Qing Chinese fiction but his contribution to modern Chinese literature cannot be overemphasized. He worked hard to bring Leo Ou-fan Lee to Harvard because he thought modern Chinese literature ought to have a presence there and Professor Lee was obviously the best possible candidate. Pat knew what he was doing. Modern Chinese literature has flourished at Harvard since, producing some outstanding young scholars. In my view, Pat’s own article “The Technique of Lu Hsun’s Fiction,” published in the 34th volume 1974 of Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, remains one of the best researched and most perceptive studies of Lu Xun in English or Chinese. When I first read that article, I was bowled over by the breadths of his learning which extended to Russian and Polish literature. The thoroughness of his research inspired me to read “The True Story of Ah Q” the way I did in chapter two of Translingual Practice. And I continued to draw inspiration from his work, such as his subsequent studies of Wang Tao, James Legge, John Fryer, and many others.
I sometimes ask myself what it was that pulled me and many others toward Pat. Was it his personality, erudition, or something else? Pat was indeed deeply learned but “erudition” may not be the right word to describe him. His capacious intellect was free, open, curious, and forever joyful; this kind of independence set him above any narrow academic confines or professional belonging. And I was fortunate enough to have studied under this amazing teacher and benefited from his intellectual and moral guidance.
Last month when Ellen Widmer informed me about the sudden death of Pat’s only son Guy Hanan on 5 July, I was overwhelmed by sadness and incomprehension. From the distance of Beijing, I offer my deep condolences to his family; and I send my warm regards to the colleagues and former classmates who are gathering at Harvard on 12 September 2014 to celebrate the life of Patrick Hanan.
Institute of Foreign Literature, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences
I am aware of Professor Hanan’s reputation as a scholar of Asian studies, especially Chinese literature of the Ming-Ching dynasties, but it would be impertinent of me to comment on his contribution to the field. I leave that to the specialists.
As I am trying to get through the shock and sadness of his death, I want to concentrate on one aspect of Professor Patrick Hanan’s contribution to the humanities—his initiation of the Harvard-Yenching-Sanlian publication series. Due to a lucky chain of events I can be said to be a witness to its birth.
As one of the earliest Chinese Visiting Scholars at Harvard-Yenching after a hiatus of 30 years, I had always kept in touch with the Institute, and sometime in 1992-3, a colleague and I drafted a project for an English-language journal on English and American literary studies, hoping for financial support from Harvard-Yenching.. Professor Hanan checked the articles of the H-Y Foundation, he told me, and found that the project was not eligible. “But,” he added, “we can support publications in Chinese.” Then, as a happy afterthought he added, “it could be a project to support young scholars—it is so hard on the young, to get their first book out…” he had said the words with such deep feeling. Then he added that he must look for a Chinese publisher. I mentioned Sanlian, but Professor Hanan said that he would sound out academic publishers such as Peking University Press or CASS Publishing House. After his return from Beijing, however, he said that neither of the above-mentioned institutions had been interested and that was the end of the story.
Sometime in 1993, I think, Harvard University hosted the “Engendering China” conference, and Miss Dong Xiuyu, head and editor-in-chief of Sanlian, was attending. During a break between sessions one morning, Miss Dong was invited to Professor Hanan’s office and they talked over the project. Miss Dong offered to set up an academic board to make independent decisions regarding manuscripts submitted, and named a fixed sum to cover costs of publication. They agreed on a title for the project—the Harvard-Yenching Sanlian Publications Series. I remember checking my watch and the conversation had lasted 20 minutes.
Back in Beijing Miss Dong hired a recently retired senior editor from Guizhou province —a lucky choice—for Miss Hsu was totally devoted to the project. She had personally told me that she would sit up all night to read the manuscripts that were pouring in. It had been an auspicious beginning and as of now, the project has a hundred titles to its credit and Sanlian is finalizing plans to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the HY-Sanlian project. There will be a series of talks open to the public, a re-issue of a group of the most significant titles, and a meeting of interested personalities to discuss the past, present and especially the future of the H-Y Sanlian project, which is very bright indeed. The titles in the Harvard-Yenching project are known for venturing into uncharted territory and raising new issues. One may say, Rest in peace, Professor Hanan, rest in the satisfaction of knowing that you have indeed helped young budding scholars on their way to publication, thus instilling new life into the universal world of scholarship.
On a personal note I might add that during my stay as a Visiting Scholar at Harvard-Yenching and the changes in its wake, I owe first and foremost to Professor Hanan. It was the year 1978, I think, that a delegation of American scholars including Professor Hanan and Professor Cyril Birch, visited China and had asked to meet two poets of the thirties—Feng Zhi and Bian Zhilin—at the time both serving at the Institute of Foreign Literature under CASS, Feng as Director of the Institute, and Bian as head of the English Section. I was taken on as interpreter. During that afternoon at the Peking Hotel, the conversation was lively as each side was eager to find out what had been happening at the other end, having been separated by the ten-year hiatus of the Cultural Revolution.
At some point during the conversation, Professor Hanan had asked me, “Why do you not go to the United States for your research?” and I had retorted: “Is it up to me?” Later, Professor Hanan sent me a formal note from the US, saying that I had been awarded a visiting scholarship to the Harvard-Yenching Institute, and that our brief question and answer had been accepted in lieu of the mandatory interview. I will not dwell on what this had meant to me in my career—what now stands out sharply in my mind is the Hanans’ unfailing friendship through the years. They had taken me in as family, especially Mrs Hanan, who drove me everywhere and we did things together, shopping, concerts, movies, bookstores, holidays at their summer house… They made me feel at home, so that I could take full advantage of the academic opportunities which made a difference in my life and the lives of my children and grandchildren. I know that Professor and Mrs Hanan had also touched the lives of many others like me.
Professor Hanan was a great scholar and a great human being.
His memory will always be an inspiration.
Kang-I Sun Chang
Professor, Yale University
昨天中午接到哈佛大学王德威教授的通知，后来又收到我的好友兼同事石静远的伊妹儿，都说韩南 (Patrick Hanan) 教授已于前天（美国时间4 月26日）夜里去世， 享年八十七岁。韩南教授是我最崇拜的前辈汉学家之一，虽然我不是他的学生，也从未与他共事过，但多年来在学术圈里，经常有联络，每次一起开会时，他总是和蔼可亲地与我交谈，他那文质彬彬的气质永远蕴含着一个长者的深刻关怀。
我是1973 年有幸初识汉南教授的。那年我刚从十九世纪英国文学转到中国古典文学的研究领域， 在普林斯顿大学高友工教授的指导下， 开始攻读东亚研究博士学位 。当时我对于方法论 (methodology) 的探求特别感兴趣，因为自己才由一个科系转到另一个科系，若无方法论的根基，就像大海中捞针一般，不得要领。有关研究文学的方法论，我一向喜欢从事“文学风格” 的分析，当时美国批评界将之称为 “ stylistics.” 其中尤以Leo Spitzer 的 Linguistics and Literary History: Essays in Stylistics （ 1948）和 Erich Auerbach 的 Mimesis (1953) 为典范作品。 这两部书都关于西方文学，也都由普林斯顿大学出版社出版。 但我希望也能读到有关文体及风格的汉学研究著作。恰巧1973 那年韩南教授刚出版了《中国短篇小说：年代、作者、 作品研究》( The Chinese Short Story: Studies in Dating, Authorship, and Composition) 一书（由哈佛大学出版社出版）， 其中最引人注意的就是：他用“文学风格的分析” (stylistic analysis) 来鉴定作品的年代。 藉着文学风格的分析，他把无数种元、明时代的短篇小说都一一仔细鉴定过（从文学、文化、社会的角度着眼），并将它们分成三个时期：即早期（约1250 年到1450 年）， 中期（约1400 到1575年），及晚期（约1550 年到1627 年）。 总之，韩南教授在撰写此书时所花费的功夫及其做学问的严谨态度，令人肃然起敬。同时书里还充满了一个卓越学者的机智， 加上又有典雅而洗练的文字，可说在当时汉学界中少有出其右者。当时我有幸阅读那样一本极富启发性的书，自然获益匪浅。
就在1973 那年的秋季， 普大的东亚系请韩南教授来做专题演讲。记得那天的演讲题目乃是有关如何用“文学风格”来鉴定作品时代的问题。题目好像是：“Style as a Criterion of Date.” 在那以前， 我从未见过韩南教授，但那次演讲使我和同学们认识到一个大学者的不寻常气度。 我发现韩南教授为人十分温雅而谦恭， 但面对学问却有极其严谨的态度。即使对我们当天所提出的许多浮浅不堪的问题， 他都以极其耐心的方式一一作答，从头到尾毫不苟且。总之，那次精彩的演讲使我了解到，什么叫做真正有智慧的学者。
在那以后， 韩南教授的学术作品源源不绝。即使在退休之后， 他仍然不断从事研究， 一直到去年发病前，他还笔耕不辍。 他的学术成果确实令人望洋兴叹——不论是关于古典小说的研究， 还是涉及李渔的作品， 或是有关十九世纪的翻译文学， 他的每部作品都起了拓荒的作用， 给读者们带来了新的视野。 可以说在汉学界里，汉南教授是一棵多产的“长青藤”。
————孙康宜， 写于2014 年4 月28 日。
Professor of Japanese Literature, EALC, Harvard University
When Fumiko and I moved from Berkeley to Palo Alto in the summer of 1962, Pat Hanan was one of the first people we met. I had transferred from the University of California to Stanford as a graduate student in medias res, on the coattails of Don Shively, my mentor. Just as we were moving into our new digs, Professor Shively dropped by with a gentleman who also had just arrived – Professor Patrick Hanan. And so, Pat and we arrived at the same time – in quite different statuses.
That year I took my last course in Chinese – one quarter reading texts like Shui-hu zhuan – with Professor Hanan. I was much impressed with the strict standards of our teacher, but what I remember most vividly was the wonderful mouth-filling earthiness of the narratives we read. I was on my way to a degree in classical Japanese literature, but I had a feeling of regret in regard to a path not taken.
My next contact with Pat Hanan came not long after my arrival at Harvard, which was in the fall of 1965, as a one-year Instructor. It was surely not more than a year or two after that that Hanan joined what was then the Department of Far Eastern Languages – again as much my senior. Alas, Stanford’s glory days were – temporarily – over. Pat was not the only one to leave. We were much the beneficiary of that. In the course of time I rose to the level where young faculty have to serve on committees. Perhaps I was already the chair of this or that – RSEA or EALC (as it had become) — when Pat and Ed Wagner and I constituted one such committee, whose mission was to draw up the rules of the various East Asian degree-granting bodies at Harvard. As I recall, the three of us put out a leaflet of several pages stating the requirements to be satisfied for both M.A. and Ph.D. What has become of this pamphlet I do not know, but it was the authority in its day. The thing I would like to emphasize is that Pat, Ed, and I polished off the task in good humor and good time, w/o disagreeing about anything. At least, as I remember it.
Pat told me, with his usual understated humor, that one innovation he took credit for was reducing the term of chairmanship of EALC from five to three years. I admired his sense of the economy of time, though I went on to serve five years myself, because of a special deal I had with Henry Rosovsky. And when I went on leave with only four years of the bargain fulfilled, Pat filled in for me, thus becoming a four-year chairman himself.
Pat was reserved, quiet but friendly, very much a gentleman. I never knew him deeply, but I was aware of his scholarship and his talents as a translator and editor (HJAS, Treasures of Yenching Library). Fumiko speaks of his memorable gentle smile whenever they met. We send our sympathy to Anneliese, whom we had the pleasure of meeting with Pat on more than one occasion.
Professor, National Taiwan University
Associate Professor, Boston University
Dear Mrs. Hanan, dear friends and colleagues,
It is sad that I will not to be able to join you today, but I hope that at least my words will reach you.
Pat Hanan was my teacher and thesis adviser throughout my studies at Harvard. His kind and supportive guidance had a profound influence on me – as I am sure it had on all his students, and it changed the path I took in life.
The first time I met Pat was when I came to talk to him about the possibility of studying Chinese literature. I have always loved English and American literature. As an undergraduate I studied T.S Elliot, Virginia Woolf, Faulkner and Emily Dickenson. But when I thought about graduate school, I thought I should be more practical and hands on, so I applied to UC Berkeley’s journalism school and was accepted. When I visited Pat that very first time, I was very unsure about this new direction I was about to take. Through our conversation Pat must have sensed that and kindly invited me to audit the course on late Ming short stories which he was teaching at the time. I did, and I loved it. Pat was wonderful in helping us get into the stories of Feng Menglong and Lin Mengchu. I still remember the excitement I felt at the time, and it reminded me of the fun one can have with literature. My passion for literature was once again awoken. I decided to go for my passion rather than some abstract sense of practicality.
This was only the beginning. Pat help transform me into a scholar. At the time I wanted to be fast in everything I did – quite the spirit of the time. Rushing I stormed into a subject and in a rush I formulated my thoughts and finally – still rushing – I wrote my papers. Pat Hanan taught me to slow down, to really read the stories and the novels, to take the time to let things sink in and go deeper, to develop a relationship with a text, and to allow the text to talk back to you as you press and look for its secrets – to forget oneself and enter into the fascinating and complex inner workings of a text. There was rushing to be done but only after building a foundation. I learned this from Pat, and it helped me become a scholar. The passion is still there but now with a basic structure that, I hope, sustains creative and thought-provoking interpretations.
Choosing to work on the late Qing literature was my own decision. However, Pat was a great support for me. At the time not very much was written in that field, and Pat went with me to the library to introduce to me the reference works that might be of use. Once we met in Shanghai and had a wonderful time looking together at late Qing entertainment newspapers and sharing our discoveries during the day and following the invitation of the late Qing scholar Wei Shaochang to see Peking opera performances in the evening. I felt I had come into my own as a young scholar. I sometimes even pride myself to have played a part in luring Pat into late Qing studies to which he then contributed magisterially with his scholarship and translations.
Every step I took, whether it was publishing a paper or a book, I always asked Pat’s advice and he was always most helpful in discussing the project in great detail. Through these discussions and especially his questions, time and again the issues at stake and the potential new vistas offered the project became much clearer to me. When I had difficulties and felt discouraged, which I guess has happened to all of us during our dissertation research, Pat always found a way to encourage me, calm me down and guide me through. At the same time he made sure that I stayed on track. Pat simply said he wanted a chapter from me on a certain date and that if I did not have a chapter done, he would read my preparatory notes for that chapter. Under that kind “threat” I finished all the chapters on time.
The passing away of Pat is a great loss to the field and to his students, but most of all to his family. I am full of gratitude to this kind teacher as well as to Patrick Hanan the scholar whose work has left such a lasting and strong imprint on the study of Ming and Qing fiction and will be cherished for many years to come.
Professor, University of Heidelberg
Dear Mrs Hanan, dear Colleagues
Sadly, I will not be able to join you in Cambridge to commemorate Patrick Hanan. His passing away has deprived the Chinese literature community of a scholar whose contributions in teaching, scholarship and translation have been instrumental in defining the field and giving it public visibility. Our research interests crossed once without either of us being aware of this, and this gave me the chance to personally experience the scholarly energy at work in this kind and calm gentleman.
I had been working on the first literary Chinese-language journal that was published by the Shanghai publisher Shenbaoguan since 1872. In the first issue of this journal it started serializing the translation of a novel from, as it said, a “famous English writer”. The writer was not named, and the title of the translation was Xinxi xiantan 昕夕閒談 （Idle chat, dawn to dusk）. This is the first translation of a Western novel into Chinese, and I set out to solve the riddle which many people had tried to solve before: who was the writer and what was the novel it translated. As I assumed from many later translations that the title most likely had little in common with the original, but followed conventional Chinese fictional titles, I felt there was just one clue, the plot. I plowed through two huge volumes of plot summaries of Victorian fiction, no success. Shortly thereafter both Pat and me were attending a conference in Peking. In his calm and careful manner, Pat gave a talk in which he offered incontrovertible evidence that the author was Edward Bulwer-Lytton and the novel his Nights and Days. Pat had allowed for the possibility that the title actually was something like a translation, and had then been able to quickly identify work and its author. His long years of experience in locating such often obscure sources of translations allowed him to avoid my clumsy and cumbersome detour, and present a crisp, economical and elegant solution, which has become shared knowledge of all scholars working on late Qing fiction. In Professor Hanan’s long scholarly life this is a just a small anecdote, but as a scholar working in a different field it gave me the chance to see him at work and learn to appreciate his acumen, his breadth, and the kindness with which he commiserated with my failed attempt.
He will be missed, and warmly remembered.
University of California, Riverside
Reminiscences about Prof Patrick Hanan
About thirty years ago when I was a doctoral student at Harvard, someone asked me whom in the field of Chinese literature I aspired to emulate. Without hesitation, I answered, “Professor Hanan.” This person seemed surprised by my reply. Perhaps he felt that I was too naïve or uninformed about my field as to name as an exemplary, inspiring model someone who was my then adviser.
Since becoming acquainted with Prof Hanan in Fall 1981, I had been impressed by his passion for scholarship. It was a great honor to be able to study Ming-Qing fiction with him, to hear his analyses and interpretations of some of the texts, and to learn about his meticulous research, discoveries, and interesting approaches to vernacular fiction. As time went by, I came to respect him not only as an outstanding scholar and teacher, but also as an extraordinarily ethical, sincere, gracious, and kind person. Ever busy with research, teaching, and service, he was always generous in helping his students as well as scholars from different parts of the world. I am extremely grateful for Prof Hanan’s great help. I only regret that, for one reason or another, I did not get to talk with him frequently enough, and hardly asked him about his personal life, when I was at Harvard.
During the brief time we had together at our infrequent appointments, Prof Hanan and I discussed mostly my study and our research. However, in addition to Chinese fiction, we occasionally exchanged notes on some modern British novels that we enjoyed reading. I particularly remember in one conversation when we chatted about Muriel Spark’s novel Memento Mori, Prof Hanan expressed special interest in one of the novel’s numerous characters—an old sociologist who continues to be busy doing research long after he has retired. At that moment, I had an inkling that, like this character, Prof Hanan probably would continue to conduct research after retirement and enjoy it.
Indeed, after his retirement in 1997, instead of relaxing or slowing down, he seemed to speed up his research and translation projects. I was moved by his continuing enthusiasm for scholarship when once he asked me to xerox for him a few pages from a rare book in the Eaton Collection of Science Fiction and Fantasy at my university. His innovative study of Chinese fiction of the 19th and early 20th centuries is enlightening, while his translations of the lesser-known but highly significant novels are wonderful and remarkable. It was amazing that he continued to accomplish so much and contribute so much to the field since 1997.
Regrettably, because of being preoccupied with my own life, I corresponded with Prof Hanan only rarely in recent years. In our rare emails and even rarer phone calls, we continued to talk about our work and especially his translations. He never revealed any health problems to me. As I had retained a healthy and cheerful image of him, I was shocked and devastated to learn of his passing away.
Thirty years on, Prof Hanan still remains the scholar and person I admire the most in my field. His passing away was not only an immense loss to his family and friends, but also to the field and the world.
University of Chicago
I deeply regret that I cannot be with all of you today at this memorial for Patrick Hanan, but I hope that these brief memories of him and ruminations on his remarkable career will resonate with the other speakers and participants at today’s event.
I first really met Prof. Hanan in 1981, in the fall of my senior year at Harvard, when newly returned from a year and a half in Taiwan (in those days we still couldn’t study Chinese easily on the mainland), I enrolled in his first-year Literary Chinese class, where we read Shi ji biographies. I was hooked from the start, enchanted by the laconic economy of the language and the heroic humanism of Sima Qian, but above all, thrilled by my sense of being inducted into arcane mysteries, a feeling compounded by Prof Hanan’s own old school manner of address, as he would call on us in turn: “Miss Zeitlin, would you please read the next passage?”
I never imagined that some ten years later as a young assistant professor at Harvard I would be standing in the same classroom teaching the same texts valiantly trying to channel my inner Hanan. Although as an MA student and then PhD student of his I took many wonderful courses with him, on Shuihu zhuan, Jin Ping Mei, and Honglou Meng, on Yuan drama and the history of vernacular literature, it still seems that my earliest exposure to him as a teacher brings back the most vivid memories I have of him now.
Pat Hanan was a deeply private man, modest and understated, but with a dry wit and warm presence. Despite our long acquaintance, I did not find him someone easy to know. His methods were subtle; he preferred listening, then planting clues and steering by indirection to allow us to figure things out ourselves. He did intervene quietly behind the scenes at crucial moments—for instance, by asking Ellen Widmer to take me under her wing on my first research trip to China in the summer of 1987. While leading by example, he gave us ample room to pursue our own bent so we could grow into independent scholars. His own scholarship displays an unusual mix of adventurousness and judicious caution that I greatly admire—adventurous in his choice of topics and pursuit of rare editions around the world, but cautious in applying anything but the most rigorous standard for what constitutes evidence. This combination, I think, is partly what has given staying power to his books and essays despite the many vicissitudes of scholarly fashions and trends over the past half-century.
When I look back now with an historian’s eye, it seems incredible to me that a man from a provincial town in New Zealand ended up writing his doctoral dissertation in the 1950s on the notorious novel Jin Ping Mei. He told me once that he had originally planned to study English literature, and that he had certainly had a much more interesting career by having switched to Chinese literature, but he did not reveal what made him make this unconventional choice. His teacher at SOAS in London was the eminent sinologist and librarian Walter Simon (1893-1981), who was trained in the German orientalist- philological tradition at the University of Berlin, where he became a distinguished professor before, as a Jew, being stripped of his post by the Nazis in 1934, and then fleeing to England to begin over again. It was Simon who recommended to Hanan to choose the Jin Ping Mei because there was so little scholarship on it. Prof. Hanan’s New Zealand nationality meant that in contrast to US sinologists of his generation, he was able to do research for his dissertation in the People’s Republic of China. He spent 1957-1958 as an international student in Beijing at the height of the anti-rightist campaign. He told me that at one point his mentor Prof Wu Xiaoling, the great bibliophile and champion of vernacular literature, who became a lifelong friend of his, gently mentioned that “Perhaps it would be best if he didn’t come around quite so frequently right now.”
The same mixture of adventurousness and historical rigor characterizes the long final phase of his career, as a pioneering researcher and a translator of little-known Chinese novels of the nineteenth and early twentieth century. After his retirement symposium in 1997, John Ziemer, then editor at Harvard’s Asia Publications, invited Lydia Liu and me to edit a volume with some of the papers. It was not to be a festschrift, he told us, and Lydia and I agreed that we wanted it to be a thematic volume called Writing and Materiality in China, which would include not only works by a broader range of authors than just Prof Hanan’s students, but also a recent article by Prof Hanan himself on his sensational discovery of a nineteenth-century contest for reform-minded Chinese novels. In the end, the Press Board required that we add the subtitle “Essays in Honor of Patrick Hanan.” Prof Hanan immediately asked to withdraw his essay from the volume– “I couldn’t possibly contribute an essay to a volume in honor of myself,” he demurred. John Ziemer came up with the stratagem of publishing it under the figleaf of a pseudonym. In the end Prof Hanan was afraid that using a pseudonym might lead future scholars astray, so he decided just to go with “Anonymous.” (The essay was subsequently republished under his real name in his book Chinese Fiction of the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries). Very apt for someone who first made his mark with his research on the ultimate anonymous novel Jin Ping Mei. But he himself is anything but anonymous in his enormous lasting influence, as a teacher and a writer, in the field of Chinese vernacular fiction. May his name continue to be a blessing to the living.
Edward J. Baker
Associate Director, HYI (retired)
In Memory of Professor Pat Hanan
Not being in Chinese literature, I cannot appraise Pat’s contributions to scholarship in that field, although I can say that I have read with appreciation some of his excellent translations of Chinese literature. However, I can comment on his work as an administrator because I worked with him during the period 1987-1995, when he headed the Harvard-Yenching Institute. Pat was an excellent administrator. He had a sense of humor, an important asset for a director. When he gave me a copy of his translation of The Carnal Prayer Mat, I mentioned I had seen the favorable comment it had just received in the New York Times Book Review. He said, with a twinkle, that, when one of his neighbors had complimented him on the NYT comment, he asked her if she had read it. She replied, “Heavens no! I don’t read pornography!”
Pat was cordial—though reserved, thorough, well-organized, attentive to detail, efficient and always on top of things. As Director of the HYI he did a great deal to promote scholarly exchange in the humanities and social sciences with East Asia institutions through continuing and strengthening the HYI’s on-going Visiting Scholars Program and Doctoral Scholarship Program and by extending the HYI’s programs to Vietnam and by starting the Visiting Fellows Program for PhD candidates from East Asian universities to do dissertation research at Harvard.
In the wake of the events of June 4, 1989 some, including the New York Times, suggested that, because of PRC government screening, exchange programs like ours had lost their value. In an op-ed published on December 8 Pat took exception, writing “I found the nominees [I just finished interviewing in China] to be fully as talented, diverse and independent-minded as those interviewed in previous years. No doubt political factors now play a greater part in the selection than they did. But I am convinced that the leading Chinese universities have managed to preserve a measure of integrity in their nominating process. I sympathize with the situation of the Chinese already here, several of whom are my students. Their interests must be protected. But it would be tragic if, in doing so, we turned our backs on the vast numbers who long for an opportunity to study in the United States.”
In light of the failure of some Chinese studying abroad to return home in the uncertain situation after June 4, our corresponding institutions in China became reluctant to nominate candidates for our Doctoral Scholarship Program, although they continued to send Visiting Scholars, who were committed to return home after their year at Harvard. When asked why they did not nominate doctoral candidates, they consistently replied, “Because they don’t return.” Although there were a few graduates of the HYI Doctoral Program who did not return, we pointed out, to no avail, that most of our graduates had returned and that those who had not, like Prof. Lydia H. Liu, now of Columbia, were making important contributions to international academic interchange. Pat was very concerned that a cohort of Chinese scholars was passing without a chance to study abroad. Pondering this problem, we came up with the Visiting Fellows Program designed to give PhD candidates in the humanities and social sciences who were at the research and writing stage a chance to spend up to 3 semesters at Harvard. Apparently comforted by the greater draw they had on their own PhD candidates than they thought they would on those enrolled at Harvard and the other US, British, Canadian and other universities where the HYI had long supported doctoral candidates, the Chinese institutions immediately started sending nominations to the new Visiting Fellows Program. And, unexpectedly, institutions in Korea and Vietnam have also sent many students to this program over the years. It has been a great success.
The expected drop in the number of Chinese grantees never fully materialized, but it prompted us to consider inviting some Vietnamese institutions to participate in the HYI programs. In May 1990, Pat suggested we contact Tommy Vallely of the Harvard Institute for International Development, who had considerable experience with academic exchange with Vietnam. Vallely recommended that we talk with Professor Vo-Tong Xuan of Cantho University who happened to be on a short visit to HIID at that very time. Over lunch that day, with Professor Xuan’s enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and realistic encouragement, we agreed that the project was possible and drew up a list of key institutions in Vietnam. With Xuan’s help we received positive responses from all of them and by September 1990 I was on my way to Vietnam to interview candidates.
Since 1990 was 5 years before the US and Vietnam reestablished diplomatic relations, we had little confidence that either government would allow such exchanges. When I called the State Department to ask, the man I spoke with seemed totally uninterested, but he did not say, “No” and we took that as a “Yes”. Fortunately both governments regularly issued the visas needed for my visits to Vietnam to conduct interviews and for the scholars we selected to spend a year or more in the U.S. Otherwise, the two governments let the HYI and the Vietnamese institutions develop their own relationships and this worked out extremely well. By the middle of the 1990s the HYI had one of the largest programs bring scholars from Vietnam to the US and by far the largest focusing on the humanities and social sciences. With the cooperation of Dean Robert D. Stueart and Professor Patricia Oyler, we also established a program that put 19 librarians from the 6 main academic libraries in Vietnam through the MS program at Simmons School of Library and Information Science and drastically improved the academic libraries of Vietnam. By 2010 the Vietnamese Ministry of Education and Training gave us an award for our work and the US Consul General in Ho Chi Minh City declared during that ceremony that the US should follow the lead of the HYI.
To me these are just 2 important examples of Professor Hanan’s outstanding contributions to academic exchange as Director of the HYI. The publications program described by Professor Zhu Hong is another. And the career of Professor Liu offers an example of his contributions as both an administrator and a teacher. It was an honor and a privilege to work with Pat.
Margaret B. Wan
University of Utah
I will always be grateful to have had the opportunity to work with Patrick Hanan. Pat was an impeccable scholar, a great teacher, and a true gentleman. I was deeply saddened by the news of his passing. There is a saying in Chinese that an advisor is half a parent, but Pat truly lived up to that in the best possible way.
When I was an undergraduate deciding where to apply to graduate school, I read several of Pat’s books. I was impressed by the depth of his scholarship, so I applied to Harvard. I can still remember how absolutely thrilled I was when Pat called to tell me I had been accepted — I was so happy to have talked with the scholar I admired so much. Soon thereafter I received a package of books in the mail from him so I could be reading over the summer before my first term as a graduate student.
Pat has been an ideal mentor ever since. I was the last of Pat’s Ph.D. students. He encouraged me to pursue research off the beaten path. When I was finishing my dissertation, even though he had retired the year before, he met with me every two weeks. When I met with him shortly before graduation, he smiled and said he felt like he was marrying off the last of his children. I was so touched.
Pat was kind and generous, and he was always there for his students when we needed him. He was always self-effacing, but I had the privilege to get to know him better, especially in recent years as he began treating me as a colleague. He spoke with great warmth of his family, and enthusiastically discussed both my research projects and his own.
I am truly fortunate to have had the best teacher anyone could hope for in Pat. He meant so much to so many people, and he has made such a difference not only in his field, but also in our lives.
韓南 Hanan教授~與張愛玲的繡荷包寶物存藏 張鳳 (Phoebe Chang Phong)
早就欽仰的夏志清教授﹐於80年代由王德威教授中介得識﹐又因我兒子於哥大攻博士得緣綿密請益﹐福氣地常蒙他熱切引導或來函示下許多不傳之秘。先寫成<<哈佛心影錄>>的一章﹐特別﹕1995秋指點我一句話﹕[張愛玲1967年到哈佛] ﹐引我上窮碧落下黃泉地深度挖掘﹕由尋獲罕見的哈佛史勒辛格圖書館藍點檔案﹕八行文字考據寫成 <張愛玲與哈佛>﹐<張愛玲在不在~在哈佛尋找張愛玲>等篇在1996, 4,15後首刊聯合報和中央日報…挑明<<海上花列傳>>英譯未曾交卷哈佛﹐四處追問下落﹖
1997年經張錯教授發現來函﹐<<海上花列傳>>英譯, 就在宋淇太太鄺文美轉贈南加大的張愛玲遺稿之中﹐再由南加大圖書館整理後,王德威教授哥大2005年出版 。1996春﹐即時我又將張愛玲哈佛故居﹐尋得的愛玲手跡著作首先在中文世界刊登公諸於世﹐中, 德,韓日各國張愛玲研究者﹐競相來訪。幾篇文章﹐並為哈佛瑞克利夫學院圖書館瑞克利夫學院檔案諾斯J. Knowles太太邀去歸檔。
1996年 之後﹐夏先生再傳張愛玲履歷表﹐仲夏慎重親傳由他作序司馬新所著 <<張愛玲與賴雅>> (原書為英文由徐斯與司馬新合譯為中文。經過韓南﹐海陶瑋和夏志清等教授調教的鄭緒雷﹐Stephen Cheng﹐哈佛博士論文研究<<海上花列傳>>)1996夏﹐才在臺北大地出版社甫出﹐適逢我過訪贈書﹐喜出望外地同不肯留 步的夏先生在樓外﹐虔誠合影紀念。
2005年正為在哥倫比亞大學2005年10月28-29日開的“夏濟安夏志清夏氏昆仲與中國文學研討會”演講:書寫<夏濟安夏志清夏氏昆仲與張愛玲>論文。恰逢曾在80年代起指點良多的韓南教授Prof. Patrick Dewes Hanan和剛重新被韓南教授等延攬回哈佛任教的王德威教授, 即刻託付我一個嶄新的使命﹕留心為張愛玲送給韓南夫婦倆的繡荷包和書﹐找個貼切合宜的收藏地點。
韓南教授1927年出生在紐西蘭，父親是牙醫，從小在農莊長大,韓南教授原在奧克蘭大學研究英國中古小說，忽對中國小說發生興趣，1953年便申請倫敦大學亞非學院從頭再念起， 一邊寫博士論文，並任教於亞非學院，1961得博士後, 從此他便頭角崢嶸開始了在中國通俗文學方面的事業，造詣之高得以任教史丹福大學到1968年，哈佛的海陶瑋James Robert Hightower教授, 在那年鼎力爭取韓南教授來哈佛大學教書, 韓南教授因此轉任哈佛東亞系中國古典文學教授並兼任系主任~巧逢張愛玲…並作育英才,1997年慶祝榮退, 是哈佛大學衛特湯瑪斯Victor S Thomas講座教授授。
為博士論文蒐集材料,他一九五七年第一次到了中國,有云他曾申請北大因當時環境被拒, 而後依然來了…他說:”我很幸運，1957到1958年,得到了去中國的留學獎學金。那時候中國接受很少的來自西方的學者。我們有3個人，獲得了由對外文化聯絡會接待去北京的機會。我可以充分利用北大圖書館和北京圖書館。通過各種組織，得以會見鄭振鐸時任文化部長、傅惜華、吳曉鈴(他當社長時曾邀請來哈佛)等學者。如果沒有這樣的機會，我就不可能如此細致地分析《金瓶梅》的版本” 第二次訪中國,是一九八0年隨一個代表團進行為時三周的訪問。那時他剛剛寫好《中國的話本》花了不少額外時間審閱資料。1987年之後,韓南社長多次到中國為燕京學社面試甄選。
他的英文著作: 《〈金瓶梅〉探源》1960，《〈金瓶梅〉版本及其他》1962，《中國的短篇小說：關于年代、作者和撰述問題的研究》1973，《中國的話本》英文1981，《中國白話小說史》中1989，《中國短篇小說》1967，1997，《魯迅小說的技巧》1974，《中國近代小說的興起》中文2010，2004=《十九世紀和二十世紀初期的中國小說》英文2004 ，《韓南中國小說論集》1979中文，2008中文，《創造李漁》英文1988，中文2010，他還研究《儿女英雄傳》《海上花列傳》等十九世紀小說以及并以其慧眼矚目大家不常注意的, 鮮為人知的小說或基督教用以傳教的敘事文本，他還英譯了《肉蒲團》1990 1996，《無聲戲》選譯1990，《禽海石》《恨海:世紀之交的中國言情小說》1995，和《十二樓》選譯1998，《黃金祟》1999 ，《風月夢》2009 ，《蜃樓志》2014。影響深遠。
他考據小說文本風格分析鑒定作品的年代, 小說產生的條件、方式和過程，同一個故事在不同題材文學中的流變…。錢鍾書先生稱他:精思明辨，解難如斧破竹，析義如鋸攻木; 耶魯名家孫康宜教授稱: 書裡充滿了卓越學者的機智，加上典雅而洗練的文字，可說在當時漢學界中少有出其右者。
韓南教授溫和拘謹, 不善社交, 但尊重又低調矜持,避免與他不喜歡者應酬, 而能交托珍藏於我…,前此我們在圖書館尋書偶遇, 會突然對我談起:”我們邀請德威從哥大回哈佛,( 夏) 志清對我說他會自殺…”我只能莞爾安慰…都是令我受寵若驚之舉。
韓南太太安娜為德裔, 據聞年輕時在倫敦兩人一見就互相吸引，不到三星期便閃電結婚, 他倆僅有位兒子Rupert Guy Hanan (竟在兩月左右父子兩人都先後離世, 禁 不住為他家擔心), 韓南太太一向熱心, 愛和平…。我與韓南太太僅在讌會中相逢，身段高挑漂亮爽氣的對我說著張愛玲…後來不久就聽說安娜患了帕金森病漸不能自理，倆人結婚六十餘年，恩愛扶持，韓南教授親自照料了太太好幾年。最後不同病況眼睛看不見的韓南教授, 不得已住入另一個療養院。王德威,呂芳以及其高足魏愛蓮 …等位教授皆去探望。
2014春，他英譯本《蜃樓志》剛出版收進圖書館，87歲的他, 心中還想譯《平妖傳》。曾是他最早的博士導生, 論文寫敦煌變文的賓大教授梅維恒Victor Mair，2014年四月二十五日應王德威,歐立德之請來演講,與許多華洋學者如包弼德,杜邁可, 丘慧芬和葛兆光, 戴燕, 梅嘉玲, 李育霖,劉大任, 馬小鶴…諸位在哈佛費正清中心開Unpacking China 會議,開完首日議程后, 連夜去探望他,可能就是韓南教授最後見到的學生。我與呂芳還約著要去探病都沒來得及, 韓南教授四月二十六日就突然逝去了.
真是震驚! 恓惶中思及兩位給我深刻啟示的韓南教授和夏教授. 同在4個月之間仙逝, 心中真是百般不捨!
深深懷念1980年代後期在韓南教授課堂上聽講:那年他撇開最擅長的是三言~明代馮夢龍所編纂的《喻世明言》、《警世通言》和《醒世恒言》, 二拍~即凌濛初作的《初刻拍案驚奇》、《二刻拍案驚奇》或 他研究《金瓶梅》，翻譯《肉蒲團》等通俗文學,集中引導我們研讀含有對後來紅樓夢等小說創作,極有啟示的諸多明末清初小說:《隋煬帝艷史》《隋史遺文》《隋唐演義》《醒世姻緣傳》《蟬貞逸史》和好些後續文字《西遊記補》《水滸後傳》《續金瓶梅》;更選有《平山冷燕》《玉嬌梨》《好逑傳》;也沒漏掉清初才子李漁的《無聲戲》~現在就只有在日本才能找到, 和李漁十八個故事的集子《連城壁》…尤其他寫的《創造李漁》才出版。他告訴我每年他只收三两個正式學生, 但在不太大的教室中,大家擠滿熱烈研討,與現在很有成就,來哈佛教過課的台灣中研院的胡曉真教授,和哥倫比亞大學的劉禾和商偉教授等多位,在韓南教授的小說課同堂共話, 令我對白話小說思古非常!
2006春在他把張愛玲的繡荷包交給我的當兒, 想要為他與繡荷包照張相, 常是和風細雨的他,竟透佻皮詼諧輕笑著地說: 我可不願拿著這個照相, 我不覺會心… 忙中一時也未有機靈他想…只顧向他訴說: 紙本的書,有簽名或無,都可以交哈佛燕京存藏, 住這兒的我們隨時可讀… 就瞥開去了,很遺憾地錯過這個拍照的永恆的因緣。 後來他真把藏書全捐給了哈佛燕京圖書館,成為圖書館的韓南特藏!
“真是開心驚喜的遇合﹐那是我來哈佛的第一年1968深秋﹐是幾月嘛﹖記不得了﹖”藹然可親又帶點羞怯表情的韓南教授說﹕也可能是1969初春﹐就在哈佛燕京圖書館底樓﹐1990年代前圖書館底樓﹐還有書桌間隔著書架﹐在古典小說的書架旁﹐初初邂逅﹐他們談了好半天“她想看看我的研究﹐很喜歡我的《金瓶梅探源》﹐於是我們通訊…“﹐他們也傾談她翻譯的<<海上花列傳>>﹐張愛玲說﹕「《海上花列傳》真是好﹗像紅樓夢一樣好﹗」其後韓南教授邀她寫論文到1936年創辦出版<<哈佛亞洲研究學報>> ﹐（Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies） ﹐她竟寫成一本文學評論集子──《紅樓夢魘》1977年出版﹐一本書代替了一篇論文﹗ (此書張愛玲序﹐曾提到韓南教授考據金瓶梅﹐ 53回, 到57回是兩個不相干的人寫的。)
他依稀記得“張愛玲後來幾次找我寫介紹信﹐大概是應徵柏克萊加大﹐…可能也有其他些申請未竟其功﹖“韓南與我憶起, 與夏志清教授等推薦許多申請…聯繫經年﹐幫了她一把。 1969春素來幽居不見人的張愛玲﹐意外邀請他和太太安娜到劍橋布拉圖街83號43座 公寓吃飯﹐“究竟吃什麼或沒有﹐我想不起來”﹐但韓南太太對我說確實吃了飯。
那次聚會，張愛玲把親筆簽名和訂正過的，於1967年在英倫凱賽爾公司Cassell出版的<<怨女>>英文版<<北地胭脂>>THE ROUGE OF THE NORTH送他 ﹔又贈韓南夫妻一個腰間垂掛﹐或手攜的繡花荷包﹐是李鴻章女兒-她的祖母李菊耦之家傳寶物。
已經退休的韓南教授﹐數度約我在哈佛大學會面﹐並謙言﹕要不是妳﹐我辦不成這事。在 2005夏和 2006春﹐韓南教授分別把繡荷包，以及那有手跡的兩本書《北地胭脂》和後來又贈的《紅樓夢魘》 , 帶到圖書館託付給我。
躊躇未決﹐該安放何處﹖我先咨詢過獨步收藏了許多手稿的哈佛燕京圖書館鄭炯文館長﹐和倆位老友﹕剛回哈佛曾任哥倫比亞大學東亞系系主任出版<<海上花列傳>>英譯﹐領之向世界舞台的王德威教授﹔曾任南加大東亞系系主任張錯教授~邀得宋淇鄺文美夫婦﹐捐藏張愛玲英文手稿者(宋淇原名奇字悌芬﹐大戲劇藏書家”褐木廬”之主宋春舫哲嗣，筆名林以亮) , 和考慮台灣國家圖書館和北京中國現代文學館…再詢柏克萊加大東亞圖書館周欣平館長等位﹐幾番思量過後﹐終於當機立斷決定了存藏之處…
先把韓南夫婦特捐的書和荷包, 分頭安排妥當﹐找到能夠永久珍藏之處﹕僅收紙本手稿書畫的哈佛燕京圖書館, 珍藏張愛玲簽名親筆訂正過的《北地胭脂》《紅樓夢魘》。
張愛玲繡荷包和林海音﹐鹿橋(贈紀剛) …等遺珍決定交柏克萊加大東亞圖書館周欣平館長收藏﹐隨機遇收藏的柏克萊加大圖書館有專館﹐新館田長霖東亞研究中心第一座建築 :史達C. V. Starr東亞圖書館﹐自2004年五月動土﹐2007年落成舉行開館慶典。建設費用耗資五千兩百萬美元，是由一千五百多位捐款人捐贈。周欣平館長珍惜地將專闢一處陳列永藏﹗於是相約 2006年4月20日陪先生黃紹光博士同去開會演講時﹐順道贈送。一併捐贈的珍稀寶物另有林海音的小象擺設﹐别針和”伊豆的舞娘“木娃娃﹔ 平路贈張鳳的威尼斯面具胸針﹔ 鹿橋教授贈紀剛醫生書於綾絹絲帛上的墨寶。
張愛玲到哈佛女校, 先是以 1967年七月到1968年六月在瑞克利夫研究院﹐申請得到的獨立研究經費﹐翻譯19世紀小說<<海上花列傳>>1969年4月1日曾在瑞克利夫研究院宣讀<中國翻譯作為文化影響的橋樑>。期間繼續為港美新處翻譯。
Eugene W. Wu
Patrick Dewes Hanan: A Memorial
I first met Pat in 1961 when he was invited to teach at the Department of Asian Languages (now Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures) at Stanford. I was then the Curator of the newly formed East Asian Collection at Hoover Institution. It so happened that we both relocated to Harvard a few years after that – I in1965 and he in 1968. We were colleagues there for twenty-nine years, and as it also turned out we both retired from Harvard in 1997.
Pat was a quiet but a very warm person, unfailingly courteous, gracious and kind. He was a good listener. His erudition and enormous contribution to the study of the late Qing vernacular novel is widely known and praised by his colleagues around the world. Here I would only like to pay tribute to him as a friend and a strong supporter of the Harvard-Yenching Library, of which I had the privilege to serve as director for thirty-two years.
Harvard has a tradition of appointing faculty members to library committees serving as advisory bodies to the directors of the libraries of their academic interest. Pat was for many years a member of the Harvard-Yenching Library Advisory Committee, and served as the committee chairman from 1977 to 1982. In that capacity he was always alert to what the Library was acquiring, with a sharp eye for the value and usefulness of its new acquisitions. But Pat’s contribution to the Harvard-Yenching Library lies far beyond his concern about library acquisitions. Two decisions he made during his tenure as director of the Harvard-Yenching Institute (1987-1995) had significant impact on keeping the Library as the preeminent library for East Asian studies in this country and abroad. The two decisions were the Institute’s funding of the retroactive conversion project (converting the Library’s card catalog into machine-readable form) and the inviting of Shum Chun 沈津 , a Chinese rare editions expert at the Shanghai Library, to Harvard as a Harvard-Yenching Institute Visiting Scholar.
Library automation began in the late 1960s, and it gathered momentum in the following decade. While great strides were being made in the use of library technology in research libraries, especially in the conversion of the card catalogues into machine-readable form, East Asian libraries were unable to do so because of the language problem, as there was no available system that could be used to process East Asian scripts. When such a system did become available later on, the cost of conversion was so high that few East Asian libraries were able to afford it. Indeed when Harvard began to convert its many libraries’ card catalogues into machine-readable form, Harvard-Yenching Library was left out because of cost considerations (the estimate for Harvard-Yenching was around two and a half millions dollars). Yet the work had to be done somehow. Automation would not wait for East Asian libraries to catch up. The Library raised some funds in Korea ($100,000) and Taiwan ($250,000) for a pilot retrospective conversion project (known as recon) to convert 17,000 Korean and 42,500 Chinese cards, contracted with OCLC (Online Computer Library Center). The result was quite satisfactory and I talked to Pat about the possibility of the Harvard-Yenching Institute underwriting one-half of the entire recon cost to be matched by the University, following the funding formula used by other Harvard libraries in the recon project, that is, each of the participating libraries would be responsible for one half of the cost with the other half matched by the University. It will be remembered that at that time the Harvard-Yenching Library had already become a part of the Harvard College Library, by agreement between the Institute and the University in 1976, which meant the Institute was no longer obliged to underwrite expenses such as that for the recon project. But Pat, seeing the importance of the project, readily gave his support and agreed to take up the matter with Henry Rosovsky, then Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences and concurrently Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Harvard-Yenching Institute. The proposal also received the endorsement of William Kirby, then Chairman of the Council of East Asian Studies, and Sidney Verba, then the University Librarian. Consequently, the board of the Harvard-Yenching Institute approved an appropriation of 1.1 million dollars for the project, with the understanding that the amount was to be matched by the University, which was done. A contract was signed with OCLC in 1995 and actual work began in 1996. The project was to be completed in five years. When all was done, the recon of the Library’s entire card catalogue of some 323,500 titles into machine-readable form became the largest such project ever attempted by any major East Asian library and contributed enormously to the work of all East Asian libraries, since they no longer had to convert their card catalogues and could simply copy from the Harvard-Yenching Library database for their own use. Additionally, the machine-readable catalogue can also be easily accessed by anyone around the world. Had it not been for Pat’s foresight and support, this unprecedented project would never have come to pass, and the East Asian studies community would be the poorer for it.
The second decision Pat made, which also benefited the Harvard-Yenching Library and the East Asian studies community at large, was his support in bringing Shum Chun 沈津 to Harvard for the purpose of compiling an annotated catalogue of Harvard-Yenching Library’s rare Chinese editions. The Library’s Chinese Rare Books Collection was built up over several decades by my predecessor, Dr. Alfred Kaiming Chiu. It was his wish that someday a good catalogue would be compiled and published of this preeminent collection, which he had spent almost all of his professional life building. But he never lived to see his wish realized. He died in 1977. Then Shum Chun came to the scene. He came to the Harvard-Yenching Library in 1987 for four weeks as part of his research project on American holdings of Chinese rare books, supported by a grant from SUNY Stony Brook. I knew very little about him then except that he had been under the tutelage of the renowned bibliophile and Chinese rare books expert Gu Tinglong 顾廷龙, then director of the famous Shanghai Library, and Mr. Shum was the deputy head of Shanghai Library’s Rare Books Collection at that time. After his four-week stay at the Harvard-Yenching Library, he produced several notebooks which he generously shared with me before he left. I was amazed at the breadth and depth of his knowledge and the speed with which he had produced these notes. Four years later, in 1991, I was in Hong Kong attending a conference at the Chinese University, and was surprised to see Shum Chun at the University Library there. It turned out that he had accepted an invitation from the Center for China Studies of the Chinese University to conduct research, and moved his family from Shanghai to Hong Kong a couple of years earlier. I inquired of his interest in coming to the Harvard-Yenching Library to catalogue the Library’s Chinese rare books. With his positive response I went to Pat after my return to Cambridge and suggested that Shum Chun be invited to Harvard as a Harvard-Yenching Institute Visiting Scholar for one year for the explicit purpose of compiling an annotated catalogue of the Library’s Chinese rare books. Pat gave his approval immediately and Shum Chun and his wife arrived in Cambridge in 1992. He began work immediately and worked almost day and night for two years (his invitation as a visiting scholar was extended in 1993 for another year). What he produced after the two years was a monumental manuscript listing 1,433 titles of editions from the Southern Song (1127-1279) to the end of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). The annotated catalogue was unique in many aspects. Beside the standard bibliographic information usually given for each title in standard compilations of its kind, the annotations he provided include additional information such as a biographical sketch of the author, the unique features of and the rarity of the edition, the name of the carver and the name of the issuing bookshop, brief history of the book’s transmission through the ages, any postscripts, the seals of the successive owners. Organized into the traditional 經史子集叢 categories, the catalogue also provides a title index, an author index, and indexes to the names of copyists, illustrators, carvers, and issuing bookshops. The catalogue was unprecedented in scope, format, and other bibliographical details. It received wide acclaim following its publication by the 上海辭書出版社 in 1999 under the title 《美國哈佛大學哈佛燕京圖書館中文善本書志》 as Harvard-Yenching Library Bibliographical Series VII, 927 pp.
It should be added here that following the completion of his manuscript Shum Chun was invited to join the Harvard-Yenching Library as head of its Rare Books Collection. In that capacity he collaborated with a succession of scholars from China and completed a manuscript on the Library’s rare Chinese editions of the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) and published it together with the listings in the above-mentioned 書志 with some revisions under an almost identical title 《美國哈佛大學哈佛燕京圖書館藏中文善本書志》 by the 廣西師範大學出版社 in 2011 as Harvard-Yenching Library Bibliographical Series XV, in six volumes. Like its predecessor volume, this catalogue was also received by the Chinese studies community with applause. Shum Chun took early retirement from Harvard and joined the faculty at the Sun Yat-Sen University in Guangzhou, China.
Pat made other contributions to the Harvard-Yenching Library. He donated 74 寶卷 titles in 112 volumes and 17 彈詞 titles in 20 volumes which he had collected in China to the Library’s Rare Books Collection, and he served as editor of an exhibition catalogue entitled Treasures of the Yenching celebrating the 75th anniversary of the Harvard-Yenching Library published by the Library in 2003 in which he also contributed an eighteen-page article entitled “Chinese Christian Literature: The Writing Process.” The 寶卷 he donated were placed together with the thirteen other titles the Library already had and published in 2013 under the editorship of 霍建瑜 by the廣西師範大學出版社 entitled《美國哈佛大學哈佛燕京圖書館藏寶卷匯刊》.
As a scholar, administrator, library supporter, and friend, Pat will be sorely missed by all of us.
Fang Lu, Boston College
那些您在医院治疗的日子，好让人担心。我只能静等您的音讯，等您接起电话，说，“Yes, speaking”。去年夏天一场大病后，您视力减退了，渐渐地，不便看email 了，就嘱我约见时打电话。可是我再也等不到回音了。
是的，韩南教授，这些年，您一直那么耐心地在引领着我，以身作则地让我领会您那种严谨而又极具开拓精神的治学方法。为了能对我的论文作出中肯的评断，您竟亲自去图书馆借阅了那几本我论题中涉及到的、您以前不曾读过的林语堂的重写与改写之作。而您对作品细节的熟悉程度又着实令我叹服。您言极简而意极赅，给我的问题与建议都是有的放矢，点到为止，留给我巨大的空间，自己去领悟。这颇像中国绘画中的留白艺术，您身体力行的启发式教学，让我领略了大师的手笔与风范，并有机会一步步地学着将这一艺术融会到自己的实践中去。您也极重视实据考证。记得您让我读的第一篇文章是您的“论第一部汉译小说”，其中您对《昕夕闲谈》原著、作者与译者环环相扣的缜密考证，以及您对译著风格与叙述技巧的精辟分析深深地吸引了我。这篇文章立即对我当时正在撰写的有关近代传教士翻译《列女传》的章节产生了影响。我试着将从您那儿学到的方法运用到自己的实践中去，并因此尝到了一种做考证研究时那种如侦案般的辛苦、紧张与快乐。还记得 2009 年我将这篇文章投稿到国际《翻译者》(The Translator) 期刊后的一件事。当时期刊的特约编辑对此文极感兴趣，追根究底地要我提供更具体的例证，解释清文中提及的传教士傅莱雅（John Fryer）对另一位传教士萨福德（Anna Safford) 的影响程度。但年代久远，收集到的资料又极有限，急得我直挠耳，只好发信向您求助，因为我读过您研究傅莱雅的文章。回信中，您告诉我，在动笔写那篇关于傅莱雅的文章之前，您化了很多时间，去柏克莱大学，读完了档存的傅莱雅当时的全部信札及其它通讯书写。您没看到有他与传教士Anna Safford 之间的通信，更没见他提及那本英译《列女传》，若有的话，早会留意。您的回答，免去了我一番浩浩烟海里的史料翻检，能够放心地坚持原本的结论，但同时也深深震惊，您为一篇文章所作的求索考证竟是如此详尽，下的功夫竟是踏破铁蹄。这让我汗颜，韩南教授，也让我更明白做学问的甘苦，您的言传身教，是我学术生涯中的大幸。
您一向清健硬朗，韩南教授。直到约两年半前，有一次，过了两个星期，我也收不到您的回音。后来您回email 时告诉我，您和您太太刚好都病了一场。而当我赶到办公室时，韩南教授，我看到您已提前到达了，但身边放了一根拐杖，双手浮肿。这让我心痛了，也深感歉意，您办公室在二楼，陡陡的楼梯，您是怎么一步步上来的？可是看到我时，您还是那么高兴，“You cheer me up,”您说。简简单单地谈了一下病情后，您倒反安慰起我来，说年纪大了，总会有这痛那病的，很正常，让我不必担心。接着话题一转，您仍像往常那样，问起我新近的研究与工作。韩南教授，我知道，您是处处为人着想，不愿给人添任何麻烦。那以后您的身体好转了些。2012年10月底我去您家里看望您时，您和您太太那么高高兴兴地接待了我。你们还谈到了我江南的故乡，谈到了当年去中国时曾在西湖边饮茶的旧事。那是个秋日明媚的下午，阳光透过窗户，那么灿烂，照在两位老人充满甜蜜回忆的笑脸上。韩南教授，我懂得您对那片土地的魂牵梦绕，也懂得您对中国学子这么厚厚的一份关爱。
这两天，波士顿的春天，乍暖又回寒了。冰冷的雨，淅淅沥沥地下个不停，好像无边又无声的哭泣。 您骤然离世的消息，不知扎痛了多少人的心。 韩南教授，您桃李满天下，著作等身，诚如王德威教授所言，您早已被认为是欧美汉学界明清小说研究第一人了，而近年您对晚清民初小说及传教士叙事文学的研究，对欧美及中国学界，影响又不知有多深远。这些，都无需我赘言了，而我，只是作为您耄耋之年这么用心培养过的一个晚辈学子，在这一刻，写下我痛彻心肠的思念。
Robert E. Hegel
I was neither a student nor a colleague of Pat Hanan; instead I was privileged to be an academic acquaintance. He signed his notes to me with his familiar “Pat,” as I’m sure he did in communications with so many others. That is one of the attributes that impressed me about Pat Hanan: he did not stand on ceremony when talking about Chinese literature. He sought to learn more and enjoyed sharing what he had discovered.
I was a graduate student at Columbia, a student of C. T. Hsia. Early in my time there C.T. taught a course on the novel. C. T. assigned the best scholarship in English—he had little regard for most scholarship in Chinese being produced then—and of course that included Pat Hanan’s two early essays on the Jin Ping Mei. My classmates and I marveled at this very different kind of scholarly model than that offered by C. T. In his 1969 review of C. T.’s monograph, Pat was polite (I can’t imagine him otherwise). Not surprisingly, Pat found some of C. T.’s interpretations irrelevant to understanding the development of the novel in China, and he made a clear distinction between C. T. as a literary critic and himself as a literary historian. I do believe that Pat’s review played a major role in steering my generation of C. T.’s students away from Western-style New Criticism and onto the Hanan path toward literary history.
In the early 1970s I visited Cambridge and spoke with Pat. It was soon after his essay on the novel Pingyao zhuan and his ground-breaking study The Chinese Short Story had appeared. I found both of them tremendously exciting and sought his advice on using stylistic markers as a way to date novels as well as short stories. Pat was clear in his response: he was not prepared to make great claims for the efficacy of his approach, and he pointed out that in general his stylistic marker analysis merely confirmed other evidence such as datable references to particular stories or their uses of terms that could be dated in reference to political or other events. It was not worth the effort to seek stylistic criteria for dating novels; their styles and sources were far too diverse for any meaningful results, he advised me. Hanan’s humility about his contributions and their possible inconclusiveness has been a guiding principle for me ever since.
Early on in my reading of Pat Hanan’s scholarly writings I came to appreciate his clarity of thought and his precision of expression. I’ve always recommended that my own graduate students read his writings very carefully, both for their insights and for Pat’s academic English style. I believe you can see the results of my suggestion in the publications of several of my more productive former students. And of course I continue to strive for similar levels of clarity and precision in my own writing.
I was particularly pleased to have been invited to write a review of his monograph The Invention of Li Yu; it gave me a perfect opportunity to learn more about this enigmatic writer. In that study, Pat traces the development of several literary personas that seventeenth-century writer created for himself through his many writings. Hanan concludes his study with his view of the “real” Li Yu, the version of himself that was truly genuine. In my review, and privately, I teased Pat: how he could be sure that Li Yu didn’t fabricate that persona as well—since he chose his literary faces so consistently. Pat conceded that I might have a point. Pat read Li Yu, as he read and translated so many other works of fiction, with his feelings as well as his intellect. He wanted that one “Li Yu” to be the real one, even if one could find reasons to be skeptical.
And so this is the Pat Hanan I knew from a distance: insightful in his reading, thorough in his scholarship, generous to others, always modest about his tremendous accomplishments. He has been my model for decades, as a scholar and as a colleague, and a model for my students as well. The influence of his scholarly acumen and the richness of his findings are heralded throughout the world, wherever Chinese fiction is studied seriously.
The other day a reporter from the Harvard Crimson asked me to describe my most memorable interaction with Professor Hanan. All I could think of was the time back in 1973 when I was his only student in a course on traditional drama and fiction. What stuck in my mind, so long after the fact, was that he would deliver a formal lecture, from a notebook, standing behind a lectern, to me, his audience of one. Not only that, he would watch what I wrote, upside down, and when it wasn’t enough, or when he wanted to be sure I got Chinese characters right, he would come and stand behind me for a moment until satisfied that all was well. Then he returned to his lectern.
All of this is memorable enough, but when I went back to look at the notes for Chinese 121b, which I still have, I was much more impressed at the substance of his teaching. This was just after the publication of what we all called “The Purple Book,” the real title of which was The Chinese Short Story, Studies in Dating, Authorship, and Composition. The book opens with a quotation from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from February 3, 1800. It reads as follows: “Any work which claims to be authentic must have had witnesses, and competent witnesses; this is external evidence. Or it may be its own competent witness; this is called internal evidence.” Rereading the course notes and thinking about Pat’s written work of that era reminds me of what drew me into the field.
When I entered Harvard I had thought I might do ancient history. I loved the idea of discovering what China once was as the ground opened up to reveal new evidence. But the combination of Pat’s warm personality and the orientation toward discovery in his conception of the field meant that he was the adviser for me.
From the point of view of discovery, the most interesting part of Chinese 121b, and of my course of study generally, were the vernacular short stories and novels. From Pat I learned so many things: how different classical and vernacular stories were from one another, how one could distinguish the various intended audiences for vernacular stories by the class sympathies they displayed, how if one set a vernacular novel like Shuihu zhuan and an early vernacular story side by side one could see that they must have taken shape at roughly the same time. Pat was then attempting to date materials on the basis of “internal” evidence. He also advised caution. The author of Jin Ping Mei might never be discovered. Xiyou ji was probably, but not certainly by Wu Chengen.
The early 1970s was a time of opportunity, for libraries were opening up after many years of being off limits, and new possibilities of collaboration between Western and Chinese scholars were just beginning to arise. As well, vernacular fiction was becoming a respectable field of study. Pat believed that it was an exciting time to enter the field.
For me the most profound point of Pat’s influence was his love of libraries and his belief in their capacity to fuel new research over the coming years. Because there was no internet to speak of in the 1970s and 1980s, he relied on a network of scholars in China and on library catalogues, each with its own arcane means of access. These he taught me and his other students with care and dedication, so that we could take best advantage of the riches to be found. The other important tools were methodological: internal and external evidence and how to use both carefully, the difference between wishful thinking and proof, the understanding of texts as evolutions from earlier stages.
I was reminded of all this not just by the Crimson reporter’s question but by Pat’s old friend Professor Cyril Birch’s submission to our website. Professor Birch talks of an extremely cold day in Beijing in January, 1980, when the two of them had a respite from their delegation’s duties. Birch visited friends, but Pat chose to spend his free time in the library. In Birch’s words” I have never seen anyone so literally blue from the cold. Dressed in his ordinary suit, he had spent all the hours available deep in the unheated archival warrens of obscure libraries. He was shivering and needed time to thaw out enough to contemplate dinner. But happy –he had made discoveries, and the day had been a beautiful one.”
I was just completing my dissertation in January, 1980. I well remember Pat’s return from Beijing. He was triumphant. He had discovered poems by “my” author in the rare book room of what was then called the Peking Library. Ever self-effacing, he said nothing about the cold. By that time the thesis was essentially finished, so there was no way to incorporate the new material, but Pat helped to get me to Beijing two years later. This meant that the book that emerged from the dissertation was far richer than it would have been without the “external evidence” of the poems. Nothing could better have illustrated Pat’s faith in the potential for discovery in the field of Ming-Qing fiction than this excavation of “my” author’s poems. And nothing could better demonstrate his dedication to shepherding novice students like myself into the world of full-fledged professionals than the way he chose to spend his free day in Beijing.
浙江大学中文系 徐永明 (Xu Yongming, Zhejiang University)
今年秋，应邀来普林斯顿访问，有机会读到韩南教授(Patrick D．Hanan)的旧作《金瓶梅探源》。现在我乐于利用韩南教授和柯丽德(Katherine Carlitz)博士的研究成果作为我的论据之一。
第一次见到韩南教授，是在哈佛大学燕京图书馆郑炯文馆长请我共进午餐的faculty club里。当时，韩南教授夫妇也在那里吃自助餐，郑馆长向韩南教授致意，并给我们彼此作了介绍。我一听是韩南教授，就说我的老师徐先生常常提到他。韩南教授回答说：“I admire your teacher”（我钦佩你的老师）。
我趁这个机会，也与韩南教授聊了些学术上的问题。记得当时媒体曾有世界十大文学名著的提法，列的十大名著里没有中国的《红楼梦》。我就问韩南教授对《红楼梦》的看法，韩南教授说《红楼梦》当然是写得很好的小说，并说《红楼梦》的英文翻译要数 David Hawkes 大卫·霍克斯）的最好，杨宪益的译本虽然不错，但霍克斯的译本更能体现英文应有的语言风格。我们又谈到了《肉蒲团》一书，韩南教授说此书必为李渔所作无疑，因为语言风格与李渔其他小说的语言风格一致。说着，韩南教授送给了我一篇他刚发表的关于李渔的文章（抽印本）。临走时，我给韩南教授拍了一张照。
过了几天，韩南教授打电话给我，说徐先生写给他的信找到了，让我到他办公室去取。我到了他办公室，韩南教授将徐先生信的原件交给了我，我如获至宝。因为这封信用英文写成，是我仅见的一封徐先生用英文写成的书信。回国后，我将这封信件交给了浙江大学档案馆保存，并将信的译文连同其他几封写给另一位汉学家浦安迪 (Andrew Plaks) 的信一并刊登在《遂昌汤显祖研究通讯》上。
2008年8月至2009年8月，我有幸作为哈佛燕京访问学者再次回到哈佛访学一年。在这一年里，我常常去东亚语言与文明系的common room 听讲座，在那里，我时常看到韩南教授的身影。一次讲座结束时，我请韩南教授在外面的过道上跟我合影，韩南教授欣然答应。在一次聊天中，韩南教授得知我有《古本小说集成》的电子书，就让我拷给他一份。韩南教授为此去买了硬盘让我拷上，并让人安装了适合在其电脑中使用的阅读器。这样，他在家里的电脑上也可以看到了这部大型的小说丛书，不必常跑燕京图书馆了。
我知道韩南教授去世的消息已是很晚。今年八月的一天，我偶然在微信的好友圈上看到友人转发的艾朗诺教授 (Ronald Egan) 和他夫人陈毓贤女士 (Susan Chan Egan) 的回忆文章，才知道韩南教授已于2014年4月26日去世。昨天参加了韩南教授的追思会，聆听了韩南教授生前同事、好友及弟子们深切感人的追念言辞，颇受感动，更增添了我对韩南教授的景仰之情！为使韩南教授与我先师徐先生的交往及韩南教授成人之美的大德不至湮没无闻，故写下以上一段文字，以寄我的缅怀之情。
On April 26, 2014, Patrick Hanan, passed away. Pat was the Victor S. Thomas Professor of Chinese Literature, a co-editor of HJAS, and the Director of the Harvard-Yenching Institute from 1987-1995. Educated in New Zealand and later at SOAS, Pat first taught at SOAS and then at Stanford before coming to Harvard in 1968. After thirty years of service, he retired in 1998. During his tenure as Director of HYI, Pat helped the Institute find a new course in response to an East Asia that had been radically transformed from the conditions under which the Institute was first founded, and he continued its tradition of support for the humanities.
He served with distinction as chair of EALC and in the wide range of offices that are the burden of self-governing institutions. He taught generations of students, who have gone on to populate the field with an excellence that pays tribute to their teacher. Yet throughout this service to the institutions of the university and to others, his enthusiasm for his scholarship never waned.
A superlative scholar, Pat is best known for his pioneering study of the pre-modern Chinese short story, The Chinese Vernacular Story (1981), and The Invention of Li Yu (1988). The latter study was followed by translations of Li Yu’s story collections and his novel, The Carnal Prayer Mat (1990). A flamboyant and entrepreneurial seventeenth-century Chinese writer found his perfect English voice in Pat’s reserved and witty prose; this writer, previously recognized as great, but largely unread, was transformed by Pat into one of the most widely read authors in pre-modern Chinese fiction.
Pat left a legacy of affection as deep and large as his scholarly legacy. His grace, unfailing kindness, and good humor endure in the memories of his colleagues and his many students. The Chinese had faith the voices of the dead live on in the way they wrote; and when we open Pat’s books, we still hear him.
From my knowledge of Pat, he would have been extremely uncomfortable with these, our words of tribute. But this is burden the modest must bear.
I have never known a person so genuinely uncomfortable with praise, and there was a perverse pleasure in making the man blush—because he had the brightest, reddest blush I have ever seen.
When I think of Pat, I feel the loss of a good friend and colleague, remembering how often we sat in his office talking, whether talking about scholarship, students, or what we needed to do in the program; but I also feel the loss of a generation, of a way of being that he represented more perfectly than almost anyone I have known. In a famous passage in the Iliad, Glaukos, confronting the greater warrior Diomedes on the battlefield, gives a speech in which he compares human life to the generations of leaves. But I don’t think that’s quite right. Every human generation seems to have its own distinct qualities, its own virtues; and when that generation passes, those virtues are irrevocably lost. Those of us who knew him know what I mean: he was a gentle man and a gentleman.
When I was hot-headed, he was temperate; when I grew sharp, he was humorous and kind. He handled his life and his world within the university with a grace and decency that is hard to find now in quite the same way. It’s not that we, the later generations, are worse; what is lost is a particular flavor of being, a way of moving through the world.
He held many offices, but in the many years I knew him, I never knew him to desire to hold an office. His saw it as a citizen’s duty; you did your best in the office, then, with relief, returned to the professoriat. His profession was a scholar and teacher, not an academic. He wanted to do his scholarship and write—and teach—this was his work. This—far more than a list of offices held and accomplishments in those offices—is his legacy. His students carry that legacy into the present world, which is not always sympathetic to those values.
With steady work, he began the process of building the department, a process continued by his successors. When I compare the first department meeting I attended when I came in 1982 and a department meeting now, the transformation is hard to believe.
The first time I ever talked to Pat was one ordinary evening in New Haven in 1980 when I got a phone call. He told me that Harvard was running a search (which I had not known) and asked me to come up and give a talk. This presented me with the then unthinkable prospect of leaving Yale and going to Harvard. I had tenure and was quite happy at Yale, which was then a very exciting place to be if you were doing literary studies, and we tended to look down on humanities at Harvard. Getting to know Pat and the pleasure of having him as a colleague was probably the deciding factor in that rash decision. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Together we had the pleasure of teaching a bunch of you here. I was a bit miffed when he became director of HYI, feeling that I had been left holding the bag. But in those days there were still more offices that had to be filled than there were people to fill them.
His legacy within the university is in his students and his writing. I know how deeply his students adored him; and, for those who knew him, his scholarship gives us a glimpse into the wit and profound mischief that made the “gentleman” a real person.
When he first became sick, he told me about cleaning out his office in 9 Kirkland, starting to sorting through the old files, and then, which a look of mischievous glee, he said: “and then I decided just to dump them all—and I felt so much better, and lighter.” I wish he had lived longer to enjoy that lightness and to continue the work he enjoyed so much and did so well. And, I wish that he could be around so that younger scholars could see and get to know the best example of a professional, but also a gentleman scholar of the old school, who blushes so wonderfully and who has a mischievous imp inside.
Farewell, old friend.
I first met Professor Hanan in October 1987 (I thought it was the spring of 1988, and so wrote in my Chinese essay commemorating him, published in Shanghai Review of Books in May, but I was probably mistaken). Earlier that year he had assumed the directorship of the Harvard-Yenching Institute, and as one of the applicants for the Yenching Fellowship, I was required to meet him for an interview. The interview took place at Beida (Beijing University), inside Linhu xuan (the pavilion facing the well-known Nameless Lake), which originally served as the residence of the President of Yenching University, John Leighton Stuart, but had long been used as an administrative facility. We candidates waited outside a conference room, while inside Professor Hanan met us one by one. An administrator from Beijing University volunteered to sit through all the interviews—or perhaps he insisted on doing so, which was intrusive and potentially irritating. However Professor Hanan felt about this, he did not show it on his face; he was as polite as always. When it was my turn to be interviewed, the administrator stepped out for a few minutes—to smoke, or simply because he got bored. Seizing on this opportunity, Professor Hanan explained to me that although I was listed as an applicant for the Ph.D. fellowship, the Beida office in charge of the fellowship program had not yet forwarded my application to the Harvard-Yenching Institute. He had twice urged them to do so, but in vain. And the best way of solving the problem, he said, was for me to communicate with the Beida office directly and immediately, as it was already running late. No one had told me this, and thus I had been left in the dark about the entire situation. I told Professor Hanan that the problem was perhaps due in part to the fact that I had originally applied for the visiting scholar program but later changed my mind, and the Ph.D. fellowship form I had filled out and submitted was most likely put on hold. Professor Hanan looked at me and said, “You are so young, and it would make much more sense for you to pursue a Ph.D. than to spend only one year at Harvard as a visiting scholar.” This was our first meeting. It set me on a track I couldn’t have foreseen. For, had I come to Harvard as a visiting scholar in September 1988, I would have had to face the conundrum the following June of going back to China right after the Tiananmen event. By a wise suggestion and timely push, Professor Hanan changed my life. For this and his continuous instruction and help all these years, I’m ever grateful.
I came from Zhongwen xi (Department of Chinese Literature), Beijing University. As was perhaps true of Zhongwen xi elsewhere, it was known, at least when I was there, for cultivating among its students an “antipathy” to English—foreign languages in general are not high on their priority list to begin with. So, not surprisingly, I struggled with my English upon arriving at Harvard. Just a few weeks into the semester, I went to Professor Hanan’s office to submit my first short paper, and he started reading it immediately, right in front of me. After a few sentences, he picked up a pencil and began to make corrections, but then he paused and turned to me hesitatingly: “Do you mind if I make some changes?” Before I could answer, he hastened to add, “Of course, I won’t change any of your ideas.” Well, to be honest, I was not even so sure about my ideas, much less about my expressions thereof, in English! I was at a loss for words, as it had never occurred to me that he would actually ask such a question. I did tell him later how grateful I was, and how much I appreciated it each time he returned my paper with so many of his thoughtful comments filling the margins of each page, concerning my ideas as well as my writing.
When I came to know him better, I also realized that, though reserved and shy, he was a gifted, natural conversationalist; it was sheer joy to chat with him. One year, during a round trip we took between Taibei and a national park in South Taiwan after a conference (a number of the photos seen on this website were taken during that trip), I was assigned to the seat next to Professor Hanan, and for the next few hours, and in fact, for the next few days throughout the trip, we indulged ourselves in delightful casual talks, completely pressure-free, moving effortlessly from one topic to another. I learned so much about him as both a scholar and a person. He was really good at carrying on conversations, and his unassuming demeanor certainly helped. He once told me that as the director of the Harvard-Yenching Institute, he traveled to China once a year to interview the candidates, as he had done with me a few years before. One year, he was running too late to secure a ticket for his flight to Wuhan. So he ended up taking an overnight passenger train and happened to sit in a car full of college students. And that turned out to be quite an experience for him: throughout the trip, they took turns talking with him, to learn more about American universities perhaps, and surely also to practice their English. He told me that by the time he reached Wuhan, he had nearly lost his voice.
We are often taught to accommodate egoism, arrogance, and other personal shortcomings in associating with people of talent and unusual achievements, as these may as well be construed as traits of extraordinary intelligence, if not signs of genius. We saw none of these flaws in Professor Hanan, an original, distinguished scholar who evinced in ways so extraordinary the full meaning of humility.
It is hard to believe that Professor Hanan has already left us. His smile, kindness, sense of wisdom, and touching gentleness of temperament will be cherished by all who knew him or met him on various occasions. It is also comforting and reassuring to know that through his numerous publications, his irrepressible joy in reading Chinese fiction will remain as refreshing and contagious to future generations as it is to today’s readers. And thus he will be with us forever.
Institute of Chinese Literature and Philosophy, Academia Sinica
我提供的兩張照片，其中一張是畢業典禮當天的合照。那天在校園中隨著隊伍前進時，竟然遠遠看見韓南老師朝著我們走過來，原來他是算準了隊伍這個時間會經過那裡，特別過來給我一個驚喜呢。這就是韓南老師低調而深厚的情意。那一天，韓南老師告訴我，從此以後他可以叫我「曉真」，而不再是Miss Hu，我也可以不再叫他Professor Hanan，而叫他的名字。我很高興老師叫我名字，但我始終無法對他改用別的稱呼，太彆扭啦！
1997年，我在台灣中研院文哲所辦了一個研討會，請到了韓南老師發表主題演講。會後，我們招待國外學者到台灣東部的花蓮旅遊，國際知名學者們一起勾肩搭背跳台灣原住民舞蹈，也一起在 KTV裡大合唱！當時，參加的除了王德威教授，還有大木康教授、Ellen Widmer教授、陳國球教授等。我尊敬的韓南老師也完全放下身段，與民同樂！有一張KTV裡搭著肩唱歌的照片，我總是說，我手裡有這張照片，以後可以勒索好幾位大學者呢！在我的記憶中，這次韓南老師跟我們一起唱歌跳舞，真是形象大解放，太可愛了。
去年11月初，因為到哈佛開會，我連續有幾次機會與韓南老師見面，這已成為我珍貴的回憶。之前，我從台北打電話給他，告訴他我將到哈佛開會，想去看看他，韓南老師顯得很高興。等我到了哈佛，從旅館再給他打電話，他馬上邀請我到他當時住的 Youville House 跟他吃晚飯。我還記得我提早離開了會議的歡迎酒會，提著從台灣帶來的茶點禮盒，沿著Cambridge Street去找Youville House。結果，發現Youville House竟然就在我2006年曾住過一學期的房子的路口，當時每天都要經過的。有一次，還在附近的雜貨店裡遇見過韓南老師呢！現在想到老師要在這裡養老，說不出的一種心酸的感覺。不過，跟老師吃晚飯聊天，仍然非常愉快。我在大廳看到他走過來，雖然要靠著助步器，但是覺得他氣色跟精神都很好，我緊張的心情一下就放鬆了。因為，我想我心理上還是沒準備好看到生病的老師。他跟我解釋他之前生病以及現在療養的的情況，談他差不多要完成的工作，以及對以後的規劃。他也帶我參觀他的住房，告訴我以後可以換到比較大的房間，方便繼續工作。我感覺老師一方面接受現實，一方面樂觀積極。第二天，韓南老師也到了開會會場，雖然他已不能久坐，但是在陪韓南老師走回Youville House的路上，我還是感受老師的意志力仍然堅強。他還高興的說，大家都好奇前一天晚上跟他吃飯的外國女士是誰呢。因為實在難得從台北到哈佛一趟，所以第三天我約了Ellen Widmer教授再去Youville House找老師閒聊，天南地北的，最後還聊到那一年Red Sox得冠軍的傳奇，韓南老師顯得興致很高，我們的照片留下了當時的情景。
張宏生 (Professor Zhang Hongsheng, Hong Kong Baptist University)
我雖然早就聽說過韓南的大名，真正見到他，已是1995年了。這一年，我希望能夠申請到哈佛燕京學社做訪問學者，報名參加了夏天舉行的EPT（The English proficiency Test），即中國出国进修人员英语水平考试。我中學原是學俄語的，大學後才開始很不正規的英文學習，一直以來，磕磕巴巴的，談不上系統，只能勉強對付。EPT是一種標準化考試，特別是最後一部分考作文，對我更是很大的挑戰。南京號稱火爐，這一年的夏天卻不怎麽熱，主要是全國多個地區連續暴雨，江南一帶更是嚴重，長江洪峰一個接一個，水位不斷增高，堤壩常常告急。我曾騎著自行車，帶著年幼的兒子，至長江大橋一帶觀察水勢，回來時經過石頭城下的那條道路，積水已經沒到了車輪的一半，一路上跌跌撞撞，好不容易才回到家，所以印象非常深刻。正因為這個緣故，我對新聞報道中關於水災的描寫就特別關注。碰巧，就在考試的前一兩天，我路過南大校門口，看到報攤上英文版的《中國日報》，就買了下來。這份報紙的頭版頭條，大字標題Floods, 即關於中國水災的報道，赫然在目。可能是出於一種感應，我熟讀了這篇文章，而考試時的作文，正是要求寫中國的水災，就好像是稀裡糊塗地押對了題。這次考試有一個關鍵性的意義，就是我獲得了被學校推薦的資格，因為按照那幾年的規定，是人事處從符合學術要求而又能通過英文考試者中直接選拔。而獲得了被推薦的資格，也就使我獲得了能夠和在哈佛燕京學社社長任內最後一年的韓南見面的機會。
哈佛燕京学社是一个非常独特的机构，在美国，可能没有第二个机构，能够同时聚集着这么多研究人文、社会科学的访问学人。哈佛燕京学社的建立和美国铝业大王霍尔的捐赠有关，1928年成立后，开展了很多项意义重大的项目，访问学人计划就是其中的一项。这个计划面对中国大陆的部分在1949年以后曾长期中断，直到1981年才恢复，其人数则不断递增，到了1996年，哈燕社的访问学人已有14人，而来自中国的就有10人。这么多访问学人，又是来自不同领域，彼此之间若能互相交流，也是一件美事。北京大学英语系的钱军教授是有心人，他发现学社每周五的下午都有一个Coffee Break ，是比较随意的时间，因此就想利用起来，变成集体活动。他也是一个具有行动力的人，说做就做，先后安排了古梅、傅高义、韩南、杜维明等教授来做主题引言，韩南教授的那一场，錢軍正好有事不在，就由我來主持。这一场，来的人格外齐整，我想，除了大家很想听听韩南的报告，还有一个因素，就是这些学者大多是经韩南面试的，大家也想利用这个机会集体向他致意。我做主持，事情非常簡單，不過也就相關問題和他有所溝通，對他希望介紹的內容做了一定的了解。我想，在座的燕京學者肯定都知道韓南的硏究領域是什麽，但如此近距離地聽他講《金瓶梅》、《癡婆子傳》等小說的特色和價値，恐怕還是第一次。
On September 12, 2014, friends, family and students of Patrick Hanan will gather for a ceremony of remembrance and celebration. People who cannot attend, in particular, but also those who can, are invited to submit reminiscences. Photos and other memorabilia are also welcome.
Schedule for September 12 ceremony:
2:30 – 4:30, Commemorations, introduced by Ellen Widmer and David Wang (Belfer Case Study Room, S020, CGIS South, 1730 Cambridge St., Cambridge)
Elizabeth Perry, Harvard-Yenching Institute
James Cheng, Harvard-Yenching Library
Stephen Owen, EALC, Harvard
Robert Hegel, EALC, Washington University, Saint Louis
Jing Tsu, Yale University
Sophie Volpp, University of California, Berkeley
Wei Shang, Columbia University
Emma Teng, MIT
Victor Mair, University of Pennsylvania
Ellen Widmer, Wellesley College
David Wang, EALC, Harvard
4:30-5:45 Reception (Lee Gathering Room, Lower level, CGIS South)
This event is co-sponsored by the East Asian Languages and Civilizations Department and the Harvard-Yenching Institute.