A number of observers from Europe began to gather in the East for this event, including a French contingent which came directly to Siam. After calculations carried out by Mongkut himself, a wild and uninhabited spot about 140 miles South of Bangkok was selected for the viewing, and an invitation extended to all foreigners in that city, as well as the French expedition, to assemble there by 18th August. No trouble or expense was spared to ensure that all who came were treated with due respect and consideration for their every comfort. It was estimated that at least £20,000 from the privy purse was spent upon the enterprise. Jungle was cleared and a small township of temporary yet solid dwellings was constructed, covering about two miles. These included a shed with sliding roof, specially designed for rapid opening, to house the French contingent’s telescopes.
Travelling overland (the Suez Canal not then being open) Monsieur Stephan, their leader, wrote: ‘The King of Siam with all his court, part of his army and a crowd of Europeans, arrived by sea on 8th August in twelve steamboats of the Royal Navy, while by land came troops of oxen, horses and fifty elephants.’
On August 16, the Governor of Singapore, Sir Harry Orde and Lady Orde, joined the party. But as August 16 was a Sunday and the Governor and his wife were devout Christians, they delayed disembarking till the following day, when they stepped ashore to an official welcome and a seventeen gun salute. Also present were two of Mongkut’s sons, the Princes Chulalongkorn and Damrong, and a group of court astrologers, who could hardly be blamed if they concealed a certain lack of enthusiasm for a project which, if all went well, bid fair to supersede their own authority.
A pavilion hung with scarlet cloth and enclosed by a palisade housed the King with, next to him, the Prime Minister, the royal princes, the Governor of Singapore, the contingent from France, consular officials and European visitors, all accommodated with careful regard to precedent. Mongkut’s hospitality was lavish for, in addition to native cooks, a French Chef presided over continental cuisine, wine was in copious supply, and not one but two brass bands played every evening.
The great and long-awaited day dawned bright and clear, but all hearts sank when by 10.22, when the first contact was due, clouds had gathered and completely obscured the sun. The French in particular, after many months of organisation and a journey of 10,000 miles, were utterly despondent at the apparent frustration of all their hopes. But as though by a miracle, only twenty minutes before the totality was due, the sky cleared, the sun appeared and was duly eclipsed at the exact moment calculated by Mongkut when, as Prince Damrong said, ‘it became so dark, one could see many stars.’
Cannon fired, pipes and trumpets sounded and the King and his Prime Minster cried ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’ in English, there being no such exclamation in Siamese. They were naturally both overjoyed by so splendid a vindication of their confidence in scientific calculation. A grand farewell party was given by the King that night, where the only guests who may have felt a trifle glum were possibly the court astronomers.
Most unhappily, Mongkut’s triumphant return, delighted with the brilliant success of his progressive enterprise, ended in tragedy. For the exact line of totality where his pavilion was erected happened to be a low-lying malarial spot, and unfortunately it had occurred to no-one that it might be most unhealthy. Such was the case, and the King fell so gravely ill that very soon his life was despaired of, a fact which he accepted with dignity and resignation. Like the Buddha, he wished to die in full possession of his senses and, to prove to himself that this was so, he dictated a letter to the dignitaries of the Buddhist Council in Pali, spoke to his secretaries in English, and then took leave of the assembled princes and courtiers in Siamese regretting ‘he could no longer serve his country’.
King Mongkut with his son, Prince Chulalongkorn, later King Chulalongkorn.
He would not allow his younger children to come near him, fearing they might distract him from willing relinquishment of the world and, having asked forgiveness for any pain and distress he may have caused by his hasty temper, he finally expired, aged 64, on his birthday, as the Buddha himself had done.
Although it was his right, if he had so wished, to designate his heir as the two preceding Kings of the Chakri Dynasty had done, he chose not to do so, leaving this task to the Accession Council assembled for this purpose shortly after he had breathed his last. After lengthy deliberation, Chulalongkorn, Mongkut’s eldest son, was elected. But because of his youth – he was only fifteen – the late King’s Prime Minister, Sri Suriyawongse, was appointed Regent. This was most fortunate both for the young King and the country, for Suriyawongse, having worked closely with Mongkut, was fully aware of and in sympathy with his aims and ideals. Therefore, from the first, Chulalongkorn was encouraged to follow in his father’s progressive footsteps.
As Chulalongkorn’s mother, Queen Debsirindra, had died when he was nine, his great-aunt, Princess Lamom, described by Mrs Leonowens as ‘a tranquil cheerful old soul’, took her place and, together with other ladies of the Inside, instructed him in the elaborate court ceremonial and etiquette. His education had followed the usual lines except that, like his father, he studied English with a missionary and for a short time with Mrs Leonowens, so that he could read, write and speak it quite fluently.
The English Governess, generally rather sparing of praise, writes of him: ‘For a Siamese, he was a handsome lad … figure symmetrical and compact. He was, moreover, modest and affectionate, eager to learn. He was attentive to his studies, serene and gentle, invariably affectionate to his old aunt and his younger brothers and, for the poor, ever sympathetic with a warm generous heart. He pursued his studies assiduously … with a resolution that gained strength as his mind gained ideas …’ In person, Chulalongkorn resembled his father not at all, for his countenance was markedly open with a fine brow, a most engaging smile, and despite his lofty position, a charming simplicity of manner that endeared him to many, not only in his own country, but also abroad.
The Regent, although always present, had the great good sense to encourage Chulalongkorn to attend cabinet meetings, preside at religious ceremonies and give audiences from the first, so that, long before attaining his majority, he became well versed in the arts of government. He had also had the advantage of a grounding in diplomacy and state affairs by his father, who had freely admitted him into his confidence despite his extreme youth.
When he was eighteen, Chulalongkorn pressed the Regent to grant fulfilment of Mongkut’s known wish that a return visit should be paid to Sir Harry Orde, Governor of Singapore, and the young Prince went there in 1871, following it by a trip to Java. Later that same year, he travelled to India, where he was well-received by the Viceroy, Lord Mayo, and returned home gratified by his reception in all three countries.
In 1873, when he was twenty, after only a token fifteen days in the priesthood, his coronation took place amidst scenes of great splendour. As was the custom, he himself placed the crown upon his head, thus signifying that no-one of superior or even equal rank existed worthy to perform this ceremony for the King. Robed and crowned, the Monarch addressed the prostrate throng from his throne: ‘His Majesty has noticed that the great countries and powers in Asia where oppression existed, compelling inferiors to prostrate and worship their masters, have ceased these customs … They have done so to make manifest there shall be no more oppression. Those that have abolished these rigorous exactions have manifestly increased their prosperity … His Majesty therefore proposes to substitute, in place of crouching and crawling on all-fours, standing upright with a graceful bow of the head …’