“Not this time,” I replied. “We were not so fortunate in the case of the Shah.”
“An exact duplicate, though,” was the compliment of the laughing King.
The Eastern potentate was a most minute and intelligent observer of all he saw, and questioned me unceasingly.
“Who is that beside the Prince?” he inquired, pointing at the Prince of Wales in a howdah on the back of the elephant Juno, a tableau which depicted a tiger-hunting incident in the late King Edward’s Indian tour.
On being told that the Prince was accompanied by his “loader,” the King replied, “Yes, yes,” as if he thought his question a superfluous one.
From hall to hall we passed, and I was astonished at the knowledge of English history displayed by King Chulalongkorn. He picked out the figure of Richard I, and, pointing to the white doublet with the red cross on the breast, said, “The costume of a Crusader—certainly, certainly.” The representation of King John with the Magna Charta in his hand did not appear to produce a very pleasing impression upon the Siamese autocrat.
“What a name! Who was he?” remarked the King in front of Houqua, the big Chinaman who earned his place in the Exhibition on account of certain services he had rendered this country. I had withdrawn for a moment, and was called back to explain that Houqua was a Chinese merchant, whereat the royal interlocutor turned away with a contempt for trade clearly indicated on his face.
It was surprising to note that King Chulalongkorn passed the portraits of Mr. Gladstone, Lord Salisbury, and other British statesmen without a pause or comment. He stood some minutes in front of the case containing the orders of the Duke of Wellington, and then remarked, with admiring emphasis:
“These are surely all the orders a man could have; he must have had nearly everything.”