shadow of britain

Chapter 913 Grandma Liu Enters the Grand View Garden? Albert Enters Imperial Publishing!
The black four-wheeled carriage slowly drove along Fleet Street. Albert sat by the window, his hands relaxed and folded on his knees.

He looked much happier than when he attended the concert last night.

For an introverted young man like Albert, a leisurely stroll in a horse-drawn carriage in London in the early morning was clearly a more suitable pastime than a social salon.

After the concert last night, he only stayed in the banquet hall for a short while and danced two dances with the ladies before feeling unwell. He had to leave early and go to bed to rest.

He always maintained an almost instinctive aloofness towards scenes filled with small talk, lights, gossip, political metaphors, and endless tea and wine.

Although Albert's court tutors began teaching him various social etiquette rules from a very young age, he preferred studying museum exhibits, architectural drawings, or listening to music to learning about social etiquette.

In short, it's easier to do anything than to fend off unfamiliar ladies at a ball.

Sir Arthur Hastings, who was also introverted, clearly sympathized with the young man's distress.

That's why he invited Albert to visit his magnificent publishing empire on Fleet Street before he accompanied his cousin Victoria and uncle Leopold on their holiday trip to Brighton.

Arthur sat opposite Albert, enthusiastically pointing out the window and describing Fleet Street: "See that red brick building with the clock tower over there? That's Fleet Street's biggest printing press. At four in the morning, all those windows are lit up—it's more lively than a banquet at Buckingham Palace. A little further on, around the corner, that used to be the editorial office of the *Morning Chronicle*. It's currently being expanded. Their editor-in-chief is a somewhat neurotic Scotsman, but his writing is very sharp. The buildings near the bridge belong to the *Morning Post*, the *Morning Chronicle*, and the *Observer*, respectively..."

Albert followed Arthur's gaze.

The houses on both sides of the street were packed tightly together, the brick walls blackened by soot, and most of the windowsills were piled with all kinds of articles and manuscripts. Occasionally, you could see a few newsboys rushing out from the street corner, carrying a stack of steaming newspapers in their arms, shouting out today's news headlines. As the carriages passed by them, the smell of ink grew stronger and stronger.

“This is…” Albert turned his head and earnestly confirmed with Arthur, “Fleet Street?”

“Yes.” Arthur leaned back in his seat, a relaxed smile on his face. “The throat of England, the conscience of Britain, all reside on this street. You can find all the news and books you want in the world here. Of course, that is, if you are willing to put in the effort.”

Albert couldn't help but feel envious upon hearing this: "How many newspapers are there in all of Britain?"

"No one can guarantee the exact number of newspapers. However... if you are asking about official figures, according to statistics from the Home Office five years ago, there should be more than 200 local newspapers in Britain, of which about fifty are located in Fleet Street and the surrounding area."

Arthur spoke eloquently: "However, when it comes to data statistics, the most reliable source is still the Ministry of Finance, since they collect taxes based on the data, so they naturally pay special attention to the accuracy of statistical matters."

“200 newspapers…” Albert clicked his tongue in amazement. “What does the Treasury Department say?”

Arthur replied with a smile, “According to the Treasury’s statistics, the number of newspapers that paid stamp duty in the first half of this year reached 21.3 million, a sharp increase of 6.4 million compared to the same period last year. However, unfortunately, the revenue from newspaper stamp duty and advertising tax in the same period this year dropped sharply from £197,000 to £88,500.”

Albert frowned slightly, clearly puzzled by the data.

"The circulation increased by a third, but the tax revenue decreased by more than half?" He looked up at Arthur with that student-like seriousness: "That doesn't sound quite right."

Arthur smiled. “No, Your Highness, this makes perfect sense. The surge in circulation and the decrease in tax revenue are mutually reinforcing, because Parliament just passed a bill last year that reduced the newspaper stamp duty from 4 pence to 1 pence per copy. If it weren’t for the 75% reduction in stamp duty, those tabloids that never pay stamp duty wouldn’t be so eager to come to the Treasury to file their taxes this year.”

Albert suddenly realized: "So the reason why newspaper circulation is so high this year is not because the British publishing industry has expanded on a large scale, but because those underground publications that were not included in the statistics before have been made legitimate?"

“That’s right, Your Highness.” Arthur chuckled. “Once you understand this, you’ll understand the charm of statistics.”

Albert couldn't help but laugh out loud upon hearing this. The laughter was short but carried a rare air of ease: "So, Parliament did a great service last year. With just one bill, they managed to legitimize half of London's underground publishers."

He turned to look at the street scene, his gaze lingering on the chimneys of several printing plants in the distance: "But... with so many newspapers being temporarily approved and suddenly appearing, won't your publication censors have a headache? With so many newspapers, it's probably going to be difficult to review them all in a short time."

“Publication censor? That job would be out of business in England long ago.” Arthur turned slightly to the side and patiently explained, “Your Highness, our newspapers here don’t require the permission of the Minister of the Palace, nor do they need to be reviewed by the police before publication. As long as the stamp duty is paid, the printing press can start up and the newspaper can go to the post office and onto the streets.”

Albert was quite surprised to hear this, but remembering that this was England, he quickly accepted it: "So... if some articles are written too excessively, you won't question them?"

“It’s not that they don’t care at all, but the process of caring isn’t as direct as in Germany.” Arthur shook his head. “If an article is too outrageous, the government won’t shut down the printing press or the newspaper. Instead, they’ll sue for defamation or libel in court. Of course, for a defamation charge to be established, it must first be approved by a jury, as stipulated by the Fox Defamation Act of 1792.”

"What if the jury doesn't agree?"

"Disapproval?" Arthur chuckled. "That means the government has lost. This isn't unheard of; in fact, it happens quite frequently."

Albert was clearly intrigued by Arthur's words, and he asked with great interest, "Then wouldn't the government completely relinquish control over the newspapers? Letting them write whatever they want?"

“That’s not quite right, Your Highness.” Arthur smiled and waved his hand gently. “Although I work in the publishing industry myself, I can’t say for sure that I’m completely unaffected by the government. While the government can’t dictate what we should write, it can determine whether many of us can survive in the cutthroat competition of publishing.”

Albert pondered for a moment, then quickly drew parallels to some practices of the German states: "You mean... financial control?"

“Exactly.” Arthur pointed to the bundles of paper piled up on the windowsills outside the street. “Unlike in Germany, most newspapers in London are government-run. While this gives them freedom, it also means that most newspapers have very unstable incomes and often struggle to make ends meet. So, many newspapers receive subsidies from the government, sometimes called subsidies, sometimes called advertising support. Of course, if they want to maintain appearances, the government can choose not to give them money directly, but rather provide them with early press releases from government offices, so-called first-hand sources.”

Arthur paused here, then added meaningfully, "So, you understand, whether they take money or not, as long as they profit from the government, it's difficult for these newspapers to criticize their source of income in their editorials with trepidation. So-called freedom of the press is never absolute. The government pays for peace and quiet, and the newspapers take money to maintain their integrity; both sides know this, but neither will expose it. Because only a madman would believe that public opinion can be completely tamed, and only a fool would believe that public opinion can be completely free."

Albert couldn't help but chuckle, and even became a little more friendly in his conversation with Arthur: "Isn't there an exception? Isn't there any newspaper that dares to completely refuse this kind of bribery?"

Arthur stroked his chin thoughtfully, his expression suddenly turning serious, as if he were discussing a worthy adversary: ​​"Such anomalies certainly exist, and they reside right here on this street."

"What do you mean?"

"The Times, Britain's most powerful newspaper, never bows to the government," Sir Arthur Hastings, The Times' annual member, said without batting an eye. "Their daily circulation reaches 30,000 copies, making them the largest news machine in Britain. Ample revenue gives them the confidence to stand up to government intervention. I think they are probably the only newspaper in Britain that dares to openly declare that it refuses any subsidies from the government, and also refuses to accept early press releases from government offices."

Albert asked in surprise, "Did they really say that publicly?"

“Not only did they say it, but they also published it on the front page.” Arthur smiled slightly, with a hint of admiration in his voice. “I remember it was published in an issue in 1834. The Times said that sitting in the newspaper office every day waiting for government favors was an insult to The Times. They would rather rely on their own informants, editors, and overseas correspondents than on the mouthpiece of the government. They said they represented the conscience of England, which was not an exaggeration, but in terms of press freedom alone, The Times truly represented the pride of England.”

Arthur's statement was partly true and partly false. The truth was that The Times did indeed publish a front-page headline stating that it rejected government funding.

However, he failed to mention that the reason The Times had such confidence was not only because they were well-funded and had no shortage of money, but also because The Times had the most complete messenger system among all European newspapers, and was the first newspaper in Britain to establish domestic and overseas departments, with their overseas offices even reaching as far as India.

That's why The Times dared to say so brazenly that it didn't need any early press releases from the government.

They are confident that the information they receive is often earlier and more reliable than that from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

In addition, to ensure that each issue of their newspaper could be published as early as possible, The Times operated almost 24 hours a day, with the editorial and printing departments running around the clock.

Most morning newspapers typically rush to finish their first edition before dawn; even major publications like the Morning Post can only guarantee a print run before 3 a.m.

And what about The Times?

Their first edition would be snapped up by newsboys who lined up early between 1 and 3 a.m. Besides the strong information gathering capabilities of their overseas departments, the most important factor in their speed was the rapid delivery of messages by messengers.

While other newspapers were still using postal services to send articles from continental Europe, The Times' agents were already waiting in Dover. When the steamships from Calais and Ostend arrived in Dover, they would immediately receive the parcels and send them to London by express train.

Whenever there is a major event or a breaking news story from Europe, The Times even spends a lot of money to charter a special train to quickly transport the reports recorded by its correspondents back to London.

However, after the invention of the telegraph, The Times had an even more convenient and faster option.

Moreover, due to their close relationship with Imperial Publishing Company, The Times always had priority access to telegrams.

When someone benefits, someone else suffers.

Half an hour to an hour after The Times took the news, its rival, The Morning Post, which often spoke for the Viscount Palmerston, could begin publishing. As for other miscellaneous tabloids, they were relegated to the back burner behind The Morning Post.

Albert nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds like The Times is the real king of public opinion. And what about your Imperial Publishing Company? How well do you do regarding press freedom?"

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn't help but laugh: "Your Highness, how could you possibly think that Imperial Publishing is related to politics?"

"Isn't what you're doing a publishing business?"

“Us?” Arthur explained calmly, “Your Highness, Imperial Publishing has never intended to compete with The Times for the title of ‘Conscience of England.’ That’s too expensive and too much trouble. The publications under Imperial Publishing are all law-abiding children who do not participate in politics or get involved in partisan struggles. Just like Scotland Yard, we have always maintained strict neutrality in politics.”

Albert clearly didn't believe Arthur's explanation: "What publications does Imperial Publishing own?"

Arthur smiled and held up his fingers, listing them one by one: "First is The Economist, the most influential publication in the City of London, which specializes in finance, trade and national debt. The Economist is not interested in which party is in power; its purpose is to tell people how money flows and how to find investment opportunities from those flows."

Albert nodded slightly: "That sounds like the type bankers and stockbrokers like."

“Exactly, you spotted its readership right away,” Arthur replied with a smile. “Then there’s The Englishman, a pure literary magazine that mainly publishes poetry, essays, drama reviews, and serialized novels. The stuff in there might sometimes involve members of the House of Lords and the House of Commons, but it’s mostly fiction. It neither praises nor complains, it just teaches people how to speak, write letters, drink tea, and propose more elegantly.”

Albert pondered for a moment, then chuckled and said, "Is this teaching the British how to be British?"

“You’re absolutely right, otherwise why wouldn’t it be called ‘The Englishman’?” Arthur said with a grin. “Half of its subscribers are upper-middle-class ladies, and the other half are young men who want to please them.”

Then, Arthur held up his third finger: "Next is *Spark*. This magazine focuses on a new area that has recently opened up in the London publishing market, and it's been our main source of income in recent years—cheap popular fiction. Its characteristics are fast printing, low profit margins, and high sales. To ensure a steady output, we've established a dedicated writers' workshop, with one serialized story per week. We write about everything: gunfights, pirates, romance, ghosts—you can ask any apprentice on Charing Cross Road; they've probably all read *Spark*."

Arthur held up his fourth finger, his expression becoming more serious: "Finally, there's *Nature*. Although *Nature* has maintained a circulation of around three hundred copies per issue since its inception and has never been profitable, that doesn't stop it from being my favorite and most valued publication. It's not for politicians, nor for the general public's entertainment; it's for researchers and enthusiasts of natural philosophy to learn about the latest scientific advancements. We publish papers on natural philosophy—electromagnetism, geomagnetism, astronomy, geology, chemistry, mechanics, optics, and so on—all matters related to science are covered there. *Nature* is my ideal publication; it doesn't discuss politics, it has no factions, it only discusses truth."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, the wheels paused slightly on the stone road, making a low screech.

The coachman tightened the reins, and the horses' breath turned into puffs of white vapor in the morning mist.

“We’ve arrived, Your Highness.” Arthur glanced out the window and smiled slightly. “Welcome to Imperial Publishing.”

Albert followed his gaze and saw a three-story stone building standing on the street corner. The exterior walls were grayish-white, and a dark blue bronze plaque was inlaid on it, engraved with the gold English letters "IMPERIAL PUBLISHING".

The building is not tall, but it appears extremely solid.

A small iron flagpole hangs above the second-floor window, with red and blue Union Jack flags fluttering in the wind.

As soon as they stepped onto the steps, they heard hurried footsteps coming from inside the door.

The door was pushed open with a bang, and a young man dressed in a dark tailcoat with a silver brooch pinned to his chest almost ran out to greet them.

He looked nervous, first tipping his hat to Arthur, then glancing at Albert, and immediately realizing that the newcomer was no ordinary person, he even lowered his voice.

"Good morning, Sir! We didn't expect you to arrive so early." The clerk said respectfully as he opened the door. "Mr. Tennyson and Mr. Dickens thought you were going to Buckingham Palace today. Please come in! Please come in!"

Arthur smiled and took off his hat, saying to Albert, "This is Mr. Andrew Finlett, the company's front desk manager. He's been hanging around Fleet Street since he was twelve, practically growing up alongside the printing presses."

Albert extended his hand to him upon hearing this: "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Finlett."

Fenlett was flattered and said, "It is also a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

They entered the hall.

A strong smell of ink wafted over, but compared to the noise outside, the place seemed orderly.

Gilded display shelves lined the walls on both sides of the hall, neatly displaying rows of classic works published by Imperial Publishing Company: *The Hastings Stories*, *The Count of Monte Cristo*, *Elegies*, *Oliver Twist*, *Prometheus Bound*, *Frankenstein*, *The Three Musketeers*, *The Pickwick Papers*, *The North Sea*, *Robinson Crusoe*, *The Young Duke*, *The Improvisatore*, *The Hunchback of Notre Dame*, *The Red and the Black*, and so on.

Upon seeing these monumental works, Albert was stunned and stood there speechless.

He instinctively walked closer to the gilded bookshelves.

Each book has a small bronze plaque at the bottom, marked with the author's name and the year of publication, in fine and neat handwriting.

Inside the dust jacket of "Oliver Twist," he saw a signature written in cursive script with a fountain pen—Charles Dickens.

On the first page of The Count of Monte Cristo, the French literary giant signed his name in his characteristically elegant handwriting—Alexandre Dumas père.

Below Notre Dame de Paris, written in a slightly free and stubborn style, is the name Victor Hugo.

On the title page of "Memorial Collection," one can also discern that gentle, almost hesitant ink—A. Tennyson.

“These…” Albert asked in a low voice, his tone filled with awe, “are they all originals?”

“All of them.” Arthur’s gentle voice came from behind him: “When each author publishes the first edition, they personally sign one or two copies as a courtesy or souvenir. Some we archive, and some are taken by collectors. This whole row you see is only a part of the Imperial Publishing private collection.”

Albert's fingertips lightly brushed across the spine of "The Three Musketeers" through the display case.

"This...is...a truly wonderful feeling."

(End of this chapter)