The Shadow of Great Britain

The pitch-black four-wheeled carriage slowly traveled along Fleet Street, with Albert sitting by the window, his hands relaxed and folded on his lap.

He seemed much happier than he was at the concert last night.

For a young man like Albert, who was introverted by nature, a carriage ride around London in the morning was evidently a more suitable pastime than social salons.

After the concert concluded last night, he lingered only briefly in the banquet hall, danced two dances with the ladies, and soon felt unwell, forcing him to retire early and rest.

He always maintained an almost instinctive detachment from scenes filled with greetings, lights, gossip, political metaphors, and the never-ending tea and wine.

Although Albert’s court tutor had taught him various social etiquettes from a young age, he still preferred studying museum exhibits, architectural drawings, or listening to music over learning social interactions.

In short, anything was easier than mingling with unfamiliar ladies at a ball.

Equally introverted, Sir Arthur Hastings evidently empathized with the young man’s distress.

It was for this reason that he invited Albert to visit his grand publishing business on Fleet Street before accompanying his cousin Victoria and uncle Leopold to Brighton for a holiday.

Arthur sat opposite Albert, enthusiastically pointing out the sights of Fleet Street through the window: ”Do you see that red brick building with the clock tower over there? That’s the largest printing house on Fleet Street. At four in the morning, all those windows are lit up, even more lively than a banquet at Buckingham Palace. A bit further on, at the corner, used to be the editorial office of the ’Chronicle Morning Paper,’ now under expansion. Their editor is a somewhat neurotic Scotsman, but his articles are sharp. Those few buildings near the bridge belong to ’The Morning Post,’ ’North Star,’ and ’Observer’ respectively...”

Albert followed Arthur’s gaze.

The houses flanking the street were tightly packed, the brick walls blackened by smoke, with most windowsills piled high with various articles and manuscripts. Occasionally, a few newsboys would dart out from the street corner, clutching a stack of steaming newspapers, loudly shouting today’s headlines, the scent of ink growing stronger as the carriage passed by them.

”Is this...Fleet Street?” Albert turned his head, earnestly confirming with Arthur.

”Yes,” Arthur leaned back in his seat, his smile light and carefree. ”The throat of England, the conscience of Britain, all rest on this street. Here, you can find any news or book you desire in the world. Of course, provided you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Upon hearing this, Albert couldn’t help but feel envious: ”How many newspapers are there in all of Britain?”

”Exactly how many newspapers, no one can guarantee. However...if you’re asking about official data, according to the Home Office’s statistics from five years ago, there should be over 200 types of local newspapers in Britain, with about fifty publishers located on Fleet Street and its surrounding areas.”

Arthur spoke eloquently: ”But when it comes to data statistics, the most reliable source is the Treasury, as they collect taxes based on the data, so naturally they pay extra attention to accuracy in statistical matters.”

”200 publishing houses...” Albert couldn’t help but click his tongue: ”What does the Treasury’s data say?”

Arthur replied with a smile: ”According to the Treasury’s statistics, in the first half of this year, the circulation of newspapers paying stamp duty reached 21.3 million copies, a sharp increase of 6.4 million copies compared to the same period last year. Unfortunately, the revenue from newspaper stamp duty and advertisement tax during the same period dropped significantly from 197,000 Pounds to 88,500 Pounds.”

Albert frowned slightly, clearly puzzled by this data.

”The circulation increased by one-third, but the tax revenue dropped by more than half?” He looked up at Arthur, with a student-like earnestness: ”This doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

Arthur laughed slightly: ”No, Your Highness, it makes perfect sense. The sharp increase in circulation and the decrease in tax revenue go hand in hand because last year, Parliament just passed a bill to reduce the newspaper stamp duty from 4 Pennies per copy to 1 Penny per copy. If the stamp duty hadn’t been reduced by 75%, those street tabloids that never paid stamp duty wouldn’t have eagerly come to the Treasury this year to declare taxes.”

Hearing this, Albert suddenly realized: ”So, the reason for this year’s large newspaper circulation isn’t due to a massive expansion in Britain’s publishing industry, but because those previously unaccounted underground publications have been legitimized?”

”Exactly, Your Highness,” Arthur chuckled: ”Understanding this, you will understand the charm of statistics.”

Upon hearing this, Albert couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the laughter brief yet carrying an unusual lightness: ”So, it seems that last year, Parliament did a commendable job. With just one bill, they managed to clean up the identities of half of London’s underground publishers.”

He turned his head to gaze at the street view, his eyes resting on the chimneys of a few distant printing houses: ”But...with so many newspapers suddenly legitimized, won’t your publishing censorship officers have a headache? With so many newspapers, I’m afraid it won’t be easy to review them all at once.”

”Publishing censorship officers? That profession lost its place in Britain long ago.” Arthur slightly turned, patiently explaining: ”Your Highness, our newspapers here are not like those in Germany that require permission from the Lord Chamberlain, nor do they need to be sent to the police station for review before publication. As long as the stamp duty is paid in full, once the printing press starts, newspapers can go to the post office or hit the streets.”