The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1703: Chapter 63: Carlton Hero

In the evening, the gas lamps along the street began to light up one by one, the sky over London remained gloomy, with gray clouds pressing low over the rooftops.

Arthur held up a black umbrella and slowly walked towards the familiar brick building on Fleet Street, the editorial office of ”The British”.

On the walls of the brick building, there were still a few half-torn old posters, and beneath the sign of ”The British”, a newly installed plaque from last week hung — the headquarters of the Empire Publishing Company.

The success of Empire Publishing Company’s public listing far exceeded Arthur’s basic expectations, just like his assessment of the London election situation.

However, there were somewhat human factors at play behind the London election situation.

But what about news publishing? Arthur thought perhaps this had something to do with the nature of the city of London.

Londoners have always lived off news and rumors.

Just as in the dialogue from Shakespeare’s play ”King Lear”: Poor knaves, talking about court news, who loses, who wins, who rises, who falls.

This city is a hub of scandals, slander, and rumors, where citizens enjoy spreading gossip and speaking ill of others behind their backs.

Mr. Samuel Peach, editor of the 18th-century ”Daily Proceedings of Parliament,” once summarized the city’s characteristics: aside from prostitution, lying, drinking, and gambling, nothing is consistent.

In London, perhaps the most authentic and authoritative newspaper is the ”London Gazette”.

The ”London Gazette” never mixes any news, only solid facts, usually containing only a royal declaration, two or three speeches from the ruling party, a few announcements of officials taking office or officers being promoted, and perhaps one petition concerning a soon-to-be-convicted highwayman or an advertisement offering a reward for a missing dog.

But we can confidently say that the most attention-grabbing for Londoners is definitely the highwayman and the lost dog.

In this pre-internet era, the greatest pastime for Londoners was newspapers and similar publications.

For those gentlemen who were particular about language, their day began with getting up before dawn to read ”The Times,” while yearning to read the ”Dutch Post,” and once on the street, they inquired about the content published in France’s ”Constitutional Newspaper.”

As for the lower class who were busy day-to-day, listening to someone narrate the news at the nearby cafe and tavern before going to work was more important than attending prayers.

The Sunday papers compiled especially for the working class were the most popular among them, typically summarizing all the various news, anecdotes, and comments published in daily papers throughout the week.

Such as Everett from Fleet Street selling his wife to Griffin from Long Alley just to exchange for a three-shilling Punch Bowl.

A wild boar survived for five months living off trash from the sewers of Fleet Street.

A certain man was found standing rigid in the same gutter three times, drunk and fallen into the mud.

As per the annual tradition, bread and cheese were tossed down to the people from the spire of Paddington Church.

Richard Haines’ wife bore a monster that had eyes and a nose like a lion.

A man stood up in the Holy Tomb Church and shot at the charity children’s choir.

At a chapel in Longek, a man named James Boyce walked in front of the congregation, claiming to be Jesus and openly refuting the Trinity.

Of course, those who loved such quirky anecdotes were only regarded as the ”novice readers” of the London news industry, with their childish tastes and low-grade preferences often scorned by the ”veteran readers”.

In the eyes of ”veteran readers”: following the latest developments in rape and divorce cases and anxiously waiting for the verdict results in the court next week is the highest form of sophistication.

Every time the Sunday paper arrived, cafes and taverns would instantly become as silent as a tomb, with no one speaking, no one questioning — this could be Britain’s most disciplined moment.

Everyone would bury their heads in reading their favorite news article as if their entire lives depended on the speed at which they consumed the day’s news.

With the concerted efforts of the ”novice readers” and ”veteran readers”, after the sale of British newspapers surpassed 16 million copies in 1801, the figure had grown to 30 million three decades later, and it continued to rise rapidly at a rate of five percent each year.

This city loves to read the news, but at the same time, it inevitably suffers from amnesia.

The buzzwords and events that were popular among Londoners last winter would be completely forgotten by this summer.

This year, owning tulips is all the rage, and next year, the newspaper is declaring ”a household without a cat is incomplete.”

News about ministers, novelists, playwrights, clowns, patriots, and prostitutes usually do not get reprinted.

Arthur Hastings ordered a shooting under the Tower of London, but nowadays, besides those who truly experienced the night at the Tower of London, how many people remember this event?

Bernie Harrison’s foreign language learning incident? Well, that was mentioned in a paper a couple of days ago.

But at the end of the day, it was because Mr. Bernie Harrison had died, and his late wife had remarried a wealthy businessman, taking their cosmetics company with her.

But, but! Sir Arthur Hastings, this freedom fighter from the Caucasus, a leading figure in British electromagnetism, the Empire Publishing Company’s... oh, no, no, no, I didn’t say anything about the Empire Publishing Company.