The Shadow of Great Britain

In Whitehall, the atmosphere at the Home Office has never been grand.

The sound of a carriage passing over the cobblestones echoed down the street, footsteps of the guards intersected in the distance, and occasionally, conversations could be heard coming from Downing Street.

Yet, once you step through that unremarkable wooden door, all sounds seem absorbed by the thick walls, plunging into a silent, solemn oppressive atmosphere.

There is no grand foyer here, nor any adornments symbolizing authority. A narrow corridor extends irregularly along the old building, and the carpet near the doorway bears shallow marks, indicative of the many Home Office officials passing through daily. The light streaming through the high windows is not ample, barely allowing one to discern the plaques at the feet and door frames, insufficient to illuminate the entire space.

As the secretary of the Poor Law Commission, Edwin Chadwick is all too familiar with this environment.

The photograph of ”Sir Edwin Chadwick” taken in the 1860s.

Compared to when Arthur first met him, Chadwick has visibly aged significantly over the years.

Recall that their first meeting was in 1830 when Chadwick had just turned 30. As a graduate of the Inner Temple London, he managed to obtain his court lawyer qualification right before his 31st birthday.

Arthur, ten years younger than him, was still struggling to make ends meet, mixing around London streets as a low-ranking officer.

If it weren’t for Jeremy Bentham’s connection, Arthur likely wouldn’t have had the chance to meet this young lawyer from a middle-class background.

But post-1830, Arthur’s fate quickly took a turn.

Being Bentham’s secretary, Chadwick also assumed the role of personal secretary to Lord Brougham, the Chief Justice, following Grey Cabinet’s rise to power.

And in 1832, after the reform of the Parliament, he was further appointed by the Whig Government as the secretary of the Poor Law Commission as a representative of the Radical Party, tasked with investigating the implementation of Poor Laws and drafting the report that paved the way for the New Poor Law: ”Investigation Report on the Operation of English and Welsh Poor Laws.”

Overall, Arthur and Chadwick, as followers of Bentham, were fairly coordinated in their work.

Especially during the time when cholera raged throughout Britain, to suppress the epidemic promptly, Chadwick did not hesitate to defend numerous overstepping actions by the police department in the High Chancellor’s office. Even when Lord Brougham, the Chief Justice, felt Scotland Yard was getting somewhat excessive, Chadwick resolutely stood by Arthur’s side.

Of course, Chadwick’s defense of Arthur was no mere coincidence, nor was it due to any mutual interest.

If there exists a natural understanding between Chadwick and Arthur, it does not stem from personal friendship, but from their shared understanding of the word ”liberty.”

In their view, liberty is never a spontaneous condition; rather, it is something carefully crafted and rigorously maintained. It doesn’t grow naturally from within the populace but is shaped through institutions, discipline, and authority.

In short, both he and Arthur are authoritarian liberals. Their predecessor, the Earl of Dalmo, to some extent, belonged to their ranks as well.

In contrast, Lord Brougham was not entirely like them.

Undoubtedly, the former Chief Justice was a sincere liberal.

His lifelong struggle was to expand civil rights and diminish the privileges of the nobility, holding an almost instinctive respect for freedom of speech, parliamentary authority, and judicial independence. Yet, contrary to Chadwick and Arthur, Brougham was more inclined to believe that liberty possessed an inherent self-corrective ability. Once the barriers of the system were broken and old injustices removed, society would ultimately find its balance through debate and compromise.

In this sense, Lord Brougham could be viewed as an inheritor of 18th-century Enlightenment ideals.

Whereas Chadwick and Arthur were more like products of the 19th century.

Chadwick did not pause to engage in pleasantries with anyone, merely nodding slightly to a few secretaries engrossed in their work, then proceeding directly to the meeting room inside.

Originally a study of a former official, the room was later repurposed for informal meetings, its window facing the inner courtyard of Whitehall, with the curtain perpetually half-drawn, ensuring a consistent lighting unaffected by time.

On the room’s table lay two documents, a cup of tea yet untouched, and a frequently used, slightly worn document pouch.

Before Chadwick’s arrival, the owner of this residence had already come early, waiting here.

The Home Office Permanent Secretary, Samuel Phillips, stood at the table casually flipping open a page from a document, confirming the date and signature atop, before closing the document and looking towards the doorway.

”Please be seated, Mr. Chadwick.”

The lithographic portrait of ”Samuel March Phillips” created by British lithographer Frederick Lewis in 1826, currently housed in the National Portrait Gallery, London.

Phillips, after sitting down, did not immediately speak.

He was never one to rush.

”I presume you’ve already realized...” Phillips watched as Chadwick took his seat: ”Today’s meeting isn’t a routine communication.”

”Of course, I understand,” Chadwick replied swiftly: ”If it were routine communication, the committee should have already received the Home Office’s written comments.”