The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 1698 - 60: In Memory of Officer Robert Cali (Part 3)

"Madam," Victoria softly began, "I picked these from the garden... I don’t know what to say right now, but... but I think Officer Cali must be as great as my father, and I want him to know, we all still remember him."

Mrs. Cali was already choked with emotion, yet at this moment, she suddenly felt an incredible silence.

She knelt down, accepted the flowers, and nodded gently, the words of gratitude condensed into a single phrase: "Thank you, Your Highness."

Seeing this, Victoria couldn’t help but lift her head to look at Arthur, until she noticed the grammar teacher nodding slightly, at which point she finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Immediately afterwards, Victoria waved her hand lightly towards the church door, instructing Arthur, "Sir, please lead the way." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Arthur nodded slightly, bent low, and responded to the order of the not-yet-crowned Crown Prince with the simplest etiquette.

"Yes, Your Highness."

His voice remained as steady as always, but his steps were much more composed than the last time he had come here.

The great doors of St Martin’s Church were slowly pushed open, and Arthur, holding an umbrella in one hand and raising the other slightly, stood straight to the side, guiding the crowd behind him into the church.

At this moment, the seats inside St Martin’s Church were already filled.

The front rows were reserved for Cali’s relatives and royal guests, while the remaining seats were already occupied by some officers who had resigned after the "Cold Bath incident," comrades, and citizens who had come early to bid farewell to Chief Cali.

The chairs under the dome were packed, even makeshift small stools were placed at the edges of the aisle, and many officers, seeing the situation, simply stood on either side of the aisle without complaint.

The rain outside the church had not ceased, the fog had not lifted.

And those citizens unable to enter the church could only stand quietly at the foot of the stone steps. Some held umbrellas, others wore cloaks, still others leaned on canes, and even a few cradled toddlers babbling incoherently, yet not a single one left.

Once everyone had taken their seats, the lights inside St Martin’s Church dimmed slightly, and the black drapes hanging before the altar were intertwined with the cross. After the presiding priest nodded, Arthur softly said, "It’s begun."

He stepped back, and the speaker delivering the opening address came forward on the long walkway.

It was not nobility, not a priest, not Viscount Melbourne or Sir Robert Peel, but a young Lower House Member in a well-tailored long coat — Benjamin Disraeli.

He stepped up to the podium without notes, without a prompter, with only his left hand lightly resting on the edge of the podium.

"Gentlemen, ladies! Fellow Britons!"

His voice was not loud, yet exceptionally clear.

"We stand here today not to boast policies, defend a party, nor even to vie for that pitiful spotlight on the speaking stand. Rather, to pay tribute to a Briton without a title, without medals, and without a constituency — Officer Robert Cali!"

With just one statement, Disraeli calmed the mild commotion in the hall, and all eyes focused on this initiator of the "fundraising for the Cali family" activity.

"Mr. Cali never made any speeches, nor has he written even a single memorandum on national planning. He wouldn’t hand out gold-edged business cards at evening socials, nor exhibit ’the big man’s troubles’ attitude to trouble himself in the corridors of Parliament. He never even entered Parliament, but he died for the people Parliament protects!"

Upon hearing this, the ladies couldn’t help but dab their tears, and the Duchess of Kent, sitting next to Mrs. Cali, softly comforted this poor woman who shared her affliction.

Disraeli waved his right arm: "This is a Briton we once tried not to see, yet his actions forced us to awaken the memory of him. Sometimes I wonder, why do we commemorate some figures beneath marble, yet collectively fall silent on ordinary folk whose blood stains haven’t dried and names haven’t entered history? Robert Cali was such an unnamed person, but because of people like him, London didn’t lose its order in chaos! The Empire didn’t rot in the night!"

Many in the police formation of Scotland Yard silently straightened their backs, some unconsciously tightened their hat brims, and others gently rubbed the black silk armband wrapped around their left arm with their fingers.

Disraeli paced on the podium: "The death of Chief Cali reminds me of another night. Two years ago, likewise, a rainy night, London had not yet emerged from the intense debates of reform, riots quietly spread to a dark street corner. A close friend of mine likewise fell amidst chaos while doing his duty. That night, I doubted whether he could wake up again. But tonight, I know Officer Cali will never wake again.

This is not a simple coincidence. It is fate warning us with the same script: When the country most needs calm and order, the ones bearing the cost are not we who sit on mahogany chairs, but those heroes who never retreated behind debris and rubble.

Yes, Cali is dead! He died on a night without artillery yet full of anger. He didn’t fall under an enemy’s musket, but between the cracks among ourselves! That night in London, firearms weren’t needed; anger itself was the fuel! Enemies weren’t needed; our compatriots themselves were the challenge!

He could have retreated; there was no order from Scotland Yard for him to die, and his duty didn’t require him to die! He merely watched the chaos, the violence, every chance to escape, and then stayed. This, gentlemen, is not heroism; this is the highest manifestation of national responsibility!"

At this point, Disraeli abruptly paused in his tone.

Applause instantly thundered, yet the young Jewish man did not bask in the pleasure of being showered with applause. Instead, he unexpectedly pressed his hands down, signaling the audience to pause.

"I must say: If today we merely bow our heads for a minute’s silence for Robert Cali, yet tomorrow still ignore those young men standing on the streets, in uniforms, holding batons, then our mourning is hypocritical, and our tears are pretentious. I don’t always agree with the Government, but today, I must candidly say: When a country is stingy in its memory for its Nightwatchmen, it is not far from slumber.

As for those who once complained about violence from police batons, I’d like to remind you, if you’re dissatisfied with the Civilization Cane, then be sure to thank Officer Cali for not drawing his gun. His self-restraint was more powerful than some of Your Excellencies’ baseless non-violence speeches in Parliament!

In the future, perhaps 1834 will be called the year of reform, or the beginning of reconstruction, but I will remember, this year we lost a man who reminded us of civic duty through loyalty, perseverance, and death.

I don’t think the monument we’ve erected today can carry all his significance. May someday, a young person passing by this place, seeing the stone engraved with the name Robert Cali, ask: Who was he? And may one of us answer: He was the one who chose to stay."

Saying this, Disraeli took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled: "May you rest in peace, Officer Cali, before our conscience falls asleep."

Applause, enduring and unceasing.