Princess Calia walked over and picked up the pages Jiang Jie had finished, reading them carefully. The more she read, the more astonished she became.
What was a classic?
This was a classic!
Princess Calia had read thousands of books, often spending her time reading in the Lordaeron library, and had court scholars assigned specifically as her teachers. She had read all the greatest classics, including some works from the High Elf kingdom.
One thing was clear:
Works from the High Elf kingdom were indeed better than those written by human scholars. After all, they had lifespans of hundreds, a thousand, or even several thousand years. Whatever they studied, spending decades or centuries on it was bound to make them masters, so naturally their writing was better.
But now, having read Hamlet, she finally understood that time was not the only factor capable of producing classics. Humans could also create enduring masterpieces that rivaled or even surpassed those of the High Elves. Hamlet was just such a work.
What astonished Princess Calia even more was that Hamlet actually depicted an entirely different world. There was no Lordaeron or Stormwind City, much less elves or orcs. Its customs and culture were completely different, as though it were a world that existed only in fantasy!
At that moment, she understood that Jiang Jie absolutely could not have written this. A fifteen-year-old boy could never write something like this. Even if he were a monstrous genius, he could not have written it!
"Why do you assume the noble form of our buried king, appearing here in the late king's armor?"
"Why must our people keep watch so vigilantly every night? Why does our country cast bronze cannons daily and purchase arms abroad? Why are shipbuilders forced to work all day without rest?"
"Keep your inner thoughts unspoken, and do not act rashly on hasty notions. Be friendly without being frivolous. Hold fast to friends proven in adversity, and keep your distance from fair-weather companions."
Princess Calia recited softly, her voice rising and falling, fully investing her emotions in the words.
It truly was so well written. Every line was a classic, every sentence able to withstand scrutiny and the test of time.
She firmly believed that this play called Hamlet would shine brilliantly in Lordaeron and even throughout the human world. Even in the High Elf kingdom to the north, they could not produce a work that surpassed Hamlet. It would surely endure forever, passed down through the ages without fading!
"Perfect!" Princess Calia exclaimed in admiration.
Don Quixote had initially scoffed. After all, what could a fifteen-year-old boy possibly write? He even suspected-or was certain-that Tides of Darkness had not been written by this boy named Nicholas at all. He had probably seen something written by some unknown scholar and merely copied it down.
For he had noticed another line beneath the title of Tides of Darkness:
By Aaron Rosenberg.
Clearly, it had been written by someone named Aaron Rosenberg, although Princess Calia and the young maid both believed this was merely Nicholas's pen name.
When he heard the young maid's praise, he thought nothing of it. He felt that she had little knowledge and could not judge what truly made a good work.
But when Princess Calia also expressed her admiration, he could no longer sit still.
He knew Princess Calia had read many books and had her own understanding of many classics. Just how good did a work have to be to win her praise?
Besides, with her standing as a princess, she could not possibly be flattering a boy. In other words, was it really that good?
While Don Quixote was still hesitating, he heard Princess Calia's soft recitation.
Boom!
Hearing those classic lines, he nearly went mad!
Heavens, could words that struck so directly at the heart really exist in this world? Who had written this? How was it possible?
He could no longer maintain his composure. He rushed straight over, snatched up the portion Princess Calia had finished, and read it carefully.
The more he read, the more astonished he became, and the more he admired it.
"This truly is... a classic! This is a true classic!" Don Quixote cried. "I must bring it to the stage.
"I must find the finest actors! I must spread Hamlet throughout the entire world!" Jiang Jie stopped writing when he had completed only a third of the first act.
He was too tired. His hand hurt, and his eyes were a little dry. He needed a good rest.
Besides, it was already lunchtime, and his stomach had begun to rumble.
"Why did you stop? Keep writing! Hurry up and write!" Don Quixote urged repeatedly.
Jiang Jie looked at him and shook his head gently. "Now this is a true classic!"
Don Quixote hurriedly said, "Yes, yes, yes! This is a true classic! This is the most perfect play! The highest, brightest jewel in the palace of art!"
"You're wrong!" Jiang Jie said coldly. "Don Quixote, do you know what art is?"
What was art?
Don Quixote froze. No one had ever asked this question, and few people ever thought about it.
What was art?
Drama?
Opera?
A bard's performance?
A clown's antics?
Or entertainment for the nobility?
No one had ever given art a precise definition. It seemed that this world did not need a precise definition, either.
"Art is the unity of imaginative and rational understanding, the unity of emotional experience and logical cognition, the unity of aesthetic activity and ideology!"
Jiang Jie said evenly, "Art comes from life yet rises above it. Art takes root in life and must return to life! Drama is indeed a refined art, but how many can perform it to perfection? How many people can see it? I imagine even Lordaeron's nobles cannot see it every day, can they? Once a week? Or once a month?"
Don Quixote argued, "Of course not! How could something as noble as art be seen by just anyone..."
"No! Art is not noble. What is noble is life itself!"
Jiang Jie shook his head. "Of course art should leave its grand halls and return to life. And storytelling is a performing art that people can listen to every day, that everyone can hear, and that everyone can even try for themselves. Now, I'll perform a passage for you."
Jiang Jie chuckled and had the smart AI Xiao Feng play the passage from Master Shan Tianfang's The Romance of the Sui and Tang Dynasties in which Li Yuanba subdued Siping Mountain with his hammers.
Jiang Jie's verbal skills were naturally quite ordinary, but as he followed Master Shan Tianfang, learning word by word, he gave a convincing performance with considerable flavor.
"This, this... this is a form of performance I've never seen before!" Don Quixote was stunned. He had never imagined that anything like this could be done in this world.
Storytelling really did sound interesting. The rise and fall of the voice, the expressions, the shifts in tone-it really was easy to draw in an audience. It did not require much cultural sophistication, either. Ordinary commoners could understand it, and it was also easy to stir the audience's emotions. It really was... very interesting!