I am not inclined, like Zimmermann, to see in the first scene simply an endeavor on the part of the poet to provide a mystic background for his picture.  I do not see why a young man, who happens to be afflicted with the sleep-walking malady, should not walk in his sleep even on the night before a battle, and why a young hero who has long been nursing the most high-flown thoughts concerning glory and immortality, should not, on such a night, make himself an oak-wreath.  In the day time, to be sure, an occupation of that sort would not look very well, but night is the realm of phantasy and the wreath is the emblem of glory.  Then, too, I find that this first scene—­the naturalness of which I hope I have proved—­is of deep significance for the play.  In order to explain psychologically the Prince’s headstrong disobedience of the Elector’s express order, a great excitement of mind was needed.  Now I really do not know where Kleist could better have derived this than precisely from a half-waking dream, in which the Prince supposedly received in advance all that constituted the highest goal of his hopes, and which should have been the most valued fruit of his endeavors—­the making of the wreath points to this, and the fourth scene of the first act confirms it.  The absent-mindedness which this dream causes in the Prince in the fifth scene, and particularly the monologue with which the first act closes, prove that I am not mistaken in my opinion concerning the significance which the poet placed upon the scene in question.

In the second act we must first notice the second scene.  In this the real action begins and ends.  That which precedes and that which follows are connected with it like cause and effect.  The Prince wrests the victory from the enemy, and earns for himself death.  Then the eighth scene of this act is of the greatest importance; in it the Prince declares his love to Princess Nathalie of Orange.  I am minded to count this scene among the most important dramatic achievements ever accomplished by the greatest poets of Germany.  Let us picture the exposition that introduces it.  A rumor has been spread abroad that the Elector has fallen in the battle.  The Electress, with her ladies, is a prey to the greatest anxiety.  Homburg arrives and confirms the rumor.  Nathalie says:[6]

  “Who now will lead us in this terrible war
  And keep these Swedes in subjugation?—­

  THE PRINCE of HOMBURG (taking her hand).

  I, lady, take upon myself your cause! 
  The Elector hoped, before the year turned tide,
  To see the Marches free.  So be it!  I
  Executor will be on that last will.

  NATHALIE. 
  My cousin, dearest cousin!

  PRINCE. 
  Nathalie! 
  What holds the future now in store for you?

  NATHALIE. 
  Oh, I am orphaned now a second time.

  PRINCE. 
  Oh, friend, sweet friend, were this dark hour not given
  To grief, to be its own, thus would I speak: 
  Oh, twine your branches here about this breast!