Heinrich von Kleist also like Ludwig carried night wandering and moon walking into material at hand. We know that Kleist not long before the origin of the “Prinz von Homburg” under Schubert's influence occupied himself very much with the “night side of the natural sciences” and Wukadinovic has made it also apparent that the poet went still deeper, back to one of Schubert's sources, to Reil's “Rhapsodien über die Anwendung der psychischen Kurmethode auf Geisteszerrüttungen.”[27] There he found a number of features which he then interwove into his drama, although by no means all that he permitted his moonstruck hero to do. The matter of the drama is presumably so well known that I content myself here with giving the mystical setting and the beginning and end of the action.
Wearied with a long ride, the Prince von Homburg throws himself down to sleep that he may obtain a little rest before the great battle in which he is about to engage. In the morning when they seek the leader they find him sitting on a bench in the castle park of Fehrbellin, whither the moonlight had enticed the sleep walker. He sits absorbed with bared head and open breast, “Both for himself and his posterity, he dreams the splendid crown of fame to win.” Still further, the laurel for this crown he himself must have obtained during the night from the electoral greenhouse. The electress thinks, “As true as I'm alive, this man is ill!” an opinion in which the princess Natalie concurs. “He needs the doctor.” But Hohenzollern, his best friend, answers coolly, “He is perfectly well. It is nothing but a mere trick of his mind.”
Meanwhile the prince has finished winding the wreath and regards it idly. Then the elector is moved to see how far the former would carry the matter and he takes the laurel wreath out of his hand. “The prince grows red and looks at him. The elector throws his necklace about the wreath and gives it to the princess; the prince stands up roused. The elector withdraws with the princess, who holds up the wreath; the prince follows her with outstretched arms.” And now he betrays his inmost wish, “Natalie! my girl, my bride!” In vain the astonished elector, “Go, away with you!” for the prince turns also to him, “Friedrich, my prince, my father!” And then to the electress, “O my mother!” She thinks wonderingly, “Whom is it he thus names?” Yet the prince reaches after the laurel wreath, saying, “Dearest Natalie! Why run away from me?” and really seizes her gloves rather than the wreath. The elector however disappearing with his retinue behind the gates calls to him:
“Away, thou prince of Homburg, get thee back,
Naught here for thee, away! The battle's field
Will be our meeting place, when't pleases thee!
No man obtains such favors in his dreams!”
“The prince remains standing a moment with an expression of wonder before the door, then pondering descends from the terrace, laying his hand, in which he holds the glove, before his forehead, turns as soon as he is below and looks again toward the door.” Out of this state the Hohenzollern returning awakens him. At the word “Arthur” the moonstruck prince collapses. “No better could a bullet have been aimed.” Afterward of course he makes up some story in regard to his sleep walking, that he had slipped into the garden on account of the great heat. Only the princess's glove recalls to him what has happened in his sleep:
“What is this dream so strange that I have dreamed?
For all at once, with gold and silver gleaming,
A royal castle flung its portals wide.
While from the marble terraced heights above
Thronged down to me the happy dancers all;
Among them those my love has held most dear.
Elector and electress, and—who is the third?
—What name to call her?”
For the name of the princess there is amnesia, as well as for the reason for his moon walking. Then he continues:
“And he, the elector, with brow of mighty Zeus,
A wreath of laurel holds within his hand.
And pressing close before my very face
Plucks from his neck the chain that's pendant there.
His hand outstretched he sets it on my locks,
My soul meanwhile enkindled high.”
Now again the complete forgetting of the loved one's name. He can only say:
“High up, as though to deck the brow of fame,
She lifts the wreath, on which the necklace swings,
To crown a hero, so her purpose seems.
With eager movement I my hands outstretch,
No word, mere haste to seize it in my grasp.
Down would I sink before her very feet.
Yet, as the fragrance over valleys spread
Is scattered by the wind's fresh blowing breath,
Along the sloping terrace flees the throng.
I tread the ramp—unending, far away
It stretches up to heaven's very gate,
I clutch to right, I clutch to left, and fear
No one of all the treasures to secure,
No one of all the dear ones to retain.
In vain—the castle's door is rudely closed;
A flash of brightness from within, then dark,
The doors once more swing clatteringly together.
And I awaking hold within my hand
Naught but a glove, alas! as my reward,
Torn from the arm of that sweet dream caught form
A glove, ye Gods of power, only this!”