g May morning over which the first thunderstorm breaks with a
horrible crash; and that is a triumph of dramatic technique.

I would gladly examine the innumerable beauties of detail of this drama,
and in particular call attention to the central points of the plot,
abounding in the most vigorous life, into which a situation or a
character or the action itself is sometimes concentrated. But this
would lead me too far afield; moreover, since the most glaring
differences of opinion usually crop up precisely on this subject, I
could not avoid the dangerous ground on which, according to Goethe's
profound saying, the categorical imperative and the authority of the man
who pronounces it, form the last court of appeal. Or if some one, with a
liking for gaudy paint and iridescent rags, should prefer a puppet show
to the living figures of the piece, vital to their very finger tips,
but, to be sure, going about in very simple, sometimes even slovenly
garments, how could we decide the matter otherwise than in the well
known manner of Cato? The categorical imperative which occasionally
found favor with the old Romans is, however, terribly unpopular with the
Germans.

One question, notwithstanding, I dare not leave unanswered, the question
of how it is possible that the Prince of Homburg, in view of its great
literary importance and its abundant vitality, could up to this time
have met with so very little success on the stage? The answer is easy.
The great public, who in general suppose the poetical to lie in that
which is opposed to real life, has a strange conception of dramatic
heroism, and the greater part of the critics who should instruct the
public unfortunately share the same opinion. Because, in most cases, the
hero is entirely finished and manufactured to the last filament when he
makes his appearance in the drama, it is taken for granted that it must
be so under all circumstances. Therefore it follows that the poet fares
badly when, instead of leaving the development exclusively to the
action, he occasionally transfers it in part to the principal character,
and thus does not arouse the sympathy which he needs for his hero until
the end of the piece, instead of doing so in the very beginning. For we
immediately take for granted, even when we already know the poet, that
he has made a mistake, that he is growing enthusiastic over something
imperfect, immature, immoral, and that he demands of us to be
enthusiastic with him. Th