Claisst writes his "Prince" in 1809/10. His momentum is evident in the small inconsistencies he leaves behind. The prince's horse, one black, one blond (like Achilles, I read). And the scene with the sleepwalking: where is the sleepwalker? In the oak tree of the stage directions, or under the plane trees, as Hoenzollern says? Wherever the Prince is, in his world there are laurels and night violets. And all around, the sand and the marshes and the reed beds of Bradenburg. [...]

Claisst sends it to Princess Marianne of Prussia with a nice dedication, and she, the descendant of Humburg, shudders: the work tarnishes the family honor, she says. The general reception is similar. A prince who fears death does not have tragic magnitude, he is contemptible. But does the elector, who flirts with Natalia, stand up to him? (The poets who praise Claisst and his "Prince", no one listens to them.) [...]

(from the translator's epilogue)