Consider, friends, that in this scene more than a mere repetition of measured lines was involved and three hearts contended with equal chances, where as in the arena, life-blood itself might flow! The audience, that of a small town where there are no secrets, knew it well; those women, many of them ready to fall at my feet, could I be false to my one love, those men all jealous of me on her account, and the third, well chosen for the part of Britannicus, the poor, stammering suitor, who trembled before me in her presence, but who was destined to be my conqueror in that fearful contest where all the honours were reserved for the latest comer.... Ah! the no-vice in love knew his part well.... However, he had nothing to fear, for I am too just to condemn another for the same love that I feel myself; in this particular, I am far removed from the ideal monster of the poet Racine; I could burn Rome without hesitation, but, in saving Junia, I should also save my brother, Britannicus. Yes, my brother, yes, frail child of art and fancy like myself, thou hast conquered in the struggle, having merited the prize for which we two contended. Heaven preserve me from taking advantage of my age, strength, or the fierce courage of returning health to question the choice or the caprice of her, the all-powerful, impartial divinity of my dreams and life!... I only feared, for a time, lest my defeat profit thee nothing and the gay suitors of the town wrest from us both the prize lost only for me.