ACT II
SOPHRONINE: Divine Socrates, I cannot believe my luck: how can it be that Aglaea whose father died in extreme poverty has such a considerable dowry?
SOCRATES: I already told you; she had more than she knew. I knew her father's resources better than she. May it suffice you both to enjoy a fortune you deserve; as for myself, I owe the dead a secret as well as the living.
SOPHRONINE: I have only one fear; it's that that priest of Ceres, over whom you've preferred me will avenge Aglaea's refusals on you. He's a man really to be feared.
SOCRATES: Eh! What can be feared when one is doing one's duty? I know the rage of my enemies. I know all their slanders; but when one only tries to do good to men and when one does not offend heaven, one can fear nothing, neither during life, nor after death.
SOPHRONINE: Nothing is more true; but I would die of sorrow if the happiness I owe you allowed your enemies to force you to put your heroic constancy to use.
AGLAEA: (entering) My benefactor, my father, man above all men, I embrace your knees. Second me, Sophronine, it's he, it's Socrates who is marrying us at the expense of his fortune, who is paying my dowry, who is depriving himself of the greatest share of his wealth for us. No. We won't suffer it; we won't be rich at this price. The more grateful our heart, the more we must imitate the nobility of his.
SOPHRONINE: Like Aglaea, I am throwing myself at your feet. I am seized as she is. We feel your benefactions equally. We love you too much, Socrates, to abuse it. Look at us as your children. But don't let your children be an expense to such a degree. Your friendship is the greatest of treasures; it's the only one that we want. What! You are not rich and you are doing what the powerful on earth don't do! If we were to accept your benefits we would be unworthy of them.
SOCRATES: Rise, children. You are making me too weak. Listen, mustn't we respect the will of the dead? Aglaea, your father whom I regarded as the better part of myself, didn't he order me to treat you as my own daughter? I am obeying him. I would be betraying his friendship and confidence if I did less. I accepted his testament, and I will execute it. The little that I am giving you is useless to my old age which is without needs. Finally, as I have a duty to obey my friend, you must obey your father. It is I who in his sacred name order you not to overwhelm me with sorrow by refusing me. But retire; I observe Xantippe. I have my reasons for begging you to avoid her at this time.
AGLAEA:
Ah. What cruel orders you give us.