Woman on Her Own, False Gods and The Red Robe: Three Plays By BrieuxBrieux, Eugène
General
Woman on Her Own, False Gods and The Red Robe: Three Plays By Brieux
Brieux, Eugène
French drama
DESCHAUME [_shouting_] The police, send for the police! To protect the
right to work. Send for 'em.
GIRARD [_to Monsieur Feliat_] If 't was to bully us, you'd have sent for
'em long ago. What are you waiting for?
FELIAT. I'm waiting till you kindly allow me to speak. I can't believe
my ears. Is it you, Girard, and you, Deschaume, who want to have the
police sent for to save you from a pack of women? Ha! Ha!
CHARPIN. Oh, it makes you laugh, does it?
GIRARD. You defend the cats because they're against us. Well, we won't
have it. Duriot's men came out--
CHARPIN. Yes, and we'll do the same.
DESCHAUME. We will. Look out for the strike!
GIRARD. We're agreed; ain't we, mates?
CHARPIN AND DESCHAUME [_together_] Yes, yes. We'll strike. Let's strike.
FELIAT. You don't really mean that you're going on strike?
GIRARD. Don't we, though!
FELIAT. How can you? I've given everything you've asked for.
CHARPIN [_growling_] That's just the reason.
GIRARD. If you've given in, that shows we were right. You'll have to
give in some more.
FELIAT. Good God, what d'you want now?
CHARPIN. We want you to sack all the women.
DESCHAUME. No we don't. We want you to sack Mademoiselle Therese.
FELIAT. You're mad! What harm has she done you?
GIRARD. The harm she's done us? Well, she's on your side.
DESCHAUME. She's turned the women's heads. They want to take our places.
CHARPIN. And we won't have it.
FELIAT. Come! Be reasonable. You can't ask me that.
GIRARD. We _do_ ask you that.
FELIAT. It will upset my whole business.
CHARPIN. What's that to us?
FELIAT. Well, I must have time to think about it.
GIRARD. There's nothing to think about. Sack the Paris woman or we go on
strike.
FELIAT. You can't put a pistol to my head like this. I've got orders in
hand.
GIRARD. What's that to us?
FELIAT. Well then, I won't give in this time. You demanded that I should
not open a new workshop. I gave in. I won't go further than that.
GIRARD. Then out we go.
FELIAT. Well go, and be damned to you. [_Pause_] The women will take
your places.
GIRARD. You think so, do you? You think it's as easy as that. Well, try.
Just you try to fill up our places. Have you forgot there's two
delegates here from the Central Committee? A phone to Paris and your
bally show is done for.
FELIAT. It's damnable.
GIRARD. And if that doesn't choke you off, there's other things.
CHARPIN. We'll set the whole bloomin' place on fire.
GIRARD. Don't you try to bully us.
FELIAT. Well, look here. We won't quarrel. I'll send away Mademoiselle
Therese. But give me a little time to settle things up.
CHARPIN. No; out she goes.
FELIAT. Give me a month. I ask only a month.
GIRARD. An hour, that's all you'll get, an hour.
CHARPIN. An hour, not more.
GIRARD. We're going off to meet the delegates at the Hotel de la Poste;
you can send your answer there. The Parisian goes out sharp now, or else
look out for trouble. Come on, boys, let's go and tell the others.
There's nothing more to do here.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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