ZOO [_quickly, intoning_] Isolate the Falstaff monument isolate hard. Paralyze--[_the whistling stops_]. Thank you. [_She puts up her tuning-fork_]. He shall not move a muscle until I come to fetch him. THE ENVOY'S WIFE. Oh! he will be frightfully angry! Did you hear what he said to me? ZOO. Much we care for his anger! THE DAUGHTER [_coming forward between her mother and Zoo_]. Please, madam, whose statue is it? and where can I buy a picture postcard of it? It is so funny. I will take a snapshot when we are coming back; but they come out so badly sometimes. ZOO. They will give you pictures and toys in the temple to take away with you. The story of the statue is too long. It would bore you [_she goes past them across the courtyard to get rid of them_]. THE WIFE [_gushing_] Oh no, I assure you. THE DAUGHTER [_copying her mother_] We should be so interested. ZOO. Nonsense! All I can tell you about it is that a thousand years ago, when the whole world was given over to you shortlived people, there was a war called the War to end War. In the war which followed it about ten years later, hardly any soldiers were killed; but seven of the capital cities of Europe were wiped out of existence. It seems to have been a great joke: for the statesmen who thought they had sent ten million common men to their deaths were themselves blown into fragments with their houses and families, while the ten million men lay snugly in the caves they had dug for themselves. Later on even the houses escaped; but their inhabitants were poisoned by gas that spared no living soul. Of course the soldiers starved and ran wild; and that was the end of pseudo-Christian civilization. The last civilized thing that happened was that the statesmen discovered that cowardice was a great patriotic virtue; and a public monument was erected to its first preacher, an ancient and very fat sage called Sir John Falstaff. Well [_pointing_], thats Falstaff. THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_coming from the portico to his granddaughter's right_] Great Heavens! And at the base of this monstrous poltroon's statue the War God of Turania is now gibbering impotently. ZOO. Serve him right! War God indeed! THE ENVOY [_coming between his wife and Zoo_] I don't know any history: a modern Prime Minister has something better to do than sit reading books; but-- THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_interrupting him encouragingly_] You make history, Ambrose. THE ENVOY. Well, perhaps I do; and perhaps history makes me. I hardly recognize myself in the newspapers sometimes, though I suppose leading articles are the materials of history, as you might say. But what I want to know is, how did war come back again? and how did they make those poisonous gases you speak of? We should be glad to know; for they might come in very handy if we have to fight Turania. Of course I am all for peace, and don't hold with the race of armaments in principle; still, we must keep ahead or be wiped out.