In my last posting, I quoted the character of General John Burgoyne from Bernard Shaw’s play, The Devil’s Disciple. Like Shaw’s Julius Caesar (see Caesar and Cleopatra), Shaw’s Burgoyne is altogether more appealing on stage than he was in real life.

The real Burgoyne (1722-1792) was, admittedly, a man of intelligence and charm, who enjoyed a modest reputation as a wit and a playwright. But he owed his rise as a soldier more to an aristocratic marriage and clever politicking than military talent. He was also something of a fatuous ass.

During the campaign leading up to his humiliating defeat at Saratoga in 1777, Burgoyne made use (unwillingly, he claimed) of Indian irregulars. To make sure that his dubious allies behaved as proper soldiers, he gave them a long and detailed lecture (of which they did not understand one word) explaining to them the rules of civilized warfare that they were expected to follow.

This travesty was to afford Edmund Burke, a member of Parliament known for his eloquence but not for his humor, a rare occasion for hilarity.

The House of Commons rocked with laughter as Burke parodied Burgoyne’s address to the Indians. He said it was as if the keeper of the London zoo had harangued the wild animals before setting them loose on the populace: “My gentle lions, my humane bears, my tender-hearted hyenas, go forth! But I exhort you, as you are Christians and members of a civilized society, to take care not to hurt any man, woman, or child.”

Burke was notorious for the length of his speeches. He was nicknamed the “Dinner Bell,” because when he rose to speak, members would take it as their cue to go off for dinner. But on this occasion at least, even though he spoke for more than three hours, Burke held his audience. Apparently, the honorable members were too exhausted from laughing to go anywhere.