We do not claim him as a great King, far from it. But we think him unjustly and hastily condemned. It is easy in a slapdash manner to lavish sarcasms on a King who presented many tempting opportunities for satire. The genius of Thackeray could not resist them, small blame to it. But the King's absurdities should not blind one to his merits. The just critic must recognise in George II. a constant substantial shrewdness, seasoned with humour. His sagacity made him realise his constitutional limitations; his penetration appraised with great justice the men by whom he was surrounded; he had to do much that he disliked and resented, but he did it when he saw that it was necessary, not gracefully, for he was never graceful, but without scandal. His rough common sense constantly vented itself in the ejaculation of 'Stuff and nonsense,'[146] which proved his command of at least one British idiom, and not unfrequently a just appreciation of affairs. His judgment of men was sure. He had only three ministers who were men of commanding ability; Walpole, Carteret, and Pitt. Two of these were his especial favourites; to the third, who had mortally offended him, he submitted. For Newcastle he had a supreme contempt; but wisely accommodated himself to one who was useful, who 'did his business,' to whom he was accustomed, and whom he knew through and through. He infinitely preferred Carteret to Pelham, but at the supreme moment he chose Pelham in spite of Carteret. No doubt this was due largely to the influence of Walpole, but many kings would not have followed an advice so contrary to their own bias. He piqued himself on his knowledge of mankind, not without reason, and Hervey depicts a scene where he reels off a catalogue of names, and the King, tersely and unhesitatingly, gives the character of each.
The fact is that George II. had the misfortune to keep in his inmost circle a vigilant and deadly enemy. John Lord Hervey, the Sporus of Pope's blighting satire, akin in mind and probably in blood to Horace Walpole, was always with him; noting down, with spruce rancour, a venomous pen, and some dramatic power, the random outbreaks of his master. It is not wise to attribute literal exactitude or even general veracity to such chronicles; the man who can commit so gross a breach of confidence is little worthy of trust. That Hervey in the very heart of the King's family should have sate down with a pen dipped in vitriol to portray its most intimate aspects is perhaps our gain but his disgrace. He was a viper warmed in the bosom of the Court, and stung it to the full extent of his opportunity and powers. A court is considered fair game by such reptiles. But it is hard to see why princes, who after all are human beings, should not be allowed to some extent the same sanctity of family life which humbler human beings claim and maintain. Hervey was the intimate associate of the King, the confidential friend of the Queen, the lover of one of their daughters, he was the tame cat of the family circle. He thought it seemly to narrate their secrets in so brutal a fashion that some more decent member of his family tore out and destroyed the coarsest and bitterest passages. What remains is coarse and bitter enough. It shows the King and Queen in a most unfavourable light. But that aspect is fascinating compared to that in which he presents himself. The story of royalty should not be a Court Circular; but neither should it be a lampoon, written by a trusted friend. The only excuse for him is that being devoted to the Queen, who in her way merited his devotion, he detested the King whom he deemed unworthy of her. But that does not help the reader who looks to him for facts. The George II. we know is the George II. of Hervey, and Hervey's Journal proves the writer to be unworthy of implicit credence.
Chesterfield also drew a character of the King. But when we discount Chesterfield's studied epigrams, poised with the malignant nicety of one who hated his subject, there is not much left for discredit.
The real crime of George II. in the eyes of his British subjects was almost in the category of virtues, for it was his devotion to Hanover. Innocent and natural as it was in him, it seems wonderful to us that our fathers should have endured it. How they must have hated Popery! But Hanover was the King's home and fatherland; all his pleasant associations were with Hanover; there he was absolute Sovereign, and could lead without criticism the life that he enjoyed. He could not help being a Hanoverian any more than William III. could help being a Hollander. The English chose their Dutch and Hanoverian Sovereigns with their eyes open, and had no right to complain if what they desired and obtained was somewhat bitter in digestion. Neither William nor the two first Georges ever professed to be other than what they were; they never for a moment simulated that they were English, they never pretended to like England. 'He hated the English,' says Lord Hervey of George II. And when at the first available instant they fled from Kensington and Hampton Court to Loo or Herrenhausen, their English subjects ignored the mortifying preference, from devotion no doubt to the Protestant Succession; but partly also because these monarchs were profoundly indifferent to them. With George II., it is true, these excursions were accompanied, as in Shakespeare, by alarms; alarms only too well founded that he would return with a pocket full of treaties for subsidies which the British taxpayer would have to pay. But all these three kings accurately understood their position. They knew that they were not chosen from affection, or for their qualities, certainly not for their attractions. They were taken as necessities, almost odious necessities, to keep out a Romanist dynasty which represented something to the people that was more odious still.
They entertained, then, no illusions; a bargain had been driven with them and they would keep it; they gave their pound, or more, of flesh. They would occupy palaces, receive civil lists, interview ministers, and keep out the Pretender. But that did not imply a perpetual exile from home; they intended to get as many holidays as possible; and they did. They might be a hateful necessity for England, but England as a necessity was almost as hateful to them. Their life in this island was servitude, more or less penal; they only breathed by the dykes of Holland or the waters of the Leine. If this be clearly understood, much confusion and vituperation may be avoided. But the wonder is that the English (for the Scots and Irish had little to do with it) should have had the civic courage in the cause of religion and liberty to endure the compact.
George II. then, we contend, putting his private life apart, which we must judge by the German standard of those days, was not a bad King under the conditions of his time and of his throne. He was perhaps the best of the Georges; better than George I. or George IV., better as a King than George III., though inferior no doubt in the domestic virtues. All things considered, it is wonderful that he was as good as he was, and he scarcely deserves the thoughtless opprobrium which he has incurred.