Henry the Sixth

In Short

This memoir acts as a hagiographic record of Henry VI, written by his former chaplain, John Blakman. Rather than detailing the turbulent wars or the collapse of his authority, the text focuses entirely on the King’s character, piety, and profound humility. Blakman frames Henry not as a failed sovereign, but as a man of saintly temperament who bore the loss of his kingdoms with Christ-like patience. It serves as a vital historical artifact, preserving the memory of a ruler whose gentle nature stood in stark contrast to the violence of his age.

The Story

The narrative arc of this life does not follow the traditional trajectory of kingship, which usually demands triumph, conquest, and the consolidation of power. Instead, it follows a descent into profound adversity, viewed through the eyes of a devout observer. We meet Henry not on a battlefield, but in the quietude of a chapel, where he spent his hours kneeling in prayer, refusing the worldly distractions of courtly life. Blakman presents him as a man of deep, consistent virtue, from his early youth—where he kept a strict covenant with his own eyes to avoid lust—to his later years, when he faced the total disintegration of his political standing.

The story moves through the King’s public and private conduct: his rejection of avarice, his careful stewardship of ecclesiastical appointments, and his refusal to engage in the bloody pastimes common to his nobility. Even when his counselors brought him vast sums of gold for his own use, he famously redirected the wealth toward his foundations, Eton and King’s College, Cambridge. This moral consistency remains the bedrock of his character, even as the walls of his life begin to close in.

As the political landscape fractures and his rivals gather, the narrative shifts from the King’s peaceful administrative choices to his endurance under persecution. The reader is shown the King not as a fighting man, but as a man of suffering. He is wounded by assassins, imprisoned in the Tower, and subjected to the mockery of his enemies. Yet, in every instance of betrayal, the response remains the same: mercy. He forgives those who strike him, including the man who attempted to kill him with a dagger in his cell.

The conclusion of his life is one of ultimate dispossession. Stripped of his English and French crowns, he finds himself a prisoner, suffering hunger, thirst, and public shame. Yet, Blakman insists that this loss was not a defeat. By losing his earthly kingdom, the King secured a spiritual one. The text closes with a vision of him as a true follower of Christ, bearing the indignities of his imprisonment with such stillness that his death is portrayed not as a tragedy, but as a transition into eternal grace. His story ends in the realization that his worth was never tied to the sceptre he held, but to the humility he maintained even when that sceptre was taken away.

How It Unfolds

The devotional habit The King is introduced as a man who prefers the chapel to the court, kneeling for hours at his devotions and refusing to allow the noisy distractions of swords or daggers within his sacred spaces. He insists on simple, plain clothing, rejecting the curious fashions of his peers in favor of the modest attire of a townsman.

The rejection of worldly gain The narrative turns to his encounters with his own executors, who attempt to gift him vast sums of gold. He rejects the money for himself, instead ordering it to be used for the relief of his foundations, prioritizing his moral legacy over his personal treasury.

The covenant of the eyes Blakman details the King’s commitment to chastity, explaining how he guarded his gaze against the sight of others to protect his soul. This inward discipline defines his interactions with his wife and his broader conduct as a young man.

The response to violence When conspirators and assassins strike, the King chooses to offer mercy rather than retaliation. Whether he is being wounded by an attacker or mocked in the Tower, he speaks with a calm, patient authority that shames those who seek to harm him.

The final dispossession The book tracks the King's loss of his kingdoms, framing this failure as a trial of his spirit. He accepts his imprisonment as a final test of his faith, ultimately finding peace in the realization that his earthly crown was merely a temporary burden.

The People

Henry VI is the heart of this portrait. He is characterized by a "calm mind" and an almost alien lack of interest in the power games that defined the fifteenth century. He serves as a foil to the ambitious, violent, and avaricious nobles who surround him. His desire is not for control, but for the life of a contemplative, and he finds his greatest happiness in the study of books and the observation of the divine offices.

The nobles and conspirators act as the primary obstacle to his peace. They are depicted as driven by "rabid cruelty" and a desire to seize what is not theirs. Unlike the King, who treats his servants with grace and his enemies with forgiveness, these men are defined by their ingratitude and their pursuit of temporary, earthly authority.

John Blakman himself acts as the dedicated, if humble, chronicler. He does not claim objective neutrality; he is a devotee of the King. His perspective is that of a man who has witnessed, firsthand, the King's "most compassionate will." He serves as the bridge between the reader and the monarch, translating the King’s internal moral struggles into a record for posterity.

In Its Own Voice

Blakman captures the King's quiet resolve during his time of suffering, noting how he maintained his dignity despite his imprisonment:

"In the end he lost both the realms, England and France, which he had ruled before, along with all his wealth and goods, endured it with no broken spirit but with a calm mind, making light of all temporal things, if he might but gain Christ and things eternal."

When a conspirator dared to strike him, the King’s reaction, as recorded here, highlights his belief in the sanctity of his office:

"The king took it most patiently, saying: 'Forsothe and forsothe, ye do fouly to smyte a kynge enoynted so.'"

What It's Really About

This book is a meditation on the nature of authority and the incompatibility of absolute worldly power with a truly saintly life. It asks whether a man can be a "good" ruler in a world that demands brutality, and it answers that true greatness lies in the refusal to participate in that brutality. The text argues that the King’s perceived political weakness was actually a form of spiritual strength. By valuing the "house of prayer" over the house of politics, Henry VI demonstrates that the only truly lasting inheritance is the one that cannot be taken by a usurper. It is a work about the victory of the spirit over the failures of the state.

Why Read It Today

Readers who are drawn to the quiet corners of history will find a compelling, if unusual, document here. It is not a modern biography, but a piece of medieval hagiography, and it carries the marks of its era: a dense, reverent, and occasionally repetitive prose style. Those who pick it up should expect a text that prioritizes the King’s soul over his policies; you will learn more about the King's shoes and his reading habits than about the specific battles of the Wars of the Roses.

The book is profoundly atmospheric. It feels like a whisper from a distant, candlelit chapel, offering a view of a king who seems remarkably ill-suited for his time. For anyone interested in how the past constructs its own heroes, or for those who simply appreciate a story about a man who refuses to meet hate with hate, this work offers a haunting, persistent image of a monarch who found peace in the very act of losing everything. It is a slow, meditative read, but it leaves you with a lingering, melancholic respect for a man who chose mercy when the world demanded iron. The difficulties of the archaic language are smoothed over by the warmth of the editor’s work, making this a rewarding, intimate experience for the patient reader.