He relieved the peasants of their taxes,
And himself he loved to drink.
Yes, and if the whole nation is happy,
Why should the king not drink?
Henry IV was described in novels as a kind man, in touch with his people. Bright as the sun, he gave me the idea that France—the most beautiful country in the whole world, the country of the knights—was equally great, whether represented by the mantle of a king or the dress of a peasant. Ange Piutou was just as much a knight as D'Artagnan. When I read how Henry was murdered, I cried bitterly, and ground my teeth with hatred of Ravaillac. This king was nearly always the hero of the stories I told the stoker, and it seemed to me that Yaakov also loved France and "Khenrik."
"He was a good man was King 'Khenrik,' whether he was punishing rebels, or whatever he was doing," he said.
He never exclaimed, never interrupted my stories with questions, but listened in silence, with lowered brows and immobile face, like an old stone covered with fungus growth. But if, for some reason, I broke off my speech, he at once asked:
"Is that the end?"
"Not yet."
"Don't leave off, then!"
Of the French nation he said, sighing:
"They had a very easy time of it!"
"What do you mean?"