There is no such happy man on this earth as your landed proprietor, who only learns what is going on in the political world from the columns of his daily paper.
In the morning he goes out coursing; starts three hares, two of which are caught by his terriers; this is a real triumph. The third they let run; this is a disgrace. But on the way home his dogs seize and throttle a wildcat; that makes up for the former vexation. His horse stumbles over a stone; that is a great misfortune. But neither man nor horse are any the worse for it; and that is a piece of good-luck.
Within easy distance live some men—jolly fellows—to whom he can detail the morning's doings, and who, in return, give their adventures.
At noon the wife awaits her husband's return to a well-spread board, and she hospitably presses his friends to stay. Cabbage with fried sausages is very acceptable after such an active morning! After dinner they find they are just enough for a game of tarok, and the husband can boast next day how he has conquered against long odds.
The only political allusion made was when Pushkin named the "fox" Araktseieff; but even at that the postmaster shook his head disapprovingly. Why disturb the harmony of the evening by such reference?
Then, as the company is about to separate, the postmaster suddenly remembers that he has forgotten to give Pushkin his newspaper, which he had brought in his coat-pocket.
The paper was opened. Old-fashioned newspapers used to be sent out in envelopes. What news?
"A military review."
No one reads that.
Well, then, France: The French are content. How satisfactory! Turkey: Peace concluded with the Greeks. Evident enough! England: The Channel Fleet returned to Dover. And a good thing too! In Russia nothing of interest has transpired. Heaven be praised!