ABSTRACT
Chekhov's drama has been coming into its own in this country lately with a rush. The surprisingly decent run which ‘The Cherry Orchard’ had was followed by a performance of ‘The Seagull’ at the Little Theatre, which gave a great deal of pleasure; the Stage Society performed ‘Ivanov’ to enthusiastic audiences the other day, and at the present moment ‘Uncle Vanya’ is running at the Duke of York's Theatre, and the ‘Three Sisters’ is being performed at Barnes to such good houses that we may expect it to move to the centre of London shortly. What is more, the same sort of playgoers who usually ask their neighbours at dinner with bright alacrity, if they have seen the latest Noel Coward or Milne play, now actually show a disposition to use Chekhov as a conversational gambit. This is indeed surprising. It is ten years since I saw a Chekhov play for the first time. It was a Stage Society performance of ‘Uncle Vanya’; I remember the delighted enthusiasm into which it threw me. ‘The Cherry Orchard,’ which had preceded it in their programme, had been a complete failure.
