ABSTRACT
There was some quiet excitement last evening at the Moscow Art Theatre, when one of its devotees discovered what he thought was a minute blemish in the institution's halo of perfections. For three weeks he had been scrutinizing the performances to find an infirmity which he could recognize and denounce; and he was pleased, therefore, when a small spot crossed the sun. A public may now be wondering what this detection was. Well, when one of Chekhov's ‘The Three Sisters’ lit a tiny lamp in their spacious living room last evening, that apartment at once became brilliant with illumination, as if she had been Ajax praying for the light - and getting it. This feat is one of the miracles frequently performed by American stage directors of the thoughtless type, and its employment by their preceptors gives cause for hope.
