ABSTRACT
. . .Chekhov appeals to his admirers because he shows us (not, of course, ourselves, because that is asking us to admit too much), our relatives and friends. How often do our friends bore us with their talk about the ‘Moscow’ where they are going to live tomorrow? How many Mashas do we not know with their conceited, priggish and yet kindly husbands. . .? Or Natashas, who use their babies as battering rams to force a path for themselves in the front rank of the crowd? . . . Komisarjevsky's production is masterly; the lighting is marvellous. Who but a genius would have ventured to have had one of the most pathetic scenes played so that only the distorted leaping shadows of the speakers were seen by the audience?
