know how. But who shall deny that the base of almost all human
unhappiness is just this inaction, manifesting itself in
slovenliness of thought and execution, education, and ideal?

The Russian, painfully conscious of his own weakness, has accepted
this point of view, and regards "The Cherry Orchard" as its master-study
in dramatic form. They speak of the palpitating hush which fell
upon the audience of the Moscow Art Theatre after the first fall of
the curtain at the first performance--a hush so intense as to make
Chekhov's friends undergo the initial emotions of assisting at a
vast theatrical failure. But the silence ryes almost a sob, to be
followed, when overcome, by an epic applause. And, a few months
later, Chekhov died.

This volume and that of Marian Fell--with which it is uniform--
contain all the dramatic works of Chekhov. It considered not worth
while to translate a few fragments published posthumously, or a
monologue "On the Evils of Tobacco"--a half humorous lecture by
"the husband of his wife;" which begins "Ladies, and in some
respects, gentlemen," as this is hardly dramatic work. There is
also a very short skit on the efficiency of provincial fire
brigades, which was obviously not intended for the stage and has
therefore been omitted.

Lastly, the scheme of transliteration employed has been that,
generally speaking, recommended by the Liverpool School of Russian
Studies. This is distinctly the best of those in the field, but as
it would compel one, e.g., to write a popular female name, "Marya,"
I have not treated it absolute respect. For the sake of uniformity
with Fell's volume, the author's name is spelt Tchekoff on the