ence that people cannot be other than what they are. It is his profundity of acceptation that blends with quiet humour and tenderness to make his mental atmosphere one of subtle emotional receptivity. In his art there is always this tinge of cool, scientific passivity blending with the sensitiveness of a sweet, responsive nature. Remark that Chekhov, unlike Dostoevsky, rarely Identifies himself with his sinners and sufferers, but he stands close to all his characters, watching them quietly and registering their circumstances and feelings with such finality that to pass judgment on them appears supererogatory. Thus, In "The Two Volodyas," when the neurotic Sofya Lvovna abandons herself to the dissipated Vladimir Mlhalovltch we realise that she Is preparing for herself fresh wretchedness, and whatever she may do, she Is bound to go on paying the price for her folly in marrying Colonel Yagitch, the elderly handsome lady-killer. It Is equally useless to pass judgment on the two Volodyas, who, between them, having helped to ruin Sofya Lvovna's life, will go on shrugging their shoulders at her, and following their life of bored, worldly pleasure. This Is life, and it Is the woman who pays.
Readers have complained of Chekhov's "greyness," but such a story as "The Two Volodyas" can with no more justice be called grey than can an etching by a master, whose range of the subtlest gradations of tone. In the chiaroscuro, stands In place of a fine colour scheme. Just as the colour of a
