Chekhov is the most restrained of the great Russian writers, and the purest. In his tales and plays, as in life, there are no second chances. All too human, his characters eternally watch the parade passing by, preferring fancy to action: the sisters never get to Moscow, the cherry orchard is cut down, a graybeard roue like Astrov does a half-drunken jig no more dreams of the gay life for him. In Chekhov, fate is time, and missed opportunities bury...