"... And in my play, in my opinion, there must necessarily be love" - whether it is an affirmation, or a question in the replica of one of the most famous of its heroines, the crafty author. He is a hard worker, a doctor, a connoisseur of human beings and a humanist, not in figurative, but in the most adjective sense of the word. And in his dramaturgy, he, like a doctor, is mercilessly honest - all his characters talk about love, seek or cherish it, but none of them is happy in the philistine sense of the word. Love is elusive. Someone is trying to replace - or lure - her glory, someone with prosperity or the dimensionality of life. Or to appropriate someone else's, deceiving only himself. By placing his characters in an enclosed space, Chekhov locks them not so much physically as from inside. And dissecting the soul. And it's not so important what name they are designated - Astrov or Gaev, Zarechnaya or Ranevskaya ... "There are only queer people around - and nothing has changed in the last hundred years. The plot for a short story. Or the performance in one act.