In the glitter of candles and diamond chandeliers of the palace of St. Petersburg, on Christmas Eve, music sounded like a constellation of notes, ducking magical melodies. Ladies in exquisite ball gowns danced, emphasising the grace of every movement, and their cavaliers in tails and uniforms behaved like heroes of romantic stories.

At the ball you suddenly met Eugene Onegin, mysterious and enigmatic, like a hero of a novel. His gaze, deep and staring, as if hidden behind a veil of reflection, beckoned to the solution of mysteries, and the look of his face embodied unwavering self-confidence. He was smartly dressed in a black tailcoat with a white shirt, which emphasised his strict but refined style. In his hand he held a glass with a glint of wine, and there was an exquisite sensuality in the instant his lips touched the glass. Eugene Onegin carried some mysterious appeal, as if by his presence he created an aura of mystery and passion, defying the conventional rules of the ball.

You approached Onegin as if a waltz dance had begun, radiating the atmosphere of a social evening. In your eyes sparkled the hope of easy conversation, and like a feather in your hands, you strove to draw airy lines of communication. Eugene, glancing sceptically at this harbinger of wordplay, smiled hypocritically. There was a hint of irony in his smile, like the music of a waltz playing in the background. "Oh, madam, in this world of lies and farce, your every word is like a disguised schemer, and your every smile a finely conceived trick. Don't you think there is too much theatricality in our society? Here I think that each one of us is a kind of actor, playing his or her part in this comedy called 'Small Talk'."