They all shout, ‘A ball, a ball, what fun!’ A ball is rubbish, it’s not in the Russian spirit, it’s not the Russian nature; God knows what it’s about: a grown-up adult suddenly springs up all in black, face smooth as a plucked chicken, corseted like the devil, and has to kick his legs in the air. Some men, even when dancing with a woman, have important business to discuss with another man, yet twist their legs left and right, like a young goat, in fancy figures . . . It’s all aping others, aping others.
