On October 26, 1892, the writer Dmitri Merezhkovsky gave a lecture in Petersburg on “The Reasons for the Decline of Russian Literature.” A reporter for the mass circulation
Merezhkovsky called for “an expansion of artistic impressionability.” This “new impressionability” ought to be learned, he lectured, from Western masters: besides the French symbolists Merezhkovsky also named the then-popular Edgar Alan Poe and Ibsen; but he also included as allies the revered classics of Russian literature. Benois immediately joined Merezhkovsky’s “decadent” movement, and they were even friends for a time. Later the sober Petersburgian Benois would confess that he joined out of a mistaken desire to appear “avantgarde.” “It was the time of the typical fin de siècle, whose preciousness and modernity were expressed in the cult (at least in words) of everything depraved with an admixture of all kinds of mysticism, often turning into mystification.”87
The “anti-bohemian” Benois was particularly put off by Merezhkovsky’s wife, the “decadent” poetess Zinaida Hippius. Always dressed all in white (“Like the princess of Dreams”), a tall, thin, pretty blonde with a Mona Lisa smile always playing on her lips, and never tiring of striking a pose (in Benois’s opinion), Hippius stood in sharp contrast to her short, scrawny, shy husband. The very first question Hippius asked of Benois and his friends was, “And you, gentlemen students, what are you decadent about?”
Ideas for renewal and change were in the air of Petersburg, but no one knew just how to realize them. A few years later Merezhkovsky and Benois, together with Diaghilev, would found a journal,
The first was the still-mysterious demise of Tchaikovsky in Petersburg on October 25, 1893, at the age of fifty-three. With the special permission of Alexander III the memorial service was held at the overflowing Kazan Cathedral. The emperor, though expected, did not attend but he did send an impressive wreath. There were over three hundred wreaths altogether, and the closed coffin seemed to drown in them. The funeral procession was the longest in Petersburg history: hundreds of thousands of people came out onto the streets.
The Imperial Maryinsky Theater, still the bastion of the aristocracy, had recently started to attract new patrons, particularly for performances of Tchaikovsky’s operas and ballets, especially students and young professionals. Tickets were impossible to obtain, and when they tried distributing them by lottery, up to fifteen thousand people a day were among the hopefuls. A huge young audience was created for Tchaikovsky’s music.
So on the day of Tchaikovsky’s funeral all lectures in the city’s schools were canceled to allow the students to say good-bye to their beloved composer. Crowds of students took part in the procession, since the city had dozens of gymnasiums and other schools, and over twenty colleges: the famous Petersburg University and various academies and institutes. Young professionals, the Russian intelligentsia, teachers, doctors, lawyers, engineers, and journalists, educated in Russia and in Europe and as a rule liberals, were also out in force. They mourned their idol. It seemed as if the whole of “thinking” Petersburg paid tribute to one of its greatest representatives, intuiting the role that Tchaikovsky’s works would play in evolving the city’s mythos.