Kondraty Ryleyev - Ryleyev The Revolutionary

Ryleyev The Revolutionary

In 1823, Ryleyev was recruited by Ivan Pushchin to the revolutionary Northern Society, an organization of reform-minded individuals, mainly veterans of the Napoleonic Wars, dedicated to abolishing serfdom, and replacing the Tsar's government with either a democratic republic or a constitutional monarchy.

Ryleyev believed that the revolt was likely to fail and the participants would be executed. Still, he argued that their sacrifice would not be in vain, as the uprising might "awaken Russia." As Ryleyev explained prior to the uprising:

An upheaval is essential. The tactics of revolution may be summed up in two words--to dare. If we come to grief our failure will serve as a lesson to those who come after us.

Another Decembrist leader, Pavel Pestel, further elaborated on the motivations of the Society's members:

The desirability of granting freedom to the serfs was considered from the very beginning; for that purpose a majority of the nobility was to be invited in order to petition the Emperor about it. This was later thought of on many occasions, but we soon came to realize that the nobility could not be persuaded...we became even more convinced when the Ukrainian nobility absolutely rejected a similar project their military governor.

In his poem, Nalevaiko's Confession, Ryleyev makes veiled allusions to his own willingness to die for the Decembrists' cause:

Say not, thou holy man, again

That this is sin, thy words are vain,

Be it fearful mortal sin

Worse than all crimes that ever have been,

I care not - for could I but see

My native land at liberty,

Could I but see my race restored

To freedom from the foreign horde,

All sins would I upon me take...

Try not with threats my mind to shake,

Persuasive words no change can make...

I know full well the dire fate

Which must upon the patriot wait

Who first dare rise against the foe

And at the tyrant aim the blow.

This is my destined fate - but say

When, when has freedom won her way

Without the blood of martyrs shed,

When none for liberty have bled?

My coming doom I feel and know

And bless the stroke which lays me low

And, father, now with joy I meet

My death, to me such end is sweet.

In 1824, Ryleyev was appointed to the directorate of the Northern Society, and was destined to play a key role in the ill-fated uprising. He proved to be an inspirational speaker and talented recruiter. Fellow conspirator, Nikolay Bestuzhev, would later write of Ryleyev:

Physically his appearance was unattractive and he always spoke in a very simple way, but when he touched on his favourite theme--love of his country--his face lit up, his black glowing eyes shone with an unearthly light and his words flowed like a stream of lava.

During discussions among the Decembrists regarding what form of government should replace the monarchy, Ryleyev sided with Nikita Muravyev, favoring a government modeled after that of the United States. If the Imperial Family refused to go peacefully into exile, Ryleyev, like Pestel, was willing to support regicide in order to attain the goal of self-governance.

Ryleyev's friend, the Polish poet Adam Mickiewicz, later recounted one Decembrist meeting that he was invited to attend at Ryleyev's apartment in October 1824:

There must have been more than a dozen people in the room, but at first I could not distinguish anything because of the dense blue haze of pipe and cigar smoke. They were sprawling on sofas and on the deep windowsills; young Alexander Odoevsky and (Alexander) Bestuzhev sat cross-legged, Turkish fashion on a Persian carpet...

An intense youth, pale-complexioned, with a prominent forehead, a face like Shelley, lifts a glass - "Death to the Tsar." The toast is received with emotion. Ryleev's jet-black eyes light up with an inner flame...Everyone drink's except me, a Pole and a guest...They sing to the death of the Tsar...the rhythmic chant flows through the open windows for all to hear. A glow of a lantern out on the quay suddenly lights up the room. The chant stops abruptly, as fear sobers them up. The shadow of Radishchev in the Fortress crosses my mind.