Every cloud has a silver lining. That was the first thought that crossed Mikhail’s mind when a young lady in blue enquired about the ill-conditioned diary in his hands. All the memories flashed before his eyes that led to that very moment.  Dr. Mikhail Sorkin was a 32-year-old American historian from New York. Although Mikhail was American, he had Russian seeds embedded since his childhood. His mother Sofia was Russian, and though she left her country for love, she made sure her children knew her roots. Mikhail had a keen interest in Russian history and literature since childhood. It made him a passionate reader in his adolescence and got him a Ph.D. in his adult life. He became a full-time researcher and professor at Cambridge University, England. He was only 27-year-old at that time. But when things couldn’t go any better for his career, life threw him a curveball.  When Mikhail’s paper on Russian Industrialisation hit a dead-end, the university threatened to freeze his research funds. The board gave him a 3-month ultimatum. He either submits a brilliant research paper or his resignation letter. He was not a tenured professor, after all. The next thing he knew, he was buying a plane ticket to St. Petersburg, Russia. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. On a brighter note, he always wanted to visit Russia as a kid, his mother’s motherland, so if not for his career crisis, who knows when he could have mustered the idea of going there.

People are right when they call St. Petersburg the mecca of cultural, historical, and architectural landmarks. The city is all about world-renowned museums, auditoria, galleries, architectural ensembles, exquisite courtyards, grand parks, cultural and educational institutions. Established by Tsar Peter I (the Great), the city ranks as one of the most magnificent and congenial cities of Europe. It’s no surprise that the biggest poets, authors, artists have stemmed inside the walls of this city. The enthralling aroma of art is mixed in the city’s atmosphere.  Mikhail’s gaze couldn’t find anything that wasn’t extraordinary. While one corner of the city crooned praises of its rich culture, the other cried tales of the tyrannical, oppressive rule of the old monarchs. It was a fine cultural balance of good and evil.  Though Mikhail was enamored by the heaven-like view of the city, he couldn’t quite find anything that could have contributed significantly to his paper. He combed through the interior of the city to gather insight from the locals, kept a mental note of the things that he found important, and during his train journeys, wrote a deep analysis of his findings. Mikhail had an advantage. He could not just read and write Russian from the age of 10, but he was also proficient in the local dialect because of his mother’s Russian heritage.  He occasionally called his mother to keep her updated about his Russian trip. Sofia was delighted that her son had finally made his way to her homeland. She insisted Mikhail visit the Top 25 places of her choice. She couldn’t care less about his research but secretly, always trusted him to find his way to the things he aspired to.  In the last week of his stay in St. Petersburg, Mikhail visited some of the last places his mother entrusted him to go. His findings weren’t looking extraordinary, but he believed his paper had something promising that could save his job. The last place he needed to visit was the Dostoevsky museum. Mikhail intentionally kept this at the end. This wasn’t just a museum, but a former apartment of Dostoevsky himself. For Mikhail, Dostoevsky wasn’t only a literary genius but a person with whom he resonated deeply. He read his books like the Bible, and if it wasn’t for Dostoevsky, he never would have cared to learn Russian so diligently. Mikhail read the original Russian versions of Dostoevsky’s books only.  Dostoevsky wasn’t a black-and-white figure. He was deeply flawed in his earlier life. That was what Mikhail found so intriguing about him. How courageous he would have been to face his darkest side, most evil intentions, unspeakably twisted thoughts, and turn them into something good. Standing outside the gate of the museum, Mikhail only hoped to be half as brave as his literary hero.

It was just a month ago when Mikhail received an email from the university that his research funding might be frozen indefinitely. He thought that was the worst thing that could have happened to him that year, but then he read a Russian sign on the main door of the Dostoevsky museum: закрыт на техническое обслуживание. In English, “Closed for Maintenance.” Disappointed, Mikhail wandered around Kuznechny Lane when he saw an antique shop in the corner. The vintage welcome sign read: Chekhov’s Antique Shop. The shop had confined walking aisles with table displays on both sides. A strikingly huge antique oak cabinet filled with delicate statuettes, collectible vessels, china cups, and thimble collections was just behind the cash register desk. A glittering glass chandelier dangled over Mikhail’s head while he magnificently gazed at the antiques on the display. One display section that particularly struck his interest was the wartime paraphernalia. It comprised medals, propaganda posters, pistols, clothing, berets, etc. But a particularly ominous black-leathered diary caught Mikhail’s gaze.  “Can I see that diary?” Mikhail asked the young boy at the cash counter. There was no one in the shop except for him and that boy.  “Which one?” The boy stood up from his seat and his eyes traveled to the direction where Mikhail pointed his fingers.  “Oh, that! That’s not for sale. I accidentally put it there while cleaning the house.” His Russian accent was thick. Mikhail took a second to grasp his words.  “I see. Is it a family heirloom?”  “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just a diary of one of my ancestors. It’s not a house decorative item. But you still want-” Without a second thought, Mikhail said, “I’ll take it. Do you accept credit cards?” In retrospect, this was the best decision he had ever made.

Felicia was a Russian passenger that made Mikhail’s acquaintance on his train journey to the airport. She was a final-year law student. At first, she took Mikhail as a normal American tourist until she saw some contents of the diary which were in Russian script. Upon their small discussion cum banter, Mikhail truthfully told her everything about himself and how he had his hands in the diary.  When Mikhail finished telling the entire story, the young lady scoffed, “Your story doesn’t sell to me. The probability of you being an American spy is higher.” Mikhail was amused by her response.  “Wanna have a look over the nuclear codes I got here?” There was no reason for him to not share his little discovery with Felicia. He found her quite intuitive, intelligent, filled with a sense of justice (might be because of her law background), and beyond everything, she looked like a dream. He couldn’t help but entertain her little curiosity.  When Felicia held the diary in her hand, she instantly had a visceral feeling in her stomach that she had possession of something unusual. Her hazel eyes flickered as she assessed the first page of the diary.

The diary starts with Ivan Chekhov. Ivan was a Tsarist police under the rule of Tsar Nicholas I in the 1800s. He was a loyal soldier to his king, loyal husband to his wife, and loving father to his two sons. He could have put his life on the line to protect them. When the outlaws stirred conflict in the state, his job involved making sure it didn’t happen.  On  22 April 1849, Ivan and his fellow troops received a report about an anti-government discussion group called the Petrashevsky Circle. The group was founded and headed by a graduate of St. Petersburg University Law Department and a clerk at the Foreign Ministry, Mikhail Butashevich-Petrashevsky. According to their information, there were thirty-five members of the Petrashevsky Circle that included writers, teachers, students, minor government officials, and army officers. While with conflicting political views, most of them opposed the Tsarist rule and Russian serfdom. The purpose of this group was to discuss literature and Western philosophy, which was completely banned by the government.  Among this illegal group, 27-year-old Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky was convicted for  story hearings condemning the armed forces, possessing an unlawful printing press for producing anti-government propaganda, contributing to a conspiracy against the Tsar in alliance with Speshnev’s secret society, and opening and reading aloud an outlawed letter from Belinsky to Gogol reproaching the church and Tsarist regime under Nicholas I.

Ivan was beyond appalled when he saw Dostoevsky as one member of the Petrashevsky Circle. He had known Dostoevsky since his childhood. Fyodor Dostoevsky’s father was a reputed doctor of the city who served his entire life treating the ill. Ivan’s wife was one of his patients whose life he saved when she was on the brink of death. Since then, Ivan had had close relations with the Dostoevsky family.  Ivan was furious seeing his friend’s son bringing shame to the family's name.  On 23 April 1849, all the members of the Petrashevsky Circle, including Dostoevsky were captured by Tsarist police, Ivan was one of the police officers that held members of the Petrashevsky Circle into custody and took them to St. Peter and Paul Fortress—a highly fortified St. Petersburg prison housing for the most perilous criminals. They were imprisoned for eight months. The silence, the darkness, the fear were excruciating. All their senses blurred with each passing day. Ivan was one of the surveillance guards who kept a check on the prisoners. Unintentionally, he observed Dostoevsky a little more thoroughly than others. At times, Ivan would watch him staring at the blank wall for a ceaseless time, his eyes welled up, his expressions dead. Sometimes he would find him praying in silence. Prayers were a daily part of Dostoevsky, a habit that he might have inherited from his highly Orthodox Christian parents.  Perhaps Ivan was the answer to his prayers. In that dark, ghastly prison, all Dostoevsky wanted was someone to save him from his loneliness. The fear of death didn’t even come close.  Ivan spent an hour outside Dostoevsky’s prison. They had endless conversations, starting with Dostoevsky’s father, who died when Dostoevsky was away for school in St. Petersburg. The locals suspected he was murdered by one of his serfs, but the police had no such evidence. His mother, too, passed away from tuberculosis. He said he carries an extreme burden in his heart for that. In his school, he always felt out of place around his aristocratic classmates. Though he found himself privileged to receive an excellent education, he lacked interest in science and engineering and was more interested in drawing and architecture. After his graduation, he started working as an engineer, but he soon became a gambling addict. He joined the Petrashevsky Circle through the association of some of his friends. Though he was never deeply involved. He gave away all bits of information he had on the Petrashevsky Circle, never realizing that Ivan could easily use that information against him. It was Ivan’s intention all along. He would never associate with a criminal even if he had personal connections with him. On 16 November 1849, he and 21 members of the Petrashevsky Circle were condemned to death.

On 22 December 1849, all the members of the Petrashevsky Circle were taken by carriage to the Semyonov Square drill grounds to meet their fate—death by firing squad.  In their last hour, the sentence of death was read to all of them. They were told to kiss the Cross, their swords were broken over their heads, and their ranks were stripped away. Then three of them were taken to the square, tied to the pillar of execution, and blindfolded. Three at a time were summoned; thus, Dostoevsky was in the second batch. He waited for his turn with the second group—poets Aleksey Nikolayevich Pleshcheyev and Sergey Fyodorovich Durov. He embraced and bid a last goodbye to both his friends by his side.  At the last minute, a messenger from the Tsar rode into the square waving a white flag, proclaiming,” long live the Tsar” and telling the firing squad to stop the execution on explicit orders from the king.  Unrevealed to the men tied to pillars, the Tsar had pardoned them the day before their execution. However, the preparations for the execution were allowed to proceed. The pardon wasn’t out of the king’s kindness or mercy, but to evoke and eternally imprint terror in their minds. Together with a sense of gratitude for sparing their life.  Although their lives were pardoned, they were not released. They were sentenced to labor camps in Siberia. Dostoevsky served four years in a prison camp in Siberia. He was released on 14 February 1854. After getting released, he completed his obligatory military service.  He wrote several letters to his brother, Mikhail Mikhailovich Dostoevsky, about his terrorizing mock trial, describing the details of the executions and how it painfully stimulated a change of perspective in his life. Upon his return, Dostoevsky wrote several letters to Ivan as well, to reconnect with him, but Ivan never responded. He was suffering from guilt, shame, and anguish, thinking of all the ways he had betrayed Dostoevsky.  Twenty years later, Ivan journaled his experience in the diary. So much had happened since then. Dostoevsky had published many books depicting his experiences and actualizations into literary fiction, and philosophical ideas. Ivan did not find the courage to make his acquaintance but somehow wanted to leave his apology in his diary. Repentance for his sins.

Felicia took a long pause after reading the journal. She returned the diary to Mikhail and sat quietly and motionless for a long minute.  “Not an American spy, huh?” Mikhail teased her with a coy smile.  They had endless discussions and interpretations about Ivan’s story until they reached their station. Before leaving the train, they both exchanged their emails. Mikhail promised to send her the research paper when it was published.  3 months later, Felicia received an email from Mikhail titled: The Doomsday of Fyodor Dostoevsky by Ivan Chekhov, published in the Journal of Global History, a Cambridge University Press.