Skovoroda came across Mykhailo in the crowd and walked along beside him.
“Well, your idol is no more,” he said in a low voice. “God must have mixed something up...”
Mykhailo placed a finger to his lips and looked about.
Taciturn, scared, he really seemed to have suffered spiritually over what had happened there, in the distant north, in St. Petersburg.
“Nothing is everlasting, not even tsars,” Skovoroda thought out loud.
“Quiet, stop it!” the youth whispered, turned to the side and became lost in the crowd of townsfolk.
Skovoroda saw the boy off with his eyes, sighed, and continued on. He was alarmed by Mykhailo’s prank, however having grown accustomed to view everything with philosophical restraint, he calmed down and began to deliberate about the future. New rulers always destroyed
