Kyiv greeted Skoropadskyi with a calm autumn morning.
He already knew the city well. The roads leading to Podil, the university quarter, the piers along the Dnipro — all of it was familiar to him. Yet each time he returned, he felt that Kyiv was different from other cities.
There was less noise of trade here and more conversations about science, books, and politics.
The carriage stopped in front of the building of Saint Vladimir University.
Skoropadskyi climbed the stone steps and entered.
The tall corridors were quiet. Bookcases stood along the walls, and old maps and portraits of historians hung above them.
Among the portraits he noticed a familiar face.
Volodymyr Antonovych.
His lectures had once filled entire halls of students. Many of the historians who now taught at the university considered themselves his pupils.
People often said that it was here, in these rooms, that the history of the Cossacks had first begun to be studied seriously — not only as a story of wars, but as the history of a political order.
In one of the lecture halls people had already gathered.
Several professors sat at a long table. Nearby stood younger lecturers and a few students.
One of the professors stood up.
—"Pavlo Petrovych, we are glad to see you at the university."
—"Thank you for the invitation."
They took their seats at the table.
The conversation began calmly.
At first they spoke about the condition of the universities, the financing of scholarly work, and the state of the archives.
One of the historians said:
—"Many scholars have again turned their attention to the history of the Cossacks. Antonovych's works are widely discussed."
Another professor nodded.
—"Antonovych wrote that the Cossacks were not only a military force."
He paused briefly.
—"They were a political elite."
One of the younger lecturers added:
—"And perhaps the last real elite of these lands."
The room grew slightly quieter.
One of the students cautiously asked:
—"Why do elites disappear?"
The elderly professor answered calmly.
—"Usually because they stop fulfilling their function."
—"And what is that function?"
—"To govern. To create institutions. To think about the future."
After a moment the professor stood and walked to the large map hanging on the wall.
The paper had darkened slightly with age, but the borders and names were still clear.
He slowly ran his hand along the Dnipro.
—"The history of these lands is much longer than people usually imagine."
Several students moved closer.
—"Kyivan Rus."
He pointed to Kyiv.
—"Sviatoslav."
—"Volodymyr the Great."
—"Yaroslav the Wise."
He paused briefly.
—"Under Yaroslav, Kyiv was one of the largest cities in Europe. At that time Rus controlled the trade routes between the north and the south."
One of the younger lecturers added:
—"It was also when the first state institutions began to take shape."
The professor moved his hand westward.
—"Later the center of power shifted."
He pointed to the lands of Galicia.
—"The Galician-Volhynian principality."
—"King Danylo."
—"The last attempt to preserve statehood after the fall of Kyiv."
The hall fell silent.
One of the students asked quietly:
—"But then everything disappeared?"
The professor smiled slightly.
—"History rarely disappears completely."
He took another map.
It showed the borders of the seventeenth century.
—"The Hetmanate."
Now he began listing names.
—"Bohdan Khmelnytsky."
—"Ivan Vyhovsky."
—"Ivan Mazepa."
—"Danylo Apostol."
—"Kyrylo Rozumovsky."
He moved his hand slowly across the territory.
—"The Cossack state existed for more than a century. From the middle of the seventeenth century. Until Catherine II abolished the office of hetman."
For a moment no one spoke.
Then one of the younger lecturers said:
—"But the tradition did not disappear."
The professor looked at him.
—"No."
He pointed again at the map.
—"It moved into memory. Into history."
Another lecturer added quietly:
—"And into family names."
He began listing them.
—"Apostols."
—"Rozumovskys."
—"Skoropadskys."
After those words several people involuntarily glanced at Pavlo Petrovych.
Skoropadskyi sat calmly and did not react.
Meanwhile the professor continued.
—"Each generation eventually asks the same question."
He turned toward the audience.
—"Is society capable of creating its own state?"
The room fell silent.
After some time people began rising from their seats. The discussion gradually faded.
Students gathered their books while lecturers continued talking quietly among themselves.
Skoropadskyi was preparing to leave when one of the students suddenly approached him.
—"Pavlo Petrovych… may I ask you a question?"
—"Of course."
The student hesitated.
—"Today we spoke about the hetmans… about the old states."
He paused.
—"Do you think… it could happen again?"
Skoropadskyi looked at the young man.
—"States do not appear by themselves."
The student remained silent.
—"They require people."
He continued calmly.
—"People who are ready to take responsibility."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then the student nodded.
—"Thank you."
He returned to his companions.
Later Skoropadskyi left the university building.
Evening was slowly descending upon the city.
Street lamps were being lit. Voices came from the shops, and the distant noise of evening trade drifted from Podil.
He walked slowly down the street.
The conversations he had heard today were not about war or money.
They were about the future.
He understood that the economy creates strength.
The army protects the state.
But ideas determine what that state will become.
Sometimes states disappear not because they lose wars.
But because no one remembers why they exist.
Skoropadskyi walked slowly through the evening streets.
He did not yet know what the future would bring.
But he understood one thing.
If these lands ever again needed a state, someone would have to take responsibility for creating it.