I shall be an autocrat: that's my trade. And the good Lord will

Host:
The fireplace crackled softly in the corner of the old study, its flame flickering across walls lined with books that smelled faintly of dust and leather. A decanter of amber whiskey glowed like captured sunlight between two glasses, casting glints of gold onto the dark oak table where Jack and Jeeny sat.

Outside, a winter storm whispered against the window — wind and frost twisting like ghosts through the dark. Inside, the mood was dense, almost imperial. On the table between them lay a card with a quote, written in elegant script:

"I shall be an autocrat: that's my trade. And the good Lord will forgive me: that's his." — Catherine the Great

The words lingered like a command — audacious, unapologetic, regal.

Jeeny: (tracing the rim of her glass, eyes thoughtful) “Catherine the Great. The Empress who knew exactly who she was — and didn’t apologize for it. This quote… it’s such a declaration of power. Not arrogance, but awareness. She’s saying, ‘I rule because that’s my role — and I leave judgment to the heavens.’ It’s ruthless, but also strangely honest.”

Jack: (leaning back, his low voice steady) “It’s the honesty of the absolutist. She understood her duty was to command, not to seek forgiveness. That’s what separates a ruler from a dreamer. She didn’t pretend virtue — she accepted necessity. Most people romanticize power, but Catherine understood it’s a profession, not a privilege. That’s what she means by ‘my trade.’”

Host:
The firelight flickered, washing the room in gold and shadow. Jeeny’s eyes glowed with quiet curiosity, while Jack’s face was half-illuminated — sharp features cast in chiaroscuro, as though he himself were carved from the same iron will that shaped Catherine’s empire.

Jeeny: (softly) “But don’t you think that kind of thinking — power as a trade — is dangerous? It makes morality seem optional. Catherine was brilliant, yes, but that same mindset allowed her to crush rebellions and silence dissent without hesitation. When rulers start thinking their authority is divine, or excusable, they can justify anything.”

Jack: (with a half-smile) “And yet, Jeeny, history is built on those justifications. Every empire, every state — even our democracies — are forged by people who believed their cause justified control. Catherine wasn’t delusional. She was pragmatic. She saw power not as virtue, but as craft — something to be honed, managed, wielded. That’s what makes her fascinating. She didn’t disguise her ambition behind the veil of righteousness. She faced it — head-on.”

Jeeny: (leaning forward, her tone growing sharper) “But there’s something cold in that kind of pragmatism. She believed the end justified the means — but where does that leave compassion? Leaders who stop asking whether their actions are right risk losing their humanity. If you believe the ‘Lord will forgive you,’ you might stop holding yourself accountable altogether.”

Jack: (his voice dropping, deliberate) “Maybe that’s the paradox of power — the higher you rise, the less human you’re allowed to be. You start trading empathy for efficiency. Forgiveness becomes someone else’s department.”

Host:
A log in the fireplace cracked loudly, sparks scattering like stars. The moment hung between them — heat and frost, morality and ambition, locked in silent tension.

Jeeny: (quietly, almost a whisper) “She makes it sound so simple — like ruling an empire and earning divine pardon are just separate contracts between God and man. But maybe she was defending herself, too. She must have known the cost of what she did. You can’t rule millions without carrying guilt.”

Jack: (looking into the fire) “Maybe. Or maybe guilt was a luxury she couldn’t afford. You can’t build an empire and question your right to rule it at the same time. That kind of hesitation gets you dethroned — or killed. Remember, she came to power through coup and cunning. She wasn’t born divine; she earned it through strategy. In her eyes, forgiveness was God’s concern. Her duty was to survive.”

Jeeny: (softly) “That’s the tragedy of great rulers — they build immortality at the cost of their souls.”

Jack: (turning to her, voice low and unyielding) “And yet, history remembers them. We admire their strength even as we question their morality. Because deep down, we know — no civilization stands without someone willing to make those impossible choices.”

Host:
The storm outside deepened, the window trembling faintly in its frame. Inside, the firelight danced like restless thought. Jack’s words landed heavy — the kind that didn’t demand agreement, only understanding.

Jeeny: “It’s a frightening truth, though. That power demands a kind of moral blindness. Catherine ruled with brilliance and cruelty, with vision and vanity. Maybe that’s what she meant — that to be great, you have to stop seeking forgiveness from men and trust that heaven will sort out the rest.”

Jack: (nodding slightly) “Or that she stopped believing in heaven at all — and used the idea of divine forgiveness as armor. You can’t lead with a trembling conscience. The good Lord may forgive, but history doesn’t. She knew that. So she ruled for legacy, not redemption.”

Host:
The clock on the mantle ticked softly. The fire had burned lower, casting longer shadows across the shelves — each one like an echo of rulers past.

Jeeny: (after a long silence) “Do you think she ever doubted herself?”

Jack: (after a pause) “Every ruler doubts. But Catherine was clever enough to turn doubt into determination. That’s the secret of the autocrat — never showing the cost. Power, to her, wasn’t about control over others; it was control over her own fear. When she said it was her trade, she meant it literally. She practiced it. Perfected it. Paid for it.”

Jeeny: (looking into her glass) “And the forgiveness?”

Jack: (with a faint, almost sorrowful smile) “That was just good public relations with God.”

Host:
The fire dimmed to embers now, glowing faintly — the last remnants of heat in a room that suddenly felt colder. Outside, the storm eased, leaving only the sound of wind sighing against the walls — like the ghost of a fallen empire.

Jeeny: (quietly, almost to herself) “I wonder if that’s why power always ends in loneliness. Because no one — not even God — can truly absolve what it takes to wield it.”

Jack: (lifting his glass slightly, eyes glinting in the last flicker of light) “Maybe that’s why the great ones drink to both — power and pardon. To the trade... and to the forgiveness.”

Host (closing):
The glasses clinked softly — a toast to ambition, to consequence, to the eternal game between those who rule and those who remember.

And as the fire went out, Catherine’s words lingered like the faint smoke curling into the dark — a whisper of both pride and penitence:

“I shall be an autocrat — that’s my trade. And the good Lord will forgive me — that’s his.”

In that single line lived the entire contradiction of power — that greatness and guilt are often two faces of the same crown.