Invitation to a Beheading

“With the gracious consent of the audience, you will be made to don the red tophat.”

Rather than explicitly stating that Cincinnatus will be executed, the judge announces that Cincinnatus will “be made to don the red tophat” (21). The brutality of the situation is cloaked in euphemism, diffusing the serious nature of the execution via a tradition that no one understands anymore. The euphemism is used because it is always used, while reality is mired in murkiness and confusion for the sake of tradition. Cincinnatus is denied access to explicit reality, a denial that will metastasize in his mind and cause him to feel as though reality itself is falling apart.

“You know what a kind creature I am: it’s such a small thing, and it’s such a relief to a man.”

Marthe refuses to take responsibility for her infidelity because she remains—she insists—a “kind creature” who only seeks to provide relief to the men with whom she has affairs. Marthe manipulates Cincinnatus by insisting that she is merely being reasonable and charitable, while also denying that she has any agency. Cincinnatus cannot assemble a reasonable response to this absurd claim, so he has no choice but to accept Marthe’s line of reasoning, just as he does when faced with the absurdity of his imprisonment.

“It was plain that he was upset by the loss of that precious object. It was plain. The loss of the object upset him. The object was precious. He was upset by the loss of the object.”

Roman Vissarionovich complains about the loss of his cufflink. The narrator repeats this sentiment, adjusting the syntax each time. This repetitive structure creates a feeling of helplessness around the loss; rather than being able to recover the lost cufflink, Roman and the narrator stew on it, creating a sense of pining. This helpless repetitiveness parallels Cincinnatus’s own experiences in the prison.

“The titles were arranged not in alphabetical order, but according to the number of pages in each.”

In the fortress, the books in the library catalogue are organized according to their length. This arrangement is a reminder that the men who read these books are sentenced to death, so the length of the book is more important to them than the contents. Unfortunately Cincinnatus does not know the date of his execution, so he does not know whether he will be able to finish the novel he attempts to read.

“I am ready. I shall get dressed at once. I knew it would be today.”

Cincinnatus boldly declares that he knew his execution would be on this day. He will be proved wrong, however, which calls into question the rest of his statement. If he was wrong about the date of his execution, despite being so sure, he may also be wrong about whether he is ready. By saying the words confidently, however, he is trying to convince the world around him—as well as himself—that he has come to terms with the reality of his execution, even though he has not.

“Is there in this world, can there be, any kind of security at all, any pledge of anything, or is the very idea of guarantee unknown here?”

As the novel progresses, Cincinnatus begins to discern The Brittleness of Reality. As a means of testing this sense of unreality, he seeks out an authority figure. As the prison director, Rodrig is an arbiter of what is real and what is known. Cincinnatus looks to Rodrig for some sort of guarantee of what is known and what is unknown, but he receives no answer.

“Your colleague is so happy to see you here that he is at a loss for words.”

Rodrig introduces Cincinnatus to Pierre as a “colleague.” At this point in time, Cincinnatus believes that Pierre is a fellow prisoner (when he is, in fact Cincinnatus’s executioner). The choice of the word “colleague,” however, implies that they are bound together in a bureaucratic sense. They are work mates, and confinement and execution have become their “jobs.” Their lives are now defined by their imminent end, and their duties are defined by their passivity.

“I think I should prefer the rope, since I know authoritatively and irrevocably that it shall be the ax.”

Cincinnatus states that he wishes that he would be hanged rather than beheaded. His reasoning is important, however, as he only prefers the rope because he knows that the ax is his destiny. Cincinnatus does not actually want the rope. He wants some form of agency, a sense that his wants and desires are being met, and a feeling of control over his destiny. He wants to feel as though he has some say over his future by choosing the means by which he will die, so his preference is a manifestation of this desire for agency, rather than a legitimate preference for the rope over the ax.

“Here, unfortunately, the light in the cell went out—Rodion always turned it off exactly at ten.”

The time in the fortress provides him with ample opportunity for self-reflection. However, Cincinnatus’s reminiscences interrupted by Rodion, who turns off the light at the exact same time each night. The rigid routine and bureaucracy of the prison cell denies him the privilege of internal reflection.

“Well, let’s let bygones be bygones.”

As Marthe and her family are ushered from the cell, Marthe’s father turns to Cincinnatus and tells him that they should “let bygones be bygones” (106). To Marthe’s father, letting bygones be bygones is a small gesture. Cincinnatus has no say in the matter, as he will be executed. He does not have the ability to make such a sweeping declaration. Instead, this demand for forgiveness is imposed on Cincinnatus in a way he cannot comprehend, much like his sentence and imminent execution.

“Whether I wanted to or not is my business, friend of my heart, cockroach-under-the-hearth. In any case I was accused of it.”

Pierre lies to Cincinnatus, telling him that the crime that caused him to be sent to the fortress was trying to help Cincinnatus escape. In a metaphorical way, Pierre will help Cincinnatus to escape. He will accomplish this by cutting off Cincinnatus’s head. Regardless, his lie is revealing. He claims that the accusation of trying to help Cincinnatus is more important than the truth. This is true for Cincinnatus’s entire experience, in which the idea of an objective truth is not nearly as important as what people think. Truth is just another reality to be constructed in the minds of other people.

“A body feeds you here, tends you lovingly, wears himself out for your sake, and all you do is ask stupid questions. For shame, you thankless man.”

Rodion is critical of Cincinnatus’s desire to know the date of his execution. To Rodion, the persistent questions are more annoying than Cincinnatus’s lack of clarity about his future. He peevishly chides Cincinnatus for being rude, a demonstration of the way in which everyone in the prison refuses to accept that Cincinnatus has any cause to complain about his situation. They are annoyed at him for not politely accepting his fate.

“There can be no disorder here—only a shifting about.”

Cincinnatus tells his mother to stop commenting on the cleanliness of his cell because there is no way in which the idea of cleanliness or disorder can exist in such an absurd environment. Instead, everything—from the prisoners to the dust—is simply being shifted about. This functions as an allegory for society itself, in which nothing is clean or ordered. Instead, human lives are simply being shifted about and order becomes a lie that humans tell themselves to justify the disorder of their existence.

“This little midwife presents no danger to us.”

Rodrig confidently states that Cincinnatus’s mother presents no danger to him, his colleagues, or his prison. His comment seems absurd, as Cecilia never threatened anyone or anything during her meeting. The comment by Rodrig has a deeper meaning, in which he assures Cincinnatus that her mere existence is not a threat to the brittle reality of Cincinnatus’s situation. The “us” he refers to is the situation itself, which is not threatened by Cecilia’s possible maternal influence. No one and nothing can threaten the reality of Cincinnatus’s imminent execution.

“I am quite willing to admit that they are also a deception but right now I believe in them so much that I infect them with truth.”

The Brittleness of Reality occasionally spreads to the narrative, in which the third-person perspective switches to Cincinnatus’s first-person musings. Since Cincinnatus can no longer be sure of what is real and what is not, he comes to believe that his perspective and his subjective experience is more important than the exterior, third-person-omniscient perspective. Cincinnatus comes to realize that the world around him is only as true as he believes it to be, but that this is also true of everyone else around him. Existence, for Cincinnatus, becomes an inflection point between competing subjective realities in which nothing can ever truly said to be objectively certain.

“What do you mean, checkmate? Why checkmate? I can’t go here; I can’t go there; I can’t go anywhere.”

Pierre becomes frustrated with his game of chess with Cincinnatus. His reaction to the game functions as an allegory for Cincinnatus’s situation. Like Cincinnatus, he finds himself in an impossible position. They are both checkmated; he will lose the game and Cincinnatus will lose his life. Like Cincinnatus, he cannot move anywhere. Furthermore, he does not understand the rules that have put him in this position, just like Cincinnatus cannot comprehend the bureaucracy and the rules that govern his imminent execution. For Pierre, chess is an incomprehensible system of rules that has caused him to lose. For Cincinnatus, the same can be said about the society in which he lives.

“‘Stop it!’ cried Cincinnatus. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’”

During his time in the fortress, Cincinnatus has been regularly criticized for his behavior. Rodion, Rodrig, and Pierre have told him that he should be ashamed of his actions, which typically consist of trying to make sense of his situation. By this point in the novel, Cincinnatus has internalized this accusation of shame. He turns it around, demanding that other people should feel ashamed of themselves. After so long being subjected to this language, this is the only way in which he can seek to modify other people’s behavior as so many people have tried to modify his behavior in this fashion.

“After all, they are both children.”

When Cincinnatus briefly escapes with Emmie, Pierre is not concerned. He tells Rodrig not to punish either of them because they are “both children.” This patronizing attitude toward Cincinnatus speaks to the way in which the justice system has infantilized Cincinnatus. He has not been treated like an adult with agency because the society in which he lives does not regard him as an adult. He is a child, governed by systems he cannot comprehend. Pierre’s patronizing attitude speaks to the broader infantilization of people within a totalitarian society.

“But one had only to look closer and it became repulsively obvious how trite was this parody of the work of time.”

The photohoroscope supposedly tells Emmie’s entire future through images that have been manufactured, in which pictures of her face are superimposed on pictures of other people. This is a fake version of a life lived, a future that is manufactured and speculative and that, on the surface, seems authentic but that does not hold up to closer scrutiny. The photohoroscope functions as a metaphor for life in Cincinnatus’s society, in which existence itself is manufactured.

“Tradition required that on the eve of the execution its passive and active participants together make a brief farewell visit to each of the chief officials.”

After the reveal of Pierre’s true identity, the role of tradition becomes more prominent in the novel. Many of the absurd situations in which Cincinnatus finds himself are, as Pierre explains, the product of tradition. These traditions are unexplained and unproductive; they continue because they are traditions, so the people involved do things because these things have always been done. The traditions are rituals that are divorced from their original meanings, hollow acts that only have significance because they have history. Tradition becomes yet another system that ensnares Cincinnatus.

“Shouldn’t try if you can’t manage it.”

Marthe complains that the man who attempted to petition her for sex in exchange for longer in Cincinnatus’s cell failed to perform. Rodion, she implies, wasted her time. The offhand comment becomes a reflection on the execution itself, which has been delayed and postponed many times. If they cannot manage to execute Cincinnatus, her comment implies, then they should stop trying. After this meeting, the authorities stop trying and Cincinnatus is executed soon after.

“This is the dead end of this life, and I should not have sought salvation within its confines.”

The postponement of the execution is yet another imposition inflicted on Cincinnatus. Existing in this perpetual state of unknowing and uncertainty is worse than dying, as he cannot invest his life with any meaning. He exists in a tortuous limbo, in which he has no future but is forced to continue anyway.

“Here is a prepared menu of last wishes.”

When Cincinnatus’s execution finally arrives, he is given the traditional last wish. Like everything else involved in his execution, however, even this last wish is an absurdity. He can select from a prepared menu, meaning that even something as personal and as meaningful as a last wish is filtered through the lens of bureaucracy. There is no real choice, only those that are preapproved and deemed acceptable by the authorities.