In the name of Time

In Short

This verse drama follows Carloman, a Frankish king who abandons his throne and his wife, Geneviva, to pursue a direct, unmediated experience of God. His journey from the royal court to a monastery and finally a prison cell serves as a meditation on the tension between the fluid, shifting nature of human existence and the static, binding rules of the Church. Through its lyrical intensity and focus on the passage of time, it survives as a poignant, if difficult, examination of the cost of pursuing an ideal.

The Story

Carloman, brother to the ambitious Pepin, feels a divine calling that renders his earthly crown "phantasmal." He longs for a life of pure spirit, believing he can find God in the wilderness or a cloister. Despite the protests of his wife, Geneviva, who is caught in her own cycle of longing and grief, and the warnings of his brother, Carloman flees to a monastery to seek "Eternity."

The escape is short-lived. Carloman finds that the monastery is not a place of spiritual expansion but one of "small dues of speech and habit." He is treated as a curiosity, a "marvel" for pilgrims to gaze upon, and his attempts at prayer are interrupted by the rigid, buzzing routine of the monks. He becomes a prisoner of his own vows, eventually clashing with the Prior, Damiani, and Pope Zacharias. The Pope, a man of iron will, insists on discipline, while the Lombard King, Astolph, emerges as a chaotic counterpoint, mocking the monks and reveling in the very worldly power Carloman tried to discard.

As the narrative progresses, the characters converge in a tragic tangle of motives. Marcomir, a nobleman who once loved Geneviva, seeks refuge in the same monastery, torn between his desire for her and his own religious penance. Geneviva, abandoned by her husband, descends into a desperate, cynical life of indulgence, yet she remains haunted by the man who left her. When Astolph eventually invades, he offers Carloman a path out of his monastic prison. Carloman, disillusioned by the Church’s failure to grasp his vision of a God who "becomes" rather than remains static, accepts his status as a renegade.

The final act moves to a prison in Vienne, where Carloman is held as a heretic. His wife dies in the river, a final, cold release from the world that failed them both. Marcomir, now a poet, vows to carry the story of their suffering into the world, transforming their tragedy into song. Carloman, facing death in chains, refuses to repent. He finds his final peace not in the Church's dogma, but in a defiant affirmation of the "name of Time," dying with a toast to the fellowship and pleasure of the life he was forced to abandon.

How It Unfolds

The call to leave Carloman paces his palace, haunted by the belief that his royal duties are a hollow mask. He seeks the blessing of Boniface to abandon his throne and his wife, Geneviva, convinced that true sovereignty lies in the service of God.

The monastic disillusionment The promise of spiritual freedom collapses under the weight of communal rules and the prying eyes of the public. Carloman finds himself a "caged animal" rather than a seeker of the divine, clashing with the Prior who demands strict, silent obedience.

The collision of worlds The Pope, Zacharias, intervenes, attempting to bind the rebellious king to his vows. Meanwhile, the arrival of the worldly, golden-haired Astolph shatters the quietude of the cloister, highlighting the absurdity of the monks' "sackcloth-bag" existence.

The final rejection Labeled a heretic and a rebel, Carloman is imprisoned for his refusal to submit to the Pope’s authority. He rejects the Church's demands for repentance, clinging to his view that God is found in the fluid, changing moments of human life.

The release of death With Geneviva dead and the structures of his former life dissolved, Carloman finds a strange liberation in his final hours. He dies as he lived, asserting that the only truth is the fleeting, beautiful experience of existence itself.

The People

Carloman is the restless, feverish heart of the drama. He wants to touch the "great reality" of God, but his desire for absolute, unencumbered experience makes him an impossible subject for any earthly power. He begins as a king and ends as an exile, having discarded everything to protect the sanctity of his own inner change.

Geneviva is the tragic anchor of the story. She wants to be loved and understood, but she is abandoned by her husband for a cold, monastic ideal. Her evolution from a neglected wife to a woman living in defiance of the world she was forced into is the most human tragedy of the book; she remains a victim of the men who use her as a proxy for their own moral battles.

Pepin is the pragmatic foil. He wants order, power, and the stability of the Frankish throne. He serves as the voice of the world that Carloman rejects, and his eventual disowning of his brother marks the final break between the visionary and the ruler.

Pope Zacharias represents the immovable wall of the Church. He demands "changeless hours" and absolute obedience, viewing Carloman’s spiritual fluidity as a dangerous madness. He does not want to save Carloman’s soul so much as he wants to break his will, ensuring that no individual ego threatens the institutional peace.

In Its Own Voice

Carloman describes his frustration with the repetitive, hollow nature of the life he has chosen, as the monastery offers him routine instead of the divine presence he craves:

"There is a glorious Betterness at work / Amid the highways and the solitudes; / I would be with it--in obscurity."

Carloman later defends his refusal to be bound by his past oaths, arguing that human growth makes such permanent pledges an illusion:

"We make these fetters for ourselves, and then / We grow and burst them."

What It's Really About

The central question is whether a human life can ever be truly free if it is defined by institutional, religious, or marital expectations. The book argues that "Time" is the true medium of the divine—that God, like life itself, is not a fixed, static entity to be worshiped in a vacuum, but a process of constant becoming. The tragedy lies in the conflict between this fluid, individual experience and the rigid, structural demands of the Church and State. It is a defense of the "changeful" nature of the human spirit against any system that seeks to force a person to be the same today as they were yesterday.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the intense, philosophical dramas of the early 20th century will find much to admire here. The language is rich and rhythmic, reflecting a period that valued the weight and texture of every line. It is not an "easy" read; the dialogue is often dense with theological and existential yearning, and the archaic settings may require a moment of adjustment for a modern reader. However, the feeling of the book—the sense of a man suffocating under the weight of his own idealism—is strikingly universal.

The text is particularly potent in its exploration of the "caged" life. Whether it is the monastery or the palace, the characters are constantly struggling against the roles forced upon them. The ending, where a dying man finds his only peace in the memory of wine and the flowing of a river, leaves a lingering sense of melancholy. It will appeal to those who value literature that does not provide neat, happy endings but instead honors the complex, often broken attempts of individuals to define their own lives. If you are drawn to stories about the cost of conviction and the crushing weight of institutional expectation, this work offers a deep, challenging, and profoundly human perspective that has not faded with time.