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105 pages

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Publié par	St. Benedict Press LLC
Date de parution	25 octobre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781505123241
Langue	English

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Extrait

The Story of Saint Genevieve
Phillip Campbell
TAN Books Gastonia, North Carolina
Matron of Paris: The Story of Saint Genevieve © 2022 Phillip Campbell
All rights reserved. With the exception of short excerpts used in critical review, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in any form whatsoever, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Creation, exploitation, and distribution of any unauthorized editions of this work, in any format in existence now or in the future—including but not limited to text, audio, and video—is prohibited without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by David Ferris—www.davidferrisdesign.com.
Cover image by Jim Starr.
Interior illustrations by Blueberry Illustrations www.blueberryillustrations.com .
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022939052 ISBN: 978-1-5051-2322-7 Kindle ISBN: 978-1-5051-2323-4 ePUB ISBN: 978-1-5051-2324-1
Published in the United States by TAN Books PO Box 269 Gastonia, NC 28053 www.TANBooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
To Jesse Griffiths, In thanksgiving for her feedback, prayers, and lively interest in this project
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1: All Is Quiet in Nanterre Tonight
Chapter 2: The Visit of Germanus
Chapter 3: The Words Are Inside of Me
Chapter 4: If Only Life Were Always Such as This
Chapter 5: The Noose Tightens
Chapter 6: The Enemy Rears Its Head
Chapter 7: Saint Genevieve of Paris
Chapter 8: No Earthly Eden
Chapter 9: A Desperate Plan
Chapter 10: The Siege of Paris
Chapter 11: They Return with Shouts of Joy
Chapter 12: She Is No Saint
Chapter 13: The Lord Is a Man of War
Chapter 14: The Alpha and the Omega
Chapter 15: A Word of Wisdom
Afterword
Introduction
S aint Genevieve of Paris was one of the most extraordinary saints of the Early Middle Ages. The dates of her life are contested—some place her birth around 419 and her death in 512, while others assign her a slightly shorter life from around 422 to 500. Regardless, it’s certain that she lived during a time of profound transformation as the Western Roman Empire was collapsing. Born a citizen of the Roman Empire, she died a subject of the medieval Kingdom of France. Living in this part of the world at this point in history brought her into contact with powerful, infamous, and holy people, including Saint Germanus of Auxerre, Kings Childeric and Clovis, Queen Clotilde, and many more.
Authentic sources on the life of Genevieve are scarce. A hagiography was written after her death that contains the main points covered in this book: her upbringing as a shepherdess in the village of Nanterre, her influential meeting with Saint Germanus as a girl, her religious life in Paris, and the great deeds she facilitated during the transition of Paris from Roman to Frankish control. Anything else required artistic license to fill in the gaps. Thus, this book is not a biography or history in the strict sense but a tale of historical fiction loosely woven around the few certain details we know about Genevieve (that her vocation was first identified by Saint Germanus, that she relieved Paris during a siege, that she was influential with the Frankish kings, helped build a church, etc.). But much of the specifics were the creation of my own imagination, with context supplied by what we know of the early days of the Merovingian dynasty.
Since so much has been filled in, please try not to get too hung up on dates and the convergence of different historical events. So little is known about the specifics of these events that it proved impossible to line everything up with rigorous exactitude. It is best to read this as a book of inspiration, for Saint Genevieve truly lived one of the most inspirational lives of her age or any age.
Saint Genevieve, pray for us!
C HAPTER 1
All Is Quiet in Nanterre Tonight
T he River Seine wound cross the bleak country like a gray serpent. Wind rattled the branches of the ancient oaks along the riverside, dropping the last of their colorful autumn leaves into the flowing current. Little Genevieve rubbed her fingers together and breathed on her hands. Her woolen shawl did little to keep out the cold, but she and her father, Severus, had not expected to be out this long. He struggled over the half-frozen mud along the Seine’s banks, his eyes scanning the ground.
“The tracks lead this way,” he grumbled, pointing to an embankment that jutted out into the river some distance ahead. He trudged forward, stumbling and falling into the mire, his legs now browned in mud from the knees down. “When I catch him, he’ll be dinner!”
Genevieve could not help but snicker. Her father was prone to grumbling and bouts of anger, but at heart he was a good man. “You’re not going to butcher him,” she said. “We need his wool to sell to the duke.”
“Depends,” shrugged Severus. “If I have to stay out here much longer, Duke Victorinus’s army is going to be a few tunics short this spring.”
“Papa, I think I see him!” Genevieve pointed. “Look past the embankment there, on that sandbar in the river.”
Severus squinted into the distance. His daughter was right. A few hundred yards up, the embankment stuck out into the Seine like a finger pointing, it seemed, to the wayward sheep.
“How did he get out there?” asked Genevieve.
“Who knows? I’ve been a shepherd all my life, and I cannot figure them out. Well, let’s go get him.”
Father and daughter pressed through the partially frosted mud toward the embankment. The wind had picked up a bit and was stinging cold. The sky was a foreboding gray blanket of cloud. Genevieve walked with her hands tucked into her armpits, her blond hair whipped by the sporadic gusts. Severus seemed unperturbed by the cold, focused only on retrieving the animal.
As they approached the bank, they could hear the creature’s bleating. The sandbar was about twenty feet out into the river, but the water was only ankle deep.
“Dumb animal!” Severus scoffed. “It walked out to the sandbar and is too stupid to walk back.”
“That’s why sheep need a shepherd,” Genevieve said calmly.
Her father nodded. “Well, now I must do a shepherd’s duty. Wait here, child.”
He waded out into the shallow waters. Despite the muck and the cold, Genevieve was disappointed at being left behind. Trudging out to the sandbar looked like a fine little adventure. Nonetheless, she watched from the bank, her father growing more and more frustrated with each muddy step. The earth made a deep sucking sound every time he pulled one of his legs out. The animal looked blankly at Severus, bleating at him.
“A fine mess you’ve caused us today!” he yelled as he stumbled onto the sandbar. Taking the animal by the collar, he dragged it into the water. The sheep resisted, hesitant to set foot into the current. “C’mon, you blasted animal!” Severus called. But the more he pulled, the more the sheep dug its feet in.
“Be gentle, father!” called Genevieve. “He’s scared!”
“He’s right to be!”
Severus placed both hands on the animal’s collar and yanked. But the cold had stiffened his fingers, and he could not maintain a firm grip. Severus slipped and fell flat into the water. “Arghhh!”
Genevieve hiked up her tunic above her knees and stepped into the river. She was light and small; thus, she did not sink into the mud as her father had. She reached her father quickly, helping him to his feet.
“Cursed animal!” he growled.
“He’s not cursed. He’s just confused.” She turned to the animal. “Isn’t that right?” The sheep bleated in agreement. “Poor sheep. Look at his wool, Papa! He’s covered in thorns and mud. He must have had quite a day.”
“Poor sheep? Look at me!” He gestured to his mud-drenched body.
“And poor Papa!” Genevieve said, smiling at her father. “Shall we try again?”
Genevieve remained in the river, now taking the lead from her father. Together, they were able to coax the sheep slowly to follow them. Genevieve’s tunic eventually became as muddy and wet as her father’s clothes, but they finally reached the shore.
“Let’s hurry,” said Severus, shivering. “It’s starting to get dark, but maybe we can still get back to Nanterre in time for supper.”

Father, daughter, and sheep gravitated away from the river in search of firmer ground. The road home ran parallel to the Seine, a crushed gravel path connecting Nanterre with Paris and the towns beyond. Genevieve’s feet were soaked and painfully cold. She tried to distract herself by looking at the scenery, the land stretched up from the Seine in a broad, sloping field dotted with shrubs, lined at the crest with cypresses.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far down the road,” Genevieve said, looking up to her father.
“I think not. And that is the way it should be. This road is no place for an eight-year-old girl to be.”
“Why, Papa?”
“Let’s just keep moving.”
Genevieve knew when to not press her father too hard on something. She pulled her shawl over her head as she’d seen the old peasant women do, to calm her hair flapping in the wind and shield her from the cold.
I can’t wait to sit by the fire at home and eat some hot dinner, she thought.

Several minutes later, a low rumble came up the road from behind them. Genevieve started to turn, but Severus grabbed her by the arm. “Get off the road.”
“Why?”
“Just move,” he ordered. With Genevieve’s arm in one hand and the sheep collar in the other, Severus dragged the party off the road as the rumbling came closer. It soon became clear it was the sound of horses galloping.
“Who’s coming, Papa?”
“Hush, child!”
He pulled his daughter down behind a thick patch of brambles and tucked the sheep under his arm, trying to keep it still. The sheep acquiesced, munching quietly on some brown grass.
The galloping grew louder . . . louder . . . louder.
Through the weeds, Severus and Genevieve saw a column of horsemen speeding up the road, riding two-by-two. They were helmeted, wearing long tunics covered in scale mail,