Oh, My Legs!

In 1540 the stone on the tomb of Saint John of Nepomuk in the cathedral of Saint Vitus sweated oil, and by that oil various sick people were healed. And in 1619, after the devastation of the cathedral, the steward of the royal pages, an Englishman by birth and a mortal enemy of all Catholics, brought two locksmiths to break the grille at Saint John's tomb. But one of them said: 'Sir, this I will not do, for I know that the place is wondrous, and I would rather go home to my own work than be punished by God for such a deed.' So he spoke and left the church. The second locksmith, however, tore the grille away on one side, and thereupon that steward leapt scornfully onto the tomb — but scarcely had he set foot on it when he was flung off it at once, as though two strong men had thrown him with the utmost violence. He fell face down on the ground and lay there helpless as one half dead, roaring terribly. When those standing by asked him what hurt him, he answered nothing but: 'Oh, my legs, oh, my legs!' After a while he tried to rise from the ground, but at once fell again and cried out more terribly still: 'I am all on fire, I shall be burnt up entirely!' When they carried him out he went on roaring until, at sunset, he wretchedly gave up his soul. And that locksmith fell down too and could not command his limbs — until he came to himself, repented of his deed and regained his former health.