He, too, could fly a little. So once, when he was nowhere to be found,
the monks of the convent at last discovered him in the church, "raised
so high above the ground that his head touched the ceiling." This is not
a bad performance for a mere lad, as he then was. And how useful this
gift became in old age was seen when, being almost incapable of moving
his legs, and with body half paralysed, he was nevertheless enabled to
accompany a procession for the length of two miles on foot, walking, to
the stupefaction of thousands of spectators, at about a cubit's height
above the street, on air; after the fashion of those Hindu gods whose
feet - so the pagans fable - are too pure to touch mortal earth.
His love of poverty, moreover, was so intense that even after his death
a picture of him, which his relatives had tried to attach to the wall in
loving remembrance, repeatedly fell down again, although nailed very
securely; nor did it remain fixed until they realized that its costly
gilt frame was objectionable to the saint in heaven, and accordingly
removed it. No wonder the infant Jesus was pleased to descend from the
breast of Mary and take rest for several hours in the arms of Saint
Giangiuseppe, who, on being disturbed by some priestly visitor,
exclaimed, "O how I have enjoyed holding the Holy Babe in my arms!" This
is an old and favourite motif; it occurs, for example, in the Fioretti
of Saint Francis; there are precedents, in fact, for all these divine
favours.
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