When the people were accused in such a way, they seemed at last to be about to rise in resistance. An angry muttering passed through the ranks.
“The image is holy,” one cried. “When he came San Pasquale’s bells rang all day.”
“Could they ring for less time to warn you of such a misfortune?” rejoined the monk.
He went on with his accusations with growing violence. “You are idolaters, not Christians. You serve him because he helps you. There is nothing of the spirit of holiness in you.”
“He has been kind and merciful, like Christ,” answered the people.
“Is not just that the misfortune?” said the Father, and now all of a sudden he was terrible in his wrath. “He has taken the likeness of Christ to lead you astray. In that way he has been able to weave his web about you. By scattering gifts and blessings over you, he has lured you into his net and made you slaves of the world. Or is it not so? Perhaps some one can come forward and say the contrary? Perhaps he has heard that some one who is not present to-day has prayed to the image for a heavenly grace.”
“He has taken away the power of a jettatore,” said one.
“Is it not he who is as great in evil as the jettatore who has power over him?” answered the father, bitterly.
They made no other attempts to defend the image. Everything that they said seemed only to make the matter worse.