The theologian said it would be a very good and holy act to build a precious marble altar inside the Church of Saint Spyridon, so that a Latin Mass could be celebrated there. And "Your Excellency may hear the Mass in your own language when you are present," he said. The theologian's advice pleased the governor, who ordered the materials to be prepared immediately. However, before the materials were prepared, he thought it appropriate to call the priests of that church (where the relics of the divine Spyridon were kept) and inquire how they could be of assistance. As soon as they received the unexpected news, they told him bluntly that it was a dangerous innovation and they had no desire to assist him in his plan. The governor angrily responded that even if they were unwilling to help, as the supreme authority, he would do as he wished and order the materials to be collected outside the saint's church without fail. Asbestos, plaster, marble, and a slab of select marbles, superbly crafted for an altar, were thus collected.
That night, in a dream, the governor saw a man in monastic robes who said to him, "Why do you bother me and why do you disturb my sons (i.e., the priests)? Know that what you intend to do is not in your best interest." At dawn, he called the theologian (i.e., the one who gave him the idea) into his room and recounted the dream to him in detail. The theologian said, "As Christians, we are not obligated in any way to believe in dreams, nor do we have to accept them as real at all. You must certainly consider this, my lord, as an obvious temptation of the devil, with which the adversary disturbs the good, to amuse himself and prevent such a pious action." The governor calmed down, fully convinced by the theologian's words. That night, the governor saw the same monk again in a dream, threatening him harshly, saying: "Know, certainly, that if you disturb my holy house, you will regret it, for it serves no purpose." The ruler was terrified by this firm decree. He no longer waited for dawn, but immediately called the theologian. He told him every detail of the vision, described his weakness of heart, and said that he was overcome by such fear that he did not dare to carry out the task. Then the theologian, raising his voice and posing nobly, said: "My lord, know that if you become timid in carrying out this holy action you have decided on, you will appear to the people as not endowed with right judgment, since you believe in dreams conjured up by the devil." The governor He was filled with courage by these words and when day broke, which was November 11, 1718, he went to the church of the saint to venerate him. He was accompanied by those of his court (along with the city engineer) to measure the area in length, width, and height for the construction of the altar. At that moment, the eldest of the priests, Marinos Voulgaris Sakellarios, and the priest in charge, Spyridon Voulgaris (the great protopresbyter), appeared before the governor and in humble voices begged him not to proceed with such a change, since it might not seem better to the saint. When he heard them, however, he flew into a rage, threatening that if they did not do as he wished and remained silent, he would send them in chains to Venice, to be thrown into prison, never to see the light of day again. "I do not intend to commit an unlawful deed," he said, "but to erect an altar, a holy work pleasing to God!" The priests were seized with despair and Terrified by his threats, they and the other Orthodox present—of whom there were many—ran to seek divine assistance. Opening the sacred reliquary of our great father, they chanted a paraklesis, shedding abundant tears, hoping to thwart the governor's evil intentions.
Around midnight on November 12, the day the craftsmen expected to begin work, lightning flashed and thunder clapped, one after another. It was then that the guard at the governor's residence saw a monk approaching with a lit torch. The guard, as was customary, asked him once, then twice: "Who are you? Where are you going?" When he received no answer, he raised his musket to kill the visitor. But then the monk replied: "I am Spyridon." As soon as he said this, he grabbed the guard by the arm and threw him with great force into Spianada Square in Corfu Town, near the Church of the Crucifixion. There, the guard found himself standing on both feet, holding his pistol as before. Immediately afterward, the saint set fire to the castle's warehouse. The extreme heat caused the buildings inside the governor's palace and everything around it to collapse. Inside, the governor was killed, his neck crushed between two beams, seemingly placed there for that purpose. The theologian was found outside the citadel walls in a ditch, into which all the squalor of the city sewer drained and flowed, with his private parts in his hands. He received a fair taste of his reward for his excellent counsel and the greatness of his policy (as a papist). Many others were also killed, men and women, some belonging to the court and some not, about nine hundred souls. Two other terrifying signs also occurred at that time.
First: That same night, a large silver oil lamp that the governor had hung before the saint's relics as an offering fell to the ground, its base shattering, despite being hung with a very strong chain. None of the numerous other oil lamps fell or suffered anything similar. And what happened to the oil lamp (or rather, its base) is still evident today, because it was hung again in the same way it was found, as evidence of what happened.
Second: At the same precise moment (as later confirmed by those who investigated the matter), a flaming arrow—a lightning bolt, to be precise—struck the governor's painting in Venice and burned it, while nothing else in the house suffered any damage. His brothers and relatives immediately interpreted this as a bad omen for the governor.
The rest of the Latin laity and clergy, or rather the "Prevedore" as they were called, the Latin bishop, other officials and private citizens, all those who lived in the city of Corfu (because it was the seat of the bishop's palace, and many others), these are those I call the others, gave orders that the aforementioned building materials be taken from the church of the Saint. They used the materials elsewhere, except for the marble slab that had been cut for the altar. This was reverently carried to their so-called "duomo," that is, the cathedral of their own metropolis, to the high altar. It can still be seen there today, propped up on its side.
The soldier who had been on guard at the castle that day awoke and cried out in a loud voice, declaring, "Saint Spyridon has done these great and terrifying things." And he recounted the entire story in minute detail. Therefore, the Latins, unwilling to bear the shame, sent him away to Italy three days later.
This is the story of the frightening and monumental event that took place in the city of Corfu, through the work of the most divine Spyridon, ready to listen and patron of the city and of the whole Church.