Oh, cursed, cursed be the day, when, as I bent over my work, sullen with hate and despair, because, in spite of my incessant labor, I and mine wanted for everything, the Savior passed before my door. Reviled, insulted, covered with blows, hardly able to sustain the weight of his heavy cross, He asked me to let Him rest a moment on my stone bench. The sweat poured from His forehead, His feet were bleeding, He was well-nigh sinking with fatigue, and He said to me, in a mild, heart-piercing voice: ‘I suffer!’ ‘And I too suffer,’ I replied, as with harsh anger I pushed Him from the place; ‘I suffer, and no one comes to help me! I find no pity, and will give none. Go on! go on!’ Then, with a deep sigh of pain, He answered, and spake this sentence: ‘Verily, thou shalt go on till the day of thy redemption, for so wills the Father which art in heaven!’ And so my punishment began…