Tags :Epic

Early October 1815, in the southern French town of Digne. A stranger—bald, bearded, carrying a worn sack and rough stick—knocked on Bishop Myriel’s door. He had walked twelve leagues that day, enduring insults and threats along the way. The Alpine night wind cut through the holes in his clothes, attacking him from all sides. He carried a yellow passport (the identifying document given to convicts on parole), 109 francs in savings, and a soul writhing in pain and hatred. Bishop Myriel welcomed the stranger. “You need not tell me who you are. This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not ask those who enter whether they have a name, but whether they...

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The night lay heavy and thick, without a trace of starlight. An old man reclined in his armchair, his snow-white hair like a brilliant lamp burning against the darkness. He struggled for breath, his body suffused with an indescribable pain. Death was drawing near, yet he felt no fear, for he could sense something burning hot beside him—that something was love. This old man was Jean Valjean, a “villain” who did good, a convict whose body housed a soul overflowing with compassion. Kind and generous, willing to destroy himself rather than harm his enemy, he saved those who had struck him down. Kneeling at the lofty altar of virtue, he transcended the mundane world and drew close to the angels....

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