One of my fave parts from Les Misérables

HOW ATTENDANCE AT MASS MAY CREATE A REVOLUTIONARY

Marius knew that he had a father, but that was all he knew. His mother died in 1815, when he was 5. No one had told him more. However, the whisperings and muttered asides in the society his grandfather frequented had made an impression on the child's mind and he had come by degrees to think of his father with a sense of shame and with no desire to know him. He was
persuaded that his father had no affection for him: why else should he have abandoned him to take care of others? Feeling himself unloved, he gave no affection in return; to him it was as simple as that. Thus he grew up.
In 1827, when he reached the age of 17, he came home one evening to find his grandfather awaiting with a letter in his hand.
"You are to go to Vernon tomorrow to see your father. It seems that he's ill. He wants to see you."
Marius might, in fact, have left that evening and been with his father next morning. But neither his grandfather nor he thought to inquire. He reached Vernon at dusk next evening. Arrived at the house, he rang the bell and a woman opened the door.
"Is this where Monsieur Pontmercy lives? I'm his son. He's expecting me."
"Not any longer," said the woman.
There were 3 men in the house. The first 2 were the doctor and a priest; the 3rd, in his nightshirt, lying on the floor, was his father. He had been attacked by brain-fever 3 days before and that evening had risen from his bed, crying in delirium, "My son is late. I must go to meet him." He had collapsed in the ante-chamber and there had died. His eye was sightless and
a tear on his pallid cheek had not yet dried: it was the measure of his son's delay.
Marius stood looking down at the man whom he was seeing for the first and last time. The grief he felt was no greater than the grief he would have felt in the presence of any dead man. Was it his fault that he had not loved his father?
Directly the funeral was over, he returned to Paris and resumed his studies, giving no more thought to his father than if he had never lived. He wore a black band on his hat, and that was all.
Clung to the religious habits of his childhood, he went regularly to hear Mass at Saint Sulpice, in the little lady chapel where he had always sat with his aunt; but one day in a fit of absentmindedness he seated himself unthinkingly behind a pillar on a chair bearing the name of the churchwarden. The service had scarcely begun when an old man approached to
him and said, "That is my place."
Marius hastily moved and the old man took his seat. At the end of the service he again approached him. "You must forgive me for having disturbed you and for now taking up a minute of your time. You must have thought me uncivil. I should like to explain why I have a particular fondness of that place. It was from there that for some years, at interval of 2 or 3 months,
I watched an unhappy father who had no other opportunity of observing his son because he was debarred by a family compact from doing so. He came at the time where he knew the boy would be taken to the Mass. He loved him deeply as I could not help seeing. There was a father-in-law and a wealthy aunt who threatened to disinherit the boy if he had any contact with his
parent. The father sacrificed himself for the sake of his son's future happiness. It was all to do with politics. Of course people must have political opinions, but there are some who go too far. It is not a sufficient reason for separating a father from his child. He died not long ago. He lived at Vernon. I forget his name--- Pontmarie or Montpercy or something of the kind."
"The name is Pontmercy," said Marius who had turned pale. "He was my father."
The churchwarden stared at him and exclaimed, "So you're the child! Well, of course, you would be grown up by now. My dear lad, you had a father who greatly loved you."


(Victor Hugo)