his native place. Chatillon-sur-Marne, one of the loveliest little
towns in the valley of the Marne, situated about twenty miles from
Reims. Early in 1887 this monument was completed, and on July 21 in that
year it was unveiled with a solemn ceremonial in the presence of the
Cardinal Archbishop of Reims, of the Papal Nuncio at Paris, and of many
French bishops, among them the great orator of the Chamber of Deputies,
Monseigneur Freppel, Bishop of Angers. He delivered a most impressive
discourse on the significance of the Crusades, every sentence of which
was weighted with pregnant allusions to the actual condition of
religious liberty in France. These allusions were curiously emphasised
by the absence of the Bishop of Orleans, detained at his post in the
city of 'Jeanne d'Arc' by the sudden 'laicisation' of the schools in his
diocese!

The day was what a perfect day in the summer of Northern France can be.
The scene might have been planned by a poet or a painter. There are
other Chatillons in France more famous in history, and held in higher
honour therefore by those useful men the makers of guide-books, than
Chatillon-sur-Marne; and it is in the nature of all castles to stand on
picturesque sites, as of great rivers to flow by large towns. But
neither the Chatillon which saw the birth of the Admiral de Coligny, nor
the Chatillon which saw Napoleon throw away his sceptre with his
scabbard, stands more beautifully than the quiet little town which
nestles on its green plateau beneath the still majestic ruins of the
chateau in which the great Pope of the Crusades was born. It overlooks,
in the verdant valley of the Marne, the ancient priory of Binson,
superbly renovated now, and restored in great measure through the zeal
and energy of the Benedictine Archbishop of Reims. Around it sweeps a
great circle of green and wooded hills, dotted over with fair mansions
and lordly parks. For this province of Champagne is a land of wealth as
well as of labour.

From a shattered tower of the old feudal fortress floated side by side
the flags of France and of the Holy See. Beside the ruins rose, sharply
defined and well detached against the summer sky, the colossal statue of
Urban II. upon its lofty pedestal of granite. About it were arrayed in a
pomp of colour and of flowing vestments, the host of ecclesiastics drawn
together to do homage and honour in the sight of all men to the
illustrious French pontiff, whom the Church found not u