As for the kingdom of Jerusalem, it was fast tottering to its fall. The country[68] was dotted over with castles and strongholds, the owners of which had learned, since the death of Amaury, to despise the authority of the king. Moreover, the pride and power of the Templars set up a sort of rival authority. Every baron fought for his own land and for his own aggrandisement. There was no more thought of conquest and glory; they fought now for plunder only. When pilgrims arrived from the West they were made use of by the Syrian barons for their own purposes; and when they were strong enough to fight the Saracens, no treaty was sacred, no convention was kept. The cities, especially those of the sea-shore, were divided into nations, such as the Pisans, the Genoese, and the Venetians, all of whom contended with each other over their privileges, and often fought out their quarrels in the streets. The Templars and the Hospitallers bargained for their arms by demanding the cession of half a town, or a fort, in return for their services. They quarrelled with each other, with the Church, and with the king. And with the depravation of morals had come a total neglect and contempt of religion, with—of which there are a few traces—the birth of the spirit of infidelity. Men had begun to question and to compare. There were not wanting renegades to be found among the Mohammedan armies. Islam received its converts from the Christians, but it gave back none in return. Footnote 68: See Michaud, Vol. ii., p. 306. The Crusaders had embarked upon an enterprise which rested on religious enthusiasm. Religion was the salt of the kingdom which they founded. While this lasted—it lasted till the reign of Baldwin the Third—there was hope. When this died—it died in the reign of Amaury—the kingdom was lost. Every baron and every soldier was in a sense a special soldier of Christ, a kind of lay priest of the altar. He had ever before his eyes those sacred places at sight of which his fathers had wept aloud. But the handling of sacred things is profitable only so long as the heart is open to their influences. To the impure the most holy things are a mockery, the highest aims are a subject of derision. And just as a worthless priest is generally worse than a worthless layman, because he has deadened his conscience more, and religion, a familiar thing, has no longer any power to move his soul, so the degenerate soldiers of Jerusalem were worse than their fellows, coarse, rude, and sensual though these might be, beyond the sea, because for them there was nothing left which was able to touch their hearts.