Jerusalem was fallen, and the kingdom of the Christians was at last at an end. It had lasted eighty-eight years. It had seen the exploits of six valiant, prudent, and chivalrous kings. It was supported during all its existence solely by the strength and ability of its kings; it fell to pieces at once when its king, a poor leper, lost his authority with his strength. Always corrupt, always self-seeking, the Christians of the East became a by-word and proverb at last for treachery, meanness, and cowardice. It was time that a realm so degraded from its high and lofty aims should perish; there was no longer any reason why it should continue to live; the Holy City might just as well be kept by the Saracens, for the Christians were not worthy. They had succeeded in trampling the name of Christian in the dust; the Cross which they protected was their excuse for every treachery and baseness which a licentious priest could be bribed to absolve. The tenets and preaching of their faith were not indeed forgotten by them, for they had never been known; there was nothing in their lives by which the Saracens could judge the religion of Christ to be aught but the blindest worship of a piece of wood and a gilded cross; while the worst among them—the most rapacious, the most luxurious, the most licentious, the most haughty, the most perjured—were the very men, the priests and the knights of the orders, sworn to chastity, to self-denial, to godliness. It appears to us that Christianity might have had a chance in the East against Islam but for the Christians; and had men like Saladin been able to comprehend what was the religion which, like an ancient painting begrimed and overladen with dirt and dust, lay under all the vices and basenesses of the Christianity they witnessed, the world would at least have been spared some of the bitterness of its religious wars. As for Guy de Lusignan, it matters very little what became of that poor creature. He made one or two feeble attempts to get back something of his kingdom, but always failed. He finally sold his title to King Richard, in exchange for that of King of Cyprus, and ruled in great tranquillity in his new kingdom for a year, when he died. So disastrous an event as the fall of Jerusalem must needs be accompanied by signs and wonders from heaven. On the day that the city surrendered, one of the monks of Argenteuil, as he remembered afterwards, saw the moon descend from heaven to earth. It is remarkable that nothing was said at the time of this very curious phenomenon. In many churches the crucifixes shed tears of blood, which was their customary and recognised way of expressing regret when the monks thought anything was going wrong with the power of the Church. And a Christian knight saw in a dream an eagle flying over an army, holding seven javelins in its claws, and crying, “Woe, woe to Jerusalem.” CHAPTER XV. THE THIRD CRUSADE.