sovereign, and murdered at the instance of Theodora’s daughter, Marozia; John XI., illegitimate son of the same Marozia, and of the celibate pontiff, Sergius III.; Boniface VII. expelled, banished, returning and murdering the reigning pope:  what avails it to chronicle these monsters?  Below the popes, a clergy as vicious as their rulers, squandering money, plundered from the people in dissoluteness and luxury.  And the people, what of them?

As late as A.D. 1430 the houses of the peasantry were “constructed of stones put together without mortar; the roofs were of turf—­a stiffened bull’s-hide served for a door.  The food consisted of coarse vegetable products, such as peas, and even the bark of trees.  In some places they were unacquainted with bread.  Cabins of reeds plastered with mud, houses of wattled stakes, chimneyless peat fires, from which there was scarcely an escape for the smoke, dens of physical and moral pollution swarming with vermin, wisps of straw twisted round the limbs to keep off the cold, the ague-stricken peasant with no help except shrine-cure,” i.e., cure by the touching bone of saint, or image of virgin (Draper’s “Conflict between Religion and Science,” p. 265).  Even among the wealthy, the life was coarse and rough; carpets were unknown; drainage never thought of.  The Anglo-Saxon “’nobles, devoted to gluttony and voluptuousness, never visited the church, but the matins and the mass were read over to them by a hurrying priest in their bed-chambers, before they rose, themselves not listening.  The common people were a prey to the more powerful; their property was seized, their bodies dragged away to distant countries; their maidens were either thrown into a brothel or sold for slaves.  Drinking, day and night, was the general pursuit:  vices, the companions of inebriety, followed, effeminating the manly mind.’  The baronial castles were dens of robbers.  The Saxon chronicler [William of Malmesbury, from whom the quotation above] records how men and women were caught and dragged into those strongholds, hung up by their thumbs or feet, fire applied to them, knotted strings twisted round their heads, and many other torments inflicted to extort ransom” (Ibid, p. 266).  When the barons had nearly finished their evil lives, the church stepped in, claiming her share of the plunder and the wealth thus amassed, and opening the gates of paradise to the dying thief.  The cities were as wretched as their inhabitants:  no paving, no cleaning, no lighting.  In the country the old Roman roads were unmended, unkept; Europe was slipping backwards into uttermost barbarism.  Meanwhile things were very different where the blighting power of Christianity was not in the ascendant.  “Europe at the present day does not offer more taste, more refinement, more elegance, than might have been seen, at the epoch of which we are speaking, in the capitals of the Spanish Arabs.  Their streets were lighted and solidly paved.  The houses were frescoed and carpeted;