Fortunately Russia had a grievance against Turkey.  It was a very small one, but it was useful, and led to one of the most exciting crises in the history of Europe.  It was a question of the possession of the Holy Shrines at Bethlehem and other places which tradition associates with the birth and death of Jesus Christ; and whether the Latin or the Greek monks had the right to the key of the great door of the Church at Bethlehem, and the right to place a silver star over the grotto where our Saviour was born.  The Sultan had failed to carry out his promises in adjusting these disputed points.  And all Europe trembled when the great Prince Menschikof, with imposing suite and threatening aspect, appeared at Constantinople, demanding immediate settlement of the dispute.  Turkey was paralyzed with fright, until England sent her great diplomatist Lord Stratford de Redcliffe—­and France hers, M. de Lacour.  No simpler question was ever submitted to more distinguished consideration or was watched with more breathless interest by five sovereigns and their cabinets.  In a few days all was settled—­the questions of the shrines and of the possession of the key of the great door of the church at Bethlehem were happily adjusted.  There were only a few “business details” to arrange, and the episode would be closed.  But the trouble was not over.  Hidden away among the “business details” was the germ of a great war.  The Emperor of Russia “felt obliged to demand guarantees, formal and positive,” assuring the security of the Greek Christians in the Sultan’s dominions.  He had been constituted the Protector of Christianity in the Turkish Empire, and demanded this by virtue of that authority.  The Sultan, strengthened now by the presence of the English and French ambassadors, absolutely refused to give such guarantee, appealing to the opinion of the world to sustain him in resisting such a violation of his independence and of his rights.  In vain did Lord Stratford exchange notes and conferences with Count Nesselrode and Prince Menschikof and the Grand Vizier and exhaust all the arts and powers of the most skilled diplomacy.  In July, 1853, the Russian troops had invaded Turkish territory, and a French and English fleet soon after had crossed the Dardanelles,—­no longer closed to the enemies of Russia,—­had steamed by Constantinople, and was in the Bosphorus.

Austria joined England and France in a defensive though not an offensive alliance, and Prussia held entirely aloof from the conflict.

Nicholas had failed in all his calculations.  In vain had he tried to lure England into a secret compact by the offer of Egypt—­in vain had he preserved Hungary to Austria—­in vain sought to attach Prussia to himself by acts of friendship; and his Nemesis was pursuing him, avenging a long series of affronts to France.  Unsupported by a single nation, he was at war with three; and after a brilliant reign of twenty-eight years unchecked by a single misfortune, he was about to die, leaving to his empire the legacy of a disastrous war, which was to end in defeat and humiliation.