Still, his personal history is not uninteresting.  Born of humble parents in Italy in the year 1020, the son of a carpenter, he rose by genius and virtue to the highest offices and dignities.  But his greatness was in force of character rather than original ideas,—­ like that of Washington, or William III., or the Duke of Wellington.  He had not the comprehensive intellect of Charlemagne, nor the creative genius of Peter of Russia, but he had the sagacity of Richelieu and the iron will of Napoleon.  He was statesman as well as priest,—­marvellous for his activity, insight into human nature, vast executive abilities, and dauntless heroism.  He comprehended the only way whereby Christendom could be governed, and unhesitatingly used the means of success.  He was not a great scholar, or theologian, or philosopher, but a man of action, embracing opportunities and striking decisive blows.  From first to last he was devoted to his cause, which was greater than himself,—­ even the spiritual supremacy of the Papacy.  I do not read of great intellectual precocity, like that of Cicero and William Pitt, nor of great attainments, like those of Abelard and Thomas Aquinas, nor even an insight, like that of Bacon, into what constitutes the dignity of man and the true glory of civilization; but, like Ambrose and the first Leo, he was early selected for important missions and responsible trusts, all of which he discharged with great fidelity and ability.  His education was directed by the monks of Cluny,—­that princely abbey in Burgundy where “monks were sovereigns and sovereigns were monks.”  Like all earnest monks, he was ascetic, devotional, and self-sacrificing.  Like all men ambitions to rule, “he learned how to obey.”  He pondered on the Holy Scriptures as well as on the canons of the Church.  So marked a man was he that he was early chosen as prior of his convent; and so great were his personal magnetism, eloquence, and influence that “he induced Bruno, the Bishop of Toul, when elected pope by the Emperor of Germany, to lay aside the badges and vestments of the pontifical office, and refuse his title, until he should be elected by the clergy and people of Rome,”—­thus showing that at the age of twenty-nine he comprehended the issues of the day, and meditated on the gigantic changes it was necessary to make before the pope could be the supreme ruler of Christendom.

The autocratic idea of Leo I., and the great Gregory who sent his missionaries to England, was that to which Hildebrand’s ardent soul clung with preternatural earnestness, as the only government fit for turbulent and superstitious ages.  He did not originate this idea, but he defended and enforced it as had never been done before, so that to many minds he was the great architect of the papal structure.  It was a rare spectacle to see a sovereign pontiff lay aside the insignia of his grandeur at the bidding of this monk of Cluny; it was grander to see this monk laying the foundation of an irresistible despotism,