Italy, there now remained only two women, Bonifazio’s widow Beatrice, and his daughter Matilda.  Beatrice married Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine, who was recognised by Henry IV. as her husband and as feudatory of the Empire in the full place of Boniface.  He died about 1070; and in this year Matilda was married by proxy to his son, Godfrey the Hunchback, whom, however, she did not see till the year 1072.  The marriage was not a happy one; and the question has even been disputed among Matilda’s biographers whether it was ever consummated.  At any rate it did not last long; for Godfrey was killed at Antwerp in 1076.  In this year Matilda also lost her mother, Beatrice, who died at Pisa, and was buried in the cathedral.

By this rapid enumeration of events it will be seen how the power and honours of the House of Canossa, including Tuscany, Spoleto, and the fairest portions of Lombardy, had devolved upon a single woman of the age of thirty at the moment when the fierce quarrel between Pope and Emperor began in the year 1076.  Matilda was destined to play a great, a striking, and a tragic part in the opening drama of Italian history.  Her decided character and uncompromising course of action have won for her the name of ‘la gran donna d’Italia,’ and have caused her memory to be blessed or execrated, according as the temporal pretensions and spiritual tyranny of the Papacy may have found supporters or opponents in posterity.  She was reared from childhood in habits of austerity and unquestioning piety.  Submission to the Church became for her not merely a rule of conduct, but a passionate enthusiasm.  She identified herself with the cause of four successive Popes, protected her idol, the terrible and iron-hearted Hildebrand, in the time of his adversity; remained faithful to his principles after his death; and having served the Holy See with all her force and all that she possessed through all her lifetime, she bequeathed her vast dominions to it on her deathbed.  Like some of the greatest mediaeval characters—­like Hildebrand himself—­Matilda was so thoroughly of one piece, that she towers above the mists of ages with the massive grandeur of an incarnated idea.  She is for us the living statue of a single thought, an undivided impulse, the more than woman born to represent her age.  Nor was it without reason that Dante symbolised in her the love of Holy Church; though students of the ‘Purgatory’ will hardly recognise the lovely maiden, singing and plucking flowers beside the stream of Lethe, in the stern and warlike chatelaine of Canossa.  Unfortunately we know but little of Matilda’s personal appearance.  Her health was not strong; and it is said to have been weakened, especially in her last illness, by ascetic observances.  Yet she headed her own troops, armed with sword and cuirass, avoiding neither peril nor fatigue in the quarrels of her master Gregory.  Up to the year 1622 two strong suits of mail were preserved at Quattro Castelli, which were said to have been worn by her in battle, and which were afterwards sold on the market-place at Reggio.  This habit of donning armour does not, however, prove that Matilda was exceptionally vigorous; for in those savage times she could hardly have played the part of heroine without participating personally in the dangers of warfare.