In 1539, an event occurred which fundamentally affected the Marquess Don Francisco. He and his wife the Marchioness Doña Leonor, were lord- and lady-in-waiting to Caesar’s wife, the Empress Doña Isabella. While Caesar was at Toledo trying to wring a grant of money from the Cortes of Castile, a sudden illness took the Empress, and she died. The Marquess and Marchioness of Lombay were entrusted with the duty of bringing the imperial corpse for burial to Elvira. There, was performed the ceremony of verification. Before the opened coffin, the Marquess Don Francisco was required to swear before the magistracy, that its contents were the mortal relics of the Empress Isabella. Corruption had set in, completely ravaging the dead: the face was like no human face and totally unrecognizable. The Marquess Don Francisco swore, not from recognition, but from knowledge that the coffin had never left his care. But a permanent impression scathed and branded him. He saw Death the Inevitable, the Horrible. Life at its highest and best, such as he himself enjoyed, offered no equivalent to, no consolation for, the end which none escape. He resolved to qualify for life eternal. Perhaps the most prominent note in the Spanish character is singlemindedness. It can pursue a single aim with a concentration of energy, with a fulness and pertinacity of unwavering will which is simply astounding. Is it kind and noble: the kind nobility of Don Quixote de la Mancha exemplifies Spanish ideal. Is it cruel: the ruthless remorseless impersonal cruelty of Torquemada makes worlds to wince. Is it pious: it achieves complete disagreeable detachment of soul from every earthly sentiment, possession, hope, desire. Is it impious: a Spaniard will ravish an abbess of eighty, the corpse of a virginal novice, the statue of Truth. Is it gay: no lark in the sun on the morning of Easter is gayer. Is it gloomy: black moonless night, unstarred, brooding on pools obscure, shadowed by funeral pines, is not more fathomless than the deep depth of gloom veiling sad Spanish eyes. The sight of the dead Empress Isabella drew that veil across the joy of living, for the Marquess Don Francisco. He resolved to abjure the world: he prayed that God would shew the way, and break the bonds that bound him there. He was of the age of nine and twenty years.