Cano died in his house in the Albaicin quarter on the 5th October 1667; he was then sixty-six years old. His body rests in the Pantheon of the Canons beneath the choir of the cathedral. It is worth noting that Cano died in poverty. His disposition was generous, and the old Spanish writers tell us that his gains, as soon as he won them, were divided among his friends and among the poor. We find numerous anecdotes of his life, and one story of his death is too good not to be recorded; moreover it helps to complete our knowledge of the man. The priest summoned to offer extreme unction to the dying Cano was accustomed to labour among penitent Jews, towards whom the artist had always displayed a curiously passionate antipathy. The sick man recognised the priest. “Go, Señor Licenciado,” he cried, “go with God and do not trouble to call again: the priest who administers the Sacraments to Jews shall not administer them to me.” A fresh priest was summoned. The new-comer placed an old-fashioned crucifix in the hands that had carved so many beautiful pieces. Impatiently Cano pushed it aside. “My son,” gently remonstrated the priest, “what dost thou mean? This is the Lord who redeemed thee and must save thee!” “I know that all very well,” was Cano’s answer, “but do you want to provoke me with this wretched ill-wrought thing in order to give me over to the devil?” Cano was a gallant soul storming through life, who in spite of his violence and restlessness was loving and charitable, displaying boundless graciousness towards his friends and his pupils. No master ever took greater interest in his pupils; he gave freely to them of his knowledge and his work. These contradictions in Cano’s temperament explain his art.