But there is no need to quote from so well-known md
accessible a book; whoever opens it will not lay it down il] the last
page. Cardano admits that he cheated at play, that e was vindictive,
incapable of all compunction, purposely cruel in his speech. He
confesses it without impudence and without feigned contrition, without
even wishing to make himself an object of interest, but with the same
simple and sincere love of fact which guided him in his scientific
researches. And, what is to us the most repulsive of all, the old man,
after the most shocking experiences and with his confidence in his
fellowmen gone, finds himself after all tolerably happy and
comfortable. He has still left him a grandson, immense learning, the
fame of his works, money, rank and credit, powerful friends, the
knowledge of many secrets, and, best of all, belief in God. After this,
he counts the teeth in his head, and finds that he was fifteen.
Yet when Cardano wrote, Inquisitors and Spaniards were already busy in
Italy, either hindering the production of such natures, or, where they
existed, by some means or other putting them out of the way. There lies
a gulf between this book and the memoirs of Alfieri.
Yet it would be unjust to close this list of autobiographers without
listening to a word from one man who was both worthy and happy.
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