objects to strangers, such as paintings and statues, of which the government much regretted the loss to the city. A few measures were passed for preventing this dispersion of private collections, but it happened only too often that priceless things were suddenly gone, leaving no trace of their destination, except in the pockets of the former owners. The Grimani family possessed some magnificent statues and a wonderful library of rare books, inherited from Cardinal Domenico Grimani, who died in 1523. Shortly before the fall of [Sidenote: _Statue of M. Agrippa; Museo Correr._] the Republic a foreigner bought the statue of Marcus Agrippa; the boat which was to take it on board an outward bound ship was at the door of the palace, and the men who were to take it down from its pedestal and box it were ready, when Cristofolo Cristofoli appeared at the entrance, gigantic and playful. He walked straight to the statue, took off his cap to it and bowed gravely before he delivered his message to the marble: ‘The Supreme Tribunal of the Inquisitors, having heard that you wish to leave this city, sends me to wish a pleasant journey, both to you and his Excellency Grimani.’ ‘His Excellency Grimani’ did not relish the idea of exile; the workmen disappeared, the boat was sent away, and the statue remained. It was destined to be left as a gift to the city by another Grimani, less avaricious than ‘His Excellency.’ In spite of his good-humour, Cristofoli inspired terror, and his mere name was often [Sidenote: _Molmenti, Studi e Ricerche._] used to lend weight to practical jokes. It is related, for instance, of the famous Montesquieu, the author of the _Esprit des Lois_ and the friend of King Stanislaus Leczinski, that when he was making notes in Venice his friend Lord Chesterfield managed to cause a mysterious message to be conveyed to him, warning him to be on his guard, as the Chief of the Ten employed spies to watch him, and Cristofoli was on his track. And thereupon, says the story, the excellent Montesquieu burned all his most compromising notes, and fled straight to Holland with the remainder of his manuscripts. The Council of Ten and their Sbirri had not yet done with the Bravi. They were numerous in the provinces, and when they were caught they were tried and hanged in Venice. The ‘Signorotti’--the rich landowners, who were not Venetian nobles, but called themselves ‘knights’--were many and prosperous, and were the professional murderers’ best clients. Indeed, the Venetian mainland provinces and much of Lombardy presented a case of arrested development; at the end of the eighteenth century they had not emerged from the barbarism of the early fifteenth.