Savoie qu'on est jamais fait en pierre_"[78] was restored to its former condition. Some few years ago the Republic suppressed the chaplains, and re-converted the church into what the Parisian press fondly calls "their Westminster"; and the next _grand homme_ who was laid in "the most lovely _gâteau de Savoie_" was, oddly enough, Victor Hugo himself. He was buried there immediately after his death; but it is not likely that posterity will ever wish to reverse our judgment of the poet's greatness, or look upon him as anything but one of France's noblest sons. The sculptures of the pediment, representing that sentimental personage La Patrie accompanied by Liberty and History, are by David d'Angers. La Patrie is throwing crowns about to its great men; Liberty is fabricating the crowns, and History is religiously writing up the names, that there may be no mistake. Civilians stand on the right, _messieurs les militaires_ are relegated to the left, while several young men and youths are labouring vigorously in order to attain in the future their right to be amongst the elect. It is no case of Angels and scales, no weighing of good and bad deeds; the services of Madame la Justice are not even required; it is simply Patriotism which selects and serves up for glory those who have deserved well of their country. The bas-reliefs of the peristyle are by Nanteuil. Here La Patrie, holding a palm in one hand, is guiding with the other one of her sons who has died in her service; while Renown is puffing away at a trumpet to herald forth the deeds of this devoted hero. In another bas-relief Art and Science are honouring the country by their works; a warrior is, one knows not why, refusing the crown tendered to him; and a woman, representing Study and Intellect, is propounding the advantages of Education to the mothers who have brought their children to Madame la Patrie. The bronze doors are the work of Destouches, and recall, in style of ornamentation, those of Ghiberti at Florence. The interior is, no doubt, grand. Originally lighted by windows in the walls, it is now somewhat dark and sombre, suitable to a temple for the repose of the dead. The walls have been covered with paintings, which partially relieve the dull monotony of the stone; but a building devoid of sunlight must of necessity be gloomy in a city the sky over which is, for half the year, grey and colourless. Although the first of the 425 steps leading to the summit of the dome is upon the level of the top of the towers of Notre-Dame, the view is not nearly so interesting as from the latter. There is no river winding at our feet, and none of those guardian monsters who gaze at the city from the heights of the cathedral.