Upon the many other things worth seeing in that Salle des Gardes, I have no time to dwell; also the reader will find them catalogued in any guide. But one or two I will mention. The most striking of all, perhaps, is the magnificent chimney-piece, built in 1504, after the great fire, which, in 1502, destroyed all the decorations and the original ceiling of the chamber. On the walls are two gorgeous altarpieces in wood-gilt, done by a Flemish artist, Jacques de Baerze, to the order of Philippe le Bon, in 1391. The subjects of one are: The Execution of John the Baptist, The Martyrdom of St. Catherine; and the Temptation of St. Anthony. Those of the other include the Adoration of the Magi, Calvary, and the Entombment. All the figures, especially the Roman soldiery, in very mediæval clothing, playing dice for Christ's vesture at the foot of the Cross, and the weeping relatives, are treated with the usual vivacity and realism of the Burgundian school; the whole is decorated with flamboyant Gothic detail of richness unrivalled, so far as I am aware, by any similar work, excepting, possibly, the famous rétable at the Eglise de Brou. The painting and gilding of the volets is by Melchior Broederlam, court painter to Philippe le Hardi.
There are also two charming sixteenth century renaissance doors, from the Palais de Justice, carved with the most perfect arabesques, and a torso by Hugues Sambin, the famous architect who built the curious façade of the Eglise St. Michel. The guide will point out to you, in the centre cabinets, St. Bernard's Cup, the cross of his friend St. Robert, who received him when he first came to Citeaux, and other good relics, including a cast of a skull, said to be that of Jean sans Peur, with a slit in it—the slit through which the English entered France, as our guide sagely remarked. The epigram earned for him the respect due to an homme instruit, until he proffered the information that the église Notre Dame is not a thirteenth century church!
If you want to get an idea of Dijon in mediæval times, study the sixteenth century tapestry in this salle. It shows a walled city with many churches, most of which have now disappeared. Indeed, with the exception of the Tour du Logis du Roi, or Tour de la Terrasse, beneath which you are standing at the moment, very few of the buildings are easily recognisable. The subject represents the siege of the City by the Swiss. The black virgin, now, I believe, in the Eglise Notre Dame, has been borne out to assist in the relief of the City, and the mayor of the town is in negotiation with the enemy. They covenanted to raise the siege for a specified sum; but were foolish enough to depart without the cash, which, consequently was never paid.
The remainder of the musée installed in the Palace has little that is of first-rate interest, except, the ducal kitchen, some good Burgundian altarpieces, and a large collection of modern statues, chiefly by the Burgundian Rude (1784-1855).[168] Among hundreds of inferior pictures, I was most interested in three paintings of Dijon Castle, in salle 8, by G. P. H. Jeanniot. Dijon Castle does not now exist. If the reader can endure more history, I will tell him the reason why.
If you will walk down the Rue de la Liberté, in this town, and turn, two hundred yards or so below the arch, along one of the narrow streets to the left, you will emerge on to a large place, in the centre of which stands a great, white building. That white building, the Post Office, occupies the site of the Castle, which, until a few years ago, stood as a memento of the end of the Valois Dukes. Dijon, however, now grown to be a great and prosperous city, a centre of the wine trade, is more concerned with the development of her industries than with her historical monuments; consequently, when a new Post Office was needed, the authorities came to the conclusion that a castle so centrally situate must go.[169] It went: but its memories remain. Its story is that of the final struggle between Burgundy and France, between Charles le Téméraire and Louis XI., respective champions of the old order and the new.[169]
These rivals were not well matched. It was the unequal combat of the matador against the bull. Charles, though a prince of great charm and ability, endowed with the dual qualities of scholar and general, was still but a man of his time. If he possessed the virtues of the middle ages—courage, daring, resolution,—he shared also its defects—pride, obstinacy, shortsightedness, boundless ambition, and a touch, perhaps, of the hereditary insanity of the House of Valois. Dreams of more than feudal glory, of empire, even, dazzled him.
His father had been "Philip the Good"; the son should be Alexander the Great. "Si grand et si puissant qu'il put être conducteur et meneur des autres." He would re-establish in greater glory, with wider bounds, the ancient Kingdom of Burgundy. And France! He reckoned without France. It was not within the power of this man to fathom nor to play move for move against such an opponent as Louis. He had held the king in his grasp once,[170] and had let him go. The opportunity would never recur.
Patient, untiring Louis, touched, just as his rival was, with insanity, endowed with more than the common cunning of his type, possessed a mind as modern, almost, in essentials, as was that of Bacon half a century later. He foresaw clearly enough the coming death of feudalism, and, while waiting wolf-like, to prey upon the corpse, he bent his mind to the wider constructive processes of a subtler, more Machiavellian policy.