Opposite to St. Bénigne is a typical Burgundian church of the twelfth century, with a triple porch and narthex, an octagonal tower, and a beautiful Romanesque south doorway. It is now a secular building, as are several other old churches of Dijon. You may look, as I did, through a decorated window of St. Etienne, and see a man changing his shirt!
Another church of considerable interest, from the architectural point of view, is St. Michel. I am not referring to the interior, which is, on the whole, an ineffective example of late Gothic, with clumsy vaulting ribs, and heavy, square, nave piers, rounded off by vaulting shafts at the angles—but to the façade, one of the best examples I know of Gothic design worked out in Renaissance detail, with four classical orders superposed.[176] Hugues Sambin, the architect, or reputed architect—he who did those beautiful doors for the Palace de Justice, that we have seen in the Musée—has made so harmonious a compromise of the two styles, that I wonder he has not found more imitators. The fact that others dared not follow emphasises the difficulty of the task.
But the most interesting, by far, of all the churches of Dijon, is Notre Dame, that, within hail of the Palace, and dedicated to Our Lady, enjoyed the special patronage of the Dukes. It was here that, after the great tournament at the arbre Charlemagne, in the plain south of Dijon, to be spoken of presently, the competing knights came to hang up their shields, and to render thanks to their preserver. Here, too, in 1453, after long imprisonment in the east, came Philippe Pot, whom also we shall meet again, barefooted, amidst a brilliant assemblage, to fulfil his vows to Notre Dame de Bon Espoir.
Notre Dame is a purely Burgundian Gothic church, of the thirteenth century. The interior, with its typical stiff leaf capitals, and pointed arches, is not very remarkable. The arcade round the choir is good; but the square blocks above the abaci, that take the vaulting shafts, are clumsy, and the rose windows without tracery, in the transept, are not effective. As with St. Michel, it is the exterior design that makes the church so remarkable from an architectural point of view. The triple porch—if its carvings were as good as those above—must have been very charming before the revolutionary gentlemen set to work with hammer and axe upon tympanum and arch.
Even now it is pleasing. Indeed, the west front, as seen from the Rue des Forges, though, perhaps, a little stiff, is most striking, especially when the bright sun of Burgundy is picking out in warm light and pitchy shadow the triple row of strange eager faces, that, craning their necks out over the street, gaze down upon the passers-by. These grotesque beasts, and the friezes in which they dwell, are among the best examples of Burgundian sculpture to be seen anywhere. They have all the vigour, individuality, and vivacity that are characteristic of the Province. The façade, as a whole, with its double arcade, between the friezes, surmounting the triple porch, is one of the most original in France, and would be much more effective than it is, could it be better seen. The tower, too, and the flanking turrets, are boldly designed, and relieved with little sculptures, grinning suns and grimacing heads, on the corbels and the springings, that suggest an art lively and alert compared with the conventional dulness of St. Bénigne. The sense of realism is increased by the many pigeons—not of stone—who glide all day over monsters' backs, and coo into old monks' ears.
The Jacquemart clock on the tower was brought to Dijon by Philippe le Hardi, after the sack of Courtrai, in 1383. Froissart, charmed with it, declared it to be "ouvrage le plus beau qu'on put trouver deçà ni delà la mer." Philip may have thought so, too; since he chose it for his trophy.