The obvious place to start sightseeing is the place du Vieux-Marché, where a small plaque and a huge cross (nearly 20m high) mark the spot on which Joan of Arc was burnt to death on May 30, 1431. A new memorial church to the saint has been built in the square (Mon–Sat 10am–12.30pm & 2–6pm, Sun 2–6pm): it's a wacky, spiky-looking thing, incorporating some sixteenth-century stained glass and said to represent either an upturned boat or the flames that consumed Joan. Indisputably an architectural triumph, it forms part of an ensemble that manages to incorporate in similar style a covered food market. The theme of the church's fish-shaped windows is continued in the scaly tiles that adorn its roof, which is elongated to form a walkway across the square. The outline of its vanished predecessor's foundations is visible on the adjacent lawns, which also mark the precise spot of Joan's martyrdom. The square itself is surrounded by fine old brown-and-white half-timbered houses, many of those on the south side now serving as restaurants. The private Musée Jeanne d'Arc, tucked in among them in an ancient cellar in the back of a gift shop, draws large crowds to its collection of tawdry waxworks and facsimile manuscripts (Tues–Sun: May to mid-Sept 9.30am–7pm; mid-Sept to April 10am–noon & 2–6.30pm; €4).From place du Vieux-Marché, rue du Gros-Horloge leads east towards the cathedral. Just across the intersection with rue Jeanne-d'Arc you come to the Gros Horloge itself. A colourful one-handed clock, it used to be on the adjacent Gothic belfry until it was moved down by popular demand in 1529, so that people could see it better. Despite the addition of all sorts of different towers, spires and vertical extensions, the Cathédrale de Notre-Dame (Mon 2–6pm, Tues–Sun 8am–6pm) remains at heart the Gothic masterpiece that was built in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The west facade of the cathedral, intricately sculpted like the rest of the exterior, was Monet's subject for over thirty studies of changing light, which now hang in the Musée d'Orsay in Paris. Monet might not recognize it now, however – in the last few years, it's been scrubbed a gleaming white, free from the centuries of accreted dirt he so carefully recorded. Inside, the carvings of the misericords in the choir provide a study of fifteenth-century life – in secular scenes of work and habits along with the usual mythical beasts. The ambulatory and crypt – closed on Sundays and during services – hold the assorted tombs of various recumbent royalty, stretching back as far as Duke Rollo, who died "enfeebled by toil" in 933 AD, and the eponymous heart of Richard the Lionheart.
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