Unterlinden Museum

Start in the cloister. Listen to how the city noise falls away the moment you step inside. Gravel and old paving lie under your feet. Pale sandstone arches frame a square of green garden. The light here is soft and grey-gold, filtered through the arcades. For a few seconds, Colmar's busy streets feel very far away... and that quiet is exactly what this place was built for.

You are standing in a former convent of Dominican nuns, founded in the thirteenth century. The name Unterlinden means "under the linden trees" in German. The linden is a broad, shady tree that is common across central Europe. The name came from the trees that once grew on this spot, at the edge of the medieval town. For centuries, women lived here behind these walls. They prayed, studied, copied texts and kept a disciplined daily rhythm of services.

The convent was among the more respected religious houses of the Upper Rhine. Some of the sisters wrote down accounts of the spiritual lives of their community. Those writings tell us something unusual: these nuns had real intellectual standing in their time. Then came the French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century. Religious communities across France were closed, and the convent lost its original purpose. For a time, the buildings served practical uses, and parts of them were used by the military.

In the middle of the nineteenth century, a local society of art lovers stepped in. It took its name from Martin Schongauer, the great fifteenth-century painter and engraver who was born here in Colmar. The society wanted to save the buildings and give the city a museum. The museum opened its doors in 1853. So the institution you are visiting today grew from local pride. Colmar's own citizens decided that this old convent deserved a second life.

Now — the reason most people make the journey. Inside the former convent chapel stands the Isenheim Altarpiece. It is one of the most powerful works of art made in Europe in the early sixteenth century. The painted panels are by the artist known as Matthias Grünewald. The carved wooden figures are by the sculptor Nikolaus of Haguenau. Take a moment before you look closely. The tall Gothic windows of the chapel light these panels much as a church once did.

Here is something many visitors miss. This altarpiece was never made for Colmar. It was made for the monastery of the Antonite order in the village of Isenheim, south of here. The Antonites were monks who cared for the sick. Many patients suffered from a disease called Saint Anthony's fire. Today we know it was caused by eating grain contaminated by a fungus. It burned the skin, twisted the limbs and often led to gangrene.

Keep that in mind when you look at the Crucifixion. Christ's body is grey-green and covered with sores. His hands twist upward, fingers stiff and spread. This is not a calm, idealised figure. The patients at Isenheim were brought before this image. They could see their own suffering reflected in Christ's body. The painting told them they were not alone. Many visitors find that this changes how they see the whole work.

The second surprise is that the altarpiece was built to open and close. It is a polyptych, a work made of several hinged panels. In its original church, the panels were opened in different arrangements through the liturgical year. Today the panels are displayed separately so you can see every side. Walk around them. Behind the dark Crucifixion you will find a glowing Resurrection. Christ rises in a halo of yellow, orange and red light.

On the other side, look for the strange and crowded Temptation of Saint Anthony. Monsters with beaks, claws and scaly skin attack the old hermit saint. In one corner sits a figure with a swollen belly and covered in sores. Many scholars read it as a victim of the same disease the monks treated. Nearby, the carved central shrine shows Saint Anthony enthroned. The gilded wood shows the fine, careful skill of Nikolaus of Haguenau.

The chapel holds more than one masterpiece. Throughout the medieval galleries, look for works by Martin Schongauer and his circle. Schongauer's engravings travelled across Europe. They were studied by younger artists, including the young Albrecht Dürer. Around you, there are also carved altar figures, stained glass and religious paintings from the Upper Rhine. Together, they show how rich artistic life was in this border region between the German and French worlds.

The museum is not only medieval. In the 2010s, the Swiss architects Herzog and de Meuron designed a major extension. Look at how the new building answers the old one. The new wing is made of hand-broken brick, close in tone to the convent's stone. Its steep gabled roof echoes the old rooftops of Colmar. Across the square, a small brick house stands where a mill once stood. It is a quiet gesture to the past of this site.

Old and new are linked by a passage underground. That passage also connects to the former municipal baths, an early twentieth-century building. The extension holds the museum's modern and contemporary collections. You will find twentieth-century paintings and works from later decades. It makes for a striking journey. In a few minutes, you move from medieval monks and their patients to the art of the modern age.

Before you leave, look for the museum's archaeological and regional collections. They hold objects from Alsace's long past, from prehistory to later centuries. There are also rooms of decorative and popular arts. You can see furniture, objects of daily life and things that once filled Alsatian homes. These quieter rooms are often less crowded. They give a good sense of how ordinary people lived in this region.

When you step back out, pause one more time in the cloister. Look up at the sandstone arches and the square of open sky. Remember that women prayed here, and that sick patients once gazed at the altarpiece in hope. Then walk back out into Colmar. Notice the half-timbered houses, the canals and the painted shutters. The city around you carries the same long story you have just seen inside these walls.