Freiburg Minster

Stand still for a moment on the cobbles of the Münsterplatz, the square around the Minster. Under your feet, the stones are small, rounded river pebbles laid in patterns. Above you, a wall of red sandstone rises toward the sky. In the morning you will hear market traders calling, the clink of crates, and the smell of grilled sausages drifting across the square. And over all of it, a single tower climbs higher than anything else in the old town, its stone cut so finely that you can see daylight through it.

This is Freiburg Minster, the great church of Freiburg im Breisgau, on the edge of the Black Forest. Work on it began around the year 1200, when the town belonged to the Dukes of Zähringen. Building went on for more than three centuries. As a result, the church carries two architectural styles at once. The older parts are Romanesque, a heavy, round-arched style of the early Middle Ages. The newer parts are Gothic, with pointed arches, tall windows, and stone that seems to grow lighter as it rises.

Here is the first surprise. For most of its life, this was not a cathedral at all. It was a parish church, the church of ordinary townspeople. It was paid for largely by the citizens and the merchant guilds of Freiburg, not by a powerful bishop. It only became a cathedral in the nineteenth century, when Freiburg became the seat of a new Catholic archdiocese. So when you look up at this building, you are looking at the ambition of a medieval town, not a royal court.

Now look at the main tower, on the west side of the church. It was finished in the first half of the fourteenth century, and it stands about 116 metres tall. Its top is the remarkable part — an open spire made of stone tracery, a lace-like pattern of carved stone. Instead of a solid roof, the point of the tower is a frame of stone that the wind and light pass straight through. It was one of the first Gothic towers in Germany to be completed in this open style.

The Swiss art historian Jacob Burckhardt is widely quoted as calling it the most beautiful tower in Christendom. Whether or not you agree, the tower has a special place in local memory. In November 1944, an Allied air raid destroyed much of the old town around this square. The houses fell and burned. The Minster was damaged, and many of its windows shattered, but the tower and the main structure survived. Many people in Freiburg still see that survival as something close to a small miracle.

Walk toward the tower and step into the porch at its base, the deep entrance hall under the west tower. Its walls are covered with painted stone figures. You will find prophets, saints, and scenes from the life of Christ. Look for the group of young women on either side — the wise and the foolish virgins from a Bible parable. The wise ones hold their lamps upright. The foolish ones hold them upside down, because their oil has run out. Medieval visitors could read the lesson without reading a single word.

Nearby stands one of the strangest figures in the porch. He is called the Prince of the World. From the front, he is a handsome, well-dressed young man with a smile. But walk around and look at his back. It is covered with toads, snakes, and crawling creatures. The message was simple for medieval eyes. Worldly pleasure looks beautiful from the front, but it hides decay behind it. Next to him, a woman figure, often read as temptation, adds to the warning.

Before you go inside, look closely at the stone wall beside the entrance. Here is the second surprise. You can find carved marks and shapes in the stone. These are old official measures. Medieval traders in the market could check the length of cloth or the size of a loaf of bread against the wall of the church. If a baker sold bread smaller than the standard shape, customers had proof. The church was not only a place of prayer. It was also the town's public referee.

Inside, the light changes completely. The nave, the long central hall, is cool and dim, with the scent of stone and candle wax. Many of the stained-glass windows were donated by the medieval guilds. Look for the small symbols painted into the glass. A pretzel marks the bakers. Other windows show shoes, tools, or barrels for other trades. These were proud signatures. Each guild wanted the whole town to see what it had given to the church.

Walk toward the east end of the church, to the choir, the area around the main altar. This part is late Gothic, and it was finished in the early sixteenth century. The high altar painting is by Hans Baldung Grien, a major German painter of that period and a student of Albrecht Dürer. His central panel shows the coronation of the Virgin Mary, with deep reds, gold, and rich blues. The back of the altar also has painted panels, so it is worth walking around the choir if access is open.

Now step back outside and walk slowly around the outside of the church. Look up at the gargoyles, the carved stone water spouts along the roof. They are monsters, animals, and odd human faces. Locals love one story in particular. According to a popular tale, one gargoyle on the south side was carved to show its bare backside toward a building across the square, as a joke by an unhappy stonemason. Nobody can prove it, but people still point it out with a grin.

The square around you has its own life. On most mornings, except Sundays, the Münstermarkt fills the space around the church. On the north side, you will usually find farmers from the Black Forest and the Kaiserstuhl region selling vegetables, flowers, cheese, and eggs. On the south side, there are more food stalls and crafts. Ask a local what to eat here, and the answer is often the same — a long grilled sausage in a bread roll, with fried onions.

On the south side of the square, look for the deep red building with arcades, small towers, and statues on its front. This is the Historic Merchants' Hall, built in the early sixteenth century. Merchants once handled trade and customs here. Its red colour echoes the red sandstone of the Minster, and the two buildings frame the square together. Also look down at the narrow water channels running beside some streets nearby. These are the Bächle, little streams that have run through Freiburg since the Middle Ages.

Before you leave, find a quiet spot at the edge of the square and look up one more time. Follow the tower from its heavy base up to that open stone spire. Notice how the stone turns darker where weather has touched it, and lighter where it has been repaired. Listen to the market, the bicycles, the bells. This church has watched the same square for eight centuries. As you walk away, glance back once more — the tower will stay in view for a long time.