St. Martin's Church, Landshut

Stand at the foot of the tower and tilt your head back. The red brick climbs, and keeps climbing, until your neck starts to ache. Close to the ground, the bricks feel warm and slightly rough, and many are worn smooth at the edges by centuries of weather. Somewhere above, pigeons shift on narrow ledges. Down here, the sound of the old town drifts past: footsteps on cobbles, a café chair scraping, a bicycle bell. This is Saint Martin's Church in Landshut, and its tower is the first thing you see from almost anywhere in the city.

That tower is the reason many people come. It rises to roughly 130 metres, and it is widely described as the tallest brick church tower in the world. Think about that for a moment. This is not cut stone, and it is not a steel frame. It is fired clay, laid by hand, brick on brick. Lower Bavaria had very little good building stone, but it had plenty of clay. So the builders worked with what the land gave them, and they pushed that humble material higher than almost anyone else ever dared.

The church you see today belongs to the late Gothic period. Gothic is the style of pointed arches, tall windows and vertical lines that spread across medieval Europe. Work here began in the late fourteenth century, and it continued for well over a hundred years. Generations of masons were born, worked and died while this building was still unfinished. The tower itself was completed only around the start of the sixteenth century, long after the people who planned it had gone.

One name stands at the centre of this story. The master builder is known as Hans von Burghausen, sometimes also called Hans Stethaimer. He was one of the most important church architects in southern Germany in his time. He designed and led the work here for decades, and he also shaped other churches in the region. He died in the early fifteenth century, so he never saw the tower finished. But the city did not forget him.

Here is a detail many visitors walk straight past. On the outside wall of the church, there is a memorial stone for Hans von Burghausen. It includes a carved portrait of a man's face. It was rare in medieval times for a builder to receive this kind of honour on the building itself. Usually, the names of masons were lost. Take a slow walk around the exterior and look for it. It is a small, human face set into a huge wall of brick.

Now step inside. The first feeling is usually height, and then light. Saint Martin's is a hall church. That means the central nave and the side aisles rise to roughly the same height, instead of the middle part towering over lower side sections. The result is one large, open space. Grey-white walls and tall windows let daylight fall deep into the interior. Sounds carry here. A cough, a whisper, a door closing softly — everything travels a long way.

Look at the columns. They are remarkably slender for their height. They rise like tall stems and then spread into the ribs of the vaulted ceiling high above, a little like branches meeting overhead in a forest. This is the second surprise of the building. From outside, the church looks heavy and massive. Inside, it feels light, almost fragile. Engineers still admire how such thin supports carry so much weight. Stand near one column and look straight up along its full length.

The church holds many works of art, but one is especially loved. It is a carved Madonna with the Christ Child by Hans Leinberger, a sculptor from the early sixteenth century. Leinberger worked in Landshut, and he is considered one of the finest carvers of his age. His figures often have deep, flowing folds in their clothing, as if a strong wind is moving through the wood. Look at the drapery and the faces. Many visitors find this figure tender and alive, even after five centuries.

The main altar area also deserves time. Here the architecture narrows your attention forward, toward the east end of the church. In medieval churches, the altar usually faced east, toward the rising sun, as a symbol of resurrection. Notice how the windows here frame the light. On a bright morning, the colours of the glass can fall on the floor and the stone. Walk slowly along the side aisles too. Side altars, carved details and old memorial stones fill the quieter corners.

The history of Landshut explains why such a grand church stands in a fairly small city. In the late Middle Ages, Landshut was the seat of the Dukes of Bavaria-Landshut. These rulers were very wealthy, and the city was a centre of power and trade. Above the old town, on the hill, you can see Trausnitz Castle, their residence. The townspeople, the merchants and the dukes all wanted a church that showed this status. The tower was, in a way, a statement to the whole region.

That wealth reached a high point in 1475. In that year, Duke George, later called George the Rich, married Hedwig, a princess from the Polish royal Jagiellonian family. The wedding ceremony took place here, in this church. The celebrations were famous for their scale, with guests, feasts and tournaments. Today, the city remembers the event with the Landshut Wedding, a large historical festival held every four years. Thousands of local people take part in costume, and the old town fills with music, horses and medieval dress.

That festival tells you something important. For Landshut, this church is not only a monument. It is still part of daily life. Services are held here, and locals pass the tower on their way to work, to markets, to school. The church also carries the honorary title of a minor basilica, given by the Pope to churches of special importance. As you visit, please remember that people may be praying. Speak softly, and step aside if a service is taking place.

When you leave, walk a little way down the main street, the long, wide street the locals call Altstadt, which simply means old town. Turn around after a few dozen steps. Watch how the tower lines up above the colourful gabled houses, with their stepped and curved roof edges. Then look up toward the castle on the hill. The town, the church and the castle form one picture. It is the same picture that people here have seen for more than five hundred years.

Take one more moment before you go. Put your hand against the brick, if you can reach it. Feel the small grains in the clay, the slight warmth, the cool joints of mortar between the bricks. Each one was shaped, fired and carried up by a human being. As you walk away, listen for the bells. When they ring, the sound comes down from that great red tower and spreads across the rooftops of the old town.