The 1534 Anabaptist 'Kingdom' of Münster and its polygamist tailor-king

In 1534, a failed Dutch tailor named Jan van Leiden decided sewing trousers was far too dull, so he staged a hostile takeover of Münster. He rebranded the city as the "New Jerusalem" and declared himself King of the World.

Jan promptly abolished private property and legalized polygamy, collecting sixteen wives while the city starved. It was a sixteenth-century DIY apocalypse.

This "holy" commune functioned like a high-stakes cult with better outfits, ending only when the local bishop returned to put the ringleaders in iron cages.

Hold on, did they really just leave the bodies in those cages to rot?

Oh, absolutely. The Bishop wasn't exactly a "forgive and forget" kind of chap. After the ringleaders were tortured with red-hot tongs, their corpses were hoisted up St. Lambert’s Church tower in those very cages. It was the ultimate 16th-century "Do Not Disturb" sign for would-be revolutionaries.

The gruesome decor stayed up for fifty years until the bones finally disintegrated. Even more bizarrely, the empty cages are still hanging there today. It’s a lovely little reminder for modern tourists that if you try to start a polygamist cult in Münster, the local government might have thoughts.

Why on earth hasn't the church taken those rusty death-traps down by now?

You’d think a house of God might prefer a nice stained-glass window over "medieval torture chic," but the cages became a permanent fixture of Münster’s skyline. They aren't even the original 1535 iron; they’ve been lovingly repaired and replaced over the centuries like a macabre set of family heirlooms.

Even after the church tower was obliterated by Allied bombs in WWII, the locals didn't take the hint. They fished the dented cages out of the rubble, hammered them back into shape, and hoisted them right back up. It’s less about the Bishop’s revenge now and more about the city’s refusal to airbrush its most chaotic "oopsie" from history.

Wait, who is actually responsible for the upkeep of these gruesome iron baskets?

The city’s department for monument preservation handles the heavy lifting, but the daily "vibe check" belongs to the Türmer—Münster’s official Tower Sentry. This isn't a volunteer gig; it’s a civil service role that has been on the books since 1383.

The current sentry, Martje Saljé, climbs 300 steps every night to blow a copper horn and keep watch. She’s essentially the high-altitude custodian of the city's darkest laundry, ensuring the metal stays sturdy.

It’s a peak European moment: treating 500-year-old torture equipment with the same administrative diligence most cities reserve for library fines or trash collection.

Is she really the first woman to hold this job since the 1300s?

She is indeed! For over 600 years, the "Türmer" role was a strictly "no girls allowed" club. Martje broke the glass ceiling—or rather, the stone floor—in 2014, proving that women are just as capable of climbing 300 stairs and blowing a horn at ghosts.

The traditionalists were a bit ruffled, but she’s become a local celebrity. It’s quite the career pivot: she was a music expert before she decided her true calling was being the city’s official night owl.

It’s a refreshing update to a job that, for centuries, mostly involved men squinting at the horizon and hoping the city wasn't about to burn down.