27 June 2026
The Leaning Tower of Toruń: Medieval Mystery, Myth and History in Poland
In the thirteenth century, what is now the Polish city of
Toruń was controlled by the Teutonic Order, a German-speaking Catholic
religious order founded a century before in Acre which by the 1200s had evolved
into a military power in the Baltic region.
Crusades were conducted against pagan peoples in Prussia and Lithuania,
and a powerful territorial state governed directly by the Order had been
established. To defend the town against Prussian
tribes, Lithuanian raids and even potential threats from local Polish and
Pomeranian rulers (note – these threats did not present simultaneously), the
Order built and maintained walls and a series of towers around Toruń. There was just one problem...
Two of the towers leaned. Although only one remains, it still somehow manages to stand. Historians believe the other was demolished sometime in the second half of the 19th century, when many sections of Toruń's medieval fortifications were removed as they were no longer needed for defence and the city expanded – and not because it leaned. If they had been built today, rather than Prussian tribes, they would no doubt be surrounded by an army of health and safety inspectors demanding their removal. Back in the thirteenth century, it was considered expeditious to keep one’s fingers crossed and hope for the best. Medieval engineers, although highly skilled, had failed to realise how much the loamy ground would settle after construction. They had little choice but to accept the lean, keep a wary eye on it and hope the tower stayed upright.
The lean probably began soon after completion. One can only imagine the bewildered silence as the engineers stood back to admire their work... and realised it wasn't standing quite as intended. One urban legend that arose very early on is that the lean was a punishment from God. Legend has it that out of the 12 knights who were originally barracked in Toruń, one fell in love with the daughter of a wealthy merchant of the town – something expressly forbidden by the Order or Teutonic Knights. Once reported, the lovers were forbidden to meet. Rather unfairly the woman was given 25 lashes while the knight was told he had to build a tower, but tilted as a permanent reminder of his transgression – a metaphorical representation of his deviation from monastic rule.
Apologies for the below - but I couldn't resist it. Here's the poster for the movie - if Hollywood ever got its hands on this legend. Not wanting to create the same kind of hoo-ha as The Odyssey, I've been conservative in my casting and have chosen Henry Cavill and Daisy Edgar-Jones to play the lovers.
Whatever the truth is, a thirteenth century architectural mishap has become a twenty-first century tourist trap. Visitors are often seen to try and balance themselves against the tower. Apparently, if they are pure at heart, they will manage it – but sinners will lose their balance.
As such, Toruń is now famous for its leaning tower, perhaps
even more so than being the birthplace of Renaissance polymath Copernicus. The tower was already around 180 years old
when Copernicus was born, so he would certainly have known it. Since the
Leaning Tower stood beside one of the main streets running along the city walls
and just a five minute walk from his family home, it's very likely that Copernicus
passed it many times throughout his life.
One interesting thought is that the skyline Copernicus grew up with would have looked remarkably familiar to today's visitors. Much of Toruń's medieval street plan, churches, defensive walls and towers - including the Leaning Tower - survives, making it one of the best-preserved medieval cities in Europe. It even managed to survive the Second World War, when much of Poland was reduced to rubble. Yet although buildings might withstand time, their usage often changes. By Copernicus’s time, the Leaning Tower was essentially a redundant medieval defence tower, likely repurposed for storage or municipal use, standing as part of a mostly obsolete wall system rather than an active military structure. It had already become less a “defensive weapon” and more a leftover piece of the old, fortified city - already a historical curiosity in the making, even if no one at the time thought of it that way.
Why? In 1454, during the uprising that began the Thirteen
Years’ War, Toruń rebelled against the Teutonic Order. By 1466, the city had
been incorporated into the Kingdom of Poland under the terms of the Second
Peace of Toruń. As a result, by the time of Copernicus’s childhood in the 1470s
and 1480s, Toruń was no longer a frontier crusader fortress under constant
threat of Prussian or Lithuanian attack. Instead, it was becoming a more stable
urban centre, and its medieval military architecture was gradually being
adapted to civic and domestic use.
This gradual shift away from military function continued in
the centuries that followed. By the eighteenth century, the tower had ceased to
serve any defensive purpose and was repurposed as a women’s prison, marking a
common fate for redundant medieval structures across Europe. In the nineteenth
century it took on more varied civilian uses, including housing a blacksmith’s
workshop and an apartment for a gunsmith, reflecting the increasing integration
of the old fortifications into the everyday life of the growing city.
During this period, architectural changes were also made,
including the replacement of its original Gothic tented roof with a pitched
design. By the twentieth century its role had shifted again, becoming a small
cultural and commercial space. It has also
been a souvenir shop and café in the 1970s and 1980s. Today it forms part of
the Toruń Cultural Department, a fittingly administrative role perhaps, though disappointing
in the sense that this remarkable survivor of the medieval city is now largely
office space rather than a place open to the public.
And so, the tower continues its long tradition of not quite
standing straight, now leaning not against invaders, but against the quiet
weight of bureaucracy, where even gravity appears to have been subject to
committee approval and has yet to receive a final decision. A twenty-first century addition – a small sculpture
of an angelic child – represents the city’s hope that, fingers crossed (and
perhaps with a little celestial intervention), the Leaning Tower of Toruń will
remain leaning for many a year to come.
