It all began in 1234, when two groups of devout women came together. Picture Gertraut Hilzingen and Mechthild von Woloshoven: one was a pious local, the other the daughter of Zurich’s high society. Together, they set up house near the Neumarkt-surviving on charity, and, let’s be honest, probably a lot of patience. Another group crafted a living through handwork in the Oberdorf. They soon built a wooden monastery way out by the Sihl River, in an area about as flood-prone as a bathtub with no drain. Unsurprisingly, their first building got swept away by a flood-hardly divine intervention, but perhaps a celestial hint at poor real estate choices.
Not to be discouraged, the sisters secured new land near Lake Zurich, at today’s Zürichhorn. By 1237, their convent received a prestigious seal of approval-a papal protection privilege. Fancy words for: “Please don’t chase us for heresy, we have the paperwork!” The Pope himself encouraged everyone to support Oetenbach’s nuns, so the convent flourished, with its numbers swelling as daughters from noble Swiss families signed up for spiritual pursuits (and, let’s face it, maybe to escape tricky marriage proposals).
But the convent’s growing popularity led to some surprising challenges. By 1310, authorities tried to cap the number of nuns at 60, but the place was just too fashionable-think of it as the “it” club for Zurich’s medieval noblewomen. They even introduced reading and Latin knowledge as entrance exams. If only modern clubs asked for a bit of Latin at the door instead of the right shoes! Eventually, high entry fees helped reduce the numbers, making the convent ever more exclusive-a kind of “elite” label that would have made any social climber blush.
Inside Oetenbach, life was both austere and highly spiritual. The nuns aimed for mystical unity with Christ, practicing long meditations and even some eyebrow-raising self-discipline that would have made most yoga retreats look like a day at the beach. Their library and scriptorium hummed with activity; some theorize that even the famous Codex Manesse, the crown jewel of Middle High German literature, was copied here by nimble fingers and creative minds.
By 1285, the convent had relocated here, inside the city walls, trading the damp lakeside for the (relatively) dry Sihlbühl Hill-right by where you stand. Stories say the move divided the nuns, but safety and a bit more prestige soon won out. The grounds stretched between the Limmat and Sihl rivers, alongside Zurich’s old defenses. Eleven grand structures, lush gardens, and a vast, echoing church soon covered the area-by the 15th century, this was the largest women’s convent in the city.
Then came the Reformation. In the early 1500s, Zurich was caught up in wild religious debates. After rousing sermons from reformers like Zwingli and Leo Jud, some nuns left for new lives-one married the future church leader Heinrich Bullinger (I suppose vows could be updated!). By 1525, the cloister was closed for good.
But don’t wander off yet-the story isn’t over. The former monastery was reinvented time and again: as a prison, grain store, orphanage, and yes, even as Zurich’s rather imposing police department. The legendary “Giacometti Hall,” painted in the 1920s, still shines in vibrant color within the Amtshaus next door.
Today, you won’t find the original buildings (or any sneaky nuns lurking in the shadows), but the spirit of this place lingers-resilient, spiritual, and, dare I say, just a bit mischievous. So the next time you hear a mysterious echo or feel inspired to sing in Latin, remember: you’re standing where centuries of extraordinary women carved out a place of learning, power, and transformation right here in Zurich’s heart. Now, let’s keep walking-there are even more stories ahead, and I promise none of them will ask for your Latin skills at the door!
For a more comprehensive understanding of the dominican sisters in zurich, the monastery on the oetenbach on the zürichhorn or the the monastery at sihlbühl in the city, engage with me in the chat section below.
