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A house of God turned into the sinful playground of the rich and powerful nuns, the former Dominican Cloister, Kleines Klingental in Basel is said to be haunted by the ghostly nuns, still to this day praying to be released from their sins.
A house of God turned into the sinful playground of the rich and powerful nuns, the former Dominican Cloister, Kleines Klingental in Basel is said to be haunted by the ghostly nuns, still to this day praying to be released from their sins.
In the cityscape of Basel, few would suspect that beneath its serene facades and picturesque medieval streets, lurk tales of scandal, sin, and spectral unrest. One of the city’s most persistent and unsettling legends clings to the site of Kleines Klingental, a former nunnery turned barracks, museum, and, by some accounts, one of Basel’s most active haunted sites.
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Today it goes under the name of The Kleines Klingental Museum and showcases statues from the Cathedral. It is here, in what was once a house of prayer and seclusion, that shadows from centuries past still move in the dark corners. And if the legends are to be believed, the ghosts that roam these halls were once no ordinary nuns.
Founded in the 13th century, the Klingental Monastery was established in Kleinbasel, just across the Rhine from Basel’s bustling old town. It dates back to at least 1274 when twelve Dominican nuns settled in Kleinbasel, having come to Basel from Alsace via the Black Forest.
Officially a place of pious retreat for noblewomen, it soon became something altogether different. The Klingental Monastery, which at its peak was home to 52 nuns, was the richest and most distinguished monastery in Basel. The women who sought sanctuary here were largely from wealthy, aristocratic families, bringing with them not only their dowries and fine possessions but also their personal attendants and, as rumor has it, a disdain for the strictures of monastic life.
Among the nuns spending time in the cloister were two representatives of the Eptingen family, the cousins Sophie and Elisabeth, appear. Susanna, a daughter of Georg von Hattstatt and Elisabeth von Tierstein, is also documented as a nun in 1334. Clara, the daughter of the Basel mayor Henmann II von Ramstein, was also a nun at St. Clara.
There were cases of women being sent to the convent against their will, like Anna von Ramstein. She was the cousin of Susanna von Ramstein, whose father was mayor of Basel in the 15th century. She was said to have been rebellious at the Steinen monastery and, after a failed escape attempt, was brought to St. Clara that she successfully escaped from in 1462.
The nun Katharina, mentioned in 1357, was the stepdaughter of Claus Berner the Younger and the records curiously says she was “taken from the Jews.” In a pogrom before the plague in 1349, the Jewish inhabitants of Basel were expelled from the city or killed. Many of their children were forcibly taken from their families to convert them to the Christian faith, and this nun was most likely one of them.
The four nuns Agnes, Ennelin, Gredlin, and Katharina von Hachberg were of roya blood being the daughters of Margrave Rudolf III of Hachberg-Sausenberg (1343-1428) and Röteln and his wife Anna von Neuenburg (1374-1427).
So how then, did this seemingly pious and respected community of women get the reputation of evil and sinful nuns?
By the late Middle Ages, the Dominican cloister’s reputation was in tatters. Cloistered walls became veils for intrigue. Lovers came and went under the cover of night, and luxuries forbidden by monastic vows flowed freely behind thick stone walls. Chroniclers of the era spoke darkly of secret births and whispered of infants drowned in the cold, rushing waters of the Rhine to preserve the illusion of chastity.
Attempts by church authorities to restore order and penitence to the monastery met with clever defiance and the noble-born nuns using their rank and influence to evade the scrutiny of even the most zealous inquisitors.
Now, how true were these rumors? Did they really do all of the things their legend accuse them of? Or is this just yet another example of the male dominated church looking down on the female community, perhaps the most powerful women could be at that time? Or was it when the male dominated military moved in that the ghostly legends started?
With the arrival of the Reformation in the 16th century, the monastery was secularized, and much of its land was repurposed. By the 19th century, the site had become a barracks. But the soldiers stationed at Kleines Klingental soon discovered they shared their quarters with more than just their fellow men.
Nights in the old nunnery became restless affairs. Strange wailing echoed through the empty corridors. Disembodied footsteps padded softly across stone floors. Soldiers reported encountering ghostly figures clad in flowing black habits, faces hidden in shadow, clutching rosaries or silently weeping. It was whispered that these were the unquiet souls of the sinful nuns, cursed to wander the halls where they had once schemed, sinned, and sought fleeting pleasures.
Some claimed that the phantoms prayed aloud at midnight, their voices mournful, seeking forgiveness too long denied. Others spoke of ghostly processions in the dead of night — pale women gliding past candlelit walls, vanishing into darkness. Apparitions of a mother cradling a child before disappearing into the old well, rumored to have once been used to dispose of unwanted infants, chilled even the most hardened soldier’s blood.
Even the soldiers quartered there left a deadly imprint on the barracks. As they were renovating the place, 29 skeletons of the soldiers, most likely dying in an outbreak of the Spanish flu and buried on the grounds, were found.
The soldiers left in 1966. Today, the Kleines Klingental Museum occupies part of the historic site. While much of the monastery was lost to time and urban development, several original monastic cells and the old cloister remain intact. And with them, so too, it seems, do the phantoms.
Artists in the art studios in the right wing of the barracks and caretakers who have spent long evenings within the ancient walls speak of unexplained chills, flickering lights, and strange nocturnal sounds. Some report seeing figures in habits lingering in shadowed doorways or passing by in mirrors, only to vanish when pursued. The local legend insists that the unrepentant souls of Kleines Klingental still walk, their sins too great to allow them peace centuries after their death.
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