A lynch mob gathered outside the Gevangenpoort, The Hague's prison, on August 20, 1672. Inside the prison are the brothers De Witt. Johan, grand pensionary of the Dutch Republic, was rushed over to the prison to help his brother Cornelis, who was suspected of treason against the Stadtholder and was subjected to torture sessions in the basement of the Gevangenpoort. The angry mob outside on the streets of the Hague was calling for the brothers' heads. The two men are trapped. Before they know it, people break into the Gevangenpoort. Johan and Cornelis are killed, ripped to pieces just outside the prison. A finger and tongue which supposedly belonged to the brothers are still kept in a Dutch museum as morbid memorabilia.
Well over three centuries later, I was standing in the same room where Cornelis de Witt had spent his last days on Earth and thought to myself: How the hell did I end up here?

I'd come across museum De Gevangenpoort online while planning a day trip to The Hague with my mom. The city is close to Rotterdam and I hadn't been there in ages, so it was a perfect choice for my Twelve Cities Challenge. Although the city has plenty to offer in terms of shopping, food and art, my mom and I wanted to spend our time learning a bit more about the history of The Hague, which is central to The Netherlands as a modern constitutional monarchy. We already knew we wanted to visit the Binnenhof, where our parliament is located, but the Gevangenpoort seemed like a good addition, as it would introduce us to lesser-known parts of Dutch history. Granted, I'm very interested in Medieval prisons and torture chambers. I have odd interests, I know. My mom isn't a big fan of such things, so we planned some more light-hearted activities as well. We wanted to go shopping at De Passage and visit Chinatown, but first and foremost: we would be going to the Binnenhof and the Gevangenpoort.

When we arrived in The Hague by train, it was cold and gray; a normal Dutch day in March if I've ever seen one. We walked from The Hague Central Station to the Binnenhof, directed by small signs. You really can't miss it, although it comes as a surprise when you reach the place. None of the streets leading up to it, nor the gate, imply that you're about to enter a historical place. Within a few steps, my mom and I left the 21st century behind us and entered the timeless epicenter of the Dutch democracy. We sat down on a bench opposite the Ridderzaal (literally translated: "Knight's Hall") and talked about the current political climate.


We looked at the Asian tourists posing for pictures, but kept an eye out for famous politicians. There's always a chance of spotting a party leader or minister, since parliament is based in one of the many buildings of the Binnenhof, as well as most politicians' offices. Sadly, we had no luck. After a while, we stood up and walked on, past al the buildings dating back to the Middle Ages and the Dutch Golden Age. I even got the chance to feel tall in a tiny archway. We strolled along the Hofvijver, taking in the view of "het torentje", the small tower housing the office of our Prime Minister. Then we crossed the street, and found ourselves in front of museum De Gevangenpoort.

At first, we didn't notice that we were standing in front of the museum. The entrance is a non-distinct door everyone walks past without noticing it. I double-checked the address and the signs next to the door. I didn't dare enter, convinced this wasn't the right place. Yet all the signs said so. I stepped through the door hesitantly. There was a small courtyard, and a souvenir shop where you can buy tickets to the museum (beautiful tickets with pictures of old Dutch art on them, I have to add). Fifteen minutes later, our guided tour started.

We started out in the courtyard before entering the actual prison and its cells. In every one of the rooms, our guide told us more about Dutch history as well as the history of the Gevangenpoort, which were often intertwined. Vague memories of my 11th-grade history classes slowly came back to me as I wandered the small, cramped hallways.

The first part of the tour brought us to the cells where the convicts from the lower social classes were kept, including children, often dozens at a time. They had to stay in a dark, small room, the door of which was so low that even I, standing at a measly 1.67m tall, almost hit my head against the top of the door frame as I stepped into the cell. The next stops were more accessible and comfortable, although equally gloomy.


Our tour guide took us to the attic of the Gevangenpoort next, where the most disgusting torture equipment was on display. I found it strangely fascinating to see the rack, nooses, and branding irons, which were used to burn criminal records directly into the skins of those who broke the law. The use of every piece of equipment was calmly explained. It sent shivers down my spine.

The tour moved on to the cell of Cornelis de Witt, which was the most normal room in the entire building. It looked more like the early modern equivalent of a studio apartment than anything else, yet the story of Cornelis and his brother's death filled the room with darkness. It's always a humbling experience to walk in the footsteps of a famous historical figure, but this time it made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Little did I know the last stop of the tour would be much worse.


The guide led us to the cellar. It was a small room with old fashioned tiles in Delft Blue on the walls. The tiles had been haphazardly applied, some broken, many upside down. It didn't matter; they had been bought at a low price as rejects from the factory, chosen because it was easy to wipe the blood off of them. The cellar of the Gevangenpoort had once been a torture chamber. Centuries earlier, Cornelis de Witt had been tortured for hours n end so he'd admit to his alleged treason. No matter what they did to him, Cornelis kept his mouth shut. I found myself staring at specific tiles, wondering if he'd been staring at the exact same ones while his body was almost torn apart. The sight of those tiles imprinted itself on my brain.

As my mom and I left the Gevangenpoort behind us, we were both a bit blown away by everything we'd learned about our national history. Although the topic had been gruesome, we were glad we'd planned the visit. We spent the rest of the day shopping, looking at architecture and just having a good time. But looking back on all the things we did that day in The Hague, nothing came even close to my experiences at the Gevangenpoort.