[MUSIC PLAYING] The heyday of the
medieval executioner was in the 16th century. And when most
people picture them they tend to think of
the stereotypical image of a burly, bare-chested man in
a black hood with a massive ax. But the executioner did a lot
more than just swing a blade. They upheld justice, set an
example for the community, served as a medical
professional, and often doubled as
a spiritual guide who helped the condemned
accept their fate and ask for
forgiveness before God. How do we know? Thanks to Franz Schmidt,
an axeman in 16th century Nuremberg who left
detailed diaries describing his day-to-day life. Today, we're going
to take a look at a day in the life of
a medieval hatchet man. But before we get started, be
sure to subscribe to the Weird History channel and let us
know in the comments below what other unusual historical jobs
you would like to hear about. OK, let's get into the
head of Franz Schmidt. The masks may send shivers down
the spines of regular folks, but your colleagues often
wear them for good reason. On one hand, they
terrify the prisoners, but they also concealed
their identity and protected them
from retribution. Something that's
especially important in cases where the doomed
person is sympathetic or popular with the crowd. You, however, are proud
of your profession and have never worn the mask. Depending on the time
or place of employment, a hangman might find
themselves exceptionally busy, often dealing with several
victims in a single day. For example, working under
the reign of Henry VIII, you hardly had time
to take a break. In times like
that, the swordsman has their work cut out for them. Pun intended. But on August 13, 1577, you
only have one job on the agenda. And the man's name
is Hans Vogel. You only recently
arrived in Nuremberg from your birthplace in
Bamberg and Hans Vogel is to be a first to hit the
chopping block at your new gig. Vogel has been
convicted of murder. Now, you will be expected to
give him his just rewards. You came to this
profession honestly. Your father passed down the
profession back in Bamberg, although he didn't exactly
mean to take that career path. Originally, he was a woodsman. But one fateful day, Bavarian
magistrate Albrecht II, famous for his
vicious disposition, wanted three men hanged. With no professional at hand,
he picked your father, Heinrich, at random from a crowd and
forced him to perform the deed. Not looking to
join the three men, your father obliged the tyrant. Once it was done though,
nobody in the village wanted to have anything
to do with your father. Despite this, you followed
him into the occupation. It was 1573 when you first
became a professional, working under the
supervision of your dad. Were 18, and since then
you've performed your duties 361 times. You've been busy. You've also administered
345 minor punishments, which include things
like floggings, as well as amputations
of the ears and fingers. You've also taken out criminals
by sword, rope, burning, drowning, and in
particularly bad cases, on the breaking wheel. You may not know what
that is, but it just sounds painful, right? Despite all that and the
generally dishonorable nature of your profession,
you're a respected member of the community for your piety. You're the man who's going to be
sending Hans Vogel to eternity, so you've gotten to know him. It's customary for an axeman
to bond with a prisoner. And if he had serious
wounds or had taken ill, you would,
ironically, be the one expected to nurse
him back to health so that you could
eventually execute him. Job security, I guess. In this sense,
fulfilling your duties also requires being
fully competent as a medical consultant. In such a case, you might
even request a delay so the prisoner could receive
a proper death with his health intact. Prisoners like Vogel
would frequently receive visitors, such as
their own family members or occasionally even the
relatives of their victims seeking reconciliation. You believe that
forgiveness is divine. One time, you even
saw a condemned killer offered oranges and gingerbread
by his victim's widow and it brought
joy to your heart. You saw it as a sign
she had forgiven him. But at the end of
the day, your role is to mete out justice in
the name of God and society. You're the agent who balances
divine and earthly authority. And today, keeping that balance
means ending Hans Vogel's time on Earth. While family or friends
may visit occasionally, prisoners are most
likely to be visited by members of the clergy. The chaplains meet
with the prisoners, try to soften their
hearts and work to convince them to
confess their sins and beg for God's forgiveness. They read aloud from
the Bible, pray, preach, and appeal to
the prisoner's fears, sorrows, and hopes. For images of what awaits
them in the afterlife, prisoners often
rely on the clergy to show them their
illustrated prayer books. Most prisoners haven't seen
much art in their lives. Small towns might have a church
with rudimentary paintings on its walls, but many don't. Some might have caught a glimpse
of heaven and hell in prints, but they were typically too
expensive for the lower classes to own even after the invention
of the printing press. The chaplains who visit Vogel
bring their prized bibles and woodcuts, as
well as etchings of famous sinners, famous
Saints, and death itself. They use the images to
illustrate their sermons and bring life to the
religious imagery. You often watch as the
chaplains lead prisoners through a recitation
of the Lord's Prayer, read from the
Lutheran catechism, and offer the condemned
reassuring words. They sing hymns of consolation,
and sometimes even the jailer joins in with a song. Everyone is quite
sincere in their desire to get Vogel ready
for his final day. When you became a
professional life-ender, you knew from your father
that the job was about a lot more than just ridding
the world of sinners. Taking someone out in
public was intended to accomplish two
distinct goals. The first is to
shock the spectators. You are expected to create
a terrifying scene that will have preventative power. Any who see it will think twice
before committing an offense. The second goal, however,
is more esoteric. As the hatchet
man, it's your job to reaffirm both divine
and human authority. You keep the balance by staging
the act from condemnation, through death procession,
all the way to the very end. It's like a play and
you are the director. In fact, the people
you know are all familiar with
theatrical experiences called morality plays. These productions, which
end with a moral lesson, are allegorical dramas in
which characters personify moral qualities like
charity or vice, and abstractions
like death or youth. Similarly, the
ending of a sinner also tells a story in which
a person's choices led them to a moral lesson. A poor sinner sees
the error of his ways. He acknowledges and
atones for his crimes. And he agrees to serve as
an example for the community in exchange for a
quick, painless end and the promise of salvation. As everyone knows, the
condemned may request whatever he wants for his final meal. This usually includes
copious amounts of wine and beer, which
is a little more than just a courtesy. It's no secret that letting a
prisoner drink to their heart's content at the
so-called hangman's meal is often to the
executioner's advantage. You know as well as anyone
that a drunk prisoner was often far less resistant. Of course, there are downsides. There was that one time when a
condemned rogue ate and drank so much you saw his belly burst
as he swung from the gallows. Can't get that out of your mind. Maybe that's the
reason some prisoners refuse to take so much
as a single bite or sip. Vogel finishes his last meal. Your assistants
helped to dress him in the traditional
white linen gown. Once dressed, he awaits
you to preside over the imminent public spectacle. You are announced by the warden
with the customary words, "the executioner is at hand." You take the stage and
ask Vogel for forgiveness. The two of you share
a drink of peace. And then you move on
to the judge and jury who await the prisoner. Vogel has already confessed. But nonetheless, you must
present him to the Blood Court where his sentence
will become known. The room is ornately
decorated and the judges wear red and black robes. A scribe reads Vogel's
confession and the tally of offenses against him. The jurors confer and
choose the manner of demise. You wonder-- will it be the
sword, the rope, fire, water, or the wheel. The jurors voted and
they chose the sword. Meanwhile, the crowd
has become enormous. These living morality plays
are meant to be seen by as many as possible. They're advertised
weeks in advance and it's normal for there to
be hundreds, sometimes even thousands of onlookers. Vogel must walk a mile to
reach the place of his end. His trip goes smoothly, although
that's not always the case. Sometimes prisoners behave
badly or give you trouble. One drunken guy even
urinated in the open when he reached the gallows. He told you he was willing
to go on to the next world, but requested the
chance to first fence and fight four of the
guards who were present. As you wrote in your journal,
his request was refused. Taking out a prisoner is never
easy, but you're good at it. During your 45-year career,
you have ended 187 people with a sword. And only four times did
you need a second stroke. It's your responsibility
to be that good. Being shoddy at this
job has consequences. In some German towns,
if the swordsman can't get the job
done in three blows, the crowds were known
to grab him and force him to take the place of
the condemned prisoner. The crowds are typically
packed with rowdy drunks, ready to riot at a
moment's notice-- especially if they
don't see a head drop. And those riots
often turn ugly-- fast. When the moment arrives,
you dispatch Vogel with one clean
swipe of the blade. The judge expresses
satisfaction with your work. And you reply, "for that,
I thank God and my master, who has taught me such art." While the hard part is over,
the job isn't quite done yet. You still have the mundane
task of mopping up the mess. Yes, you are not only
the star of the show, you're also the
janitor and you're expected to clean up the mess
and dispose of the carcass. Out of curiosity, some of
the mob lingers to watch. You don't know it yet,
but in 1617 you'll retire and begin a new lucrative
career as a medical consultant. And in 1634, you'll
receive a state funeral at Nuremberg's most
prominent cemetery. You'll be buried just a few
paces away from legendary artists like the painter,
Albrecht Dürer and the poet, Hans Sachs. And you will have done it
all without wearing a hood-- even once. So what do you think? What kind of life would that be? Let us know in the
comments below. And while you're at it, check
out some of these other videos from our Weird History.
