A Day in the Life of a Medieval Executioner: Blood, Bread and Brotherhood
- Daniel Holland
- Aug 16
- 7 min read
There’s a certain morbid fascination with the idea of the medieval executioner, the hooded figure, axe glinting in the sunlight, marching grimly to a public square. But peel away the legend, and what you find is far more complex: part public servant, part healer, part priest, and, for many, a reluctant inheritor of a family trade. It wasn’t just about swinging a blade. In fact, the man wielding it often had to stitch wounds, nurse the sick, and offer spiritual guidance to those he was about to kill.
It was, by all accounts, a job nobody really wanted, except when they needed you.
One Execution, One Soul, One Sword
Take August 13, 1577. Just another day for Franz Schmidt, the newly appointed executioner of Nuremberg. His task? Execute a man named Hans Vogel. The charge? Burning an enemy alive in a stable. Vogel had confessed, repented, and was ready to meet his maker. Franz, who had recently moved from Bamberg, would carry out his first execution in his new city with all the expected solemnity.
Executioners were not freelancers. Franz had been apprenticed into the job by his father Heinrich, who didn’t choose the profession so much as have it forced upon him by the Bavarian magistrate Albrecht II. When no headsman could be found, Heinrich was selected from the crowd under threat of being hanged himself if he refused. From that moment, the Schmidt name was inescapably bound to the gallows and sword.
A Career of Duty and Isolation
By the time he was 18, Franz was already performing executions under his father’s watch. By the end of his career, he had recorded 361 executions and 345 lesser punishments, things like flogging, ear slicing, or chopping off fingers. His methods ranged from hanging and beheading to breaking on the wheel, burning, and drowning.
But while townsfolk appreciated his reliability, they often avoided him socially. It was an open secret: they needed him, but didn’t want to sit next to him at dinner.
Still, Franz kept meticulous journals, a rare act that gives us a detailed glimpse into his life and mindset. He didn’t see himself as a butcher. He saw himself as a civil servant acting with moral and religious responsibility. Justice was both earthly and divine, and someone had to carry it out.
Medicine and Mercy
Executioners didn’t just kill, they healed. If the condemned were too weak or sick to be publicly executed, it was Franz's duty to get them back on their feet. It seems ironic, but it made sense: a theatrical public death required a coherent, penitent actor.
If Vogel had been wounded or unwell, Franz would’ve nursed him. And should repentance seem genuine, the executioner might even advocate for a delay, or at least make sure the man could face his death with dignity. There’s a poetic tidbit in this: “Vogel” means “bird” in German. A fitting name for a man hoping to ascend.
Executioners were also present for prisoner visits. Friends, clergy, even victims’ families could show up. Franz once recorded a moment when the widow of a murdered man gave gingerbread and oranges to the killer, a gesture of forgiveness. In a brutal world, moments of grace stood out.
The Clergy's Role
Most prisoners had regular visits from the clergy. Chaplains would bring Bibles, read prayers, and preach sermons intended to stir the prisoner’s soul. They often carried woodcuts or illustrations of heaven, hell, and saints — crucial for people who could not read. These images were used to reinforce Christian teachings and to help the condemned prepare for what was thought to come next.
Franz would observe these interactions closely. He witnessed chaplains encouraging the condemned to confess, pray, and accept their fate. Singing hymns, reading catechisms, and reciting the Lord’s Prayer were all part of the routine. Everyone involved wanted to believe that the condemned person could still find redemption.
Execution as Performance
Public executions weren’t just punishment; they were theatre. The goal wasn’t merely to kill someone, but to send a message. Crowds would gather to witness the spectacle, and broadsheets were often printed in advance to ensure a good turnout. The condemned would process through town, sometimes a mile or more, to the place of execution.
Franz understood this. He saw himself as part of a morality play. Each execution had its staging: the sentencing, the procession, the final prayer, and the act itself. He viewed the execution not as spectacle for spectacle’s sake, but as a public service, a ritual of both justice and instruction.
As historian Joel Harrington put it, the "good death" that Franz sought to deliver was essentially a drama of religious redemption. The condemned confessed, accepted their punishment, and died with dignity, and in doing so, served as an example for others.
The Last Meal
The condemned were usually given a final meal. This could be a feast or a modest repast. Wine and beer were commonly included. Some prisoners drank so heavily they were nearly unconscious before execution. One unfortunate even burst his stomach swinging from the gallows. Others refused food entirely, already withdrawn from the world.
Before the execution, Franz would share a traditional drink of peace with the prisoner and ask their forgiveness. Then came the ceremonial garb, a white linen gown, and the formal announcement: "The executioner is at hand."
The Blood Court
Before the final act, the prisoner was presented before the blood court. The confession was read aloud, and the method of execution selected. In Vogel's case, the court chose the sword. It was up to Franz to carry out the sentence with skill and precision.
The crowd was not always passive. On more than one occasion, a drunken or defiant prisoner caused disruption. Franz once noted a man who urinated on the gallows and demanded to fence four guards before he would submit. "His request was refused," Franz dryly wrote.
A Precision Craft
In his 45-year career, Franz executed 187 people by sword. He only needed a second stroke four times. In some German towns, if an executioner botched the job, requiring more than three strokes, the crowd could demand his execution in turn.
The pressure was enormous. Drunken mobs could riot if the execution was slow or messy. But Franz dispatched Vogel in one clean stroke. When the judge praised his work, Franz responded, "For that I thank God and my master who has taught me such art."
Methods of Execution: Tools of a Dark Trade
The executioner's toolkit was as diverse as it was grim. Each execution method was selected to match the crime's nature and the social status of the condemned. Common methods included:
Beheading: Typically reserved for nobility or those of high social rank, beheading was considered a merciful and honorable death. A single, swift blow with an axe or sword was intended to be both precise and conclusive. However, this method required skill—any mistake could lead to a prolonged, agonizing death, undermining the intended dignity of the punishment. Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry VIII, was notably executed by a skilled French swordsman in 1536 to ensure a swift and dignified end. In contrast, the beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots, in 1587 was infamous for requiring multiple blows, making it particularly distressing and controversial.
Hanging: The most commonly used method for ordinary criminals, hanging required precise calculation of the drop to ensure a death that was neither excessively prolonged nor overly brutal. Despite its simpler mechanics, it required the executioner to balance technical skill with the need to deliver a public warning.
Burning at the Stake: Reserved for those considered irredeemable—heretics, witches, and other societal outcasts—burning at the stake served as both a physical and symbolic cleansing of sin. The spectacle of flames and the condemned's agony acted as a powerful deterrent, vividly demonstrating the community's commitment to orthodoxy. Joan of Arc's execution in 1431 in Rouen, after being condemned as a heretic by an English-backed ecclesiastical court, is a notable example. Another infamous case is the Spanish Inquisition's execution of Giordano Bruno in 1600 in Rome for his unorthodox theological and cosmological views.
Drawing and Quartering: Perhaps the harshest of all, this method was reserved for the most serious crimes, such as treason. In a series of excruciating steps, the condemned was hanged, disemboweled, and then divided into four parts. Although rarely used, drawing and quartering served as a brutal reminder of the state's absolute power and the lengths medieval justice would go to suppress dissent. A notorious example is William Wallace's execution in 1305, where he was captured by the English, hanged until near death, disemboweled while still alive, and quartered, with his body parts displayed across the kingdom as a warning against rebellion. Another well-known case is Guy Fawkes in 1606, who was sentenced to be drawn and quartered for his role in the Gunpowder Plot, although he avoided the full punishment by jumping from the scaffold and breaking his neck before being disemboweled.
A Legacy Beyond Death
Even after the execution, Franz had work to do. Cleaning the blood, disposing of the body, and clearing the site were part of the job. The crowd would linger, watching until the final trace of life had been scrubbed away.
After retiring in 1617, Franz focused on his other profession: medicine. He treated over 15,000 patients in his lifetime. He died in 1634 and was given a state funeral in Nuremberg’s most prestigious cemetery, near the graves of painter Albrecht Dürer and poet Hans Sachs.
He never wore a hood. He didn’t hide. Franz Schmidt served justice in a way few could understand. Both executioner and healer, feared and honoured, he was a man whose story still fascinates us centuries later.
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