Therefore, on the third day from that, he commanded him to be brought out and beheaded on the scaffold at Wollin. He wore a white shroud, bordered with black gauze, over his motley jacket, and a priest and melancholy music accompanied him all the way; but Master Hansen had directions that, when the fool was seated in the chair with his eyes bound, he should strike the said fool on the neck with a sausage in place of the sword.
However, no one suspected this, and a great crowd followed the poor fool up to the scaffold; even Doctor Pomius was there, and kept close up to the condemned. As the fool passed the ducal house, there was my lord seated at a window looking out, and the fool looked up, saying, "My gracious master, is this a fool's jest you are playing me, or is it earnest?"
To which the Duke answered, "You see it is earnest."
Then answered the fool, "Well, if I must, I must; yet I crave one boon!"
When the promise was granted, the knave, who could not give up his jesting even on the death-road, said, "Then make Doctor Pomius herewith to be fool in my place, for look how he is learning all my tricks from me—sticking himself close up to my side."
Hereat a great shout of laughter pealed from the crowd, and the
Duke motioned with the hand to proceed to the scaffold.
Still the poor fool kept looking round every moment, thinking his Grace would send a message after them to stop the execution, but no one appeared. Then his teeth chattered, and he trembled like an aspen leaf; for Master Hansen seized hold of him now, and put him down upon the chair, and bound his eyes. Still he asked, with his eyes bound, "Master, is any one coming?"
"No!" replied the executioner; and throwing back his red cloak, drew forth a large sausage in place of a sword, to the great amusement of the people. With this he strikes my fool on the neck, who thereupon tumbles down from the stool, as stone dead from the mere fright as if his head and body had parted company—yea, more dead, for never a finger or a muscle did the poor fool move more.
This sad ending moved his Grace even to tears; and he fell into a yet greater melancholy than before, crying, "Woe! alas! He gave me my life through fright, and through fright I have taken away his poor life! Ah, never shall I meet with so good and merry a fool again!"
Then he gave command to all the physicians to try and restore him, and he himself stood by while they bled him and felt his pulse, but all was in vain; even Doctor Pomius tried his skill, but nothing would help, so that my lord cried out angrily—