The old landsknechts were a wild bunch who liked to scuffle and carouse, and the playing cards were also dear to them. Hearts, Bells, Acorns and Leaves, Sting and Sow were easier for them to remember than the Lord’s Prayer for many a good man. One would like to believe that they did not always act in a God-fearing manner, and in fact a gruesome tale has been passed down to us from the small town of Hall in the Tyrolean Inn Valley.
According to the tale, it happened here that a few landsknechts did not want to let go of their shameful activities even during the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. In order to be undisturbed, they crept up one of the narrow spiral staircases leading to the gallery and were soon completely absorbed in their debauchery. The cards, however, were particularly favorable to one of the men, and since they stuffed one man’s pockets, there had to be one who constantly lost.
The latter, however, did not want to take this lying down and so the stakes increased with each round. But anger is a bad advisor and luck cannot be forced. Still, the brave man-at-arms raised the stakes higher and higher, and the more he bet, the more he lost. But also his temper grew into wild fury with every taler he lost. Just as the priest intoned the Lord’s Prayer and the large bronze tower bells began to chime at midnight, the furor finally got the better of him, and he cursed the Blessed Virgin, the community of saints, and even the Lord God himself with the most shameful of curses.
But as every child knows, Christmas Eve, occupies a very special place among the holy nights, and defiling it is rarely a good idea. In fact, the bells were still tolling through the nave as a sulfur-yellow mist crept up the stairs, and before the mercenaries knew what was happening to them, the Prince of Hell was already amongst them. He grabbed the unfortunate man whose curses turned into a shrieking scream, while the infernal lord dragged him through the much too narrow window into the open. From then on he was never seen again and all that remained of him was a trail of blood on the window sill that could be seen for years to come.
The winner, however, who had just been rejoicing, was now overcome by cold horror. He ran downstairs to the nave and threw everything he had won, even the money he had already had, into the offering box without hesitation. Then, under the astonished gaze of the churchgoers, he took out his cards and burned them over the candles of the forest chapel. As the cards went up in flames, he threw himself on his knees and swore before the skulls and bones of all the saints resting there never again to lay a hand on cards, spinning tops or dice.
The bloodstain left by his gambling companion, however, remained on the ledge of the little window for many years, as a grim reminder to all those who lacked piety and godlyness.
