Last year’s Kinderspiel des Jahres-winning publisher Schmidt Spiele saw its sales rise nearly 8% to €61.5m in 2025, citing children’s and family games as a key driver of its growth.
The veteran board game maker, which has a history stretching back to 1907, said its “core area” of children’s and family games grew 6% last year, with Wolfgang Warsch-designed 2025 Kinderspiel winner Topp Die Torte highlighted for achieving “encouraging sales figures”.
Schmidt Spiele said its classic board game brands Mensch ärgere Dich nicht and Yahtzee – known as Kniffel in Germany – were key contributors to that result, as were popular titles from its Klein & Fein series of small-box dice games, which includes the Warsch-designed Ganz Schön Clever! (That’s Pretty Clever!) range.
The publisher, which also makes puzzles, plushies and toys, is best known in hobby board games for critical and commercial successes Quacks of Quedlinburg and Daybreak – winners of the Spiel des Jahres and Kennerspiel respectively – and Ganz Schön Clever, a Kennerspiel des Jahres nominee in 2018.
The company said during the unveiling of its 2023 results that sales for its family and children-focused division had remained flat, albeit at a level it said has been on a high since 2020.
Schmidt Spiele managing director Axel Kaldenhoven said of the 2025 results, “The growth across all product ranges confirms both our strategic direction and the strength of our brands and products.
“Classic games, strong licensed themes, and innovative new products complement each other perfectly and form the basis of our success.”
Schmidt added that a key component of its ongoing success was its commitment to attending trade fairs including Spielwarenmesse, Spiel Essen, SPIEL DOCH! Dortmund, Brettspiel Con Berlin, Hobbymesse Leipzig and SPIELidee Rostock, which allowed it to cultivated exchanges with partners and game designers and continuously expanded its network, in addition to making sales to consumers.
The company’s 2026 releases are set to include Reiner Knizia-designed Kniffel: Das Duell, a tenth-anniversary re-design of Inka and Markus Brand’s Encore! (Noch Mal!), titled Noch X-Mal!, and magical ingredients tile placement game Morty Sorty Magic Shop from Challengers co-designer Markus Slawitscheck.
Before we dive into the content of the playlist, some general observations:
All of the songs in the playlist were popular during the Weimar Republic (1918—1933). Yet as music recording was still in its infancy at that time, many of the songs in the playlist are later recordings (and some rare ones were recorded even before 1918!).
As the playlist is only 2:21 hours long, your Weimar game will probably last longer (if you don’t crash the republic on the first or second round), but there’s no reason not to listen to these songs two or three times – they’re fascinating historical documents.
The playlist is thematically sorted. That helps you find similar songs, but makes for somewhat monotonous listening (until you come to the next group of songs). I therefore recommend you turn shuffle on.
Now, what awaits you in the playlist?
#1: The National Anthem
It seems like a no-brainer to include the German national anthem of the time, yet it’s not so simple: The Lied der Deutschen (Song of the Germans) had been written in 1841, but had since then only been a patriotic song among many – until the first president of the republic, Friedrich Ebert, declared it the national anthem in 1922. The song’s three stanzas were variedly popular: Ebert favored the third stanza with its liberal ideals of unity, justice, and freedom, his right-wing opponents preferred the “Deutschland über alles” (Germany Above Everything) first stanza. I have included an instrumental version. If you feel patriotic, you can sing along.
The Weimar Republic did not come into existence in a vacuum. It inherited German cultural traditions like folk songs (“Wem Gott will rechte Gunst erweisen” (Whom God Wants to Favor), song #2).
And, of course, the Weimar Republic succeeded the German Empire with its national feeling (“Die Wacht am Rhein” (The Guard on the Rhine), song #2), dominant Protestantism (Martin Luther’s classic “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott” (A Mighty Fortress Is Our God), song #5), and monarchy (“Heil dir im Siegerkranz” (Hail to Thee In the Victor’s Crown), song #7 – the quasi-anthem of the German Empire).
The republic’s midwife was the First World War – whose experience shaped its veterans and provided the cultural context even for those who had not been adults during the war yet (“Wildgänse rauschen durch die Nacht” (Wild Geese Rush Through the Night), song #8, written in 1916, was immensely popular among the Weimar Republic youth movement). The war also cast its shadow over Weimar Germany as many had lost their husbands, sons, fathers, brothers, and friends in the war (“Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden” (I Had a Comrade), song #9, the traditional German soldiers’ lament).
The liberal republic proved fertile ground for satirical treatments of the new developments: Otto Reutter made fun of the big and small war profiteers with “Seh’n Sie, darum ist es schade, dass der Krieg zu Ende ist” (See, that’s why it’s a pity that the war is over, song #10), and Claire Waldoff called for replacing the men in power with women in “Raus mit den Männern aus dem Reichstag” (Kick the Men Out of Parliament, song #11), playing on masculine anxieties after the introduction of women’s suffrage.
Even in a time and place as politically charged as the Weimar Republic, not everything was politics. The average Hans and Gretel may have cared less about their preferred ideology and more about how to have good time on a Saturday night… and the new cultural scene, especially in the big cities like Berlin, provided ample opportunities.
The more sophisticated artists like the Comedian Harmonists succeeded with witty wordplay and erudite vocal harmonies. Others played on the classics – alcohol (“Wir versaufen unser Oma ihr klein’ Häuschen“ (We Blow Grandma’s Little House on Booze, song #19) and sexual innuendo („Fräulein, Woll’n Sie nicht ein Kind von mir“ (Miss, Don’t You Want a Child By Me, song #22). There was even the equivalent of a (generalized) diss track: “Du bist als Kind zu heiß gebadet worden” (You Have Been Bathed Too Hot As a Child, song #23) indicates that this neglect of bath safety led to lasting brain damage in the interlocutor.
#26-33: Film, Theater, and Opera Music
The Weimar Republic’s vibrant cultural scene led to cross-pollination between diverse forms of artistic expression. The new medium of film was pioneered in Germany, and once it had left its silent infancy behind, movie songs became hits. Marlene Dietrich, starring in The Blue Angel, enticed with “Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß auf Liebe eingestellt (I’m Set to Love From Head to Heel, song #26), but warned “Nimm dich in Acht vor blonden Frau’n“ (Beware of Blonde Women, song #27).
More traditional art forms like the theater also adapted. Die Dreigroschenoper (The Threepenny Opera)’s acerbic critique of capitalism would not have been as successful without its catchy songs, the most famous of which is the “Moritat of Mackie Messer” (Ballad of Mack the Knife, song #31).
Even the most classic and highbrow form of entertainment modernized: “Jonny spielt auf” (Jonny Plays It Big, song #33) introduced jazz into the world of the opera… which brings us to our next category.
#34-41: Jazz and Blues
Traditionally, the United States had received and emulated European fashions, not the other way around. Yet by the early 20th century, America had become the largest economy in the world, its war entry in 1917 tipped the scales of the war further in favor of the Allies, and the increased presence of Americans in Europe meant that the United States turned from an importer to an exporter of culture. Jazz took Europe by storm – both in the form of American (and nascent European) bands and by the new medium of the music record. The Weimar Republic was no exception. Jazz fueled the parties in any larger city of 1920s Germany.
Of course, not everyone loved jazz, and the controversy over its unorthodox dissonances, the more expressive, individualistic, and eroticized dancing style accompanying the music, and, of course, the race of its performers entered the contemporary culture wars – exemplified by Weimar’s double use of Louis Armstrong, illustrating both the SPD’s “The New Rhythm” and the DNVP’s “Nicht Deutsch” (“Not German”) event cards.
The “Tiger Rag” (song #41) is also used in The Tin Drum, German writer Günter Grass’s epic about the rise, fall, and persistence of Nazism: The youthful protagonist Oskar Matzerath who always carries his eponymous tin drum plays the Tiger Rag at a NSDAP rally in his hometown Danzig. The mesmerizing rhythm has the audience sway and dance, exposing the Nazis to ridicule.
#42-47: Workers’ Songs
The aggressive ethno-nationalism of Nazism was one of the two most dynamic political movements of the Weimar Republic (at least once the 1929 crash had plunged vast parts of the German population into a crisis of material and identity). The other was the workers’ movement, both in its reformist Social Democratic and its revolutionary Communist form. As the workers had been traditionally excluded from the public in imperial Germany, dominated by aristocracy and bourgeoisie, they created their own political parties (SPD, later USPD and KPD), economic associations (the trade unions), and social and cultural associations – from workers’ sport clubs to workers’ singing societies. Their milieu was bound together not only by their shared economic experience, but also by this cultural connection, of which the workers’ songs formed an important part.
Classics from imperial times like “Die Internationale” (The Internationale, song #42) remained important, but the movement also adopted new songs written by the numerous socialist poets and composers like Bertolt Brecht, Hanns Eisler, or Ernst Busch. Whereas some of these became new classics (like the “Solidaritätslied” (Solidarity Song, song #46), others aged badly: “Der Marsch ins Dritte Reich” (The March to the Third Reich, song #47) poked fun at the alleged inability of the Nazis to take power after their electoral setback at the Reichstag election of November 1932. First recorded in December 1932, the song was horribly overtaken by events just a month later when Hitler was elected chancellor in January 1933.
Thus, we conclude our playlist. It contains the traditional and the modern, entertainment and politics, left and right – except for the very right, but I don’t want to listen to Nazi songs while playing board games, and I’m sure that neither do you.
Do you like to play music in the background while playing board games? What’s your favorite song from this playlist? Let me know in the comments!
Before we dive into the content of the playlist, some general observations:
All of the songs in the playlist were popular during the Weimar Republic (1918—1933). Yet as music recording was still in its infancy at that time, many of the songs in the playlist are later recordings (and some rare ones were recorded even before 1918!).
As the playlist is only 2:21 hours long, your Weimar game will probably last longer (if you don’t crash the republic on the first or second round), but there’s no reason not to listen to these songs two or three times – they’re fascinating historical documents.
The playlist is thematically sorted. That helps you find similar songs, but makes for somewhat monotonous listening (until you come to the next group of songs). I therefore recommend you turn shuffle on.
Now, what awaits you in the playlist?
#1: The National Anthem
It seems like a no-brainer to include the German national anthem of the time, yet it’s not so simple: The Lied der Deutschen (Song of the Germans) had been written in 1841, but had since then only been a patriotic song among many – until the first president of the republic, Friedrich Ebert, declared it the national anthem in 1922. The song’s three stanzas were variedly popular: Ebert favored the third stanza with its liberal ideals of unity, justice, and freedom, his right-wing opponents preferred the “Deutschland über alles” (Germany Above Everything) first stanza. I have included an instrumental version. If you feel patriotic, you can sing along.
The Weimar Republic did not come into existence in a vacuum. It inherited German cultural traditions like folk songs (“Wem Gott will rechte Gunst erweisen” (Whom God Wants to Favor), song #2).
And, of course, the Weimar Republic succeeded the German Empire with its national feeling (“Die Wacht am Rhein” (The Guard on the Rhine), song #2), dominant Protestantism (Martin Luther’s classic “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott” (A Mighty Fortress Is Our God), song #5), and monarchy (“Heil dir im Siegerkranz” (Hail to Thee In the Victor’s Crown), song #7 – the quasi-anthem of the German Empire).
The republic’s midwife was the First World War – whose experience shaped its veterans and provided the cultural context even for those who had not been adults during the war yet (“Wildgänse rauschen durch die Nacht” (Wild Geese Rush Through the Night), song #8, written in 1916, was immensely popular among the Weimar Republic youth movement). The war also cast its shadow over Weimar Germany as many had lost their husbands, sons, fathers, brothers, and friends in the war (“Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden” (I Had a Comrade), song #9, the traditional German soldiers’ lament).
The liberal republic proved fertile ground for satirical treatments of the new developments: Otto Reutter made fun of the big and small war profiteers with “Seh’n Sie, darum ist es schade, dass der Krieg zu Ende ist” (See, that’s why it’s a pity that the war is over, song #10), and Claire Waldoff called for replacing the men in power with women in “Raus mit den Männern aus dem Reichstag” (Kick the Men Out of Parliament, song #11), playing on masculine anxieties after the introduction of women’s suffrage.
Even in a time and place as politically charged as the Weimar Republic, not everything was politics. The average Hans and Gretel may have cared less about their preferred ideology and more about how to have good time on a Saturday night… and the new cultural scene, especially in the big cities like Berlin, provided ample opportunities.
The more sophisticated artists like the Comedian Harmonists succeeded with witty wordplay and erudite vocal harmonies. Others played on the classics – alcohol (“Wir versaufen unser Oma ihr klein’ Häuschen“ (We Blow Grandma’s Little House on Booze, song #19) and sexual innuendo („Fräulein, Woll’n Sie nicht ein Kind von mir“ (Miss, Don’t You Want a Child By Me, song #22). There was even the equivalent of a (generalized) diss track: “Du bist als Kind zu heiß gebadet worden” (You Have Been Bathed Too Hot As a Child, song #23) indicates that this neglect of bath safety led to lasting brain damage in the interlocutor.
#26-33: Film, Theater, and Opera Music
The Weimar Republic’s vibrant cultural scene led to cross-pollination between diverse forms of artistic expression. The new medium of film was pioneered in Germany, and once it had left its silent infancy behind, movie songs became hits. Marlene Dietrich, starring in The Blue Angel, enticed with “Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß auf Liebe eingestellt (I’m Set to Love From Head to Heel, song #26), but warned “Nimm dich in Acht vor blonden Frau’n“ (Beware of Blonde Women, song #27).
More traditional art forms like the theater also adapted. Die Dreigroschenoper (The Threepenny Opera)’s acerbic critique of capitalism would not have been as successful without its catchy songs, the most famous of which is the “Moritat of Mackie Messer” (Ballad of Mack the Knife, song #31).
Even the most classic and highbrow form of entertainment modernized: “Jonny spielt auf” (Jonny Plays It Big, song #33) introduced jazz into the world of the opera… which brings us to our next category.
#34-41: Jazz and Blues
Traditionally, the United States had received and emulated European fashions, not the other way around. Yet by the early 20th century, America had become the largest economy in the world, its war entry in 1917 tipped the scales of the war further in favor of the Allies, and the increased presence of Americans in Europe meant that the United States turned from an importer to an exporter of culture. Jazz took Europe by storm – both in the form of American (and nascent European) bands and by the new medium of the music record. The Weimar Republic was no exception. Jazz fueled the parties in any larger city of 1920s Germany.
Of course, not everyone loved jazz, and the controversy over its unorthodox dissonances, the more expressive, individualistic, and eroticized dancing style accompanying the music, and, of course, the race of its performers entered the contemporary culture wars – exemplified by Weimar’s double use of Louis Armstrong, illustrating both the SPD’s “The New Rhythm” and the DNVP’s “Nicht Deutsch” (“Not German”) event cards.
The “Tiger Rag” (song #41) is also used in The Tin Drum, German writer Günter Grass’s epic about the rise, fall, and persistence of Nazism: The youthful protagonist Oskar Matzerath who always carries his eponymous tin drum plays the Tiger Rag at a NSDAP rally in his hometown Danzig. The mesmerizing rhythm has the audience sway and dance, exposing the Nazis to ridicule.
#42-47: Workers’ Songs
The aggressive ethno-nationalism of Nazism was one of the two most dynamic political movements of the Weimar Republic (at least once the 1929 crash had plunged vast parts of the German population into a crisis of material and identity). The other was the workers’ movement, both in its reformist Social Democratic and its revolutionary Communist form. As the workers had been traditionally excluded from the public in imperial Germany, dominated by aristocracy and bourgeoisie, they created their own political parties (SPD, later USPD and KPD), economic associations (the trade unions), and social and cultural associations – from workers’ sport clubs to workers’ singing societies. Their milieu was bound together not only by their shared economic experience, but also by this cultural connection, of which the workers’ songs formed an important part.
Classics from imperial times like “Die Internationale” (The Internationale, song #42) remained important, but the movement also adopted new songs written by the numerous socialist poets and composers like Bertolt Brecht, Hanns Eisler, or Ernst Busch. Whereas some of these became new classics (like the “Solidaritätslied” (Solidarity Song, song #46), others aged badly: “Der Marsch ins Dritte Reich” (The March to the Third Reich, song #47) poked fun at the alleged inability of the Nazis to take power after their electoral setback at the Reichstag election of November 1932. First recorded in December 1932, the song was horribly overtaken by events just a month later when Hitler was elected chancellor in January 1933.
Thus, we conclude our playlist. It contains the traditional and the modern, entertainment and politics, left and right – except for the very right, but I don’t want to listen to Nazi songs while playing board games, and I’m sure that neither do you.
Do you like to play music in the background while playing board games? What’s your favorite song from this playlist? Let me know in the comments!
Wallenstein spent the second half of 1625 raising and organizing his army. It was the first great army under imperial command – the victor of White Mountain, Johann Tserclaes, Count of Tilly, was technically a general of the Catholic League (Ferdinand’s Catholic allies in the Holy Roman Empire, chief of them the Bavarian elector Maximilian), while the rebellious Palatinate had been put down by Spanish forces diverted from their war against the Dutch. And what an army it was! A popular anecdote has it that Ferdinand asked Wallenstein if he could field 20,000 men – to which Wallenstein replied “20,000 – no. But 50,000 – yes.”, as only a large army could occupy the territory and seize the contributions necessary.
Many warlords, mercenary captains, and private security CEOs have been called “violence entrepreneurs.” They provide the ways of violence (and, if successful, the ends of security) to their employer, which usually consist in the command vested in themselves and the military manpower of their forces (sometimes, only one or the other).
Wallenstein, however, went far beyond that. Of course he took command of the army, and he also raised it himself (in that sense not unlike the other condottiere of the time like Ernst von Mansfeld). However, he also took care of the supply of this army, from the grain which would make the soldiers’ breakfast to the last musket ball they fired in a battle. He sourced all these goods to the best of his abilities from his own estates in the Duchy of Friedland – an immense economic stimulus that made his already well-administered lands even more prosperous.
And, on top of the supply, Wallenstein also provided the up-front pay for the soldiers. That had been the part which had convinced Emperor Ferdinand II because he did not have to search the empty imperial coffers for funds. Wallenstein was allowed to raise a general tax on the occupied territories as well as the Habsburg hereditary domains to reimburse himself – a juster system than the punitive payments extracted from occupied territories alone, but obviously also less popular among the inhabitants and nobles of the Habsburg lands.
And yet, the emperor was ever deeper in Wallenstein’s debt, owing him vast sums Wallenstein had to borrow himself (chiefly from his Dutch banker Hans de Witte). As the imperial treasury was perpetually empty, Ferdinand’s only way of paying was to give Wallenstein land – land he had conquer himself first.
First Blood: Dessau Bridge and Hungary
Wallenstein and his force joined Tilly in northern Germany in late 1625. They took separate winter quarters and divided their responsibilities for the campaigns of 1626: Tilly was to keep Christian IV of Denmark in check, Wallenstein the army of Ernst von Mansfeld.
In spring 1626, Wallenstein occupied strong positions on the central Elbe. As Mansfeld planned to march south to the Habsburg hereditary lands (where he wanted to meet with the army of his ally Gabriel Bethlen, the Prince of Transylvania), he attempted to force the crossing of the Elbe at the Dessau bridge defended by a small garrison under Wallenstein’s lieutenant Johann von Aldringen. Aldringen’s tenacious defense held the bridge for a few days until Wallenstein’s main army arrived at the bridge, attacked Mansfeld from the rear, and won a great victory.
The catastrophe at the Dessau bridge fit in with Mansfeld’s military record, a string of defeats. Yet Mansfeld had never been one to give up, and neither did he then. He took his diminished army on a long route via Silesia and Moravia in direction of Hungary. Against Tilly’s wishes who wanted to remain concentrated in the north of Germany, Wallenstein chased after Mansfeld to take care of the threat to the Habsburg core lands. He could choose a shorter route, but to catch up with Mansfeld who’d had a headstart of a month, his army force-marched at a rate of almost 30km per day. The downside of this feat was that thousands of men died on the march in the hot summer, had to be left behind in garrisons, or just deserted. Wallenstein arrived in Hungary with a markedly diminished force.
Both Mansfeld and Bethlen maneuvered around Hungary. As the campaign had not only taken its toll on Wallenstein’s forces, but also on their commander, he considered resignation. In the end, he let himself be convinced to stay on. His father-in-law Karl von Harrach acted as the representative of the emperor and negotiated an agreement with Wallenstein that confirmed the general’s right to draw his supply directly from Bohemia without involving the imperial administration, take winter quarters in the Habsburg hereditary lands, and enlarge his army. The convinced threat to his own estate in Bohemia may have contributed to his decision to stay in the field. Despite the Imperial War Council urging Wallenstein to attack, he prioritized the conservation of his army for the rest of the year.
It was enough. Mansfeld died in November 1626 of a hemorrhage. Gabriel Bethlen made peace with the emperor in December. As Wallenstein’s army had been in the field far longer than was customary at the time, the winter had taken its toll. Wallenstein had begun his chase of Mansfeld with 20,000 men. Now he had less than half.
The campaign of 1626 shows that battle was not the greatest danger for the soldiers (Wallenstein did not fight a single one after setting out for Hungary) – disease, food shortages, and exposure to the elements exacted a far greater death toll. While these experiences were universal (and mutually reinforcing), it came down to the decision of the general how harsh they would be. Wallenstein’s hard marches and late move into winter quarters were understandable in the context of his operational goals, but also contributed to the devastation of his army.
Map of Cuius Regio, arrows showing Wallenstein’s march from Dessau to Hungary: Even a general with a high leadership rating like Wallenstein, would need several activations to cross half the map, putting a large dose of Fatigue on the army. Playtest art.
These elements of 17th century operational warfare are neatly modelled in the upcoming Cuius Regio (Francisco Gradaille, GMT Games) with the single modifier of Fatigue. Whenever an army moves, fights, or does other arduous things, its fatigue increases. The higher the fatigue is, the more its movement range and fighting ability are reduced. Sometimes you will feel like you have to push your armies to their utmost limits – but often it is a wise decision to skip some activations and have your forces enjoy their winter quarters early.
Campaigns in the North
While Wallenstein’s forces had suffered much from the 1626 campaign, it had been operationally successful. With the threat represented by Mansfeld and Bethlen removed, the Habsburg core lands (and thus, Wallenstein’s own holdings in Bohemia) were safe once more.
While Wallenstein had pursued Mansfeld, Tilly had inflicted a painful defeat on Christian IV at Lutter. Now Wallenstein could join Tilly on the offensive against the Danish king. He sent a detachment under Hans Georg von Arnim (one of the many Protestants in important roles in Wallenstein’s army) north. His own force retook Silesia, the last imperial territory under enemy occupation, and then set out after Arnim. In addition to Wallenstein’s army, the Catholic League force under Tilly also advanced against the Danish forces.
By August 1627, northern Germany had been cleared of enemy troops. Wallenstein and Tilly could now invade Denmark proper. When Tilly was wounded, Wallenstein took command of both armies and occupied all of Jutland in a lightning campaign by the end of October 1627. Four months before, the King of Denmark had been in control of a part of the Habsburg hereditary lands. Now, he was reduced to flee to his island possessions.
Wallenstein sent word of his successes to Ferdinand II and was granted a meeting with him in Bohemia in November 1627. The emperor was duly grateful – and he was indebted, morally as well as financially, for Wallenstein still paid for the army’s upkeep in advance and was only irregularly reimbursed from the chronically empty imperial coffers. Ferdinand thus had to reward his loyal servant elsewise: He encouraged Wallenstein to strive to become King of Denmark – an inestimable honor for a man whose father had been the lord of one small village, and even that only because a kindly uncle had left it to him. Wallenstein, however, was too practical a man to overlook the immense difficulties connected to the Danish crown: Not only would he have to contend with the hostile Danish nobles, he would also have to fully defeat the sitting Danish king. And while Christian had been trounced in 1627, he now sat on his islands, defended by the powerful Danish navy, and unassailable as long as the imperial army was not joined by a navy of its own in the Baltic Sea. Wallenstein thus politely declined, saying that he preferred “the other [reward]” – that being the Duchy of Mecklenburg.
The Dukes of Mecklenburg had supported the Danish king in his intervention against the emperor – rebellious princes being a tradition in the Holy Roman Empire for centuries. Ferdinand’s decision to oust them and replace them with his general was decidedly un-traditional, another flagrant breach of the “German liberty” (of princes) after the deposition of the Elector of the Palatinate. Yet the electorate had passed to Maximilian of Bavaria, one of the most exalted princes of the Empire, the descendant of a long line of Bavarian dukes, one of which had even been emperor. The Duchy of Mecklenburg, on the other hand, passed to Wallenstein, the son of a minor country noble from Bohemia, who now would be the direct vassal of Ferdinand II as emperor, a prince of the Empire. The old nobility felt that affront keenly – no one keener than Maximilian.
Wallenstein’s mind was less concerned with the jealousy of the princes than with the military opportunities and challenges at hand. As his mighty army stood at the Baltic shores, he could play for the dominium Maris Baltici, the supremacy in the Baltic Sea now. The other contenders were his Danish enemy, the king of Poland-Lithuania, Sigismund III Vasa, who had also been King of Sweden until his deposition in 1599, and the ruling Swedish king Gustavus Adolphus. For now, the Catholic king of Poland kept the Protestant king of Sweden busy, and it seemed unlikely anyway that Sweden would ally with its Baltic rival Denmark, notwithstanding their shared Protestant faith. If Wallenstein could gather a navy of his own (the emperor had already created him Admiral of the Baltic and North Sea, a grand title for a commander without a single warship), then the emperor would be a contender for the dominium Maris Baltici.
There were only two ways to get ships. The first was to rely on the emperor’s Spanish Habsburg relatives. Yet while Spain was one of the premier naval powers of the age, the Spanish were still embroiled in their struggle against Dutch independence which kept their navy more than busy. And just as Wallenstein was suspicious of Spanish interventions in central and northern European affairs, so were most of the central and northern Europeans in question. If Wallenstein aligned himself with Spain, they would be hostile. Thus, Wallenstein counted on the second way to get his navy – from the Baltic coast itself. For that, he needed to convince some of the rich merchant towns to declare for the emperor and supply him with ships. That was delicate tightrope: Wallenstein had to be firm enough to make them give concessions to him, but not so authoritarian that they would close their gates in his face.
One town immediately defied Wallenstein: The relatively small Stralsund, nominally a part of the Duchy of Pomerania, but practically independent, refused to allow an imperial garrison and would not negotiate about it. Arnim began to besiege the town. Now Wallenstein was embroiled in a struggle he hadn’t wanted over a place he didn’t much care for, having to divert an ever-larger part of his army to the siege. As he still didn’t have any ships, Stralsund could be easily supplied from the sea, and the as the town grew more desperate accepted, it also accepted outside support – first in weapons, then also in soldiers – from Denmark, and eventually Sweden.
Wallenstein accepted that the town would not budge. If he wanted it, he would have to take it in a bloody general assault. The price seemed too high for such an unimportant place. When the Pomeranian duke Bogislav promised that Stralsund would be loyal to the emperor, Wallenstein lifted the siege, just in time to face Christian of Denmark again.
The Danish king did Wallenstein’s job for him: He left the safety of his island possessions, landed a much too small army in the Pomeranian town of Wolgast, and was duly trounced by Wallenstein once more. Gustavus Adolphus was still tied down in Poland and thus unable to intervene on behalf of the hard-pressed Protestant side. The end of the emperor’s war with Denmark was near.
Wallenstein wanted peace. Only peace, peace on terms favorable to the emperor, could confirm his rule over the by now vast holdings in his three duchies of Friedland (in Bohemia), Mecklenburg (on the Baltic coast), and, since February 1628, Sagan (in Silesia), another time the emperor had settled some of his outstanding debt to Wallenstein in land. For this peace, he was willing to make concessions. He also was realistic enough to understand that the balance of power at sea was unchanged, and that Christian would possibly not be so foolish as to leave the Danish isles a second time. Thus, Wallenstein as the emperor’s representative negotiated the Peace of Lübeck with Denmark. Christian promised not to intervene in the Empire (as far as he was not concerned as a prince of the Empire). In return, he did not have to make any territorial concessions. The treaty was remarkably successful as it did not breed any further grudges and instead ensured Christian’s future loyalty to the emperor. As Gustavus Adolphus would end his war against Poland-Lithuania later in 1629, Swedish intervention against the emperor seemed possible. Having the goodwill of Sweden’s traditional rival Denmark was all the more valuable.
Princes and Politics
The Peace of Lübeck had shown Wallenstein’s qualities as a diplomat, and as a statesman. It would also show his limitations as a politician – while he could treat with his enemies, he had a hard time making friends within the Catholic-imperial camp.
Wallenstein saw Habsburg Spain as a strategic liability. Spanish troops may have defeated the Elector of the Palatinate in the early 1620s, but overall, Spain demanded more from the emperor than it gave to him. Wallenstein’s refusal to send parts of his army to support Spanish campaigns in the Netherlands and even in Upper Italy against France, which risked French intervention against the Habsburgs in the Empire, earned him the suspicion of the influential Spanish party at the imperial court in Vienna.
On top of that, Wallenstein was inclined to compromise, whereas both the emperor and most of his supporters (like the Spanish or the Elector of Bavaria) were hardliners. This showed most clearly in religious matters: Wallenstein was always happy to treat Protestants and Catholics the same, whereas Ferdinand, Maximilian, and their ilk wanted to roll back Protestantism. Their chosen instrument was the Edict of Restitution (1629): Any monastic or clerical territory which had been secularized by a Protestant ruler since 1552 was to be restored – a sweeping change which would have affected two archbishoprics, seven bishoprics, and around 500 monasteries.
Wallenstein’s approach to use a position of strength for reconciliation (as he had done with the Peace of Lübeck) may have given peace to the Empire as well. Ferdinand’s attempt to parlay his military success into religious domination was bound to mobilize the Protestants in the Empire (which made up over 80% of its population), harden hostilities, and prolong the war that had already been raging for over a decade.
Finally, Wallenstein as a person aroused suspicion, jealousy, and hatred among the princes, especially the only ones still nominally superior to him, the Electors. The princes had been outraged when Ferdinand made the upstart Wallenstein Duke of Mecklenburg, ousting an ancient dynasty. Many of them also had a noble in their court, a vassal, or even a distant relative in military service to the empire who had been snubbed by Wallenstein – he liked to run his army based on merit, not birth, and when a colonel disappointed him, Wallenstein would sack him, no matter how aristocratic or well-connected he was. There was thus a constant flow of complaint about Wallenstein to the courts of the princes, and, as none of the electors (save Emperor Ferdinand, who, as King of Bohemia, was also one of the seven electors) had ever met Wallenstein in person, their impression of him remained based on the stories of his detractors. Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Mecklenburg, and Sagan, was not one of them. He was a mystery, a threat, a demon.
Thirty Years War: Europe in Agony 1618—1648 is a rather zoomed-out, strategic treatment of the entire war. It is all the more remarkable that of the 18 sections in its rulebook, one is solely dedicated to one historical personality. Rule 7, “Wallenstein”, introduces the players to a unique concept: Wallenstein is not only the ablest commander on the Catholic side, he is also the only general whose influence is tracked, rising whenever he recruits new forces, takes cities, or initiates and wins battles. And when his influence reaches 20, the game ends – in a Protestant Major Victory, thus keeping the Catholic player from using Wallenstein all too much. The only ways to forestall that as the Catholic player are not using Wallenstein anymore, or, once per game, dismissing him to take his counter temporarily off the board and halving his influence.
What had kept Wallenstein afloat since he had become supreme imperial general in 1625 was that Wallenstein had been the only man with an army fighting for the emperor, and Ferdinand had had many military problems to solve. Ferdinand had needed Wallenstein. By 1629, as Wallenstein had relieved him of these problems, Ferdinand needed the electors more: He was in his fifties now, and needed to take care of his succession. The imperial crown was elective. Traditionally, the heir to the emperor had been elected King of the Romans while his father still lived to indicate his succession. Ferdinand wanted to secure this election for his eldest son (another Ferdinand).
The electors, led by Maximilian of Bavaria and his brother, the Archbishop of Cologne, met at the Diet of Regensburg in 1630. They let Ferdinand know that they refused to even consider a royal election as long as Wallenstein acted as the emperor’s supreme general. Ferdinand caved in and relieved Wallenstein of his command.
For a short moment, both Ferdinand and the electors trembled at thought of Wallenstein’s reaction. What would the most successful general, the commander of the largest army in the empire, do? Yet Wallenstein received the news politely, thanking the emperor for taking the burden of command off his shoulders. His army was put under the command of Tilly, the only other general available with a successful record. Wallenstein retired to his estates.
Historians come to their conclusions about times long past because they can read the documents of the contemporaries – not their minds. We do not know why Wallenstein took the removal from the apex of his career so calmly, for he never explained it in writing to anyone (in the extant documents known to scholars, that is). His increasingly painful gout may have contributed. He was not keen on the extended duty of financing the army and receiving little reimbursement from the emperor, especially as his source of ready cash had dried up – his banker de Witte had gone bankrupt and would commit suicide only five days after Wallenstein received news of his dismissal. He may have been tired of war and treaties, looking forward to tending to the administration of his estates which he had so tirelessly collected. I find the opposite more likely – that Wallenstein guessed his retirement would be temporary, based on his expert knowledge of Baltic affairs.
Eight weeks before Wallenstein received the news of his dismissal in September 1630, Gustavus Adolphus had landed in northern Germany. He advanced south as the electors discussed Wallenstein’s fate, apparently unconcerned with the new military threat. How could a king from such a faraway land threaten them? He would do as Christian of Denmark had done, build his forces, slowly and cautiously advance through northern Germany. Tilly would beat him, as Catholic-imperial armies had beaten Protestant armies throughout the entire twelve years of war, at White Mountain, in the Palatinate, at Dessau Bridge, Lutter, Wolgast… or so they thought. They could not have been more wrong.
Setup for the Intervention scenario in Thirty Years War: Europe in Agony, 1618-1648: Note the Swedish doomstack under Gustavus Adolphus in the coastal town of Stettin which will surely make its way south. From the Vassal module.
Politically, Tilly handled the Protestants much less skillful than Wallenstein had done: When Tilly took the city of Magdeburg in May 1631 in an attempt to draw Gustavus Adolphus back, his army killed, burned, and raped for three days in one of the most atrocious excesses of the entire Thirty Years’ War. And instead of recognizing the neutrality of the electors of Brandenburg and especially Saxony, Tilly pressed them to choose a side. They chose Sweden.
John George of Saxony was a deeply conservative Elector who prized his loyalty to the emperor over his religious affiliation as a Protestant. Yet when Tilly’s troops started marauding in Saxony, John George declared for Sweden. From the Vassal module of Thirty Years War: Europe in Agony, 1618-1648.
And militarily, Gustavus Adolphus was a much greater general than Christian of Denmark. He and Tilly maneuvered around each other When his battle-hardened veterans of the Polish campaign (and some of his new Saxon allies) met Tilly’s army at Breitenfeld in September 1631, the imperial force was utterly shattered. Gustavus Adolphus marched southwest and wintered in the rich Rhineland, barely touched by the war so far. In 1632, he would be ready to march on Ferdinand’s hereditary lands (with Maximilian’s Bavaria conveniently on the way). In their despair, the leaders of the Catholic-imperial cause extended their feelers to Wallenstein.
A recent biography which succeeds at dispelling the Wallenstein myth is Mortimer, Geoff: Wallenstein. The Enigma of the Thirty Years’ War, Palgrave Macmillan, London 2010.
For an older, more encompassing biography with literary aspirations, see Mann, Golo: Wallenstein. His Life Narrated, Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, New York City, NY 1976.
On the reception of Wallenstein and his changing image from his contemporaries all the way through the 20th century, see Bahlcke, Joachim/Kampmann, Christoph: Wallensteinbilder im Widerstreit: Eine historische Symbolfigur in Geschichtsschreibung und Literatur vom 17. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert [Conflicting Conceptions of Wallenstein: A Symbolic Figure from History in Historiography and Literature from the 17th to the 20th Century], Böhlau, Cologne/Weimar/Vienna 2011 [in German].
For a short introduction to the Thirty Years’ War, see Schmidt, Georg: Der Dreißigjährige Krieg [The Thirty Years’ War], C.H. Beck, Munich 2010 [in German].
A magisterial monography on the entire war is Wilson, Peter H.: Europe’s Tragedy. A New History of the Thirty Years’ War, Penguin, London 2009.
Wer heute in geselliger Runde zu Skat oder Rommé greift, hält mehr in der Hand als nur ein Kartenspiel. Diese beiden Klassiker tragen Geschichte in sich – und ihre Wurzeln reichen weiter zurück, als viele vermuten. Besonders eng verbunden ist diese Geschichte mit einem Ort: Altenburg, die traditionsreiche Skatstadt in Thüringen. Hier begann einst eine Entwicklung, die sich […]
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