Berlin Aquarium and Terrarium History and Stories – Series 1: Scholze & Pötzschke (Part 1: The Company’s Beginnings and Rapid Rise)

There was a time, long past, for which many a German yearns in these days of economic stagnation. These were the Gründerjahre—the foundational years following the Reichsgründung (the founding of the German Empire) by Bismarck in 1871, which culminated in the First World War—and the so-called “Golden Twenties.” During this latter era, Berlin served as a pioneering, globally emulated avant-garde culture in every conceivable regard: a bastion of entrepreneurial success and a beacon of social equality, pioneering women’s suffrage, growing acceptance of sexual and gender diversity, and universal healthcare and social security. It was a time when economically pivotal sectors began to take shape. Whatever propelled the nation forward experienced a tremendous boom. Consequently, amidst the deluge of new patents, ideas, and the opportunities they engendered, a share of prosperity invariably trickled down to the smaller, industrially peripheral disciplines. One such discipline, even then, was the nascent and rapidly evolving field of aquarium and terrarium keeping.

Now, the Germans of that era were not as adept at copying as the Chinese are today. Yet, they shared one defining trait: once a concept had been pirated and its engineering mastered, an indigenous product soon emerged—one vastly superior and ingeniously refined compared to the original. Such was the fate of the aquariums built in England and perfected in Germany, or the Wardian case, which the Germans developed further into well-ventilated, heatable  terrariums. From around 1880 onward, this technical niche gained ever-increasing momentum. The widespread introduction of electrification provided a tremendous developmental catalyst of its own. By the 1920s, the artistic movement known as Neue Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity)—led architecturally by the Bauhaus founders in Weimar and Dessau, who championed a worldwide stripping away of architectural ornamentation in favor of practical utility—supplanted the whimsical forms of Jugendstil (Art Nouveau).

Henceforth, it became possible—not merely from the perspective of animal husbandry, but also due to an aesthetic philosophy aligned with the zeitgeist (the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history)—to manufacture aquariums, terrariums, and all necessary equipment in functional forms and with great pragmatism (A pragmatic attitude or policy – truth of meaning). Functionality and ease of operation defined everything developed and produced from that moment on. A retrospective glance at the pet trade of that era reveals many a revolutionary innovation. This technological foundation was the vital prerequisite for sustaining increasingly delicate species of animals and plants—creatures whose care and transport grew evermore complex—under human stewardship, both in public zoos and show aquariums as well as in the homes of private enthusiasts.

Knowledge that had scarcely been tested, and was therefore not yet part of common lore, was now swiftly codified and distributed. This did not, however, apply to blueprints for aquarium and terrarium technology, as manufacturers were determined to guard their commercial monopolies. Conversely, manuals on the care and maintenance of aquariums or terrariums sprouted like mushrooms, manifested in a multitude of newly published books during this period. I shall refrain from a meticulous enumeration (the action of mentioning the number of things one by one) and critique here, as this shall form the subject of a future chronicle. Thus, virtually everything required for successful husbandry was well prepared. Yet, from whence were the animals to be procured? In the early years, sailors and business travelers with an affinity for the hobby and a desire to earn a modest secondary income brought various specimens with them. Since they usually possessed scant knowledge regarding the requisite environmental conditions, Paul Nitsche, the then-chairman of the Berlin aquarium society “Triton,” summarily self-published a guide on the importation of live fish, as well as reptiles, amphibians, marine life, and aquatic plants. In the subtitle of his volume, Nitsche wrote: “… gleichzeitigeine Anweisung für jeden Seereisenden, sich leicht einen reichlichen Nebenverdienst zu schaffen” (“…simultaneously a manual for every seafaring traveler to easily secure a plentiful secondary income”).

For a beginning, this was promising indeed, but the hobby expanded at a breakneck pace, and the aquarium and terrarium virus infected millions like a pandemic. It was the first golden age of aquariums and terrariums, with its epicenter in Germany. The strongholds of the movement were the soft-water regions of Thuringia (where the first aquarium society was established in 1882), Leipzig (where Emil Adolf Rossmässler labored and published his celebrated book „Das Süsswasseraquarium“ / “The Freshwater Aquarium”), Hamburg (where transatlantic vessels arrived bearing live “stowaways” and where Carl Siggelkow distinguished himself as the premier fish importing agent, credited with the initial imports of the guppy, Poecilia reticulata, in 1908, and the angelfish, Pterophyllum scalare, in 1911), and, naturally, Berlin. The Prussian capital was home to the “Triton” society with its exceptionally talented breeders, the newly emerging Zoo-Aquarium, and a nucleus of biological science at the Friedrich-Wilhelm-Universität (today’s Humboldt University) with its renowned Naturkundemuseum (Museum of Natural History).

By the late 19th century, pet shops already existed in Berlin. Their commercial prosperity grew steadily, prompting many who had been enamored with aquariums, terrariums, or aviary birds since childhood to establish themselves as founders of new enterprises. While contemporary pet superstores are predominantly found on the peripheries of major cities, these Berlin shops were situated in highly central locations. One such establishment, founded in 1890 by Otto Preusse (anative of Thalmühle near Frankfurt an der Oder), was located at Alexanderstrasse 28a, near Alexanderplatz int he very heart of Berlin. Preusse possessed a conceptual advantage over his competitors: he cultivated professional interest and established a robust foundation of knowledge with his 1896 book „Das Zimmer-Aquarium“ (“The Indoor Aquarium”), alongsidepublishing an extensive, illustrated catalog. He styled his business the „Aquarien-Institut – Erste Special-Handlung für die Aquarien- und Terrarienkunde“(“Aquarium Institute – First Specialized Establishmentfor Aquarium and Terrarium Lore”). In the German idiom, „erste“ (first) did not necessarily denotechronological priority, but rather, in the sense of “first-rate” or “premier quality,” it signified quite simply the finest pet shop around.

And by all accounts, it truly was. However, in 1905, Otto Preusse desired to relocate back to his hometown of Thalmühle to operate a fish breeding facility, and consequently sought a successor for his leased commercial premises. From this period, an advertisement survives in which Otto Preusse announces the relocation of his business to larger quarters at Alexanderstrasse 37a. Yet, it appears this move—directly adjacent to the famous „Burg“ (the Fortress), the Berlin Police Headquarters constructed of red stone—never actually materialized. Instead, the relocation to Thalmühle was now imminent.

It is highly probable that the closely befriended aquarists and terrariophiles Arthur Scholze and Paul Pötzschke—both of identical age and a mere 24 years old in 1905—were patrons of Otto Preusse and knew the establishment intimately. Apprised by the proprietor of the opportunity, and asked whether they harbored an interest in assuming control of the business and continuing it under their names with the corporate suffix„ Otto Preusse Nachf. (Nachfolger)“ [Successor], they assented. Thus, on July 17, 1905, they opened their shop—initially designated „Aquarien-Institut Scholze & Pötzschke (Otto Preusse Nachf.)“—at Alexanderstrasse 28a, soon expanding to include an external warehouse at Alexanderstrasse 27, on the corner of Magazinstrasse.

The two new owners hailed from Saxony—specifically from Bautzen near the Oder and from Löbau—regions known for their soft-water habitats. They must have possessed prior experience in fishkeeping and breeding; moreover, they were evidently possessed by an insatiable curiosity and a profound thirst for knowledge. In Hamburg, both men had previously completed a commercial apprenticeship at a merchant house, graduating with excellent credentials. It is highly probable that during this period, they frequented the establishment of the importer Carl Siggelkow, where they “got a taste” for new species that had yet to be introduced to the hobby of aquarium and terrarium keeping. The foundation of any success invariably rests upon an entrepreneur’s accurate self-assessment. He must discern what will afford his enterprise a solid commercial footing at the outset and discipline his impulses. Consequently, Arthur Scholze and Paul Pötzschke started modestly, focusing initially on the sale of fish tanks, terrariums, aquatic plants, and an assortment of utility supplies. Alongside fish, their live stock included all manner of birds—most notably parrots—as well as various feeds for them.

At first, Arthur Scholze and Paul Pötzschke maintained a cordial relationship with the previous owner, Otto Preusse. The seasoned dealer and breeder intended to support the newcomers, thereby deriving a mutual benefit. During a meeting of the Berlin aquarium society “Triton”—to which he and both of his corporate successors belonged—he offered them a joint share in an import shipment of North American amphibians and reptiles. Having achieved initial success with their founding concept, Arthur Scholze and Paul Pötzschk chose to embrace new risks. Prompted by Preusse’s offer, they immersed themselves in the study of terrariophilia. Indeed, amphibians and reptiles were becoming increasingly popular in the hobby, a trend that closely mirrored the advancing capabilities for heating and illuminating terrariums.

Merely a year after the founding of “Scholze & Pötzschke,” terrarium animals were officially integrated into their inventory. While aquarium fish arrived primarilyfrom Hamburg, sourced from multiple continents, the terrarium animals journeyed across the Atlantic from North America. Otto Eggeling, then-chairman of the New York society “Salamander”—which unfortunately existed only from 1893 to 1909—operated an import firm for aquarium and terrarium stock under his own name. By 1906, the Berlin firm of “Scholze & Pötzschke” had secured the exclusive European agency for the New York-based “Otto Eggeling” company. Preusse, by contrast, remained first and foremost an active fish breeder, and his facilities were tailored accordingly. Yet, when Otto Preusse organized Berlin’s first exhibition of professional ornamental fish dealers and breeders in September 1908, serving as exhibition director in cooperation with the “Triton” society, “Scholze & Pötzschke” were notably excluded. Evidently, relations between the two firms had cooled.

This—in all likelihood the first comprehensive “Schopö” catalog—was initially advertised not in Berlin, but in September 1909 within the exhibition guide of the Vienna aquarium and terrarium society “Lotus.” The full-page advertisement notes that, supplemental to the catalog, up-to-date inventory lists were available free of charge. These were printed on green paper, and their release was always eagerly anticipated by aquarists and terrariophiles. The deluxe catalog was further lauded as a reference work for novices. Thenceforth an staple of the business, it weighed half a kilogram and could be purchased by domestic customers for 1.25 Reichsmarks, or by international buyers for 1.45 Reichsmarks, postage included (about 30 U.S. cents at the 1909 exchange rate). The catalog was advertised with the following copy: “500 artistically executed illustrations of reptiles, amphibians, and fish. Plants, containers, and accessories; 224 pages thick on the finest glossy art paper, detailing the diet, optimal husbandry, size, native habitat, temperature requirements, etc., of each individual animal.”

Before I proceed with the chronological narrative, I wish to acknowledge at this juncture that a wealth of material has been gathered and published by two of my close friends, which proved invaluable to my research on “Schopö” and put me on many a fruitful scent. The first is Hans-Albert Pederzani, who lived for many decades until his 99th year in a modern building erected on the exact site of the original “Schopö” address (Alexanderstrasse 27), and who had worked at “Schopö” as a schoolboy. The second is Frank Fritzlen, the premier antiquarian bookseller for aquarium and terrarium and cynological literature, possessed of immense erudition and a burning passion for historical texts. His antiquarian bookshop, “Castellum,” is the richest and most meticulously organized repository for these subjects worldwide. Through their meticulous research and subsequent publications, both men have made it possible for us today to know precisely when each of the three deluxe catalogs of the Scholze & Pötzschke firm was published. I draw upon the insights of these two friends to provide, for the first time, a comprehensive account of “Scholze & Pötzschke” from their inception to their demise.

If one examines the illustrations across all three catalogs, one finds the signature “Curt Scholze” on a vast number of the color and black-and-white animal prints (the originals of which were undoubtedly in color as well). He was the brother of Arthur Scholze; his artistic and graphic talent (he also designed the respective cover pages) was a stroke of good fortune for the firm, keeping the external costs of catalog production within modest bounds. Frank Fritzlen succeeded in acquiring several of Curt Scholze’s original artworks. It is to him that we owe the illustrations displayed here. The two brothers formed the tandem within the company that dealt directly with the terrarium animals. Arthur Scholze traveled perpetually across the globe to import specimens from every corner of the earth. The firm advertised with the slogan: “Our own collectors on all continents.”

In the intervening years, an increasing number of international business alliances had been forged, such that “Schopö” frequently served as a transit station or quarantine facility for amphibians and reptiles. They sold onwards to pet retailers, other wholesalers, nearly every zoological garden in Europe, university institutes, natural history museums (which also received specimens that had perished), and, naturally, private enthusiasts. The ranks of their clientele included illustrious names and celebrated institutions. A prime example—the aquarium of the Berlin Zoological Garden and its founding director, Dr. Oskar Heinroth, the father of ethology—will be chronicled at a later point in this series.

Something truly extraordinary must be highlighted at this juncture, for it represents a historical anomaly in the entire annals of the livestock trade: “Schopö” offered a lifetime guarantee for all delivered animals—akin, in essence, to a pet life insurance policy. Even in those days, it was the dealers’ foremost priority to care so meticulously for their charges that this commercial practice posed no untenable risk, serves instead to permanently cement their corporate success. Arthur Scholze and Paul Pötzschke employed an exceptional, thoroughly educated, and practically trained staff who made such a survival guarantee possible. Every animal was first systematically acclimated to terrarium conditions, particularly regarding the specific feeder animals, plants, and supplementary products available. The insights garnered during this process were directly passed on to the clientele. In the deluxe catalogs, vast multitudes of husbandry details were didactically organized and published in the manner of a specialized textbook.

For this reason, “Schopö” remains celebrated today—at least within Europe—not merely as the vanguard of an exemplary import enterprise, but as the entity that instilled in novices from the very outset the realization that this hobby can only be sustained through biological self-education, a deep comprehension of the life expressions of one’s charges, and a steadfast willingness to assume lifelong responsibility for the animals. In stark contrast to the anthropomorphism and sentimental trivialization of animals emerging in Germany during that same era, the ethos (the spirit of a culture, era, or community) advocated and published by “Schopö” remained biologically precise, sober, and yet anchored in a knowledge-based affection for their livestock. The nascent (just coming into existence and beginning to display signs of future potential) animal protection movement of the time—nourished by Waldemar Bonsels’ 1912 book „Biene Maja“ (“Maya the Bee”) and a flurry of successive works, such as those by Manfred Kyber, which engineered a misguided, entirely altered sentimentality toward animals in children through stories of rabbit schools and animal monarchies—could only gain widespread traction following the Nazi rise to power, an influence they unfortunately retain to this day.

Prior to the First World War, entrepreneurs in Berlin were enjoying a period of pronounced prosperity. Innumerable new builds materialized everywhere, and thus modern, metropolitan commercial edifices (a building – especially a large imposing one) were erected along Alexanderstrasse as well. Directly opposite the business premises of “Scholze & Pötzschke” rose the new structure at Alexanderstrasse 12. The fifth and topmost floor remained vacant. Its singular advantage lay in a sprawling glass roof and a footprint of 1,500square meters (approximately 16,000 square feet)—offering vastly more space than their previous quarters. Arthur Scholze and Paul Pötzschke seized this prime opportunity and leased the entire penthouse floor. The extraordinary developments that unfolded from this expansion, and the particularly prominent, high-volume client whose patronage virtually insured the financial risk of such an immense enlargement of the company’s facilities, will be chronicled in the next installment of this series.