ROMANTIC VISIONARY

Although Otto Schünemann’s violins were praised by everyone from Vuillaume to Sarasate, his name is barely recognised today. Clifford Hall tells the story of this idealistic luthier who strove to bring the glories of the Cremonese masters to 19th-century Germany

Otto Schünemann (1837–1914) had a problem. In the Prague ballet orchestra in which he was employed as a first violinist in the 1860s, he noticed that the violins were of such poor quality that the sound of the orchestra suffered greatly. He was still focused on the issue of poor-quality instruments two decades later when he was based in Hamburg, and in fact circulated a pamphlet in which he chronicled the nature of this issue.

‘For more than a hundred years, violin making has made no progress,’ wrote Schünemann. ‘The best instruments were made by Amati, Stradivari, Guarneri and a number of famous makers, who passed on their mastery, talent and everything that goes with it, achieved through mutual sharing of their knowledge and skills. The boom in violin making in Italy was followed by a standstill, or rather a step backwards. Luthiers became content to imitate the instruments of the masters slavishly, and sell them under company names. It has remained so to this day. Narrow-minded masters who had achieved great skill took their experience and long-term observations with them [to the grave].’

With new violins of decent quality in short supply, Schünemann realised the scope of the problem also encompassed older violins, as they were not a reliable option either. ‘It has been observed that violins from around 150 to 200 years old have a dull and hollow sound,’ he wrote in the pamphlet. ‘Even the most famous masters noticed this later dulling of the instruments, which manifests itself in the roaring, or faint colouring of individual tones, and there are many such violins… where the upper and lower bouts have been reinforced by adding wood. Many good instruments have been spoilt by bungling hands [and] there is no replacement, no offspring; indeed, no effort is even made to emulate them. It is really time for a change here [but] achieving this goal first requires the establishment of a violin making school where anyone who has the desire and talent can receive a complete education.’

Schünemann was perceptively responding to a system that had evolved from a small workshop with a master and apprentices to one that was more akin to Henry Ford’s assembly line. ‘It was no small wonder that skill levels sank with prices,’ wrote David Schoenbaum in The Violin: A Social History of the World’s Most Versatile Instrument (2012). ‘In a process that effectively reduced making to four steps, Stainer’s descendants built instrument bodies of back, top and ribs, and carved necks, varnished the assembled product, or set the instrument up. By the middle of the 19th century, virtually no one was left who knew how to build an entire instrument.’

Even after Bavaria’s King Maximilian II founded the Unterrichts- und Musterwerkstatt (a model teaching studio) in 1858, it would take a while for this Mittenwald institution to ramp up to Schünemann’s more holistic concept, as it wasn’t until 1888 that the curriculum finally expanded to include crafting complete musical instruments. In this environment, Schünemann’s lofty idea of teaching lutherie in the old ways, but on a much larger scale, was quite a novel concept. Rather than just complain about this state of affairs, Schünemann decided to tackle the problem head on. But first he had to take up the craft himself.

The son of a watchmaker who liked to work with his hands, Schünemann started playing the violin as a child and studied with Carl Schulz in Rostock, Germany. As detailed in Henley’s Dictionary of Violin & Bow Makers, Schünemann ‘met a Dr Wirsing at Prague, and was inveigled by that enthusiast into the fascination of violin research. [He] went to Hamburg, spent every free minute from his professional engagements in perfecting the constructive art, and after nine years’ assiduous perseverance, made himself known as a violin maker. [He] had several years of prosperity with his “tone-endowed” violins at Hamburg.’

It was during this period of intensive study that Schünemann must have realised he needed a gimmick to make his mark. In 1871 the London newspaper The Musical World published an account of his initial foray into the world of lutherie by earning the praise of one of the most prominent makers of the time:

Prague—Herr Otto Schünemann, a member of the band at the Theatre, has just completed a violin that, with its case, may conveniently be carried in the breast pocket. M. Vuillaume of Paris, says of it: ‘It is a masterpiece. I know no regular violinmaker, however clever, who could make one like it.’ A tenor violin, also made by Herr Schünemann, has been pronounced by Herr Lautherbach the best ever produced, as far as regards beauty of tone. Herr Schünemann intends making a tour this summer through Europe, for the purpose of waiting upon all the leading virtuosos, trying their Instruments, and improving himself on the manufacture of the latter.

With this success, Schünemann would spend the next decade continuing his devotion to the art. It wasn’t until 1884 that he wrote his pamphlet, which was offered for sale in various newspapers and magazines. Schünemann’s essay also had a utilitarian tone as he noted ‘at least the lessons are passed on from father to son; an apprentice from outside is also taken on, which almost never happens in cities, for fear that the apprentice might later be able to compete with the master. So if there really were someone with talent who would choose a profession, he would hardly find a suitable master for his training. It is easy to see that free development is not possible in violin making due to the above-mentioned disadvantages, which is also shown by the great lack of good instruments for our orchestras. Only a few large theatres are able to produce such enchanting effects from the string quartet through good instruments, almost unheard of elsewhere!’

Views of an 1882 Schünemann violin, made when the luthier was 45 years old

ALL PHOTOS CLIFFORD HALL SCHÜNEMANN’S IDEA OF TEACHING LUTHERIE IN THE OLD WAYS, BUT ON A MUCH LARGER SCALE, WAS QUITE A NOVEL CONCEPT

This argument didn’t take too long to find its audience, as three years later a development occurred that would radically change Schünemann’s life.

Frederick Francis III (1851–97, below), the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, was one of the richest German sovereigns of the late 19th century. He was considered at the forefront of the feudal rulers in Germany and thought himself equal to the German Emperor. In 1891 he made world headlines as he publicly confronted Kaiser Wilhelm II, the newly crowned Emperor of Germany, as he disagreed with his aggressive nationalistic policies that would eventually lead the country into the First World War.

Alongside his political concerns, the Grand Duke ‘showed an interest in art, history and architecture’, according to Bernd-Ulrich Hergemöller in his 1998 book Man for man: biographical lexicon on the history of love between friends and male-male sexuality in authors of the German-speaking area. As evidence for this, in the early 1880s the Grand Duke appointed Hermann Ritter his ‘court chamber virtuoso’. Hergemöller wrote that a decade later he ‘personally influenced the construction of the new Schwerin Cathedral tower and the conversion of the Helenen Paulowen mausoleum in Ludwigslust, which was to become his burial place’.

In this context, it isn’t surprising that Schünemann found a sympathetic ear when he petitioned the Grand Duke for funds for the establishment of a violin making school in Schwerin. In 1887 it was reported in the Gregoriusblatt für katholische Kirchenmusik: ‘Otto Schünemann of Mecklenburg said in a short essay published in Hamburg that the great successes in Italian art of earlier centuries were not exclusively due to the individual master and the individual workshop, but based on the school-like reproduction of the structure and the design. Mr Schünemann has credited the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg with his idea of founding a violin making school, and it should open on 1 October under the Grand Duke’s protection.’

With the necessary funding secured, the school started in earnest. By March 1891 it was in full swing, as it was advertising for ‘capable assistants’ in the Viennese newspaper Neue Freie Presse. With this firm foundation, the school started reaping the rewards of Schünemann’s vision and the Grand Duke’s wealth only two years later in 1893, when the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik reported on Spanish virtuoso Pablo Sarasate’s visit: ‘Sarasate made the acquaintance of the violin maker Otto Schünemann in Schwerin in June of this year, tested various instruments and found that, of all the new violins, these came closest to the Cremonese violins,’ it wrote. ‘He stated that Otto Schünemann is currently the best maker in the world [and] the listeners agreed with Sarasate’s verdict. He wants to donate some of Schünemann’s stringed instruments to the Conservatoire in Pamplona, to bring them to Spanish attention. It is to the credit of the Spanish virtuoso that he has drawn the musical world’s attention to a German master who had done outstanding work in his field.’

Masthead of the Gregoriusblatt für katholische Kirchenmusik, which reported on the founding of Schünemann’s violin making school in 1887

Advertisement in the Zeitschrift für Instrumentenbau from 1910

NOTED SOLOISTS SUCH AS ADOLPH BRODSKY, KAREL HALÍŘ AND HUGO HEERMANN GAVE PERFORMANCES ON SCHÜNEMANN INSTRUMENTS

Buoyed by this reporting, the school continued to attract positive press notices and more students. Noted soloists such as Adolph Brodsky, Karel Halíř and Hugo Heermann gave performances on Schünemann instruments. In 1896 the Violin Times published a reader’s observation that ‘my attention has been called by a Mecklenburg-Schwerin correspondent to the existence there of a very laudable institution, i.e. a school for violin making which is under the immediate patronage of HRH the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. The director is Mr Otto Schünemann who has already attained considerable repute in Germany as one of the most prominent violin makers of the day. Signor Sarasate and Herr August Wilhelmj have given him the highest testimonials for his work, which they pronounce to be of the very highest merit. The establishment over which Mr Schünemann rules receives articled pupils, who are bound to remain for four years. The institution has now been in existence eight years and is said to have turned out many successful pupils.’

So if Schünemann had the proficiency, the press and the patron, why is he unknown to the modern violin world?

Considering he had the admiration of both Sarasate and Vuillaume, as well as access to the funds of one of Germany’s richest grand dukes, it would seem this his star was in the ascendant. But unbeknown to Schünemann and most of Germany, however, a dark storm was brewing.

On13 April 1897, the New York Times reported a story (below) that shocked the world: the Grand Duke was alleged to have committed suicide in Cannes, France, by jumping off a parapet. Two days later, however, the Times printed an alternative account: ‘He evidently staggered from giddiness, and fell over a low wall into the street, a considerable depth... and died peacefully an hour later.’ To this day, the exact circumstances of his demise have never been definitively proven. More recent scholarship, however, has suggested a possible motive for suicide: according to Hergemöller, the Grand Duke had for years been tortured by self-loathing over his homosexuality, and also wanted to escape the pressure of blackmailers who were threatening to expose his secret.

Schünemann’s school lost its funding immediately, as the Grand Duke’s son did not share his love for the arts. In a profile for his 70th birthday by Zeitschrift für Instrumentenbau, Schünemann said: ‘Deprived of its patron, the school of course could not survive without state support, and went under after a little more than ten years of existence.’ Although this patronbased model had a long history in Germany, there was a huge disadvantage to having a patron instead of state support – the possibility that the next ruler would simply not be interested.

‘DEPRIVED OF ITS PATRON, THE SCHOOL WENT UNDER AFTER A LITTLE MORE THAN TEN YEARS OF EXISTENCE’ – OTTO SCHÜNEMANN

The newspaper went on to report that ‘based on his own work, Schünemann now wants to prove that it is possible to acquire the craftsmanship of former times, and there is still a beautiful and promising area of work for us Germans. With touching unselfishness, the 70-year-old master adheres to this idea, for which he is willing to sacrifice everything he has acquired. This is how he writes to us:

As soon as possible, I will give demonstrations of my instruments in larger cities and earn the pennies necessary for me to continue my work with stability. What I have acquired should be donated to this enterprise; I already have a pretty little collection, and it is easy to create what is necessary.

‘Those are the words of a truly unselfish, high-thinking man. We hope that Mr Schünemann’s dreams will be fulfilled in the autumn of his life, and that his generous undertaking may receive the support it deserves, in the interests of German violin making.’

Despite once being vaunted to such great heights, Schünemann’s name was lost in the mists of time, until a German researcher named Christoph von Fircks began to do some digging in 2014.

Label from an 1882 Schünemann violin

LABEL PHOTO COURTESY CLIFFORD HALL

‘I came across him via a note in the Wariner Zeitung,’ von Fircks wrote in an email. ‘As a volunteer local chronicler, I wanted to make known Schünemann and his life’s achievements, as he was totally forgotten in the small town of Warin.’ Schünemann’s obituary states he built violins until the very end of his life, including in Warin.

Von Fircks’s presentations about Schünemann were covered in the German newspaper SVZ in 2014 on the hundredth anniversary of the luthier’s death. As regards his lasting legacy, along with his hidden impact on the German violin trade are the surviving instruments he made. These instruments are of an excellent standard and are still the best testament to the achievements of this humble, idealistic luthier.