Dreamers Rise
An Open Notebook
And for those who choose the twisty
road, prefer it to the straight
Let joy beat out old misery, as love will conquer hate.
 Illustration by Henry L. Stephens from The
Goblin Snob (ca. 1855)
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A sort of electronic broadside, composed of rants and reviews,
conceits and speculations, and whatever else feels the need to be here. Issued as chance will have it.
Die Schiffahrt und Flosserei im Raume der oberen Donau
I don't have sufficient German to be able to decipher the above title without assistance, let alone to actually read the three volumes of Ernst Neweklowsky's hydrological classic, which would — I'm told — translate as Navigation and Rafting on the Upper Danube if anyone had a mind to produce an English-language edition, which apparently no one does.
Though once you find out what it means the German is actually fairly transparent: schiff = ship (see also “skiff”), schiffahrt, shipping; floss = raft (think “float”); in Raume = (I think) in the region of, etc.
I owe my knowledge of the existence of Die Schiffahrt entirely to Claudio Magris, who devotes a chapter of his book Danube to Neweklowsky. Here's part of what he had to say about it (and the entire chapter is well worth reading, even if I never got much beyond it into the rest of the book):
Engineer Neweklowsky spent a lifetime marking out the confines of
the “Obere Donau,” the Upper Danube, and — once he had staked his
claim — in sifting, classifying and cataloguing it inch by inch in space
and in time, the colours of its waters and its customs changes, its
landscape as we see it now and as it has been over the centuries that
have gone into creating it. Like Flaubert or Proust, Neweklowsky
devoted his entire existence to the work, to writing, to The Book. The
result is a work in three volumes, a total of 2,164 pages (including
illustrations), which weighs 5.9 kilos and which, as stated in the
tide, deals not with the Danube as such, but more modestly with
Navigation and Rafting on the Upper Danube (1952-1964).
In his preface, Ernst Neweklowsky specifies that his treatise is
concerned with the 659 km between the mouth of the Iller, which flows
into the Danube just above Ulm, and Vienna; including, of course, all
the tributaries and subtributaries in the area. In the introduction to the
third volume he nevertheless admits, with the impartiality of one
serving a cause superior to all personal interests, that the concept — and
the space — of the Upper Danube varies according to the standpoint
from which it is considered. From the strictly geographical point of
view it includes the 1,110 km between the source and the Gonyii
waterfall, from the hydrographic standpoint the 1,010 km from the
source to the confluence of the March, while for international law it
extends for 2,050 km all the way to the Iron Gates; that is, to the old
Turkish frontier. The Bavarians, with a more narrowly regional outlook, have it end at the Regensburg bridge, after which they even name
a hydro-electric company, and consider the short stretch between
Regensburg and Passau as Lower Danube. In the military vocabulary
prevailing in the First World War, with regard to transporting war
supplies, the name “Upper Danube” was understood to include the
stretch between Regensburg and Gonyu.
Aware of the chaotic excess of facts, Engineer Neweklowsky sifts,
examines, compares, connects and generalizes all these hypotheses of classification, even though his own point of view, which is that of
nautical science, induces him to consider the Upper Danube to be the
659 km between the confluence of the Iller and Vienna. Between 1910
and 1963, the year of his death, Neweklowsky, Director of River Works
at Linz from 1908 onwards and “Chief of the Danube” between
Puchenau and Mauthausen until 1925, wrote on this subject more than
a hundred and fifty articles for specialized magazines, along with
lectures, exhibitions, scattered articles and a thesis for a doctor
Between 1952 and 1964, when he was dead, the three volumes appeared
— the monument to his life.
In those three volumes you find everything: the history of navigation
from the pre-Roman era to the present day, the routes used and the
types of vessel, pirogues and steamships, the propellers and the floor
plates, the parts and the gear of the vessels and their names that varied
with the course of the centuries and from region to region, the
characteristics and differences of the various tributaries, the whirlpools
and the shallows, the innumerable types of raft and barge, the pros and
cons of the kinds of wood employed, the convoys, the fords and
crossing-places, the rafting of timber, the composition and customs of
the boatmen, the sagas and superstitions of the river, the levying rights,
the voyages of sovereigns and ambassadors, the poems, the songs, the
plays and the novels born of the river waters.…
His doctoral thesis, and later on his three volumes, constitute
Neweklowsky's triumph, his achievement of totality, which is attained
only when the disorder of the world is assembled in a book and
arranged in categories. Neweklowsky sets up as many categories as
possible, he tames phenomena and makes them stand in line, but he
devotes animated attention also to sensitive, ephemeral details, to
unique occurrences. His work also deals with changes of weather, the
wind, unpredictable mishaps, a list of accidents (mortal or otherwise)
taking place on board, the suicides and the murders, the divinities of
the river, the busts of 132 boat-masters of Ulm and the little verses
devoted to each of them. He describes the heads of the patron saints of
the bridges, records the penalty laid down for the ship's cook who puts
too much salt in the soup, and lists the names of the boatmen who were
also innkeepers on the side, together with the sites of their inns.
At one time I was fairly convinced that the book Magris describes did not in fact exist, Danube being one of those unclassifiable, very European literary works in which it would be as unsurprising to find a fictive volume being passed off as real as it would be to learn that what seemed to be an obvious authorial invention was actually collecting dust on a libary shelf somewhere. This was the early 1990s — before the entire world became instantly searchable — and at the time I couldn't find any record of Neweklowsky or his supposed magnum opus. I half suspected that the whole thing might be no more than an arch Central European joke, the kind that no one would understand who couldn't, say, discourse comfortably on the poetry of Czeslaw Milosz, which rules out me certainly and I suspect most American readers as well. Yet here, as you see, is the very book itself.
These photographs, incidentally, were lifted, entirely without permission, from a listing on the Austrian eBay site, where Volume I (only) has recently been offered for sale. In defense of my filching I can only plead that the images, which are likely to disappear from the web as soon as the item is sold, represent as much of the book as I or all but a handful of readers are ever likely to come in contact with, and that by rights Die Schiffahrt (if not, strictly, photographic images of it, and leaving aside questions of copyright and “fair use”) belongs to humanity, and besides, no doubt the author would have wanted to share his life's work, however fragmentarily, with as many interested readers as possible. To the anonymous possessor of the ballpoint pen, thumb, and not inordinately clean fingernails seen in the margins, therefore, my apologies, and gratitude.
The book has a rather handsome blue cloth cover, a little surprising because Magris specifically describes the binding as being “black.” (Perhaps this is one of those famous cultural differences in color classification that we're always hearing about.) The gold stamping on the spine is a nice, dignified touch. The illustrations, which look to have been carefully chosen and lovingly researched, have ample space around them, and even from these photos you can tell that the paper is good, acid-free stock, soft and supple and unlikely to darken and become brittle with time.
Clearly no expense was spared in the book's production. It even has fold-out diagrams.
Though this lone volume is being offered for forty euros, a full set of Die Schiffahrt would set you back at least $300.00 plus shipping, assuming you could track one down at all (hint: try BookFinder). Not in my price range, even if I could read German.
It has flittingly crossed my mind that the Austrian eBay listing might, in fact, be no more than a devious ruse intended to support and extend a hoax originally perpetrated by Claudio Magris. The book looks real enough, to be sure, but a clever book artist could no doubt concoct a binding, mock up a few pages in type, and copy some appropriate illustrations from other books. People engage in equally pointless pursuits and excuse it all in the name of art.
In the end, I don't really believe that's the case here. The book is legitimate enough, I'm sure. Does it even matter, though? Should anyone care in the slightest that an Austrian engineer reportedly devoted the bulk of his life to compiling an obscure compendium that scarcely anyone has even heard of?
I think that we should care. I believe that, in some small way, and hopefully not stretching matters to the point of absurdity, a world in which Die Schiffahrt und Flosserei im Raume der oberen Donau exists is different from a world in which it does not. (I might go so far as to say that a world in which it does not exist, has never existed, and will never exist, is a world in which its existence is impossible.) We would be willing ourselves into blinded ignorance if we did not insist on knowing which world we were living in, the Schiffahrt world or its refutation. How many other hidden truths do we never come to recognize, how many impostures survive us undetected? How can we say that we are living in the real world at all, and be content to see through a glass darkly, or only in the flickering reflections on a cave wall? These images prove more than just the existence of a book; they prove the existence of Ernst Neweklowsky. They provide evidence of the times he lived in and the centuries that preceded him, and they vindicate the possibility of the kind of memory project he devoted to his life to.
I have never been to the Danube, though I might like to see it sometime. (It seems like a bit of a long shot, I'd say.) It's a river I associate, quite arbitrarily, with giant catfish (the monstruous wels), with the travels of Patrick Leigh Fermor, and naturally with Ernst Neweklowsky. I think it would be pleasant to float its length on a riverboat, sitting in a deck chair, thumbing through the three volumes of Die Schiffahrt und Flosserei im Raume der oberen Donau on the long voyage to the Black Sea.
June 1, 2008
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