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hartsmar
The following is a rough translation from a section I found in a Swedish book from 1887 which in turn is a translation from the original Danish book of the same title. It deals with modern life in Paris around 1880 and gives a nice insight to the author's view on life in Paris around the time.

The section I translated deals with the green hour, l'heure de l'absinthe, but without focussing much on drinking anything at all. It's merely an excuse for waiting for the evening paper...

Enjoy, and please have patience with the translation, it's just a rough first translation and needs some work to be perfected. I just wanted to share.

QUOTE
In Paris' physionomy there is no more remarkable and characteristic feature than this »l'heure du journal» on indignant days. All that of which the city lives and lives for it reflects as a crystal mirror. You can arrive from a distant corner of the world without a clue of what's occupying Paris but after five minutes around the kiosk (newsstand) know its entire spiritual habitus by heart.

But even under regular, every day circumstances this »l'heure du journal», the late afternoon hour, when the evening papers show up at the boulevard in larger numbers that the green leaves on their trees, is that moment of the day, when the life of the city potently presents itself.
It coincides with »l'heure de l'absinthe», the hour of rest just before dinner, when business is ended and the entire world for a second gets its breath back, before you wander of home to the trouble of domestic life. This coincide is more than by mere accident. You tell yourself and others that it's for the sake of absinthe that you go to the café, or atleast to spend a short calm minute in pleasant conversation with friends and acquaintances.
In reality what really entices is the neighbourhood with the kiosk: it is that which is the pounding pulse in this entire swarming crowd of people at the parisian boulevard between five and seven. You sit there absent-minded and feverish on your pavement-chair restlessly keeping a look out for the vis-à-vis, until you see the newsstand-lady's fingers start working over there. In an instant you're up and have left your two or three sous [to the waitor] and removed your copy of his highness' daily order.

The café keeps none or hardly any papers; it would, even with double the repository, only satisfy a small minority of their guests, who each would want their paper the minute it is out in the store. Each one buys their copy, and along the crowded pavements everyone simultaneously begins studying the press organ, to whose flag you've sworn. Only when its content is digested the pavement-crowds come to life. You have satisfied your spirit's need for feed, just as you one hour later satisfy the body's.
Gertz
QUOTE(hartsmar @ Mar 3 2007, 12:15 PM) *
The section I translated deals with the green hour, l'heure de l'absinthe, but without focussing much on drinking anything at all. It's merely an excuse for waiting for the evening paper...

Sounds like putting the cart before horse ...

Do you have the name of the author?
hartsmar
Yes,

Richard Kauffman (1846 - 1894). Journalist and writer in Denmark
Information: http://runeberg.org/dbl/9/0112.html
Scroll down. Second name on the page.

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