Ever since the period when it was proof of good breeding to substitute a French word for its German equivalent, ladies in Vienna have had their Day—and elegantly tailed it their Jour.
While Parisians made an art of the salon, Londoners were “at home,” and we held “open house.” the Viennese Jour became a delightful institution characterized by a complicated etiquette and by magnificent food.
Every house had its own jealously guarded recipes for Jourbrot, Jourgebäck, and Jourtorte, and every lady who lived in the magic Jourcycle had thirty days in which to recover from her last Jourand prepare for her next one.
Very Important Ladies automatically kept the same Jour from year to year, and in some cases even bequeathed the dates to their daughters, who thus carried on the tradition from generation to generation Less influential ladies had to compete with each other every autumn for the desirable days for the approaching season, which they called la saison, of course. The contest was not settled without near bloodshed and heartbreak. Calendars, friends, servants, and even soothsayers had to be consulted, promises were made and broken, tears were shed. No one willingly took Friday and everyone wanted Saturday. No two prominent Jourscould fall on the same day. Ne one wanted to precede or follow a long-established, famous Jour— and for good reason. Frau von Demel's carefully constructed Fürst Metternich Torte and her renowned cheese palmiers might fall completely flat if they had to follow a brilliant Jour at the Seherr-Thosses.
In this initial skirmish, normally friendly Ladies cajoled, flattered, teased, and frequently hated each other,although even at the height of the struggle they dared not risk the satisfaction of an insult, lest their own Jours be cut in retaliation. When the Jourkalender was finally settled, every Lady in Vienna had her Day, to have and to hold as her very own until the following year.
After the Jours had been allotted, work really began. The guest lists had to be fully revised; there were always names to be deleted and new ones to be added. All during the fall months, chefs, cooks, and even the Ladies themselves tested new recipes and tried to improve old ones.By the time the leaves had fallen from the chestnut and linden trees and fires were being laid in the porcelain stoves, all Vienna was preparing for the formal pleasures of the large Jours and the inimitable Gemütlicbkeit of the small ones.
Numerous Jour cards had to be written and delivered by hand. In the old days the Ladies rode about the streets of Vienna and waited in their carriages while the footman went upstairs to deliver the cards, their corners bent to show that the Lady herself was below. These longed-for visitations caused great commotion. The children and household staff rushed to the windows to re-open on the fashion of Frau Hofrätin's bat or on the latest addition to her equipage. If Frau Baronin absent-mindedly opened her parasol and thereby prevented the careful inspection of her toilette from above, she suffered for it later.
Time passed and the horse-drawn carriages disappeared From the cobbled streets of Vienna, but the Jour cards were still delivered by the footmen—with corners unbent, for the personal touch was gone. This was, however, a great convenience to the footmen, who simply met in a centrally located Kaffeebaus and exchanged cards over a sociable cup of coffee.
The favored families displayed the eagerly awaited cards proudly: they represented the interlocking, though widely divergent, circles of social life, intellectualism, and gastronomy—heavily sugared —that were Vienna.
A Jour card was—and indeed still is—a visiting card with the Jour day inscribed by hand in the lower right-hand corner. The legend “Second Saturday” meant that the Lady would be at home, surrounded by her family, food, and footmen, to all the fortunate recipients of her Jour card, on the second Saturday of every month from November to April, from five until eight o'clock—and that after eight, she would be at home to her intimates and their gossip. It would be perfectly proper, the recipients knew, to attend one, two, or all the Jours, but to attend none of them would be an unforgivable insult, a cut. Although the perennial Jour-goer started the rounds in November, really important personages graced with their august presences only the December and January Jours. Hostesses saved their prize delicacies for these climactic Jours and considered no effort too great to make them successful.
The correct response to a Jour invitation was a Jour invitation. A Jourfor a Jourwas an honored Viennese maxim. Single gentlemen and Ausländer, unable to return the hospitality in kind, replied with flowers and/or a call—this of such brief duration that they kept on their gloves. The proud possessor of a Jour, on the other hand, could use it to discharge all social obligations Wherever the Lady with a Jour went, to a Déjeuner. Après Souper, Diner, or Lunch Debout, she had only to say to any new and interesting people she met, “I'll see you at my Jour, of course.” Even if the season were well advanced, she could then send a Jour card and establish the formal relationship.
Jour bookkeeping was very simple. A large silver salver waited in the anteroom for the visiting cards of the departing guests. The numbers of cards grew to imposing heights and were as carefully hoarded as are the Christmas cards on our American mantels today. At the end of the season, the daughter of the house counted the cards and checked them against the original guest list. If she found no visiting card to correspond with a name on the list, her parents emphatically crossed the name from next year's lis: and from their hearts.
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