The Exploits and Triumphs, in Europe, of Paul Morphy, the Chess Champion

We take the liberty herewith to inclose a series of proposed "terms of the match," which has been drawn up, not for the purpose of imposing conditions, but with a view to obviate the necessity of repeated correspondence. We have been studious to make these terms as equitable as possible, and to include all matters upon which contestation was likely to arise. You are respectfully invited to suggest any alterations which you may deem advisable, not only in the minor points embraced, but also as to the amount of the stakes, the time fixed for the commencement of the match, &c., &c.

Fully subscribing to the wisdom of the proposal made by you in the introduction to the "Book of the Tournament," we beg leave to express our entire willingness to insert a clause providing that "one-half at least" (or even all) "of the games shall be open ones."

In conclusion, Sir, receive the assurance that it will afford us extreme pleasure to welcome among us a gentleman, who is as greatly admired for his powers in play as he is esteemed for his many and valuable contributions to the literature of chess.

Hoping soon to receive a favorable answer, we remain, with distinguished regard, your obedient servants,

TERMS OF THE MATCH

1. The amount of the stakes, on each side, to be five thousand dollars, and the winner of the first eleven games to be declared the victor, and entitled to the stakes.

2. The match to be played in the city of New Orleans.

3. Should the English player lose the match, the sum of one thousand dollars (£200) to be paid to him out of the stakes, in reimbursement of the expenses incurred by him in accepting this challenge.

4. The games to be conducted in accordance with the rules laid down in Mr. Staunton's "Chess Player's Handbook."

5. The parties to play with Staunton chessmen of the usual club-size, and on a board of corresponding dimensions.

6. The match to be commenced on or about the first of May, 1858, (or on any other day during the present year most agreeable to Mr. Staunton,) and to be continued at not less than four sittings each week.

7. In order that the stay of the English player in New Orleans be not unnecessarily prolonged, he shall have the right to fix the hours of play at from ten o'clock, A. M., to two, P. M., and from six to ten o'clock, P. M.

8. The time occupied in deliberating on any move, shall not exceed thirty minutes.

9. The right to publish the games is reserved exclusively to the contestants, subject only to such private arrangements as they may agree upon.

10. The stakes on the part of Mr. Staunton to be deposited prior to the commencement of the match in the hands of – ; and those on the part of Mr. Morphy, in the hands of Eugene Rousseau, Esq., cashier of the Citizen's Bank of Louisiana.

On the 3d of April, Mr. Staunton replied to this very flattering communication as follows, through the "Illustrated London News: " —

"Proposed Chess Match between England and America for One Thousand Pounds a Side. – We have been favored with a copy of the defi which the friends of Mr. Paul Morphy, the chess champion of the United States, have transmitted to Mr. Staunton. The terms of this cartel are distinguished by extreme courtesy, and with one notable exception, by extreme liberality also. The exception in question, however, (we refer to the clause which stipulates that the combat shall take place in New Orleans!) appears to us utterly fatal to the match; and we must confess our astonishment that the intelligent gentlemen who drew up the conditions did not themselves discover this. Could it possibly escape their penetration, that if Mr. Paul Morphy, a young gentleman without family ties or professional claims upon his attention, finds it inconvenient to anticipate, by a few months, an intended voyage to Europe, his proposed antagonist, who is well known for years to have been compelled, by laborious literary occupation, to abandon the practice of chess beyond the indulgence of an occasional game, must find it not merely inconvenient, but positively impracticable, to cast aside all engagements, and undertake a journey of many thousand miles for the sake of a chess-encounter? Surely the idea of such a sacrifice is not admissible for a single moment. If Mr. Morphy – for whose skill we entertain the liveliest admiration – be desirous to win his spurs among the chess chivalry of Europe, he must take advantage of his purposed visit next year; he will then meet in this country, in France, in Germany, and in Russia, many champions whose names must be as household words to him, ready to test and do honor to his prowess."

Can this mean aught else than, "Come over to England and I will play you?"

CHAPTER IV

CHESS IN ENGLAND

Most of us know how "Box," when called upon by "Cox," to give explanations of the improper attentions he (Box) was paying to C.'s wife, hums and haws and begins, "Towards the close of the sixteenth century;" when Cox very properly cries out, "What the deuce has the sixteenth century to do with my wife?" Many of my readers may, like Cox, want to know what a great deal my book contains has to do with Paul Morphy; all I have to say, in reply, is, – if you don't like it, skip it; more especially the following thirty pages, which, nevertheless, will be interesting to all chess-players.

Chess seems to have first acquired social importance in England during Philidor's residence in that country. Judging from the number of titled names attached to his work as subscribers, the British aristocracy were, in his time, much given to the game, but "nous avons changé tout cela," and the English nobility nowadays, with but a few notable exceptions, confine their abilities to "Tattersall's" and "Aunt Sally."

"What a fall was there, my countrymen!"

Surely the "King of Games," which has enlisted amongst its votaries such names as that of the victor of Culloden, and his rival, Maréchal Saxe; without enumerating those of all the greatest warriors of many centuries, might still offer inducements to their comparatively unknown descendants. We have thousands of men, composing the British aristocracy, at a loss to get rid of their time; sauntering down to their clubs at mid-day; listlessly turning over the leaves of magazines and reviews, until their dinner-hour arrives. Why, in the name of common sense, do not these men learn something of chess, and thus provide themselves with a pastime which not merely hastens Time's chariot-wheels, but quickens the intellect? One gets tired of billiards, cards, horse-racing, etc., but your chess-player becomes more enamored of his game, the more he knows of it.

It may have been that gentlemen and nobles affixed their names to Philidor's book, out of compliment or charity, but it is doubtful whether their descendants would now do so, even from those considerations. Must we measure the capacity of dukes and lords by that intellectual standard, "Aunt Sally?"

Philidor certainly did much for chess, particularly in England. He possessed peculiar advantages for so doing. In the first place he had true talent; his powers for playing blindfold excited extraordinary interest at the time, not merely amongst chess players, but especially with the titled crowd. His political antecedents increased the general interest, and, last and best of all, he was a foreigner. If Philidor had been an Englishman he would hardly have sold a copy of his book.

Philidor organized a chess club in London, which met at Parsloe's Coffee House, St. James street. At the present day little is known of that early association, and we cannot even tell whether the members were numerous. After his death, chess seems to have languished; Parsloe's club dragged on its existence during some years, dying from inanition about 1825. The London Chess Club, first organized in 1807, kept alive the sacred fire; but that was the only community in England during the first quarter of this century where the game was publicly played. Some years after the establishment of the London, the Edinburgh Chess Club started into existence. In 1833, a great impetus was given to the game by the commencement of a weekly chess article in the columns of "Bell's Life in London." Amateurs now had an organ which could record their achievements; men hitherto unknown beyond their private circles felt, that the opportunity was afforded them to become famous throughout the country, and provincial clubs started up here and there. Chess players cannot but regard that paper as a very nursing mother for Caïssa, and certainly never hear it mentioned but their thoughts revert to the veteran – George Walker. I once heard that gentleman relate the following anecdote as a proof of how little was known of chess, in England, previous to the year 1833.

Travelling towards the north somewhere about that period, he put up one night at a hotel in Stratford-upon-Avon. Now any man with music or poetry in his soul, would, under such circumstances, wander towards the home of Shakspeare, or to his last resting-place; provided always that fear of rheumatism, or influenza, did not render him regardful of the rain which then fell "like cats and dogs." How to pass the evening was the question. Only one other traveller in the coffee-room, and he as uncommunicative as Englishmen proverbially are. Mr. Walker did not feel like going to bed at seven o'clock in the evening, and the idea of throwing out "a feeler" struck him as interesting. "Did Traveller play chess?" Traveller did. "Would he have a game?" Yes, he would. The waiter is thereupon summoned, and ordered to bring in a set of chessmen. Waiter, strongly suspicious that Mr. Walker means skittles, finally awaked to consciousness, and, with a smile of triumph, produces a backgammon board.

The very idea of an opponent obliterated all fear of the weather in Mr. Walker's breast, and he sallied forth in quest of the desired pieces. Toyshops, libraries, etc., were entered, but the proprietors scarcely understood what was asked of them, and Mr. W. finally returned to the inn to dispatch "Boots" to the solicitor, doctor, and neighboring gentry – but all to no purpose. Thereupon mine host suggested a note to the parson, but that individual having just rendered himself famous for all time by cutting down Shakspeare's mulberry tree, Mr. Walker replied that such a man could not possibly know anything of the game, and it would be useless to send to him. So the two travellers were forced to console themselves with the intricacies of draughts.

After the death of Philidor, the strongest players were Sarratt, De Bourblanc, Lewis and Parkinson. Sarratt and Mr. Lewis may be looked upon as chess professors. We all know the story of the former's playing with the great Napoleon, and the struggle between pride and courtesy (very silly courtesy, indeed!) finally overcome by Sarratt's drawing every game. This could not have been a satisfactory result to the "Little Corporal," for he never seemed partial to leaving things in statu quo ante bellum. Sarratt was a schoolmaster, Parkinson an architect, and Mr. Lewis commenced life as a merchant's clerk, and eventually embarked in the manufacture of piano fortes. This information has nothing whatever to do with the reputation of the above gentlemen, as successors of Philidor, and I only mention it because chess players, like other men, are not adverse to hearing what does not concern them.

The continental blockade and long wars with Napoleon, isolated England from the rest of the world, and completed the decay and fall of chess for a time. But the game did not languish in France and Germany. About 1820, the Holy Alliance (of Sovereigns against the people) began playing its pranks: proscribed fugitives, martyrs to liberty —soi disant and otherwise – came over to England in shoals, and amongst them were to be found thorough adepts in the mysteries of chess. These refugees rekindled the fire in Britain. They brought with them new and unknown German and Italian works, and made Englishmen acquainted with far more extended information than could be found in Philidor's meagre work.

Before we enter on the new era of chess, I may add for the benefit of such of my readers as are not "up" in its history, that Lewis was the pupil of Sarratt, and McDonnel the pupil of Lewis. It is difficult, from the paucity of existing data, to judge of the strength of former players as compared with modern examples. Mr. Lewis had been accustomed at one time to give McDonnel pawn and two; but, when these odds became too heavy, he declined playing longer, and may be considered to have retired from the arena. Mr. Walker thinks that, in their best play, Messrs. Sarratt and Lewis were a pawn below Morphy, and he ranks the latter with Labourdonnais and McDonnel, stating his belief that the two latter would have played up to a much higher standard if provoked by defeat. For my own part, I think it is indisputable that the reputation of these two players is, at this day, entirely based on their eighty published games, and when Herr Löwenthal's much looked-for collection of Morphy's contests is published, we shall then be enabled to judge of the American's strength, as compared with those celebrated masters.

The influx of foreigners into London was introductory to the establishment of numerous chess circles in different coffee houses. Hundreds of "exiled patriots," bearded Poles and Italians, congregated together to smoke and play chess, and soon infused a general passion for the game amongst the Londoners. The first room specially devoted to chess, of which we have any account, was one opened by Mr. Gliddon, and this led to the establishment of the London Chess Divan.

THE LONDON CHESS DIVAN

What chess player has not heard of the far-famed resort of the devotees of Caïssa? The Café de la Régence may be the Mecca of chess, but the Divan is indisputably its Medina. Chess Clubs have risen and fallen, and the fortunes of the survivors have waxed or waned; but the Divan flourishes in spring-tide glory, the Forum Romanum for players of every clime and strength. Now my readers must not suppose that I am about to attempt a history of the "Divan in the Strand," as the Cockneys call it; for I should then have to write the history of modern European chess. I merely intend a sketch, from which they will learn with how much reverence that classic spot is to be regarded.

Somewhere about the year 1820, a tobacconist, named Gliddon, opened a room in the rear of his shop, King Street, Covent Garden, which he fitted up in Oriental style, and supplied with papers, chess periodicals and chess-boards, calling the establishment "Gliddon's Divan." Amongst his patrons was a Mr. Bernhard Ries, who soon perceived that there was room in London for a similar undertaking on a much larger scale. He accordingly opened a grand chess saloon in the building now occupied by the Divan. This was so far back as 1828. It was, at first, on the ground-floor, in the room known as Simpson's Restaurant, but when Mr. Ries gave up the establishment to his brother, the present proprietor, in 1836, that gentleman transferred the Divan to the vast saloon up stairs. In 1838, Mr. Ries (No. 2) found the Westminster Chess Club suffering from paralysis, its sinews (of war) being grievously affected. He purchased the good-will and furniture of the club, giving the members private rooms on the first floor of his house for their exclusive use. The boards and men now in use at the Divan were made expressly for the Westminster Club when first established. The members in their new locale soon found that whilst some twenty boards would be going in the public room, the game languished with them; and in the course of two years the club broke up and became absorbed in the Divan. This will invariably be the case when a private and exclusive chess association holds its meetings contiguous to a public resort devoted to the same game. During the past year, the Paris Cercle des Echecs, which met in rooms over the Café de la Régence, found that the influence of the arena down stairs was too great for them, and they broke up their meetings, and are now to be found en masse in the public café.

In 1842 Mr. Ries invited Labourdonnais to come over from Paris, and play exclusively at the Divan, which offer that great master accepted. But his constitution was already shattered, and the malady which eventually carried him off interfered with his devoting much time to chess, and no matches of importance were played by him during the period. It was next door to the Divan, at No. 6 Beaufort Buildings, in rooms taken for him by Mr. Ries, that Labourdonnais finally succumbed to that terrible antagonist who, whatever the opening may be, brings the game of life to one inevitable ending – death!

Who, known to fame in chess during the past quarter of a century, has not assisted in making the Divan classic ground? Of bygone palladins we might instance Popard, Fraser, Zenn, Daniels, Alexander, Williams, Perigal, and a host of others, never for a moment forgetting Labourdonnais and Kieseritzky. The veterans Lewis and Walker made it a place of constant resort before they withdrew from the chess arena. In the Divan, Staunton rose from a Knight-player to a first rate. St. Arnaud, Anderssen, Harrwitz, Hörwitz, Kling, – in fact all the great living celebrities – make it their house of call when in London, whilst the brilliant corps d'élite composing the phalanx of English players – Löwenthal, Boden, Barnes, Bird, Lowe, Falkbeer, Wormald, Campbell, Zytogorsky, Brien, &c., &c., may frequently be found there, ready to meet all antagonists. When Mr. Buckle casts a "longing, lingering look behind" at his first love, he offers homage to Caïssa at the Divan. But we must stop, or we shall fain run through the whole list of living players.

In the room are busts of Lewis, Philidor, Labourdonnais, and other vieux de la vielle, and the library is replete with all the chief works on chess. From noon to midnight, players of every shade of strength are to be met with; – amateurs who learned the moves last week; professors who analyze openings, adepts inventing new defences, and editors who prove satisfactorily that the winner ought to have lost and the vanquished to have gained. [Salām to the Divan! May it live a thousand years!]

The Divan has certainly done much to spread a liking for the game amongst the masses; but, at the same time, it has somewhat interfered with the formation of a flourishing West End Chess Club. There is no city in the world in which so much chess is played as London, and the British metropolis should certainly show, at least, one club numbering from 500 to 1,000 members. Club life is an institution peculiar to Englishmen; divans, even when so well managed as Ries's, partake rather of the Gallic element, being of the genus café. Your aristocratic Briton frequents not the public saloon, preferring the otium cum dignitate of the private club. I am aware that chess in England is not fostered by the upper ranks of society: its amateurs are to be found mainly in the middle classes. Shopmen, clerks, professors of the arts, literary men, &c., form its rank and file. The majority of these, I speak of them as Englishmen, object to a place of public resort from various reasons. Smoking displeases some, and smoking is part and parcel of a divan. The Automaton itself could not get on without its tchibouk. All the advantages and none of the drawbacks of a public hall, are to be obtained at a club; especially when, as at the St. George's, one room is set apart for smoking. Surely the late impulse given to chess by Paul Morphy's European feats, will increase the members of these chess associations, which are incontestably the best schools for progress in the game.

About the year 1824, three or four young gentlemen who had recently learned chess, or rather the mechanical part of it, and had been playing a good deal together, made vain inquiries as to the existence of a Chess Club at the West End of London, being desirous of showing off their abilities to new advantage. The foremost of these ambitious juveniles was Mr. George Walker, the eminent Chess writer, and an author, too, whose never failing bonhommie is worthy of Lafontaine. Finding that "westward the star of empire" and of chess had not, as yet, begun to "take its way," they resolved to have a Club of their own. Philidor's Club could not be said to exist; the flame was flickering in some obscure corner, and the last member was preparing to leave. But the sacred fire was not to die out: – George Walker and his fellow youngsters built an altar for it at the Percy Coffee-House in Rathbone Place, Oxford Street, and blew the flame into a perfect blaze. Percy's Coffee-House was then a first-rate hotel: Belgravia, Brompton, Pimlico, were corn-fields and market-gardens, and the aristocracy had not emigrated from the neighborhood of Oxford Street. The denizens of that ilk might be supposed to find some leisure for the enjoyment of such a pastime as chess, and Walker and Co. soon enlisted upwards of a score of recruits. Night after night the members played what they in their innocence called chess, finishing the Monday evening with a supper, after which harmony and "the flowing bowl" prevailed. Things went on swimmingly in this Mutual Admiration Society, until one of the members, Mr. Perrier, of the War Office, upset the status quo by bringing into their midst Mr. Murphy, the celebrated ivory miniature painter, and father of Mrs. Jamieson, the authoress. Dire was the result; Mr. Murphy proved a very Trojan horse in this West End Ilium: for, as Mr. Walker says, "he entirely dispelled the illusion of the 'bold Percies' that they had been playing chess." He gave them one and all a Knight, essayed the Gambit on every occasion, and not one of the young gentlemen could make a stand against him.

As though not sufficiently humiliated, Mr. Murphy introduced Mr. Lewis to them, and the new comer completed their bewilderment by giving them the Rook and sweeping them clean off the board. But with such a master, the Percies, by dint of diligent study and practice, rapidly improved, and it was suggested to Mr. Lewis that he should open a private club at his own house. After a short delay this was accomplished, and nearly all the members joined Mr. Lewis, when he opened subscription rooms in St. Martin's Lane – classic ground surely, for a former Chess Club had lived and died at Slaughter's Coffee-House, hard by.

Mr. Lewis collected quite a number of players around him, and was in fair way to find his enterprise profitable; but the most prominent members demurred to his not playing with them so much as they desired, more especially as Mr. Lewis did not appear to regard the institution as a Free School for the inculcation of Chess. The best of the young amateurs were Messrs. Walker, Brand, Mercier and McDonnell; the last, the best of the lot. McDonnell received from Mr. Lewis the odds of Pawn and Two Moves, but when he had fairly surmounted that advantage and could win every game, his antagonist declined playing on even terms, much to McDonnell's disappointment. This, however, appears to be the usual course with leading chess players, – Deschappelle's conduct in regard to Labourdonnais being a notable example of the fact. There are peculiar idiosyncrasies in chess human nature, as, for instance, the remarkable reserve and "don't-come-nigh-me" feeling with which leading amateurs treat each other. Go into any public or private chess association, and you will find that the superior craft steer clear of each other as a general thing; reserving their antagonism for matches few and far between.

The Club subsequently removed to the bottom of St. Martin's Lane, and shortly broke up, McDonnell and others returning to the London Club, whence they had migrated. A futile attempt was afterwards made to establish a grand aristocratic silk and satin club in Waterloo Place, the door of admission to which could only be opened with a golden key of ten guineas. Here lots of every thing could be found except chess, and no wonder, for the game does not find supporters, to any extent, among the rich, depending mainly upon individuals to whom ten guineas are a consideration. The club expired in twelve months. Caïssa thus lost her last foothold at the West End, and Mr. Lewis henceforth virtually abandoned the practice of chess.