Paul Morphy: The Pride and Sorrow of Chess

by David Lawson

  On hearing this, Mr. Staunton, in a spirit of what some may call chivalry, but which, looking at his utterly unprepared state for an encounter of this kind, ought more properly to be termed Quixotism, entered his name also. Well, what happened? On the mustering of the belligerents, Mr. Morphy, who had come six thousand miles to run a tilt in this tournament, was not present. In his place came a note to say particular business prevented his attendance. A message was dispatched, intimating that his absence would be a great disappointment, &c., &c. His reply was, that, understanding neither Mr. Staunton nor any other of the leading players would take the field, he declined to do so. A second message was forwarded, to the effect that Mr. Staunton was then in Birmingham expressly to meet Mr. Morphy, and that he and several of the best players were awaiting Mr. Morphy’s arrival to begin the combats. To this came a final answer, to the effect that the length of time that the tourney would last prevented Mr. Morphy from joining in it, but he would run down in two or three days. Passing over the exquisite taste of this proceeding, and the disappointment and murmurs it occasioned, I would simply ask, If Mr. Morphy thought himself justified in withdrawing from a contest which he had come thousands of miles to take part, and to which he was in a manner pledged, upon pretences so vague and flimsy, what right has he to complain if the English player choose to withdraw from one to which he is in no respect bound, and against which he may be enabled to offer the most solid and unanswerable objections? In asking this, I beg to disclaim all intention of provoking a chess players’ controversy, a thing in which the public takes not the slightest interest, and for which I individually entertain supreme contempt. I am moved to it only by the spirit of

  Fair Play

  Birmingham

  6.

  Edge’s Letter in Bell’s Life in London

  —October 24, 1858

  Hotel Breteuil, Paris, Oct. 20, 1858

  To the Editor of Bell’s Life in London:

  Sir,—Two letters appeared in your paper of last Sunday, one with the signature of “M.A.,” the other of “Fair Play.” In justice to fact, those communications must not remain unanswered, as the misstatements they contain might perchance mislead some as to the good faith of Mr. Morphy. It is in no improper spirit that I appear before your readers under my own name, but simply because, as I intend replying to your anonymous correspondents with facts, not with hypotheses, I think I am bound in honor to hold myself responsible for what I advance. The chess players of London and Birmingham are not ignorant of the intimacy with which Mr. Morphy has honored me during his visit to Europe, and they will permit me to state, that no one is better conversant with the facts bearing on the case in point than your subscriber. Were it not that Paul Morphy positively refused to reply to any attack upon himself, preferring that his actions should be the sole witness to his faith, I should not have troubled you or the public with this communication.

  On the 4th of last February, the New Orleans Chess Club challenged Mr. Staunton to visit the Crescent City, “to meet Mr. Paul Morphy in a chess match.” On the 3d of April the former gentleman replied to this defi in the Illustrated London News, in the following language:—“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 visit 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 proposed 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.”

  No one would regard the above observations as tantamount to aught else than “If you will come to Europe I will play you;” but we are relieved from the difficulty of discovering Mr. Staunton’s real meaning by his reiterated declarations that he would play Mr. Morphy. Within a few days of the latter’s arrival in London, the English player stated his intention of accepting the match, but postponed the commencement of it for a month, on the plea of requiring preparation. In the month of July the acceptance of the challenge was announced in the Illustrated London News. Before the expiration of the time demanded in the first instance, Mr. Staunton requested that the contest should not take place until after the Birmingham meeting. At Birmingham he again declared his intention of playing the match, and fixed the date for the first week in November, in the presence of numerous witnesses. Mr. Morphy may have erred in believing that his antagonist intended to act as his words led him to suppose, but it was an error shared in common by everyone then present, and particularly by Lord Lyttelton, the President of the British Chess Association, who recognized the true position of the case in his speech to the association, stating that he “wished him (Mr. Morphy) most cordially success in his encounters with the celebrated players of Europe, whom he had gallantly left home to meet; he should be pleased to hear that he vanquished all—except one; but that one—Mr. Staunton—he must forgive him, as an Englishman, for saying he hoped he would conquer him.”— (Report of Birmingham meeting, Illustrated London News, Sept. 18, 1858.)

  So firmly convinced were the members of Mr. Staunton’s own club, the St. George’s, that he had accepted the challenge, that a committee was formed, and funds raised to back him. What those gentlemen must now think of Mr. Staunton’s evasion of the match can easily be understood; but so strong was the conviction in other chess circles that he would not play, that large odds were offered to that effect.

  “M.A.’s” reasons for not playing, or “M.A.’s” reasons for Mr. Staunton’s not playing—a distinction without a difference, as we shall hereafter show—is that “he is engaged upon a literary work of great responsibility and magnitude.” Did not this reason exist prior to Mr. Morphy’s arrival in June? And if so, why were Mr. Morphy, the English public, and the chess community generally, led into the belief that the challenge was accepted? And what did Mr. Staunton mean by stating at Birmingham, in the presence of Lord Lyttelton, Mr. Avery, and myself, that if the delay until November were granted him, he could in the mean while supply his publishers with sufficient matter, so as to devote himself subsequently to the match?

  Mr. Staunton’s (I mean “M.A.’s”) remark in the letter under review, “I (Staunton or “M.A.” indifferently) have no apprehension of your skill,” is hardly consonant with the previous observation, that “he (Staunton) is at least pawn and two below his force,” unless the “English-chess-world-representative” wishes it to be understood that he could offer those odds to Paul Morphy. Nor is it consonant with the fact that he has never consented to play Mr. Morphy a single game, though asked to do so, and when frequently meeting him at St. George’s. Of course the two consultation games played by him, in alliance with “Alter,” against Messrs. Barnes and Morphy count for nothing, as they were gained by the latter; a result due, doubtless, to “Alter” alone.

  Mr. Morphy, in the eyes of the chess world, can have nothing to gain from a contest with this gentleman. When Mr. Staunton has met even players such as Anderssen, Heyderbrandt, and Lowenthal, he has succumbed; whilst his youthful antagonist can cite a roll of victori
es unparalleled since Labourdonnais. And herein is the true reason for “M.A.’s” saying, Staunton must not be allowed to risk the national honor (?) in an unequal contest.

  In wishing “M.A.” adieu, I would state that his style of composition is so like Mr. Staunton’s that no one could detect the difference. And no one but Mr. Staunton himself would ever set up such a defense as “M.A.’s”—that of inferiority, “Pawn and two below his strength,” &c. &c. And no one but Mr. Staunton could have such intimate knowledge of his own thoughts as we find in the following verbatim quotations from “M.A.’s” letter: “The state of his health was such that he felt he could not do himself justice”—“his mind harassed”—“the other (Staunton) with scarcely time for sleep and meals, with his brain in a constant whirl with the strain upon it.” In the language of Holy Writ: “No man can know the spirit of man, but the spirit of man which is in him.”

  Served up in a mess of foul language, the letter signed “Fair Play,” contains an obviously untrue assertion, namely, Mr. Morphy started for Europe, not to play a match with Mr. Staunton. This is rather outrageous in the face of the challenge from the New Orleans Chess Club, and with Mr. Staunton’s reply in the Illustrated London News of April 3d. So much was it Mr. Morphy’s desire to play him, and so little his intention to engage in the Birmingham Tournament, that he informed the secretary he did not regard such a contest as any true test of skill.

  To sum up the whole matter, I will state the naked facts.

  1. Mr. Morphy came to Europe to play Mr. Staunton.

  2. Mr. Staunton made everybody believe he had accepted the challenge from Mr. Morphy.

  3. Mr. Staunton allowed the St. George’s Chess Club to raise the money to back him.

  4. Mr. Staunton asked for a delay of one month, in order to brush up his openings and endings.

  5. Mr. Staunton requested a postponement until after the Birmingham meeting.

  6. Mr. Staunton fixed the beginning of November for the commencement of the match.

  If all this do not mean “I will play,” then is here no meaning in language. I beg to subscribe myself, Mr. Editor, most respectfully yours.

  Frederick Milne Edge.

  7.

  The “Pawn and Two” Letter in the London Field

  —November 13, 1858

  Mr. Staunton and Mr. Morphy

  Sir,—I am desirous, with your permission, of saying a few words upon the relative position now occupied by Messrs. Staunton and Morphy, whose proposed encounter has been brought to such an unfortunate, though not unforseen> [ sic], termination. Now I am well acquainted with Mr. Staunton. I have been concerned on his behalf in the arrangement of one of his (proposed) matches, with a player whom he has never ceased to vituperate since that period when I endeavored so strenuously to bring them together. I have fought Mr. Staunton’s battles for him by pen and by word of mouth on sundry occasions. I wish, indeed, I could do so now; for, as a chess player, and as a laborer in the field of chess literature, I place him on the very highest pinnacle. Since the time of M’Donnell, I believe that no player in this country—not to say Europe—has ever reached so high a standard as was attained by our English champion when he did battle with St. Amant. Since that time he has been the rather concerned in editorial duties, and in intimating to real or imaginary correspondents in the Chess Players’ Chronicle, (now defunct) and in the Illustrated London News, (full of vitality,) what he could do on the chequered field, if those who dreamed of approaching him could but muster sufficient money to meet his terms, or what other and peculiar restrictions (owing to delicate health and “nervous irritability”) he should impose upon any adversary with whom he engaged himself.

  From what I have seen of Mr. Staunton, I should think the term “delicate” thoroughly inapplicable to his condition, but that he is highly irritable, and nervously susceptible of all antagonistic impressions, no one who knows him can for a moment doubt.

  How easy ‘tis, when destiny proves kind, With full-spread sails to run before the wind.

  So sings the poet. Destiny did prove kind to Mr. Staunton when he played his match in Paris with St. Amant. The Englishman made the most of it, and achieved a splendid triumph. At the great Chess Tournament in 1851 destiny was not quite so obliging. The champion from whom we expected so much had a head-wind against him, and he was beaten. I saw much of Mr. Staunton at that time. I believe—in all justice let it be said—that he was thoroughly unnerved, that he was utterly unequal to an arduous contest, and that his great merits ought not to be gauged by his play upon the occasion alluded to. He deserved (he did not receive, for he had never given the same to others) every sympathy under circumstances which were intensely mortifying to himself personally, and to us nationally.

  Since 1851 it has been pretty generally understood that Mr. Staunton’s ir- ritability has not diminished, and that his literary responsibilities have the rather multiplied. Consequently we had no right to expect, nationally, that he would again be our champion, and contend with the young American, whose reputation ran before him to Europe, and has accompanied him ever since his arrival from the United States. We had no right, I say, to expect this, but for one reason. That reason is to be found in the chess department of the Illustrated London News, of which Mr. S. is the acknowledged editor. It has been there constantly implied—nay, it has been over and over again unequivocally stated—during the last eight years, that the vanquisher of St. Amant is still the English champion; that as such he has a right to dictate his own terms, and that if any one is prepared to accede to those terms, he (Mr. Staunton) is prepared for the encounter. It matters not whether the correspondents to whom these implications are made are real or (as is generally supposed) imaginary. It is sufficient that certain statements are made with the intention of conveying a false impression to the public as regards Mr. Staunton’s desire to play and capability of playing. This is where he is so greatly to blame; this is the point on which he has alienated from himself during the last few years so many of his warmest friends. No one blames Mr. Staunton for not playing with Mr. Morphy; but every one has a right to blame Mr. Staunton if, week after week, he implies in his own organ that there is a chance of a match, if all that time he knows that there is no chance of a match whatever. This, I affirm deliberately, and with great pain, is what Mr. Staunton has done. It has been done times out of number, and this in ways which have been hardly noticed. If the editor of the chess department of the Illustrated London News merely states as a piece of news that Mr. Morphy is coming to England from America to arrange a match at chess with Mr. Staunton, and Mr. Staunton (being that editor himself, and being burdened with literary responsibilities which he knows to be so great as to prevent his playing an arduous contest) fails to append to such statement another, to the effect that he has given up public chess, and has no intention of again renewing it, he is not acting in a straightforward and honorable manner. But much more than this has been effected. So solicitous has Mr. Staunton been to trade as long as possible upon his past reputation, that it has been written in the Illustrated London News since Mr. Morphy’s arrival in this country, that he (Mr. M.) is not prepared with the necessary stakes for an encounter with Mr.Staunton. What truth there was in such averment may be gathered from the admirable letter in your impression of last Saturday from the young American to Lord Lyttelton. Why is not Mr. Staunton content to say (what those who like him best would be glad to be authorized to say for him): “I have done much for the cause of chess, but I am not equal to what I once was; and I am hampered by engagements which do not admit of my playing matches now. I cannot risk my reputation under such manifest disadvantages as would surround me in a contest with Mr. Morphy.” The public at large would then respect Mr. Staunton’s candor, and have a larger appreciation than they now have of his great merits. It is true that Mr. Staunton has said this at last; but he has been forced to say with a bad grace what ought long ago to have been said voluntarily with a good one.

  These unpleasant (no
t to use a harsher term) circumstances are the more to be deplored at present because of the frank, courteous, and unassuming conduct of Mr. Morphy upon every occasion since he set foot in Europe. I have seen him play in London and in Paris; and I have noted those obliging and unobtrusive manners which secure to him the good-will of everybody, and surround him by troops of friends. How is it that Mr. Staunton is not surrounded by troops of friends likewise? Is he not a scholar and a gentleman? Has he not many quali-fications for the distinguished literary position he now fills? Undoubtedly he has, But he has never been able to merge the personal in the general—to regard his own individuality as other than the first consideration. Brought into contact many years ago with players who were not refined gentlemen, an antagonism was immediately established between the two parties. Unhappily for the chess world, literary opportunities were afforded in the columns of rival newspapers for the indulgences of malevolent feelings on both sides. To this warfare there has never been a cessation. So notorious is the fact of its existence that it is impossible to rely, in one paper, upon any statement having reference to the London Chess Club; it is equally impossible to rely, in the other, upon any statement affecting the St. George’s Club. Ladies who are devoted to “Caïssa,” and write to the Illustrated London News, are not aware of these things. Imaginary correspondents, of course, are utterly ignorant of them. But we who live in and about London, who have been behind the scenes at both theatres, know how much reliance is to be placed upon a certain kind of chess intelligence with which two rival journals regale their correspondents and the general public every week. Look even at the Illustrated London News of last Saturday, and you will see a letter professing to come from Birmingham, (I think it is a misprint for Billingsgate,) which is absolutely disgraceful. Why should Mr. Staunton try to bolster up his reputation (which is European) with sentiments and language of a purely (I mean im-purely) local character? Why is one player always to be cried up at the expense of another? Why are ungenerous and ungentlemanly insinuations to be made against a youth whose conduct has been characterized by so much unobtrusiveness and so much good feeling as that of Mr. Morphy? Why is Mr. Harrwitz always to be run down in the Illustrated London News? Why are Mr. Lowenthal and Mr. Brien, quondam editorial protégés, now never spoken of but in terms of disparagement? Why should Mr. Staunton call upon the cercle at Paris to insist upon Mr. Harrwitz progressing with his match with Mr. Morphy at a more rapid pace, when the German had pleaded ill health as the cause of the delay? Who has drawn so largely upon the patience of the British public, on the score of ill health and “palpitations of the heart,” et hoc genus omne, as the generous and sympa-thizing writer who thus stabs a rival player when he is down? It is time, sire, that these things should cease. We are all weary of them. What better opportunity for crying a truce to these mean and petty warfares of the pen than the one which now presents itself? Mr. Staunton is our champion no longer. We must turn to some one else to uphold the national flag upon that field where Labourdonnais and M’Donnell fought and struggled. So anxious am I that good feeling should be restored, and that we should be united as I see chess players united in other countries, that I have put together hurriedly these reflections, which, however imperfect they may be, are true and just. And because I have observed that the chess department of The Field, which you so ably edit, is peculiarly free from personalities and remarkably authentic in its information, I ask you to help me in the good cause by giving publicity to this letter. I am not ashamed of what I have written, nor do I desire to shrink from the responsibility of revealing my name, if it is necessary. I enclose my card, as a guarantee, and prefer, if it meets your views, to appear only under the name of—