The Exploits and Triumphs, in Europe, of Paul Morphy, the Chess Champion
These unpleasant (not 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 qualifications 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 indulgence 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 "Caissa," 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 impurely) 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. Löwenthal 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 sympathizing writer who thus stabs a rival player when he is down? It is time, sir, 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 —
Pawn-and-Two.
It is difficult in any country, and quite impossible in England, to struggle successfully against public opinion. Mr. Staunton had kept silence as long as possible, but there was but one course for him to pursue, namely, in one way or another to own that he was wrong. The chess circles in which he was once the most welcome of all comers, now turned on him the cold shoulder; the first clubs in the kingdom, and amongst them the St. George's, were signifying their desire to offer Paul Morphy public dinners; such eminent players as Captain Kennedy volunteered subscriptions towards a national testimonial for the young American, not more as an evidence of their admiration for him as a master in the game, than as marking their esteem for him as a man.3 Mr. Staunton could no longer resist such a pressure, and besides, he owed some apology to his paper for the suppression of the famous paragraph; he therefore addressed the following communication to his chief, the editor of the Illustrated London News:
MR. STAUNTON'S EXPLANATIONTo the Editor of the Illustrated London News:
Sir, – My attention has this moment been directed to a passage in a letter of Lord Lyttelton to Mr. Morphy, wherein allusion is made to the "suppression" of a portion of Mr. Morphy's letter to me, which you published, together with my answer, in your paper for Oct. 23. I have not seen the epistle to which Lord Lyttelton's is a reply; but I plead guilty at once to having omitted, when sending you Mr. Morphy's jeremiade and my answer, a couple of paragraphs from the former. My reasons for omitting them were, in the first place, because they appeared to me to be irrelevant to the main point between Mr. Morphy and me; secondly, because I know if the letters extended very much beyond the limited space you apportion to chess, they were pretty certain of being omitted, or, as Mr. Morphy phrases it, "suppressed" altogether; and, thirdly, because I had already written to a friend in Paris with whom, through my introduction, Mr. M. was living upon intimate terms, an explanation touching the notice Mr. Morphy professes to be so concerned at; and from my friend's reply, which intimated that Mr. M. was about to write to me in an amicable spirit, I of course supposed there was an end of the matter, and that I should be permitted to pursue my work, and this young gentleman his play, without further misunderstanding. That, after this, and in the face of my endeavors through your Journal to set his blindfold and other chess exploits before the public in the most advantageous light – in the face of every civility which to the extent of my opportunities, I have endeavored to show him from the first moment of his arrival in this country – he could reconcile it to his sense of honor and honesty, to impute to me a wilful suppression of any portion of his letter, does, indeed, amaze me, and I can only account for it, by supposing he is under the influence of very ill advisers, or that his idea of what is honorable and honest, is very different from what I had hoped and believed it to be.
I am, sir, yours, &c.,H. Staunton.November 15.
P. S. That you may judge with what likelihood and with what propriety Mr. Morphy attributes the omission of the excerpta to sinister motives, I enclose them, and shall be obliged by your giving them the additional publicity he craves, as soon as your space permits: —
"A statement appeared in the chess department of that Journal, (The Illustrated London News) a few weeks since, that 'Mr. Morphy had come to Europe unprovided with backers or seconds' – the inference being obvious, that my want of funds was the reason of our match not taking place. As you are the editor of that department of the Illustrated London News, I felt much hurt that a gentleman who had always received me at his club and elsewhere, with great kindness and courtesy should allow so prejudicial a statement to be made in reference to me; one, too, which is not strictly consonant with fact."
"In conclusion, I beg leave to state, that I have addressed a copy of this letter to the editors of the Illustrated London News, Bell's Life in London, The Era, The Field, and The Sunday Times; being most desirous that our true position should no longer be misunderstood by the community at large. I again request you to fix the date for our commencing the match."
Mr. Morphy was not desirous of prolonging the discussion, after so full and entire an indorsement from Mr. Staunton's fellow-countrymen, or he could easily have driven that gentleman further into the mire. But Mr. S. made two statements in the above letter, which Paul Morphy could not allow to pass unrebuked, and he accordingly denied, publicly, that he had received any introduction whatever from that gentleman, or that he had even hinted his intention of writing Mr. Staunton, amicably or otherwise.
The latter part of the letter is in questionable taste. As though Mr. S. had acquired any right to misrepresent facts, publish misstatements, and deny reparation, on account of "having set his (M.'s) blindfold and other chess-exploits before the public in the most advantageous light."
By so doing, Mr. Staunton merely fulfilled his editorial duty; for the entire chess world was on the qui vive after Morphy's exploits. His games were being published throughout Europe, to the exclusion of nearly all others, and surely Mr. S. could not allow his paper to be behind other journals. But he knew full well that, after the first fortnight or three weeks, Mr. Morphy never gave him a single partie, being hurt at the ungenerous treatment evinced towards him in the notes. Mr. Staunton was using the columns of an influential journal to crush a dangerous opponent, and, at the time he penned the above letter, he well knew that Paul Morphy resented from the first such unfairness, and had positively forbidden any of his games to be sent to him.
Mr. Staunton makes reference, in conclusion, to "very ill advisers." I suppose I must take this mainly to myself, more particularly as it is not the first time of his using the expression during the discussion. Without attempting to defend myself, I would say to Mr. Staunton: "I can reconcile it with my sense of honor and honesty, to impute to you a wilful suppression of the paragraph so frequently referred to. Had you given that paragraph, you would, per force, have been obliged to give your reasons for the assertion therein contained. And I would remind you, sir, that, in all this discussion, you have never touched the real point at issue – never apologized for the misstatement of which Mr. Morphy complains with so much cause. Paul Morphy is acquainted with the reason for that misstatement, but he has never evinced a desire to force you to state it publicly. He can afford to be generous."
It may be cause of regret to some that the match between these two athletæ did not take place. Such a contest would not have afforded any test of comparison, inasmuch as Mr. Staunton is not now the player he was eight or ten years ago. But an infallible test exists by which to judge of their respective merits – viz. their games. "By their fruits ye shall know them."
MORALMr. Staunton's weakness was want of sufficient courage to say, "He is stronger than I." Löwenthal said it before his match with Morphy was finished; Mr. Boden openly avowed his inferiority, as also Mr. Bird, and many other eminent players. And Saint Amant, in Paris, led the young hero up the steps of the throne, and seated him beside Labourdonnais, proclaiming, "Voiçi notre maitre à nous tous." Had Mr. Staunton so done, he would merely have anticipated the verdict of posterity, and honored himself in the eyes of his countrymen and the world.
CHAPTER VII
MORPHY IN FRANCE
On the last day of last August, I awakened Paul Morphy at an early hour. The Folkestone train left London Bridge at 9 55 A. M., and there was some twenty minutes of hard driving to get to the railway station; but Morphy came down to breakfast with admirable sang froid, took his own time at the meal, laughed at my fears of being too late, and got into a cab at least ten minutes later than we ought to have done. We arrived at the depot in time to see the doors shut in our faces. Now this was not agreeable, inasmuch as there was no other train for Paris, by that line, during the day. I therefore proposed to Morphy that we should stroll about until half-past one o'clock in the afternoon, and then take the route through Dover and Calais, to which he assented.
The trip across the Straits of Dover is neither long nor pleasant, and Mr. Morphy was dreadfully sea-sick; but his mind was preoccupied with his forthcoming campaigns in la Belle France, and he observed to me, "Well, now I am going to meet Harrwitz! I shall beat him in the same proportion as I beat Löwenthal, although he is a better match-player than Löwenthal. But I shall play better with Harrwitz." Some of my readers may object to such an observation; but those who know Morphy, know that he speaks from thorough acquaintance with his opponents' capabilities, and conviction of his own superiority – not from any improper feeling of pride.
People suffering from sea-sickness generally recognize the truth of the maxim, "It is better to give than to receive: " you have much difficulty in getting them to take any thing, even fat pork; but if you watch your opportunity, when the will is stronger than the deed, and induce them to worry down a modicum of champagne well up, you infuse new life into them. So I requested the steward to make us acquainted with his Silléry Mousseux, and Morphy and I toasted each other on the deck of the steamboat. On my asking him immediately afterwards how he felt, he allowed that he was better; adding, however, that he believed it was nothing but imagination which worked the cure.
It was but a short run to the pier of Calais, and the sea-sickness was forgotten when our feet again touched terra firma. On landing, we got into a slight difficulty. Morphy speaks the French language with the purest Gallic accent, and the officials would not at first consent to his travelling with a United States passport. This our hero soon cleared up by reading the gens d'armes a précis of the settlement, manners, customs, &c., of the State of Louisiana, and his own antecedents; whereupon that official restored him his papier règlé, but confiscated a quantity of underlinen. They told us that was Customary.
Eight o'clock in the evening; and if we took the train forthwith, we should arrive in Paris next morning at six. Morphy proposed that we should sleep there that night, and take an early train the following day, which course would enable us to see the town of Calais. So we repaired to the Hotel Dessin, attended to our inner and outer man, and then prepared for a stroll. As the result of our observations, we agreed Calais must have been a magnificent town before the discovery of the principles of architecture. After diligent inquiry, we could not learn that any one knew when the last house was built, and Morphy gave it as his opinion that, were William the Conqueror to revisit Calais, he would find it unchanged, except in being dirtier. When I reminded him that the town possessed peculiar interest for me as an Englishman, he coolly set me down, by observing that he had a very poor opinion of my ancestors for wishing to keep such a place.
The next morning we got into the train at a quarter to eight o'clock, and commenced the long, dreary ride of ten mortal hours to Paris. But there was no way out of the difficulty, and, what with yawning and dozing between the stations, and grumbling at the tedious regulation speed of the French railways, we ultimately arrived at the capital. Now every traveller, on getting to this point, thinks he is bound to paint the various emotions arising in his breast on entering the city of the Seine. My own sensations were of strong Anglican bias. I wanted to dine. Morphy is never betrayed into rhapsody, and what he felt he didn't speak.
Having again submitted our baggage to the inspection of numerous officials, we thanked our stars for seeing the last of the Chemin de Fer du Nord, – drove off to Meurice's, where they gave us rooms about the fifteenth story, – started for the Restaurant des Trois Frères Provençaux, and got a capital dinner, and then addressed ourselves to the duties of flaneurs. I knew the French capital like a gamin de Paris; and, without saying a word to Morphy of my intention, I led him quietly down the Palais Royal, past the Théâtre Français, and right into the Café de la Régence.
CHAPTER VIII
THE CAFÉ DE LA RÉGENCE
Were I called upon to name the central spot in this whirling sphere, the point round which all other points revolve, I should say – The Café de la Régence.
Probably many of my readers will not think so, but that does not alter the fact. I name that café, not as a chess player, but from more general reasons. Take a bowl of water or any other liquid —punch will do – and, prior to drinking, experiment upon it. Turn it round and round until the liquid revolves quickly, and mark: there is one spot in the centre, a bubble, or mass of foam, which appears stationary, and all the other bubbles are circling and converging spirally towards it. So with my café.
In Paris, every other house is a café. The inhabitants are divided into two classes: – waiters at the café, and – frequenters of the café. Paris never existed until coffee was introduced. Paris is merely a big café, and is a product of the Mocha berry.
Every café has its speciality. At Paul Niquet's, for instance, the chiffoniers congregate, and at Tortoni's, speculators and politicians. Not one of these establishments, throughout the city, but has its mark, by which to distinguish it from its fellows, in the same way as an ugly woman consoles herself with the belief that she has one quality at least which will captivate admirers. But the Café de la Régence stands out peculiar from the rest; it is what they are, and more too. It is an epitome of all.
Now the reader must not suppose I am going to enter on a lengthy history of this far-famed trysting spot of men of all countries, more particularly as Mr. George Walker anticipated me many years ago. Everybody knows that the Café de la Régence and the Café Procope are the two oldest in Paris; that the former is so named after the famous Regent Duke of Orleans; that Voltaire, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Duke of Richelieu, Marshall Saxe, Franklin, Robespierre, Napoleon, etc., etc., etc., made it their place of frequent resort for the purpose of playing at chess. I am about to give a daguerreotype of the Régence as Morphy and I found it, and as any one will find it at the present day.
The first thing we caught sight of, on entering, was a dense cloud of tobacco smoke, the product of tabac de Caporal and cigars de la Régie. The second object was a massive individual, with Titanic shoulders, whom we afterwards learned was Monsieur Morel, or, as they call him there, "Le père Morel," and "The Rhinoceros." Having turned the flank of this gentleman, and our eyes becoming used to the peculiar atmosphere, we observed that tables were placed as close to each other as would admit of one's passing between them, and that chess was being played on some, draughts, cards, and dominoes on others. In a second room, two billiard-tables were in full action, surrounded by still other chess and card parties, whilst the unceasing hubbub arising from the throng seemed to render mental abstraction an impossibility. At a table in the first room, a small crowd was watching the contest between two amateurs of "ye noble game of chesse playe," and Morphy's attention was immediately arrested. I stepped up to the dame du comptoir and made inquiries as to who was then in the room, and learned from her that one of the two players Morphy was watching was Monsieur Journoud, "un de nos plus forts," the lady added, as though aware I was a stranger. She informed me that Mr. Harrwitz was then at Valenciennes, but intended to return to Paris at the end of the week, in order to meet Mr. Morphy. On my not expressing any surprise at the mention of the latter's name, she volunteered the information that Mr. Morphy was a celebrated American player, who had beaten everybody he had played with, and that they expected him yesterday. The lady was pleasingly voluble, and I encouraged her; this induced her to add that Monsieur Arnoux de Rivière had just received a letter from a friend in London, apprising him that our hero had left the English capital, and was en route for Paris.
Having learned as much as the dame du comptoir was able to communicate, I rejoined Morphy, and we took a second look round the room. Sounds of all European languages saluted our ears, and types of different races our eyes. In one corner, a knot of Italians talked, amicably no doubt, in their rapid, quarrelsome manner. At one of the billiard tables, a party of Russians were having it their own way, without fear of listeners; Americans and English, Germans, Danes, Swedes, Greeks, Spaniards, etc., jabbered together regardless of bystanders, making the café a very Babel. Scores of journals were lying here and there – the leading newspapers, in fact, throughout Europe – so that every visitor, no matter what his nationality, could obtain news of home.
The crowd seemed, as it always does, to represent every rank of society. There were military men, from colonels to privates; one or two priests, who seemed somewhat out of their element; well-dressed, aristocratic-looking individuals, who kept together in knots in different corners; and the invariable pillier de café, who passes half his existence in such establishments, and the other half in bed. The Café de la Régence opens at eight o'clock in the morning, but little or nothing is done until noon, barring the daily visit of some three or four patrons who drink their coffee in silence, and are not seen again until early next day. But at noon men begin to drop in quickly, and, by two o'clock, the room is as full as it can conveniently hold, and so continues until midnight.
The Café de la Régence has only existed on its present site for a few years; in fact, since Louis Napoleon has made the many magnificent alterations in the French capital. Previously, it was next door, in a locale not half so convenient as the present one. The café is separated into two rooms on the Rue St. Honoré; in the larger one, which we have already described, smoking is permitted to a frightful extent; in the other, it is strictly forbidden. The latter chamber is well fitted up, and the ceiling, which is massive, contains four shields in the cornices, bearing the names of Philidor, Deschappelles, and Labourdonnais. The fourth bears the date of the café's foundation, and the proprietor has stated his intention of placing therein the name Morphy. Perhaps it is already done.
At the time of our arrival in Paris, the Cercle des Echecs, or in other words, the Chess Club, met in rooms over the café. The association had three rooms set apart for chess, and one for billiards, and Saint Amant, Devinck, Guibert, Préti, Doazan, Delannoy, Seguin and Lecrivain were amongst the members. But the great room down stairs prevented their receiving any accession of numbers, and the rent being very high, and funds very low, they gave up their quarters at the end of last year, and are now to be found in the café below.
Morphy would not announce his arrival on his first visit, preferring to postpone it until the following day. When it was known that the so much looked-for player was in Paris, the excitement was great; Frenchmen live for excitement. M. de Rivière had not been there lately, but we found Messrs. Lecrivain, Journoud, Guibert, and numbers of knight and rook-players. The first-named gentleman, by general request, offered himself as the initiatory sacrifice, accepting the odds of pawn and two moves, and managed to score some two games to Morphy's six or seven. Then M. de Rivière arrived, and getting the move, played the Ruy Lopez, which eventuated in "a draw;" and he was subsequently followed by M. Journoud, who, though one of the best French players, failed to score a victory. Morphy had made his mark, and everybody looked forward to the arrival of Herr Harrwitz, when they hoped to see fun.
