by David Lawson
But on the evening of his arrival all doubts were removed in the minds of those who witnessed his passages-at-arms with Mr.Stanley and Mr. Perrin at the rooms of the New York Club, and the first prize was universally conceded to him, even before the entries for the Grand Tournament had been completed.
The next morning, October 6, at 11 a.m., all those participating in the National Chess Congress met to formally organize, choosing Judge Meek as president and Daniel W. Fiske as secretary. Frederick M. Edge was elected an assistant secretary.
Originally, it had been expected that the rooms of the New York Chess Club would suffice, but interest in the meeting had been underestimated. When it became evident that the larger quarters would be required, the Committee of Management secured commodious quarters at 764 Broadway, known as Descombes’ Rooms.
In addition to the above twelve entries for the Grand Tournament, the names of W. J. A. Fuller, Denis Julien, H. P. Montgomery, and Daniel W.Fiske were added, for a total of sixteen entrants. S. R. Calthrop arrived later, and since it was agreeable to the other players, Denis Julien retired in his favor. The players now received their certificates for the Congress.
The drawing for pairing followed the 1851 London Tournament play (to be found in Staunton’s Chess Tournament 1851):
Eight white tickets and eight yellow ones numbered respectively, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 were put into the ballot-box: The white tickets being further marked “Choice of Chess-men and first move.” Whoever drew No. 1 of the white tickets had to play with the party who drew No. 1 of the yellow; whoever drew No. 2 of the white had to play with No. 2 of the yellow; and so on throughout. The drawers of the white had the choice as to the color of the chessmen, i.e., whether they would play with the white or the black pieces and the privilege of moving first in the opening game.
As it happened, Morphy drew Thompson for the first round, while Paulsen drew Calthrop. In like manner the other players were paired. That afternoon, Morphy sent the following telegram to his brother, Edward:
N.Y. 6th
Arrived last Sunday—playing begins today—
Am pitted against James Thompson.
Thompson was a chess veteran who was well known in Paris and London before he came to New York. He was a strong player and was accustomed to giving odds to others. Play began at 1:40 p.m., but Thompson resigned at 2:30 p.m. Nevertheless, the second game began twenty minutes later and ended at 5:40 p.m., Thompson again resigning.
On the second day, October 7, Morphy and Thompson did not play. The latter perhaps wished to gather strength, since the score stood Morphy two, Thompson zero. In these two days, Paulsen had won his three games and so advanced to the second section. However, Morphy did not remain idle, for he played several side games with George Hammond of Boston and Colonel Mead of New York.
On Thursday, October 8, Thompson resigned his third game with Morphy after forty-six moves, and two hours and thirty minutes of play. Now Morphy advanced to the second section. Later that day he played side games with H. P. Montgomery, Louis Paulsen, and James Thompson, winning all games.
Morphy and Paulsen, being victors in the first section and obliged to wait for others to win the necessary three games, were now free for side games or other activity. Paulsen created a sensation on Friday by announcing that on Saturday, October 10, he would play four games simultaneously and without sight of the boards, and invited Morphy to take one of the boards against him. Morphy accepted on the condition that he also play blindfold. They then engaged in a private game that day, which ended in a draw six hours later.
The next day, October 10, before a large audience in Descombes’ Rooms, Morphy and Paulsen sat back-to-back on a raised platform. Play began at 4:30 p.m., Paulsen and Morphy calling out their moves with neither seeing any boards. At 10:30 p.m., Morphy announced checkmate in five moves upon Paulsen, calling out his twenty-third move against him.
Howard Staunton made a generous comment on Morphy’s manner of play, when he later published in his chess column in the Illustrated London News of February 1, 1862, this first blindfold game Morphy played with Paulsen:
In the faculty of imparting vitality to a position Mr. Morphy is hardly second to La Bourdonnais. It is very rare, indeed, to find a game of his which is not in some part enlivened by a stroke of vigor or a flash of inspiration. The advance of the Pawn here [Morphy’s move 16] operates a change in the aspect of affairs which is almost magical.
By midnight Paulsen had won his game against C. H. Schultz, but adjourned his two remaining games until Monday. Paulsen’s exhibition of four simultaneous blindfold games was almost unparalleled in chess history.
The pairing for the second section took place on Monday, October 12, Paulsen drawing Montgomery, while Morphy drew Meek. That evening Paulsen concluded his adjourned blindfold games, winning from Fuller and drawing with Julien. Although he had not won a complete victory (of the four games, he won two, drew one, and lost one), the feat was considered extraordinary for the quality of the games. Only once before had such an attempt been made. However, Paulsen went one better, for on October 21, he undertook the playing of five blindfold games, never before attempted. Of the five blindfold games played on that occasion, Paulsen won four and drew the fifth.
In the Grand Tournament, Judge Meek had been the victor in the first section against Fuller, but not until Fuller had won two games. Upon winning his third game from Fuller on October 14, he immediately began his series of games with Paul, having previously drawn to play him in the event of his (the Judge’s) winning from Fuller.
Morphy won his first game from Meek in less than an hour. It was told in the Macon Telegraph of May 9, 1867,that
During the brief contests with Morphy he [Judge Meek] made a playful threat that caused a good deal of amusement. He told the little hero, thus striding over them all so triumphantly, that if he didn’t stop beating him so all the time, and, at least, once in a while give him some kind of a chance, he would pick him up, put him in his pocket and carry him off—a threat which, considering the immense disparity in their physical proportions seemed not at all impossible of execution.
Morphy’s two additional wins over the Judge followed rapidly, and he was declared a victor in the second section. In the meantime, Paulsen had won two games of Montgomery and was granted the third by default, Montgomery having been obliged to return to Philadelphia.
On Saturday evening, October 17, the Congress adjourned temporarily for dinner to the St. Denis Hotel, of which Denis Julien was the proprietor. The First American Chess Congress describes a most unique “Bill of Fare,” with various dishes named after past and present chess personalities: Bilguer,* M’Donnell,** Benjamin Franklin (his Morals of Chess being well known), and others. Paulsen’s name was also on the menu. However, Julien had not forgotten Morphy, for on his tentative list he had the “Arc de Triomphe en pâté de gouyana, à la Morphy, orné de guirlandes de pensées en pastillage, et surmonté de la Déesse Caïssa Couronnant la Victoire.” It is understandable that Morphy, innately modest, would demure, and therefore his name did not appear on the “Bill of Fare.”
The dining-hall was most appropriately decorated, emblems of the game, and the names of its leading ornaments meeting the sight at every turn. The table itself was weighty with chess adornments. In glittering confectionery appeared a temple of Caïssa, and a monument to the memory of Philidor. There were statues of Franklin in ice, Kings, Queens and Knights in jelly, Bishops, Castles and Pawns in cream, and huge cakes in the shape of chessboards. The bill of fare was certainly unique. It was neatly printed, headed by an elegant representation of a board and men, and containing such curious dishes as “Filets de boeuf à la Meek-mead,” “Dindonneaux au Congress,” “Bastion de Gibier à la Palamède,” “Chartreuse de Perdrix à l’Échiquier,” “Vol-au-Vent de Cervelles à la Paulsen,” “Pommes de Terre àla M’Donnell,” “Gâteaux à la Julien,” “Pudding à la Franklin,” and a hundred similar singular specimens of culinary chess. It is ne
edless to state how much better the “Côtelettes d’Agneau àla Bilguer” tasted than simple lambchops.
As The First American Chess Congress notes, Judge Meek presided over the dinner, and, toward the end of his remarks, said:
Our players have evinced in the Tournament that they possess skill and science equal to the masters of the Old World; and ere long, beside the classic names of Staunton, and Anderssen, and Der Lasa, and St. Amant, and Lowenthal, the Muse of Caïssa will delight to register those of Morphy, and Paulsen, and Stanley, and Montgomery, and Lichtenhein, and Mead, and Hammond, and others who have nobly won green chaplets by their “doughty deeds” in the embattled lists of chess, and on the mosaic pavement which she so proudly treads.
He then proposed a toast to the New York Chess Club to which Colonel Mead responded. In closing, as stated in The First American Chess Congress, the colonel proposed “the health of Paul Morphy, the refined gentleman, the accomplished scholar, and the master chess-player.” To which Morphy responded:
Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Congress,—I sincerely thank you. To one, to all I tender the expression of my warm and heartfelt acknowledgements. Much, however, as I feel honored, I must be permitted to see in this gathering of chess celebrities something more than a tribute to merit whether real or supposed. Gentlemen, we have come together for a noble purpose; we meet at this festive board to rejoice at the success of a grand undertaking. Great, truly great, is the occasion. For the first time in the annals of American Chess, a Congress is being held which bids fair to mark an era in the history of our noble game. Chess, hitherto viewed by our countrymen in the light of a mere amusement, assumes at last its appropriate place among the sciences which at once adorn and exalt the intellect. We have met this night to hail the dawn of a true appreciation of its manifold claims to regard. And, gentlemen, may we not cherish the hope that this, the first great national gathering of the votaries of Caïssa, may prove but the forerunner of many yet to come? Should time realize this fond anticipation, to you, the gentlemen of the New York Club, will belong the praise of having taken the lead in the glorious cause. You have, in the political phrase, set the ball in motion. From the New York Club—from the altar where you worship—has gone forth the first note of praise, destined soon to swell into a mighty anthem to the achievements of our kingly pastime. I exhult to think that the Chess warriors of the Crescent City will catch a spark of the enthusiasm of the New York amateurs; that gallant Southern spears, too long idle will again be couched, and jousts as brilliant as that of ’45 [Stanley– Rousseau] be witnessed once more.
But, gentlemen of the Chess Congress, I perceive that I too far tax your patience. I avail myself of the opportunity presented to tender to each and every one of you the assurance of my deep indebtedness for the more than kind manner in which I have been welcomed to New York. I propose, in conclusion.
The Chess Editors of New York, Their labors have materially contributed to the spread of our noble and intellectual game.
To this, W. J. A. Fuller, chess editor of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, responded at length, finally remarking (as quoted in The First American Chess Congress book):
But what shall I say of the crowning excellence and glory of the Congress—the wonderful playing of our young Philidor? No, I am wrong; for though I believe I was the first to give him that appellation, yet it is a misnomer. Philidor but shadowed forth the mightier chess genius which it was reserved for America to produce, in the person of our young friend, Paul Morphy, in whom we all take such national pride. He verifies the truth of the poet’s line: “Westward the star of Empire takes its way.” He charms us no less by his quiet, unobtrusive deportment, modest and refined nature, gentlemanly courtesy, elegant manners, and genial companionship, than by his wondrous skill at our noble game.
Thoroughly conversant with all the openings and endings, he shows that he had laid every writer under contribution to increase his stock of “book knowledge,” but it is his own matchless genius which embraces and enlarges them all, that wins the victory, and that enables us, as we intend to do, to challenge the world to produce his peer. He reminds us of the noble river on whose banks he lives, which gathering in its course the contributions of various tributary streams, pours at last its own current into the ocean, deep, clear and irresistible.
The First American Chess Congress states that after other speeches and the singing of songs composed by Judge Meek and Denis Julien, Thomas Frère spoke, concluding with a salute to “The Brotherhood of Chess, as its origin is untraceable, may its existence be everlasting,” and
Mr. Marache . . . paid some handsome compliments to the chess players of the South, and concluded his remarks by toasting Mr. Rousseau, of New Orleans, which remarks were happily responded to by Mr. Morphy, and thus ended this gala American chess event.
On October 19, the Congress voted for a permanent organization to be called the American Chess Association. Paul Morphy put the name of Colonel Charles D. Mead in nomination for the presidency and he was unanimously elected. The articles of the Association provided for the election of Honorary Members who must all be foreigners, and the following were duly elected:
Mr. Perrin, the secretary of the New York Chess Club, informed the Congress (see The First American Chess Congress) that he had received two letters from Mr. Lowenthal of London, “the first suggesting the advisableness of always giving the first move in public games, to the player of the white pieces, and the second, giving a new analysis of the Pawn and Move opening.”
The pairing of the third section of the Grand Tournament took place on October 22. The draw set Morphy against Lichtenhein, and Paulsen against Dr. Raphael. Morphy won the first and second games of Lichtenhein, but the third game ended in a draw, due to one of Morphy’s rare oversights. The game actually went to fifty-five moves, although only thirty-one were published. Oddly enough, Paulsen was also obliged to concede a draw in this section to Dr. Raphael.
On October 26, both Morphy and Paulsen won the third games of their respective opponents and so advanced to the final test for the First Prize.
Now, the two most formidable players of the Congress were to face each other. Paulsen and Morphy were in most striking contrast—physically, mentally, and temperamentally. Paulsen was a blond Nordic, large in frame, cautious, and phlegmatic; Morphy dark-haired and dark-eyed, short in stature, and quick in reactions, combinations, and play. But they were much alike in modesty and courtesy, and each had stirred the Congress to heights of enthusiasm and expectation—Morphy, with his half-revealed mastery of the chessboard, and Paulsen, with his “clairvoyant” power (to use his own word in speaking of his blindfold chess playing). Both were eager for the final contest. Stanley, in witnessing Paulsen’s and Morphy’s blindfold playing, gave it as his opinion (in the New York Porter’s Spirit of the Times, June 19, 1858), that
if there be any truth in clairvoyance, there is the explanation.We believe that either Morphy or Paulsen can see the entire boiling of chess boards whereon they direct their play, half a mile off, in a dark room.
At last the match that chance had created and the Congress had hoped and waited for was about to start. The winner of the first five games would become American champion and would be entitled to the First Prize. Morphy and Paulsen had identical tournament scores, each with nine wins, no losses, and one draw.
On Thursday, October 29, play began, ending after five hours and thirty minutes with Morphy winning. That same evening, they started the second game at 7:30 p.m., but adjourned it at midnight to resume at 11:30 a.m. the following day. After an adjournment for dinner on Friday, they played until midnight. On Saturday, after fifteen hours of play, a draw was agreed to.
Fiske, in a letter to Professor George Allen about Morphy, dated November 8, 1857, has an explanation for this lengthy second game ending in a draw:
Nothing can be more pleasing or graceful than the elegance of his [Morphy’s] play—I mean his manner of touching the pieces and moving the
m and so forth. I have never seen him impatient but once. In his second game with Paulsen, after the German had taken repeatedly thirty, forty-five and fifty minutes (and in some instances over one hour) upon his moves, Morphy became so thoroughly worn out that in his haste he made what should have been his second move first and was only able to draw a won game (a splendid piece of chess that it had been up to that moment). He was so depressed at the failure to score so fine a game (although no one but me knew its effect upon his mind) that he played weakly the two following contests and lost one of them.
Undoubtedly, slow playing on the part of Paulsen was the reason for time records being kept during his games with Morphy. Moves over five minutes during the second game and portions of others were recorded. During the entire second game, Morphy’s total time for moves over five minutes was only twenty-five minutes, while Paulsen consumed eleven hours for the same.
Steinitz, in his opening statement on Morphy in the January 1885 issue of the International Chess Magazine, distorts the truth when he writes to disclaim “the superhuman accuracy which has been ascribed to Morphy.” If Steinitz’s first example is considered (this second match game with Paulsen), it becomes evident that Steinitz was unaware of the circumstances of the game that Fiske’s letter reveals.
As Reinfeld says of this second game with Paulsen in The Human Side of Chess, “Morphy had responded a little impatiently, thereby transposing two moves and changing a win to a draw.” But for someone of Morphy’s temperament, those long waits on moves must have been very trying, since he sat immobile at the chessboard as was his custom, not allowing himself to show signs of impatience. On one such occasion, Edge says, “Morphy sat calmly looking on, without the slightest evidence of impatience” as Paulsen took two hours to make his move.
