by David Lawson
On August 7, Staunton’s chess column gave the following reply to a real or imaginary correspondent:
I.D.W.—Mr. Morphy came to this country unattended by seconds or bottle-holder but we are glad to learn by the annexed paragraph, which is copied from Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper that his friends in New York are likely to rally round him pretty strongly at the Birmingham Tournament.
At this time there was every expectation that Morphy and Staunton would participate in the August meeting. On July 3, Staunton said in his chess column, “Mr. Staunton, Mr. Paul Morphy (who is now in England), and several other players of distinguished excellence, have already signified their intention to take part in the grand tournament.”
On August 14, Morphy penned the following letter to Staunton, ignoring the questions implicit in the latter’s August 7 column:
August 14, 1858
Mr. Howard Staunton
Dear Sir,
As we are now approaching the Birmingham meeting, at the termination of which you have fixed our match to commence, I think it would be advisable to settle the preliminaries during this week. Would you be good enough to state some early period when your seconds can meet mine, so that a contest which I have so much at heart, and which from your eminent position excites so much interest in the chess world, may be looked upon as a fait accompli.
I am dear sir, yours very respectfully,
Paul Morphy
It should be noted in the above letter to Staunton that Morphy is the first to ask for a meeting of their seconds to arrange the preliminaries, including the posting of stake funds. This should be kept in mind in reference to Staunton’s chess column of August 28, to be given later.
While Morphy awaited a reply to his letter of August 14, H. E. Bird, one of England’s strongest players, returned to London, and the result of his encounter with Morphy was most dramatic. Of twelve games played, Morphy won ten, lost one, and drew one.
To his letter of August 14, Morphy received a somewhat lengthy reply from Staunton, its main thrust being that the latter still required a few weeks for preparation. Not considering this a satisfactory reply, Morphy wrote again a few days later:
August 21, 1858
Dear Sir.—I must first apologize for not replying to your previous communication. As you observe, my numerous contests must be the excuse for my remissness.
It is certainly a high compliment to so young a player as myself that you, whose reputation in the chess arena has been unapproached during so many long years, should require any preparation for our match. Immediately on my arrival in England, some two months since, I spoke to you in reference to our contest, and, in accepting the challenge, you stated that you should require some time to prepare, and you proposed a period for commencing which I accepted.
I am well aware that your many engagements in the literary world must put you to some inconvenience in meeting me, and I am therefore desirous to consult your wishes in every respect. Would you please state the earliest opportunity when those engagements will permit the match coming off, such time being consistent with your previous preparation.
The few weeks referred to in your favor seem to be rather vague, and I shall feel highly gratified by your fixing a definite period for the contest. I leave the terms entirely to yourself. I remain dear sir,
Yours very respectfully,
Paul Morphy
Staunton left London for Birmingham without deigning to reply, leaving Morphy’s many questions about the match unanswered. As for the tournament, Edge states that “before leaving London [Staunton] assured his young opponent that he should not enter the lists, but should confine himself to simple consultation games,” or games at odds, as he had done since 1853. Morphy now became more uncertain and had second thoughts about entering the tournament himself. As Edge said:
He [Morphy] was well aware that his decision must necessarily produce considerable disappointment, but he was conscious that a tournament triumph is by no means an accurate test of strength. If chess can ever become a game of chance, it is under such circumstances; and the only sure criterion of the respective strengths of two opponents is by actual hand-to-hand encounter.
There has been some talk that Morphy was unduly influenced by Edge, especially on the matter of the Staunton match, but we have seen that Edge was more confident than Morphy that the match would ultimately take place. In any case, Morphy was a self-willed person, and he made his own decisions. Edge always played a subordinate role in Morphy’s affairs, and chess historians are greatly beholden to Frederick Milne Edge for his factual accounts of the events which occurred while he was with Morphy, which was practically all the time Morphy was abroad. This writer would agree with Philip W. Sergeant, who states in his book A Century of British Chess, “that my own reading of Edge did not lead me to think him a liar.”
Edge was in effect Morphy’s shadow, acting as his secretary and companion. It is very evident from his letters to Fiske and from his books that Edge was ever solicitous of Morphy, attending him in health and sickness, helping him with his correspondence, and even serving as his valet, carrying his underlinen to him, etc.
The following quotations from Edge reveal his unquestionably un-selfish devotion and loyalty to Morphy. The first is taken from The Exploits and Triumphs in Europe of Paul Morphy; the second from a letter to Fiske written February 10, 1859; and the third from another letter to Fiske written March 25, 1859:
I was constantly with Morphy after his arrival in London, and a frequent subject of conversation between us was the match with Staunton. That, too, was the first, the principal topic at all the London Clubs we visited, and everything but the date was looked upon as decided.
Since his [Morphy’s] arrival in Europe I have forsaken everything for him, damaging myself, in consequence with my wife and family.
I can say, never did man more devotedly serve another. I neglected my wife for him, accompanied him to Paris and left her till broken-hearted she came to fetch me back. I put a coldness between myself and all my family which only years will heal.
Although Morphy did not intend to enter the tournament, he planned to be present a portion of the time and announced that he would give a blindfold exhibition against eight players simultaneously. This created much excitement, for Europe had never witnessed such an event.
As for Staunton and the tournament, upon arriving at Birmingham he decided to enter and signed to play. Edge intimates that Staunton changed his mind because he knew Morphy would not be present. Over the years Staunton had always held himself above others and had maintained an attitude of superiority by playing games only when his offer of odds was accepted, or in consultation games.
Apparently, up until the last moment, the tournament committee expected neither to play. But when Staunton entered his name for the tournament, repeated telegrams were sent to Morphy urging that he also enter. In expressing his decision not to enter, Edge remarks that Morphy said, “he did not regard such a contest as any true test of skill.”
The Birmingham tournament was run on the knock-out principle, as the London 1851 tournament had been. Pairings were to be chosen by lot, which meant that Staunton and Morphy might or might not have been paired together at any time. Staunton’s attitude toward Morphy had become such (note Staunton’s remarks below, a few days later in the Illustrated London News of August 28, 1858), that Morphy now wished to avoid chess contact with him until their match. This was probably the principal reason why he did not want to enter the tournament for, as Edge noted,
whether he won or lost in that contest, it might be equally to the prejudice of the challenge. Mr. Staunton might say, “I have beaten Morphy; what is the use of further contest?” or “He has beaten me, I am consequently out of play. It would be madness to attempt a set match.”
Therefore Morphy decided he should not arrive at Birmingham until it was too late to enter, for were he to arrive before, he would find it very difficult to resist the great pressure that would surely
have been brought to bear to secure his entry. However, the Birmingham meeting would provide an excellent opportunity to ask Staunton directly, in the presence of witnesses, to name some definite date for the match.
Morphy had not planned for a stay of many months in Europe. He was expected home by Christmas at the latest, and so was most anxious for a definite date to be set. He must also have been uncomfortably aware of his family’s attitude toward such matches, about which more later.
Accompanied by Edge, Morphy left London Thursday, August 26, by the mid-day train and, upon arriving in Birmingham, was enthusiastically received. Mr. Avery, president of the Birmingham Chess Club, introduced him to the members of the Association, and, as Edge relates:
The cheers with which he was received were such as seldom came from others than Englishmen. Morphy advanced up the room without the slightest embarrassment, although his reception was as unlooked-for as it was flattering, St. Amant, who was present, wrote a brilliant account of the meeting to the Paris journal Le Sport. . . . “His walk is that of a king, and he advances through the crowd of strangers like a monarch receiving homage from his court.”
That evening Mr. Avery arranged a little contest for him with J. S. Kipping, who offered the Evans Gambit to Morphy and lost. Morphy in his turn offered the gambit to Mr. Kipping and again won. These were the only games which he played at Birmingham, apart from the blindfold games planned for the next day.
The meeting was being held in the rooms of Queen’s College, and a number of eminent players were attending, among them Staunton, Falkbeer, Lowenthal, St. Amant, Owen, Bird, and Kipping.
The Grand Tournament had started on August 24. In the hope that Morphy might arrive in time to compete, his name had been entered and paired with Mr. Smith. When Morphy failed to arrive, Mr. Smith was given the point. Of the players worthy of special note, Staunton, Lowenthal, Falkbeer, and St. Amant all won in the first round. Pairing for the second round brought Staunton against Lowenthal, and Falkbeer against St. Amant. Lowenthal knocked out Staunton, the latter neither winning nor drawing a game, while Falkbeer won of St. Amant. The remainder of the tournament play was to be held in London, the Grand Tournament being suspended the next day for Morphy’s blindfold exhibition. The long-delayed final result of the tournament did not come until September 23, when Lowenthal, by defeating Falkbeer, won First Prize. It was a fine recovery, considering that he had suffered defeat by Morphy only three days before the tournament. The prize money was greatly increased, since Morphy had declined the seventy pounds that had been offered him to come to England.
Morphy lost no time in encountering Staunton at Birmingham. As Edge tells it:
The meeting of the Association afforded an admirable opportunity to obtain from Mr. Staunton the naming of the day on which the match should commence. Part of the proceedings of the anniversary was a public soirée, and Paul Morphy resolved that he would then ask his antagonist, in the face of all present, to fix the date. I had the pleasure of accompanying our hero to Birmingham, and I witnessed the disagreeable contre temps which upset this admirable intention.
Crossing the courtyard of the college on the morning of the soirée [August 27], we met Lord Lyttelton, Mr. Staunton, Mr. Avery, and, I think Mr. Wills. Now I do not know whether Mr. Staunton had got wind of what was to occur, but his action certainly frustrated Morphy’s plan, and, for the moment, gave him the advantage. In all such rencontres the man who gets the first word has the attack and Mr. Staunton instantly availed himself of it. He opened fire by declaring that he was entirely out of the play—that he had long since been engaged on a great work—that he was under bonds to his publishers accordingly—that he might subject them to a loss of many thousands in playing at the present time, and so forth. But he never stated aught that appeared to intimate the possibility of the match not coming off eventually, his plea being that he required further time, in order to put sufficient matter into the hands of the printers, and to prepare himself subsequently for the contest. It was now Morphy’s turn, and the attack changed hands.
The question was put: “Mr. Staunton, will you play in October, in November, or December? Choose your own time, but let the arrangement be final.” The answer was: “Well, Mr. Morphy, if you will consent to the postponement, I will play you at the beginning of November. I will see my publishers, and let you know the exact date within a few days.”
The Association now looked upon the affair as decided, and Morphy left Birmingham, firmly believing that the match would come off after all.
But Morphy was to see something very disturbing the next day (August 28) in Staunton’s chess column, which, of course, had been prepared days before for publication. However, unaware of what the morrow would bring, Morphy and Edge went on in good spirits after their interview with Staunton, apparently satisfied that something had been accomplished, and proceeded to the rooms of Queen’s College, where Morphy was to give his exhibition.
When they arrived at the rooms, they found that the tournament had been suspended, and, as Edge informs,
Mr. Avery asked Morphy what eight antagonists he would select; when the latter replied it was immaterial to him, but that he should prefer all strong players. There were then in the room Messrs. Staunton, St. Amant, Lowenthal, Boden, Falkbeer, Brien, and others of not much inferior strength, and Morphy was in hopes that many, if not all of these gentlemen would offer themselves as opponents. But he was mistaken and great difficulty was experienced by the Committee of Management in making up the required eight.
Later, in Brentano’s Chess Monthly of June 1881, Falkbeer told how Morphy had “urgently” pressed him to take one of the boards, “but I refused, preferring to watch the progress of the games and take notes.” The Birmingham Journal of August 28, 1858, described the scene that afternoon:
His opponents were Lord Lyttelton, President of the Association; the Rev. G. Salmon, the best player Ireland affords; Mr. J. S. Kipping, the Secretary of the Manchester Club and a very strong player; Mr. Thomas Avery, President of the Birmingham Club; Mr. Carr, Secretary of the Lexington Club; Dr. Jabez Freeman, lately President of the Birmingham Club; Mr. Rhodes, a leading member of the Leeds Club and Mr. W. R. Wills, Honorary Secretary of the British Association.
The play commenced at one o’clock, and terminated about a quarter past six, and resulted in Mr. Morphy winning six games, losing one [to Mr. Kipping] and drawing one [with Mr. Avery]. The modus operandi was very simple. Mr. Morphy sat at one end of the library hall; at a table at the other end sat his eight opponents, with their eight boards before them. Mr. Morphy gazing at the lozenged window above him, with his arm thrown carelessly over the chair on which he sat, attacked each board in succession. Move and countermove were audibly announced by a friend, and when the tables had been traversed one move at a time, the process was recommenced. It was a most interesting scene. Mr. Morphy had the whole eight games so thoroughly in his head that, when a piece was accidentally shifted on one of the boards, and a move was made in which it was involved, he, at once, detected something was wrong, and exclaimed that it was an “impossible move.” Such it was acknowledged to be. In the same game Mr. Morphy left a piece en prise, the taking of which involved a mate in a few moves, and accordingly on his adversary taking the piece, unconscious of the snare laid for him, the game became Mr. Morphy’s immediately.
His play was very rapid. Each game lasted on the average about thirty moves, so that he had to bear in mind at least 240 moves, and the position of every board throughout from beginning to end. The feat was evidently regarded by those present as an effort of genius not to be accomplished by more than one or two individuals in a century.
At this time blindfold play on several boards was in its infancy, and many were the dire warnings Morphy received about playing such exhibitions. When he later proposed to play twenty such games after his Paris blindfold, warnings from all directions dissuaded him from the attempt. The London Press, upon hearing that he was going to play eight such games at B
irmingham, stated in its August 21, 1858, issue, “Sure we are that not even Mr. Morphy’s brains can repeatedly endure such a strain without injury.” Even before that, Lowenthal had written Fiske “that such exhibitions tax too heavily the Chess powers of any player and [expressed] regret . . . for the sake of his health, that he [Morphy] should indulge in it to such an extent.”
And in New York, Marache, in his October 2, 1858, chess column in Porter’s Spirit of the Times, warned:
In the course of his rapid and brilliant career, we cannot but censure the impropriety of allowing Mr. Morphy to play blindfold. Where are his friends? Where are his advisors to have permitted him to play eight simultaneous blindfold games—a task of such magnitude, when on the eve of his encountering Mr. Staunton. . . . Mr. Morphy’s friends should bear in mind that, with our Chess prodigy, the mental strongly predominates over the physical. Let them take warning.
Morphy thought little of his success with blindfold play, dismissing it with the remark that, “It proves nothing.” However, in Brentano’s Chess Monthly of June 1881, Falkbeer expressed the opinion
that memory is the main factor of success in playing blind games. And, of Morphy’s gigantic memory, I had indubitable proof from my own observation at the time he was playing his celebrated match with Lowenthal. Both opponents had agreed to regard the games as their intellectual private property, not to be published.
I was at the time editing the Chess Column of the London Sunday Times, and anxious to reproduce them there. In order to obtain the requisite information, I had to apply to one of the contesting parties. I first went to Morphy, who received me most cordially, and declared his entire willingness to dictate for me the last partie, played the day before. I begged him to repeat the game on the board, as I would in this manner, be better able to follow the progress of the contest. Morphy consented, and, at the 10th move of black (Lowenthal), I asked him to stop a moment, since it seemed to me that at this particular point, a better move might have been made. “Oh, you probably mean the move which you yourself made in one of your contests with Dufresne?” answered Morphy in his simple, artless way of speaking. I was startled. The partie mentioned had been played in Berlin in 1851, seven years before, and I had totally forgotten all its details. On observing this, Morphy called for a second board, and began, without the least hesitation, to repeat that game from the first to the last move without making a single mistake. I was speechless from surprise. Here was a man, whose attention was constantly distracted by countless demands on his memory, and yet he had perfectly retained for seven years all the details of a game insignificant in itself, and, moreover, printed in a language and description unknown to him. (The game was published in the Berliner Schachzeitung of 1851!)
