It occurred to Steinitz to search for strategy of a more trustworthy character. Pressure on the queen's side was one method of averting a king's side attack, for the men could not be advanced to the assault without creating a weakness that would eventually prove fatal; but Steinitz did not rely on this alone. His method was not only to maintain so much pressure on a given point as would prevent his adversary's pieces from becoming dangerous elsewhere, but at the same time to work for some slight advantage in position, an advantage so apparently trifling that it had scarcely been adequately valued in the days of hot attacks, such as a doubled pawn, an open file, a majority of pawns on the queen's side; and this once obtained, to patiently and scientifically build on it until it grew into a winning preponderance. It was a method demanding extraordinary perseverance and precision, but so effective that others had to adopt it, and thus Steinitz's teaching entirely changed the manner of play, and his strategy held the field for many years, until, in fact, it was further improved upon by Lasker, and, perhaps, also by other young players who have lately come to the front.

I do not wish to go into technicalities in this article, but, as some may be curious as to how Lasker has improved on Steinitz, I may briefly say that the present champion, beside finding new ways of treating the openings, has evolved certain principles of play, and he requires not only that a move should be a strong move, but that it should be in accordance with these principles. Further, Lasker is not always content with the slow building up of a winning position, but having established an advantage, however trifling, he is always on the alert for an opportunity to make it the basis of a decisive combination. Lasker, moreover, is not subject to the moods that often led to Steinitz's defeat. The old champion would persist in playing variations that he advocated, even though he knew his opponents had discovered effective means of meeting them. He never refused gambits or played close defences, and he was ever ready to meet his adversaries on their own ground, allowing them to select their own form of opening, and firmly believing in his ability to beat them, whatever they might do. These were peculiarities of which his rivals had many opportunities of taking advantage. In tournaments his idiosyncrasies frequently led to his defeat, for, meeting a different player every day, as is the custom in such competitions, he had no opportunity of making up lost ground; but in matches they were of little account, for Steinitz could afford to give away a game or two at the beginning of these encounters in order to obtain the measure of his opponent. Consequently, it was in match-play that his greatest successes were achieved.

It has sometimes been said that Steinitz was not an imaginative player; but, if it were necessary to prove the fallacy of this view, one need only point to his marvellous game with von Bardeleben, which won the first prize for brilliancy in the Hastings tournament of 1895. This was after Steinitz had lost his first match with Lasker; he was still a great player, and his undaunted spirit adhered to the belief that he could yet recover the championship. His self-confidence was to be still more forcibly shaken later on, but it may be doubted whether it ever deserted him completely. The game with von Bardeleben was one of his happiest efforts. In a peculiarly intricate position that had brought about in Steinitz's very best manner, von Bardeleben perceived that he had a lost game. Being in bad health, and having been disturbed by the applause that had on previous occasions greeted striking achievements of which he had been the victim, he took the unusual course, instead of resigning, of absenting himself from the room and leaving Steinitz's victory to be marked by the clock. Steinitz employed the time in working out a magnificent mating combination in ten moves, which, much to their gratification, he demonstrated to the spectators and the committee, at the same time announcing his intention of entering the game for the brilliancy competition, in which it was easily successful.

It would be possible to cite many other proofs that Steinitz could be as brilliant as any one when he liked. The truth is that he saw many tempting and surprising variations that others could not have resisted, but often rejected them in favor of the slower and more subtle strategy that enabled him to crush is opponents by mere weight of position, preferring, in fact, to rely on the methods that he had himself originated. His play at its best had the gathering force of a snowball rolled in snow, and placed his opponents helplessly at his mercy. He had a joking way of warning young players to "never combine;" perhaps some of them took this seriously. As to his own powers of combination, there can be no two opinions, and there are many of his games on record to prove it equal to that of any of his contemporaries, and not inferior to that of the best of his successors. All the same, Steinitz was far from being a perfect player. There was a vein of eccentricity in his methods, and it was his custom to play against the board rather than against the player. This, of course, is not the whole art of the game, for the personal element must tell in chess, as in everything else.

I have, I hope, made it clear that through Steinitz's influence chess has undergone a complete revolution in regard to strategical methods during the latter part of this century, but the revolution that has taken place among the players is no less striking and interesting. Notwithstanding that the game has grown gradually more scientific and difficult, it has slowly but surely become democratized. Formerly the "royal game," as it is traditionally called, was patronized by kings, and was the pastime of prelates, nobles and scholars. We read of the young Venetian, Leonardo, travelling to Madrid to encounter the renowned Ruy Lopez in the presence of the King of Spain, and being loaded with honors and riches as a reward for his victory. Great chess-players were made much of in the sixteenth century; but I wonder what his majesty would have said to a Pillsbury who could play his twenty games simultaneously blindfold! The game long flourished as an exclusively aristocratic amusement. It was practised by Napoleon and served to while away many of his dreary hours at St. Helena. I believe I am correct in saying that no chess club existed before the present century. Several had grown up in London and the provinces at the time when Steinitz first came to England, and some of them were under aristocratic patronage. But, compared with the number that exist to-day, they were very few and far between, nor was their life of that sturdy, vigorous character that marks the many assemblages of young men, who now, from autumn to spring, and sometimes in summer, too, enthusiastically play their tournaments, handicaps and matches entirely to their own satisfaction, and generally without the need of encouragement from patrons. Chess has passed from the hands of the aristocracy to those of the people. Chess clubs exist by the hundreds; there must be at least a hundred in the metropolitan area alone; every big city has several, and a multitude of others flourish ins small towns. They are affiliated with county associations, and these again are organized into separate divisions, while a project is on foot to combine the whole in a National Union. To those who remember the days when Steinitz made his first appearance in London, the change must be astounding.

To be continued.

About the Author

This article by Antony Guest is from the journal THE LIVING AGE (Seventh Series, Volume IX, October, November, December 1900), which is in the public domain.

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