I picture a medieval priest, hunched over a desk with bells clanging in his ears. He is on a deadline – tomorrow is Sunday and his congregation have heard enough sermons about the spiritual value of threshing. The leatherbound book in front of him, Summa collationum, sive communiloquium, is his source of inspiration. It’s a recent edition of a book written some 200 years earlier by a Franciscan monk, John of Wales (Johannes Gallensis), who died c. 1285. One section, known as ‘The Innocent Morality’, presents chess as an extended allegory for life. The priest pores over the Latin: ‘The world resembles a chessboard, which is chequered white and black on account of the twofold state of life and death, of grace and sin.’ A stirring thought. Our man prefers backgammon, but knows chess will carry more rhetorical weight. He recalls the noble in the next town whose wife had her portrait done with a chessboard.
H.J.R. Murray’s thumping opus A History of Chess, published in 1913, neatly conveys the appeal of The Innocent Morality: ‘The chessmen stand for the different ranks and occupations of men. Before the commencement of the game, and after its conclusion, the pieces are kept in promiscuous confusion in the bag, where the King lies sometimes above, and sometimes below, the Pawn. The common birth and common death of all mankind is an obvious parallel, and one that was very popular all through the Middle Ages.’
There’s more to it than that. We learn that the king’s will is law, so he goes wherever he wants, while the rooks are itinerant judges (they were a thing back then), whose straight lines symbolise their rectitude. There’s a mischievous dig at the bishops (crooked with cupidity – the priest knows that will get a laugh), and queens are not to be trusted either, moving only aslant. (In those days bishops and queens both moved along diagonals, but in severely restricted fashion compared to modern rules.) When a man falls into sin, the devil says ‘Check’, and it will be ‘Mate’ unless repentance is forthcoming. Juicy stuff.
Over 500 years later (i.e. last month) this priestly manual sells for more than £20,000 (including fees) at Forum Auctions in London. It is a substantial volume, with blind stamped calf binding over wooden boards and clasps at the edges, published by Ulrich Zel in Cologne around 1472. It seems that only two copies have appeared at auction since 1906, including this same one in 2017.
Apropos of crooked clerisy, a serpentine bishop manoeuvre is the highlight of this spectacular endgame study by the Dutch composer Gijs van Breukelen, who died in December 2022.
White to play and win. The pawn on d7 has nearly risen above its station, but White must not allow 1 d8=Q Nf7+. Hence 1 Nf6+ Kg7 Not 1…Kg6 2 Bh5+ which prevents Nf7+ so White can promote next move. 2 Nh5+ Kg6 Not 2…Kh7 3 Bc2+, and White promotes with check after the king retreats. 3 Bc2+ Kxh5 4 d8=Q! Now is the moment. Nf7+ 5 Ke6 Nxd8 6 Kf5 The uppity peasant is slain, but the Black king finds himself held at the devil’s mercy. White threatens Bc2-d1 mate. So, e2 7 Be4! e1=N (the only way to prevent Be4-f3 mate). 8 Bd5 An even more extraordinary circumstance. There is no immediate threat, other than the oblique Bd5-c4-e2+ with mate to follow. But the Black cavalry is hypnotised, and there is only one defence. 8…c2 9 Bc4 c1=N Just in time to prevent Bc4-e2, but the bishop’s machinations are not yet finished. 10 Bb5 Nc7 (to prevent Bb5-e8+) 11 Ba4! Thomas Becket’s vengeance. The four knights are impotent to prevent Ba4-d1 with mate soon to follow. Black resigns
Comments