Stupor Mundi and the power of song

For this second column of the New Year I hope to look forward to a fresh burst of creativity after the assorted nightmares of the annus horribilis, 2020, with its ever present, yet ever fluctuating restrictions imposed by the fight against Covid-19. I am often asked about the origins of the names of the chess openings, and perhaps the most richly creative of them all is the Sicilian Defence, a favourite of England’s Howard Staunton, who could have been regarded as world champion from 1843 until 1851, also the favourite of both Bobby Fischer (1972-1975) and Garry Kasparov (1985-2000).

The Sicilian commences 1.e4 c5 and derives its name from recommendation by the early 17th-century Italian priest, Pietro Carrera, whom we encountered in my column of December 19 2020, urging chess players to confess their sins before their games, in order to counteract the demoniacal influence of magic spells. The strategic point of the Sicilian Defence is to prevent White from forming a dominating pawn centre with 2.d4.

The Sicilian also embraces some weird and wonderful sub-variations, such as the Najdorf, Pelikan, Lowenthal, Sveshnikov, Paulsen, Taimanov, O’Kelly, Richter-Rauzer and Nimzowitsch/Rubinstein, all of these named after Grandmasters and experts of the game. Then there is the Scheveningen variation, based on the Dutch town where the line was first introduced. The word ‘Scheveningen’, by the way, was used during the Nazi occupation of World War Two, as a password by the Dutch Resistance, since no foreign speaker could pronounce the word correctly.

The other major exception to anthropomorphic nomenclature of Sicilian taxonomy is the celebrated Dragon variation (1.e4 c5  2.Nf3 d6  3.d4 cxd4  4.Nxd4 Nf6  5.Nc3 g6) because of the supposed resemblance of the Black pawn structure to the mythical shape of a dragon. “Very like a whale!”, to quote Shakespeare’s Hamlet, is my answer to that.

While on the topic of Sicily, I must mention one of my Sicilian inspirations, the creative thinker and Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich II Hohenstaufen, during whose reign (born 1194 – death 1250) exquisite ivory chess pieces were carved, and whose free thinking led him to be identified as Stupor Mundi, “the amazement of the world. When he came to the throne, Jerusalem was still in the hands of Islam after the disastrous Crusader defeat at the Battle of the Horns of Hattin (1187 AD). Friedrich frequently committed to a new crusade to restore Jerusalem to Christendom, but the Emperor’s equally frequent delays led to excommunication at the hands of Pope Gregory IX. When Friedrich (known in Sicily, by the way, as Federico Segundo) did eventually set sail for The Holy Land, he solved the intractable problem of the re-conquest of Jerusalem by the inventive means of enlisting an army which included Muslim troops from his Sicilian territories. Arriving before the gates of the Holy City with his army, he then brokered a truce with the Islamic Ayoubid Sultan Al Kamil, under whose jurisdiction Jerusalem fell, and took control, declaring himself king of Jerusalem, without shedding a drop of Christian or Muslim blood. Cue, outrage from Rome and further edicts of excommunication hurled, like Jovian thunderbolts, from the Holy See. For the Pope, taking back Jerusalem, without killing any of the infidel, was tantamount to outright and absolute anathema. I am not alone in admiring Friedrich. Another Friedrich (Nietzsche) added the epithet “first modern European ruler” to the traditional encomium of Stupor Mundi.

Inspiration often comes from unlikely sources. One of my favourite films is The Ruling Class (1972) where Peter O’Toole played the role of the eccentric… no… deranged Jack, 14th Earl of Gurney. The Earl’s grasping family wish to have him declared insane, in order to seize control of his vast estate, and summon The Master in Lunacy to certify the order of insanity. The key role of the Master in Lunacy from the Court of Chancery was taken by that inimitably sinister character actor, Graham Crowden.

Instead, the family discover the Earl and the Master seated on the floor of the study, vigorously acting out a rowing scenario and in unison loudly singing “Jolly boating weather.” The Eton Boating Song, no less.  It transpires that both Earl and Master had attended Eton College, so all further notions of a declaration of insanity went straight out of the window, with a clean bill of mental health for the 14th Earl, and a severe reprimand to the rapacious family for even doubting the Earl’s sanity for a microsecond. Later in the film we discover that he is in fact raving bonkers and he turns into a reincarnation of Jack the Ripper, but that’s by the by.

Apart from playing chess at Grandmaster level, I have also organised numerous Mind Sports events. This includes the three World Chess Championships of 1986, 1993 and 2000, with Kasparov defending his title respectively against Karpov, Short and (unsuccessfully) against Kramnik. In the run up to one such event I had to visit the UK consulate in Guangzhou, China, in order to arrange travel visas for a delegation of Chinese enthusiasts.

I arrived at the consulate accompanied by two Chinese assistants, both of whom had acquired what they optimistically believed to be the appropriate English-sounding equivalent names to their Chinese originals. At the reception desk I announced my presence: Mr Raymond Keene OBE with his assistants, Mr Fang and Miss Happy Fruit. Only then did it dawn on me that I sounded like a James Bond villain, in the mould of Goldfinger and Oddjob, Mr Big and Teehee, with the fixed grin, or Max Zorin with Jenny Flex and May Day.

I was allowed in to see the consul, but my pseudo-Bondian accomplices were asked to wait outside, and things did not get any better, as a stern lecture was delivered on the difficulty of granting visas. How even one minuscule error (a comma out of place or writing slightly outside one of the officially designated boxes) would result in instant and irrevocable disqualification. I sensed that the tide was turning against my mission to acquire 30 separate entry visas to the UK.

Then inspiration struck. I casually enquired of the consul which school he had attended. Back came the answer I had prayed for: Dulwich College. So had I, from 1959-1966. I started singing the old school song: Pueri Alleynienses, quotquot annos, quotquot menses, fertur principum memoria, detur soli Deo Gloria… the consul, entering into the spirit of the occasion, joined in and the 30 visas for my Chinese guests were immediately granted. Detur soli Deo Gloria indeed, not to mention a grateful nod to the fictional character of Jack, 14th Earl of Gurney.

This week’s game is one of the most creative Sicilian Defences ever played. It was responsible, being the 24th and final game of the 1985 World Chess Championship, for crowning Kasparov (DOB April 13th, 1963) as the youngest ever World Chess Champion, and it features the amazing device of Black doubling his rooks on the closed e file, storing up dynamic energy for future action. This game is riveted in my memory, since I had the inestimable and exhilarating good fortune to be able to comment on it live, as the moves poured in from Moscow, during the BBC TV coverage of the game.

Here is game 24 of the 1985 World Chess Championship, with Anatoly Karpov vs. Garry Kasparov.

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