The Duke of Brunswick, famous as Morphy's opponent, was also famously bizarre (I
wrote a short article on him at one point). I believe there is a story on him in
Der Humorist, June 15, 1843 (again available though http://anno.onb.ac.at). As I
understand it, he and his fellow defendants were being sued for 5000 pounds
damages as a result of throwing rotten apples etc at a play? Seems quite odd, but
in keeping with his bizarre behavior, but I would like someone with better German
than me to make sure I have it right.

Jerry Spinrad

I believe there is a story on him in
Der Humorist, June 15, 1843 (again available though http://anno.onb.ac.at)

this link didn't work. Brunswick was a very important state.

In article , (PJDBAD) writes:
| I believe there is a story on him in
| Der Humorist, June 15, 1843 (again available though http://anno.onb.ac.at)
|
| this link didn't work. Brunswick was a very important state.

Yes, but Charles had already been run out of Brunswick for his "spectacular
indiscretions", having been wise enough to take an enormous sum of money. He was
a nearly unbelievable charactor; the story here is nothing compared to his other
antics in London and Paris. Nevertheless, it might make a little footnote in my
article. Here is the story:

Der Herzog Karl von Braunschweig als Zischer: Der Herzog Karl von Braunschweig,
welcher schon im vorigen Jahr das Londoner Blatt "Satirist" wegen Schmahungen
verklagt hatte, war in letzter Zeit von demselben noch bitterer erfolgt worden.
Als nun der Herausgeber desselbenm Herr Gregory, als Schauspieler auftrat, rachte
sich der Herzog, indem er ihn mit seinem Begleitern auspfiff, und mit faulen
Aepfeln u. dergl. nach ihm werfen liess. Gregory klagte vor Gericht auf 5000 Pfd.
Sterl. Schadenersatz, der Herzog und seine Mitangeklagten wurden nur in die
Prozesskosten verurtheilt.


The obvious gist is getting sued by the publisher of the Satirist for throwing
rotten apples at the publisher when he appeared onstage as an actor; he sued for
5000 pounds damages but received only court costs. The words that stump me are
Schmahungen (umlaut on the a; perhaps libel?) and auspfiff.

Jerry Spinrad

Subject: Translate a story on the Duke of Brunswick?

On 7 April 2004 (Jeremy Spinrad) wrote in
Message-id:



-snipped-

Here is the story:

Der Herzog Karl von Braunschweig als Zischer: Der Herzog Karl von
Braunschweig,
welcher schon im vorigen Jahr das Londoner Blatt "Satirist" wegen Schmahungen
verklagt hatte, war in letzter Zeit von demselben noch bitterer erfolgt
worden.
Als nun der Herausgeber desselbenm Herr Gregory, als Schauspieler auftrat,
rachte
sich der Herzog, indem er ihn mit seinem Begleitern auspfiff, und mit faulen
Aepfeln u. dergl. nach ihm werfen liess. Gregory klagte vor Gericht auf 5000
Pfd.
Sterl. Schadenersatz, der Herzog und seine Mitangeklagten wurden nur in die
Prozesskosten verurtheilt.


The obvious gist is getting sued by the publisher of the Satirist for
throwing
rotten apples at the publisher when he appeared onstage as an actor; he sued
for
5000 pounds damages but received only court costs. The words that stump me
are
Schmahungen (umlaut on the a; perhaps libel?) and auspfiff.

Jerry Spinrad


Schmahungen can be either libel or slander. In this case it's libel.
Auspfiff is the past tense of the verb "auspfeifen," which means to hiss or
boo, as one would do to an actor (Schauspieler) or a speaker (Redner).
"Auspfeifen" means roughly the same as "zischen," which was the header on the
story: Der Herzog Karl von Braunschweig als Zischer (the Duke Karl von
Braunschweig as a booer).

George Mirijanian

PJDBAD wrote:

I believe there is a story on him in
Der Humorist, June 15, 1843 (again available though http://anno.onb.ac.at)

this link didn't work. Brunswick was a very important state.

Try

http://anno.onb.ac.at/cgi-content/an...seite=5&zoom=2

second column, just under 'Neuigkeits-Plauderer'.

Seems like it might have been justifiable: the attack was on the owner of the paper
'Satirist', which apparantly had harrassed the Duke.

I wonder when using the riding crop went out of style ...

--
Anders Thulin ath*algonet.se http://www.algonet.se/~ath

Tim Krabbe wrote two articles on this issue, if you're interested:
http://www.xs4all.nl/~timkr/admag/opera.htm (all in Dutch)
http://www.xs4all.nl/~timkr/chess2/diary_11.htm go to number 217 (in
English)

"Jeremy Spinrad" wrote in message
...

The Duke of Brunswick, famous as Morphy's opponent, was also famously
bizarre (I
wrote a short article on him at one point). I believe there is a story on
him in
Der Humorist, June 15, 1843 (again available though
http://anno.onb.ac.at). As I
understand it, he and his fellow defendants were being sued for 5000
pounds
damages as a result of throwing rotten apples etc at a play? Seems quite
odd, but
in keeping with his bizarre behavior, but I would like someone with better
German
than me to make sure I have it right.

Jerry Spinrad

Here is an article I wrote on the Duke.

Oddball Players

This column is devoted to people who were simultaneously very devoted to
chess, and well known eccentrics in their time, but never were either truly
famous chess players or celebrities we recognize today; stories about famous
chess players and people who are still famous each get their own columns.

One player we will discuss is a fairly well known name in chess circles, for
one specific game. This is the Duke of Brunswick, and we all know the famous
story of how Morphy beat the Duke of Brunswick and Count Isouard in a game
played while they were at the opera, and that while Morphy would have
preferred to watch the opera he was instead forced to create one of the
most beautiful games of all time. However, very few of us realize that the
same Duke of Brunswick was one of the wealthiest lunatics of all time, and
that his wealth and aspirations was rumored to have played a key role in an
important historical event.

Technically, Charles d'Este-Guelph was no longer the Duke of Brunswick when
he played Morphy in Paris, though it would not have been wise to mention it
to him. Born in 1804, Charles was chased from his ancestral home in 1830
thanks to his spectacular "indiscretions". He was obsessively concerned
about recovering his lands, trying to foment revolution and even considering
using his vast funds to mount a naval expedition to take back his (landlocked)
Duchy. This is not some weird slur, but part of his own rambling speech during
his court case when he tried to win back his lands. He notes that his
adversaries want to throw him into a madhouse, and emphasizes that his threat
of attempting to recover his territory by a naval expedition was not an idle or
absurd one, and how he could land at Bremen, cross through Hanoverian
territory, and get to Brunswick. As one writer from the Times described the
courtroom scene, "After other remarks not quite relevant to the point at
issue", the ex-Duke said he should have little honour left if he entered into
relations with felons, traitors, and incendiaries (his description of his
former subjects); he eventually was called to order by the President of the
court.

This was just the start of a long and outrageous life of exile. I base much of
my knowledge of the Duke on an article which appeared shortly after his death
(which came in the middle of a chess game; he got up, told his opponent not
to cheat him, and went to his room and died). The article, which appeared in
Appleton's Journal, November 20, 1875, starts with a quick summary which is
worth repeating here.

"There are but few person who have resided in Paris for any length of time who
do not remember the late Duke of Brunswick, that painted, bewigged Lothario,
whose follies, eccentricities, and diamonds made him the talk of Europe."

The strangeness started very early indeed. When he was born, the ceremonial
cannons announcing the royal birth beheaded an artilleryman. He came to the
throne at an early age, his grandfather and father dying heroically in the
battles of Jena and Waterloo respectively.

After losing his throne in 1830 as described above, he allied himself with
anyone he could to get it back. The most important of these attempts is said
to have come when Prince Louis Napoleon was imprisoned. The Duke's chief
treasurer visited Prince Louis, and left a package carrying 800,000 francs in
return for a signed document promising to get the Duke back his throne. This
money was used to help the Prince buy his way to freedom, and the Duke thus
had a great influence in "conferring upon France the doubtful blessing of
the late empire." The Prince became emperor, but he never did get the
Duke his throne, a fact that the Duke was quite willing to publicly
rebuke him for.

The Duke built a huge palace in Paris which mixed aspects of fairy tale
and horror story. It combined rose colored walls and profuse gilding with
security features that appear quite paranoid. There were huge walls
with gilded spikes, electric apparatuses (very early for these!) to warn
of intruders, complicated machinery to defy thieves and assassins, entrance
only with a password, and many other oddities. He kept his strong-box
suspended by four chains, which were suspended in a well, needing devices
to bring it into view; if you attempted to open the lock to where the Duke
viewed this without the code, concealed gun barrels would blow you away, just
like in some Indiana Jones movie.

The Duke did not employ a cook, always eating out at one of the great
restaurants. At home, he would only have hot chocolate; the milk for this
was brought from the country directly and kept in a locked box, and he
trusted noone else to prepare it, but still had his valet taste it first.
His eating patterns were very strange; he ate enormous amounts of sweets,
sometimes paying sweet shops large sums of money for the privilege of
coming in and eating as much as he could stomach at once. I am no doctor, but
I imagine this could be related to his "extreme corpulence" in his later years.

He was also famous for his eccentric and gaudy appearance. The Duke stayed
in bed until the late afternoon, and started his immensely long preparations
for going out around 4 PM; he rarely saw the sun during winter months.
He was famous for using an the enormous amount of face paint; he also
dyed his beard every day, and had different wigs arranged for each variety
of facial coloring he assumed. But most of all, the Duke was known for
his diamonds.

To this day, the Duke is remembered fondly in the diamond trade. He was
apparently the greatest collector of colored diamonds in history; having
been owned by the Duke of Brunswick is part of a diamond's provenance. He
would wear ridiculously elaborate costumes, such as dressing as a
Brunswickian general, decorated head to toe with diamonds. In fact, he
told several ladies at a party that his undergarments were also festooned
with wonderous diamonds, but none took up his offer to show them these
particular crown jewels.

He is also remembered fondly by one other group other than chessplayers.
To understand why the city of Geneva has a large memorial to the Duke
of Brunswick, we first must understand his passion for lawsuits. He filed
hundreds of lawsuits, once suing a washer-woman over a seven franc bill,
and filing at least twelve lawsuits over the repair of a single watch. His
greatest lawsuits, however, involved his (illegitimate, but acknowledged)
daughter, who he cut off completely after she converted to Catholicism.
He lost a lawsuit ordering him to support his daughter and her children, and
fled his palace in Paris to avoid the consequences, eventually ending up
in Geneva. After several changes of his will, he bequeathed his entire
estate to the city of Geneva, due to the wonderful condition of the tombs
in the church of St. Peters; he wanted his monument to be eternal. Shortly
before his death, he changed his mind again; he had thrown some water out his
window and the water drenched a passerby, who threatened a lawsuit. He was
preparing to go back to his palace in Paris, but before he
could change the will he died. His huge estate went to Geneva, in return
for a grandiose monument which they erected according to his wishes.

We all know the opera-box game; here is a game in which the semi-Duke draws
Harrwitz (Harrwitz playing a blindfold simul). If you believe that all chess
games should be decided on positional niceties, you should not be reading
about 19th century chess. Our antihero finds a nice shot to force a draw in
this game. Harrwitz probably would have won earlier if he had not
been playing blindfold, but this shows that the Duke was not such a patzer
as you might have been led to believe by the more famous game.

Harrwitz - Duke of Brunswick, Harrwitz playing a blindfold simul:
1. e4 e5 2. Nf3 Nc6 3. Bc4 Bc5 4. b4 Bxb4 5. c3 Ba5 6. d4 exd4 7. Qb3 Qe7
8. O-O h6 9. Ba3 d6 10. e5 Qd7 11. cxd4 Nd8 12. exd6 c6 13. Ne5 Qf5
14. Qe3 Ne6 15. Bxe6 Qxe6 16. f4 f5 17. Nc3 Bxc3 18. Qxc3 Nf6 19. d7+ Bxd7
20. Rfe1 Ne4 21. Qb4 b5 22. Qa5 g5 23. Rac1 gxf4 24. Qc7 Rc8 25. Qxa7 Rg8
26. Rc5 Rxg2+ 1/2-1/2

I am jealous of the Duke, and not for his diamond studded underwear. He
played at least 11 games in consultation against Morphy (of which he drew
1, in consultation with Isouard again and Count Casabianca), he played
Kolisch, he played Harrwitz; I guess money gives opportunities, even in
chess.

Continuing in the vein of outrageous chess amateurs of noble birth, we come to
the Marquis d'Orvault, also known as de Maubreuil. Although he is by no means a
famous name among chess players, he apparently spent essentially all his
time in the years 1843-1856 playing chess at the Cafe de la Regence. I would
presume from this that he knew many great players, such as St Amant, Harrwitz,
Kieseritzky, and many more. For those who want to read more about this
odd individual, I can recommend an article in the December 1879 Atlantic
magazine, which is where I first ran into this fascinating character. I
certainly was not able to read all the articles on "the Maubreuil affair",
which still seems to be of interest, and a bit of a mystery, to historians;
there is at least one entire book dedicated to this incident.

De Maubreuil entered the French imperial service in 1806. After an eventful
series of events in which he became the rival of Napoleon's brother in a love
triangle, he won the cross of the Legion of Honor while fighting in Spain. He
was promised a lucrative post, but the promise was withdrawn, and de Maubreuil
became an enemy of Napoleon. During the occupation of Paris, he made it a
point to be seen with the English and Prussian officers, and once rode down
the boulevards in full evening dress with the cross of the Legion of Honor
tied to his horse's tail.

This brought de Maubreuil to the attention of those trying to restore the
monarchy. The Russian emperor gave him a commission (reputable witnesses
testify to having seen documents giving him accesses to significant
resources), but just what he was supposed to do is not so clear. According
to de Maubreuil, he was ordered to kill Napoleon on his way to Elba, and that
he accepted the mission to protect Napoleon rather than having the assignment
given over to someone else.

What de Maubreuil actually seems to have done was to seize the trunks and
valuables of the beautiful Queen of Westphalia. She began a lawsuit against
de Maubreuil. The court declared itself incompetent to stand trial (with
the claims of secret missions, etc.), and he was brought to a court-martial.
He was set free thanks to the influence of friends in March 1815.

He was arrested again in December, now acting on Napoleon's orders, who charged
him with the assassination plot. Napoleon was furious that the court-martial
declared itself incompetent, and ordered him reindicted in criminal court.
Before the trial, a young musketeer officer helped him escape.

The escape reads like a Dumas novel. He reached Ghent, but Louis XVIII refused
to see him. He broke his leg in Liege, and pretended to commit suicide. He
was arrested (it is unclear on what charge) in Antwerp, and arrived in Paris
again after Waterloo.

With Napoleon out of power, de Maubreuil was rearrested for the jewel theft.
The same officer who helped him escape Napoleon gave eloquent testimony on
how 22 members of the family had died for their loyalty; this appeal led to
a reduction of the charge to breach of trust. De Maubreuil escaped to England
before trial, and was condemned by default; divers found the loot carefully
boxed up in the Seine.

In London, de Maubreuil wrote a document called "A Petition Addressed to the
Congress at Aix-la-Chapelle, by Marie Armand de Guerry de Maubreuil, Marquis
d'Orvault, concerning the order to assassinate Napoleon and his Son, Given by
Russia, Prussia, and the Bourbons." The document was suppressed ruthlessly;
no copies survived.

Years passed, and the world forgot de Maubreuil. On January 21, 1827, he
reemerged spectacularly, slapping Talleyrand in the face at a public ceremony.
De Maubreuil was arrested, as he expected; he claimed to want to expose
the infamous politicians who had wanted to assassinate Napoleon. His defense
was earnest and eloquent, but he was condemned to five years in prison.

After the prison term, he went to Brittany, finally returning to Paris in 1843,
where he spent his time playing chess at the Cafe de la Regence using his
title of Marquis d'Orvault rather than the infamous name de Maubreuil. Perhaps
his years of chess played from 1843-1856 taught him something, because after
a life full of unsound combinations de Maubreuil made a brilliant transition to
an endgame. At the age of approximately 80, he married a former "bright
star in the demi-monde", giving her a title of Marquise d'Orvault in
exchange for a very comfortable final 10 years of his life.

One last oddity; apparently the association between the aged Marquis d'Orvault
and the adventurer de Maubreuil had become so forgotten that it only came to
light due to a very odd crime which occurred after the death of the old man. A
man caught trying to burgle the house of the Marquise turned out to be her
own brother, and in the examination of the strange lowlife crime among
the upper classes, the press was delighted to find that this title came from
the man who long ago had his name linked with jewel thefts and assassinations.

Finally, I have to add a word about one other odd character who was apparently
supposed to be an excellent chess player. Nicholas St. Andre had a remarkable
life, rising from humble beginnings to the top rung of British Society after
George I made him Anatomist to the Court. He is said to have saved Voltaire's
life, among other brushes with the great and powerful. Unfortunately, though
he had a number of gifts in other intellectual areas, he had none as a
physician. This failing was not as grave as you might think; he gave popular
public lectures on the subject.

Ultimately, however, his ignorance came out in spectacular fashion. After
a girl named Mary Toft claimed to have given birth to a litter of rabbits,
St Andre loudly urged the authenticity, parroting some of the bizarre theories
which were proposed as to how this might come to pass. Much of England
believed this, amazingly enough; people stopped eating rabbits, and
children of men were said to populate the burrows. One scholar declared
this to be the fulfillment of a prophecy. Finally, with the help of the
famous satirist Swift, the country was brought to its senses, and St.
Andre left London in disgrace.

I have read (not that I really believe it) that Lasker had a great
disappointment when he failed to realize that in order to have a poultry
and egg farm last, you need both roosters and chickens. It seems that
Lasker was not the first chess player who failed to grasp this basic lesson of
biology. So here is a tip; if you are planning to breed a successful chess
player, I would advise selecting stock from both the GM and WGM lists.



In article , "Wijnand Engelkes" writes:
| Tim Krabbe wrote two articles on this issue, if you're interested:
| http://www.xs4all.nl/~timkr/admag/opera.htm (all in Dutch)
| http://www.xs4all.nl/~timkr/chess2/diary_11.htm go to number 217 (in
| English)
|
| "Jeremy Spinrad" wrote in message
| ...
|
| The Duke of Brunswick, famous as Morphy's opponent, was also famously
| bizarre (I
| wrote a short article on him at one point). I believe there is a story on
| him in
| Der Humorist, June 15, 1843 (again available though
| http://anno.onb.ac.at). As I
| understand it, he and his fellow defendants were being sued for 5000
| pounds
| damages as a result of throwing rotten apples etc at a play? Seems quite
| odd, but
| in keeping with his bizarre behavior, but I would like someone with better
| German
| than me to make sure I have it right.
|
| Jerry Spinrad
|
|

As I
understand it, he and his fellow defendants were being sued for 5000
pounds
damages as a result of throwing rotten apples etc at a play? Seems quite
odd, but
in keeping with his bizarre behavior,

Being the Duke of Bruswick and all, he could at least have thrown liver
sausages.

Jeremy Spinrad wrote:
Here is an article I wrote on the Duke.
[...]

Oddly enough, I've just come across some lines on the Duke
in The Problem, a periodical devoted to chess problems, published
in Pittsburgh. They're by J. F. Magee, Jr., in 1914, issue 17,
p. 133, and are said to be reprinted from Chess Amateur -- they
add a few touches to the other descriptions posted in this thread:

During the revolution
of 1830, the Duke was compelled to
leave Brunswick and he sought ref-
uge in Paris and Geneva. His
agent, Silberschmidt, the problem-
ist, was imprisoned for political
reasons, and whilst in confinement.
published in 1845 his collection of
chess problems. In 1858 Paul Mor-
phy played a blindfold game against
the Duke in the Paris Opera House,
during the intervals while the
"Barber of Seville" was being
played. Mr. Hopper, in "The
Field", December 31st, 1910 gives
this interesting description of the
Duke:
"Frederick the Great, of Prussia
was a chess player, and so was the
great Napolean[!]. Prince Napolean[!]
took regular lessons from Rosen-
thal, and so did the Duke of Bruns-
wick, who left his millions to the
town of Geneva. The Duke also
visited the Cafe de la Regence on
occasions of premieres at the
Theatre Francais, but passed most
of his time in playing chess with
Mr. Preti (the founder of "La
Strategie") at the Regence. This
was in the sixties, and we remem-
ber the eccentric old gentleman, ar-
rayed in a suit of drab color, drab
gaiters, drab gloves. He was ad-
orned with a shining black wig, and
ditto beard a la Henry Quatre, and
with an artificial youthful complex-
ion to match. In spite of being
profusely adorned with diamonds,
of which he had a fortune stowed
away in a safe imbedded in the
wall of his bedroom, he only played
the game for one franc with poor
Preti, and that solitary coin passed
to and fro during the whole seance.
He looked grotesque in the unsuc-
cessful endeavor to appear youthful,
when frequent twinges reminded
him of the futility of his en-
deavor."




--
Anders Thulin ath*algonet.se http://www.algonet.se/~ath

Anders Thulin wrote:

I wonder when using the riding crop went out of style ...


Don't know, but I'm reminded of this vignette from George Dangerfield's "The
Strange Death of Liberal England":

"When the street was cleared at last and with difficulty, for Mrs. Pankhurst
and her following put up a spirited fight, who should make his appearance
but the Home Secretary! Only one suffragette remained leaning in utter
exhaustion against a wall. Mr. Churchill, as usual, was unable to resist
the dramatic gesture. He beckoned a policeman. "Drive that woman away," he
said; though he knew her perfectly well to be Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson, his
hostess on several occasions, and an intimate friend of his wife's family.
The story went around London and made a bad impression: and a few days
later, when the Home Secretary was travelling by rail from London to
Bradford, a young man named Franklin very nearly got into his compartment
with a horse-whip, and received six weeks' punishment for his pains."

(page 162 of the 1961 Capricorn paperback edition).


Regards,

Simon.