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[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
TRAVEL PARIS.
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE BRIDGE.
Standing on the central arch of the Pont de la
Concorde, look now and say if my late superla
tive laudation of Paris prospect were hyperbol
ical I Where else, within city walls, is such an
other feast spread for the eye—of such sumptu- v
ous abundance, of such variety and piquancy ;
with something to gratify each divergent taste,
filling the capacious greed of the fresh young
traveler and provoking the palled appetite of the
old sight-seer blase with the world’s wonders—
satisfying, delighting and never cloying ? The
lines of palaces and palatial houses, of towers
and domes and spires stretching out on either
bank in long perspective: the interflowing river,
spanned by eight noble bridges, each in its kind
a notable monument of elegant and solid pon
tifical architecture; the Quais and parapets
themselves no mean specimens of taste and en
gineering skill; and the full foliage of the Tuil
eries gardens and the trees along the sidewalks,
like wild flowers on a ball dress, setting off this
urban pride with their sylvan grace—shall you
find the like ? Through, in, among, about all
this flows unceasingly, sparkling here, turbid
there, the heady current of a great city’s life.
And beneath its surface, yet visible to one who
will look below, is its past life, whelmed in re
volution, quakes, or gradually overflowed by
Time’s encroaching waves; as sailors’ and poets’
legends tell us how old houses and
Zeeland’s older cities may still be seen under
the waters. Or change the figure, and lot in
upper air what thronged vision I In clear histor
ical defile the conquering allied legions, tough
Bluccher and his machine-drilled Prussians,
the Iron Duke and his sturdy British red coats,
Hetman Platoff and his wild cossacks; behind
them tho “grenadiers of the guard”, and the
magnificent escort bringing home from Notre
Dame the “ little Corporal” and the fair Creole
widow, crowned Emperor and Empress of
France; then the red-capped mob of sansculottes
and Sauterre’s rumbling cannon and guillotine
carts, and goddesses of Liberty and Reason
(falsest of deities, of the earth earthiest,) and
ghafltly heads on pikes—bilious, bloody Robes
pierre; passion furrowed, volcanic Mirabeau';
generous, unwise Lafayette; royalty in gilded
coaches, and train of courtiers flaunting in vel
vet and brocade; Henry the Fourth and clatter
ing cavalcade of knights and men at arms, their
armor glistering in the sun ; hark 1
“ Hear tho tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright,
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats,
From the rust within their throats,
Is a groan."
It is the bells of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, ring
ing the death knell on St. Bartholomew’s night,
and “field of the dead rushes red on the sight”
—ten thousand pale corpses laced with blood;
there are British troops again and English kings
crowned in Notre Dame; then Charlemagne
and his paladins; and fierce Norman pirates
leaping to shore from their crazy boats; the
clumsy chariots of long-haired Merovingian
kings go dragging along tho muddy streets.
The light grows dim now, as in solemn,
dreamy Bibles of ancient churches— through th»
soft, richly tinted legendary mist pass white
robed Saint Genevieve and gentle Queen Clo
tilde, and that rough Christian apprentice,' king
Clovis, with attendant train of miracles; the
clouds lift once' more to show ns Roman legion
aries and Proconsuls and even Roman Ciesars;
again they shroud the scene, and we barely dis
cern, far out beyond, through tho fast thicken
ing mist, boughs of mistletoe and a band of
* Druidic priests, leading sacrificial victims.
And so thronging forward qut from the black
night of the prefabulous, past the noon light of
one day, ever flows that endless secular proces
sion, on and on—to what unknown future?
Who, standing on this little bridge that joins
the boundless to the boundless, shalL dare to
say? “ For he knoweth not that which shall be:
for who can tell him when it shall be; —because,
though a man labor to seek it out, yet he shall
not find; yea farther: though a wise man. think
to know, yet shall he%ot be able to find.” No,
not though he be a philosophical historian or
even able editor.
*****
Note out there, closing our vista, the arrowy
spire of the Sainte Chapelle, shooting lightly
heavenward, as if symbolizing the aspiration of
Christian prayer sent up from the altar beneath —
where Saint Louis once was used to kneel; near
by the solid towers of Notre Dame, like firmly
grounded faith sustaining hope; the humble
mass of building next is the hospital of the Ho
tel Dieu, where poverty-stricken heritors of all
fleshly ills are nursed by the Sisters of Charity.
In tho same direction, and immediate neighbor
hood, lies' the Palais de Justice. It is ft
edifice, whose foundations were laid before there
was ever a Frank in Gaul; it came, in time,.to
* be the palace of the early French kings, but has
for long been a court house and prison—the
famous conciergerie. Those round towers, with
their sharp extinguisher tops, are a part of it.
It has housed a strange variety of guests. The
gentleman who' now resides in the Tuileries
cooled himself there, for a few days, after his
foolish hot work at Boulogne in the August of
1840; there sat Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry
the Fourth; and Louvel, the assassin of the
Duke de Berri; and Fiesclii, and Pianori, and
Orsini; in one of its chambers the Girondins
held their last banquet, on the eve of their exe
cution —immortalized now on Delaroche s living
canvas; there sat the Princess Elizabeth,
sister of Louis XVI; and there lay Robespierre,
foul with the clotted blood flowing from his
shattered jaw, awaiting fiom the hand of tardy
ustice the death he had vainly sought from his
own. Out from there rode the daughter of
Maria Theresa down to shameful death—ah,
how changed from the original of Burke s splen
did picture, the fascinating young Dauphiness
at Versailles 1 “Surely never lighted on this
orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more
delightful vision. I saw her just above the ho
rizon, decorating and cheering the elevated
sphere she just began to move in, glittering
like the morning star, full of life and splendor,
and joy.” The bright, laughing eye dimmed
by tears, almost blinded by the noxious air of
the prison; tho fair countenance furrowed, the
hair untimely blanched with sorrows and yet
never, clothed in royal robes and seated on
the throne presiding at the most gorgeous
ceremonies of the court, was her majesty so
imposing as now in those coarse widows
weeds and in that butoher'a cart. Never had
the feted Dauphiness, never had the adulated
Queen—not from sycophantic courtiers, nor from
gallant gardes du corps, not from Burke’s chiv
alrio eloquence—homage such as was paid her,
that October morning of 1193, by tho silence of
tho people. Recollect what, then, that people
wore, gone well nigh road with strange, learfhl
XB£ SOVXHKBJt VXXE.It XUS VXEXBXXX.
suspicions, and with such fierce excitement,
from cumulated past wrongs and extravagant
hopes in the future, as never before had set a
whole natkm% blood in ferment They pressed
upon her pathway, and were gathered in masses
about the place ot execution, but, in spite of in
stigations from the managers of this bloody act
and their agents, observing a deep silenCe—in
spired by pity, awe, respect—it was honor to
her and to them. She died well, better than
Burke, his imagination stored with feudalities
and classiealities, had humanly prophesied there
befere, saying: “ She feels with the dignity of a
Roman matron; that in the last extremity she
will save herself from the last disgrace; and
that if she must fall she w?'! fail by no ignoble
hand.” To the inheritance of “ kingly” Maria
Theresa's lofty spirit, which grief and insult,
and physical trials had not wasted, was added
an auxiliary strength drawn from a higher
source than Roman pride or stoicism, strong
enough to overcome pride, and to rise above all
earthly disgrace, and to look on suicide as igno
ble cowardice. And so she firmly mounted the
scaffold with the dignity of a Christian matron,
and knelt a moment, saying: “Godl enlighten
and touch my executioners! Farewell, my
children! Igo to join your father 1” And that
all befell there on the Place de la Concorde
where we just passed; it was Place de la Revo
lution then, Guillotine place, human shambles
and blood-bath, Golgotha place then. Men who
looked on then are living still. I have talked
with one of them, a pleasant old gentleman,
•whose acquaintance I made as he sat suzming
himself on the terrace that overlooks the Guil
lotine place. Yes, he remembers it distinctly.
There was a great press of men and women to
get good places, and there was a guard of sol
diers, and they cut off her head. It is a good
deal changed since then; it Is finer now with
the fountains and . Yes, pauvre femme!
Mats, que voulez vous t Pam !
And with no more emotion than that, Monsieur
Fournier narrates, and reflects, and offers me
his snuff box. Mats, que voulez vous t An old
bourgeois of Paris who has lived through and
under thirteen revolutions and governments,
cannot be expected to keep all his emotions
fresh and warm.
Nearer to us, ot the left, is the old Louvre.—
Mary Stuart once dwelt there; she, too, dauphin
ess and queen of France, as “ full of iife and
splendor and joy,” more fascinating in her love
liness then than ever was Marie Antoinette.—
The after course of that “ glittering morning
star,” rising in a colder sky, and shiuing for a
while, ever beautiful, through the lurid storms
of personal and political passion, till veiled with
the black hate of a sister queen, it finally set in
blood, poets and historians have made familiar to
us all. Crimes and sins have been plotted and
committed by the royal inmates of that old
Louvre which the Jacobin club would have
shuddered at. An angle of the wall hides from
us here the window whence Charles IX. shot
down his defenceless Hugenot subjects. On
the opposite bank, capped by its yellow striped
dome, is the Palace of the Institute. There sit
the picked representatives of French literature
and science and art, Guizot and Thiers, Lamar
tine and Hugo, (the last is on long leave of ab
sence), Cousin, Dupin, Flourens, Dumas, (the
chemist,) Leverrier, Delacroix, Halevy ; belles
lettres in all branches are represented in the
Academie Franchise, par excellence; archaeology,
tfye fixed and natural scienena m all kinds, moral
and political science, and the fine arts, have
each their aoademy—tho five together com
posing the French Institute. Yet nearer you
see the fine facade of the Palais d’Orsay. Be
gun by the First Napoleon as a palace for the
little King of Rome some say, continued by
Charles X., as a palace for the exhibition of
products of French industry, completed by Louis
Philippe, a large part of it is occupied now by
Louis Napoleon’s Coancil of State, the real Legis
lative Body of France. The functions of its
members can be better compared to those of our
Congressional Committees; they “lick into shape”
the ideas of the Emperor, which they then
report in the shape of bills ( projets de loi,) which
the so-called Corps Legislatif has the privilege
of talking about in a moderate tone and voting
on affirmatively. Four such bills, if I rightly
remember, have been rejected by the last-named
body since its institution in 1852. It can origi
nate no law, and caii only recommend amend
ments. That large, plain building, separated
from the law-making Council of State by only
the width ot a street, is a barracks for two regi
ments of soldiers; directly in face of it, across
the river, is the Imperial Palace; two streets
behind it is the Ministry of War: —thus you
take in at a summary glance the elements of
the actual French Constitution. Next comes the
pr, tty little palace of the Legion of Honor, one
of the shrewdest of the First Napoleon’s insti
tutions, than which no other shows so clearly
how rightly he understood French nature and
human nature. The revolution, in destroying
the old distinctions of nobility, objects of viru
lent envy to the disinherited popular classes,
had only gratified the envy of distinctions, not
the love of them —an equally universal passion.
I say universal passion, I ought to have said
universal French passion, and hasten to apolo
gize to all compatriotic military officers, to all
Masons, Odd-Fellows, M. C.’s, A. B.’s, profes
sional gentlemen, and to nearly all classes of my
countrymen at home —whose contempt for titles
and insignia is patent The sixty thousand
Frenchmen who to-day wear the red ribbon, the
sign of this democratic order of knighthood, and
the ten times sixty thousand who aspire to such
decoration of their button holes, are tho eloquent
eulogists of its founder’s shrewd policy. How
many brilliant feats of bravery in the Crimea
and in Italy, how much enthusiasm and fidelity,
how many acts of super-serviceable baseness,
have been inspired and rewarded by that strip
of red silk ?
You grow a-weary of my street directory,
swollen to an historical catalogue raisonnet
And jr et I have only arrested you at intervals
along the line, omitting more points of interest
than I have included. Let us rest, then, eyes
and thoughts on the bridge and its passengers.
Over it, this very bridge, a few years ago, went
the noble Helen, widfiwed princess of Orleans,
(she was a noble woman by nature’s heraldry as
well,) to look after, and save if it might be, for
her little boy, the crewn just fallen from his
grandsire’s head. She went, searching for it
courageously, just into this palace on our right,
where were the late national deputies, no longer
sitting but standing doubtfully on their last legs,
jostled and hustled by improvised represent
atives of tho mob outside. Alarmed, doubtless,
but not scared, pale but firm, before harsh
threats and pointed muskets, she askqd for the
fallen crown, and got what answer we know.
For other women, more unfortunate than fall
en royal princesses, these bridges are the chosen
thoroughfares from time to eternity. This very
spot where we rest, chatting so carelessly, has
been the last foothold and vautage ground upon
“ this bank and shoal of time,” whence many a
ono has made tho final leap into the unfathom
able dark
. Mad from life’s history.
Glad to death’s mystery
Swift to be hurled—
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of this world;
spurred on by what want, what physical hard
ship, what worse woes, by—
“ Contumely
. Cold inhumanity.
Burning insanity—”
who of us shall say ? Let us more fortunate, be
humbly, thankfully and charitably mindful that
the terrible experience of unspeakable miseries
has not made us their peers to judge them.
But the bridges are not all of sighs. Fat
coach horses, bearing lords and ladies, well fed
lacquies from the “ noble Faubourg” go easily
ambling over them; showy equipages of showy
parvenus go highly trotting over them; troops
of cavalry go gaily prancing over them; idle,
cumberless badands stop to gaze with interest on
the boatsgliding beneath them; the heavy laden
commissionaire rests his pack on the convAient
parapet and bares his sweaty front to the re
freshing air; beggars who have the good luck
to be blind or maimed, sit grinding or blowing
or pulling or sawing (according as Aheir instru
ment of musical torture be organ, orflute, or ac
cordeon, or fiddle,) threadbare tunes to tatters;
and for the fragments, kindbearted ladies and
bonnes and working women and charitable souls
of the rougher sex, drop many a sous in their li
censed boxes; and note this pleasing feature
in their charity, that, if they have a child with
them, they invariably put the sous or the decime i
-into the little body's hand, as the fittest medium
of the kindly offering. Trim grisettes go by,
tripping lightly to or froti their hard day’s work,
unfatigued by last night’s ball, their anticipa
tions dancing gaily forward to to-night’s; yon
der go laughing over, students from the Latin
Quarter, who HSve received a remittance from
home and are wending their joyful ways to some
restaurant on the rive iroite and thence to onq.
of the theatres.
Apropos of students and bridges, I wili close
the chapter with a pleasant and true story, the
“ scene of which partly lies,” as the novelists
say, on the fourth bridge above us. It is the
one supported on a light open work of iron arch
es, the Pont des Arts. It is only for the use of
foot passengers. When it was first built, and
for some while after, it was a toll bridge. In
those days Royer Collard, the statesman and phi
losopher, founder of the school of which Jouffroy
and Cousin were disciples and continuators, was
a lecturer at Sorbonne. Owing to his real or
supposed approval or disapproval ofj I do not
recollect, what purely political measure of the
moment, his audience, which was mainly re
, cruited from the student population of the Pays
Latin, instead of listening to the eloquent wis
dom of his opening lecture one season, accom
panied its delivery with frequent hisses and oth
er marks of reprobation. The youth of the
schools, I need hardly Btop here to say to any
one in the slightest degree acquainted with the
Parisian phase of French political history, are
always ardent liberals, i. e. almost always “ ar
dent members of the opposition.” As they
grow up and graduate, the mass of them take
office under whatever government or
will give them one, and become either active
supporters of the power that is, or sink to the
quietness of grocers. In this case, they were
not content with hissing and otherwise disap
proving—not the lecture, which they could not
hear for their noise, but the supposed politics of
IDO IBClUl»r—tout ftUoirtA bi'K ~
it was over, out of the hall and along the streets.
The greatest philosopher whom Vrnnce has to
boast of since Descartes, had business that day
on the “ right bank.” His way lay across this
Pont des Arts, whither his uncomplimentary es
cort hooting and mocking, accompanied him.
Here they stopped. Collard stepped up to the
toll house for a moment, then turning to the
young mob, courteously smiling and raising his
hat, with the most graceful politeness remarked:
“ The gentlemen can come on, the toll is paid
for the company." Not a hot-headed rogue in
all the mischievous band who did not instantly
appreciate the act and the manner of it, by rais
ing his hat and shouting vive Royer Collard! At
his next lecture, the hall was filled with an atten
tive audience, and rang at its close with their un
animous applause.
ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF UMBRELLAS.
Thomas Coryate, in his “Crudities, hastily
gobbled up in five months’ Travels in France,
Savoy, Italy, Rhetia, Helvetia, some parts of
High Germany, and the Netherlands —1611:
London,” vol. 1, page 134, gives a curious notice
of the early use of the umbrella in Italy. Speak
ing of fans, he says:
“These fans are of a mean price, for a man
may buy one of the fairest of them for so much
money as oountervaileth one English groat
Also many of them (the Italians) do carry other
fine things of a far greater price, that will cost
at the least a ducat which they commonly call
in the Italian tongue umbrellaes, that is, things
that minister shadow unto them for shelter
against the scorching beat of the sun. These
are made of leather, something answerable to
the form of a little canopy, and hooped in the
inside with divers little wooden hoops that ex
tend the umbrella in a pretty large compass.
They are used especially by horsemen, who
carry them in their hands when they ride, fast
ening the end of the handle upon one of their
thighs; and they impart so long a shadow unto
them, that it keepeth the heat of the sun from
the upper part of their bodies.”
In Fynes Moryson's Itinerary, “printed by
John Beale, 1617, part iii, booke i, chap, ii, p.
21," is the following passage:
“In hot regions, to auoid the beames of the
sunne, in some places (as in Italy) they carry
Ymbrels, or things like a little canopy, over
their heads; but a learned physician told me
that the use of them was dangerous, because
they gather the heate into a pyramidall point,
and thence cast it down perpendicularly upon
the head, except they know how to carry them
for auoyding that danger."
The following passage is from the fourth edi
tion of Blount’s Glossographia, published as far
back as 1674:
“ UmbreUo, (Ital. Ombrella), a fashion of round
and broad Fans, wherewith the Indians (and
from them our great ones,) preserve themselves
from the heat of the sun or fire; and hence any
little shadow, Fan, or other thing, wherewith
the women guard their faces from the sun ”
In Phillips’ New World of Words, seventh edi
tion, 1720, we fiod;
“ Umbrella or UmbreUo, a kind of broad Fan
or Skreen, which in hot countries People hold
over their heads to keep off the Heat of the
Sun; or such as are here commonly us’d by wo
men to shelter tHem from Rain: Also, a wood
en Frame cover'd with cloth or stuff, to keep
off the sun from a window.
“ rarasol ( Fr .), a small sort of canopy or um
brello, which women carry over their Heads, to
shelter themselees from Rain,” Ac.
That it was, perhaps, an article of curiosity
rather than use in the middle of the seventeenth
century, is evident in the fact of its being men
tioned in the “ Musoeum TYadescantianum, or
Collection of Rarities, preserved at South Lam
beth, near London, by John Tradescant.” 12mo.
1656. It occurs under the head of “Utensils,”
and is simply mentioned as “An Umbrella.”
Lieut. CoL (afterwards General) Wolfe, writing
from Paris, in the year 1752. says:
“ The people here use umbrellas in hot weath
er to defend them from the sun, and something
of the same kind to secure them from snow and
rain. I wonder a practice so useful is not intro
duced in England (where there are such frequent
and especially in the country, where
they can be expanded without any inconve
niency."
The introduction of this article of general con
venience is attributed to Jonas ffanway, the
Eastern traveler, who on his return to his native
land rendered himself justly celebrated by his
practical benevolence. In a little book with a
long title, published in 1787, written by “John
Pugh,” are to be found many curious anecdotes
related of HanVay, and apropos of umbrellas,
in describing his dress Mr. Pugh says:
“ When it rained, a small parapluie defended
his face and wig; thus he was always prepared
to enter into any company without impropriety,
or the appearance of negligence. And he (Han
way) was the first man who ventured to walk
the streets of London with an umbrella over his
head; after carrying one near thirty years, he
saw them come into general use.” Hanway
died in 1786.
——-Mb—
CHESS COLUMN.
END-GAMES.
[Do la Bourdonnais, page 169.]
King and a Bishop against King and a Rook.
This End-Game is usually drawn. To arrive
at this result it is necessary that the player who
has the bishop shall move the king only when he
is obliged to; taking always special care to pre
vent the adversary king from gaining the oppo
sition, when the bishop has covered a check.
Another mode of effecting the drawn game,
is by placing the king upon of the corner
squares, differing in color from that of the
player’s Bishop. In this position the Bishop
serves to cover the checks given by the adverse
party.
King and Knight against King and Rook.
This is generally a drawn game. But to this
end the knight must be near the king, operating
to cover him from checks, and to prevent the ad
verse king from gaining the opposition.
Queen against a Bishop and a Kn\ght.
This game may be won by the queen, if both
parties play to the best advantage.
The following End-Games are drawn, if both
parties play well:
A Rook and Bishop against Queen.
Queen against a Rook and Two Pawns.
Rook against a Bishop and Two Pawns.
Rook against a Knight and Two Pawns.
_ Thd last two games are drawn, because the
owner of the rook may, if he pleases, sacrifice
it for the two pawns. '
END GAME IX.
(De la Bourdonnais, page 157.)
Rook and one Paion against one Rook.
If both parties play to the best advantage,
tliia mno* * Jmish rponfi,
rosrrroN.
WHITE. - BLACK.
King on f 5 King on e 8
Rook on h 7 Rook »n a 6
Pawn on e 4
MOVES.
WHITE. ' BLACK.
1 Pawn e 4—e 5 Rook a 6—b 6 (I)
2 Rook li 7—a 7 Rook b 6—c 6 (2)
3 Pawn e s—e 6 Rook c 6—c 1 (3)
4 King f s—f 6 Rook c I—f 1 f (4)
Variation. (5)
1 Pawn o 4—e 5 Rook a 6—a 1
2 King f 6—f 6 (6) Rook a I—f 1 f(7)
3 King f 6—e 6 King e B—f 8 (8)
4 Rook h 7—h 8 f King f B—g 7
5 Rook h B—e 8 (9) Rook f I—g 1
6 King e 6—d 7 King g 7—f 7 (10)
7 Pawn e s—e 6+ King f 7—g 7 (11)
8 King d 7—e 7 (12) Rook e I—e 2
9 Rook e B—d 8 - Rook e 2—e 1
10 Rook d B—d 2 Rook e I—e 3
11 Rook d 2—g 2 f King g 7—h 7
12 King e 7—f 7 Rook e 3—f 3 f
13 King f 7——e 8 Rook f 3—e 3
14 Pawn e 6—e 7 Rook e 3—d 3 (13)
15 Rook g 2—c 2 King h J
16 Rook c 2—c 7 Rook d 3—d 2
17 Rook c 7—d 7 Rook d 2—b 2
18 Rook d 7—d 1 Rook b 2—b 8
19 King e B—d 7 1 Rook b B—b 7
20 King d 7—e 6 Rook b 7—b 6
21 Rook d I—d 6 Rook b 6—b 8
22 Rook d 6—d 8 Lost.
NOTES.
(1.) Remaining upon this line with their rook, the
Blacks prevent the king of the Whites from advancing;
bet if the line were abandoned before the Whites had
pushed on their pawn, it would be a lost game for the
Blacks.
(2.) This line must not be abandoned by the rook un
til the Whites shall have advanced the pawn.
(8.) If the Blacks had given check, they would have
lost the game.
(4.) Tho Blacks must continue checking the adverse
king in order to compel the abandonment of the pawn;
and the moment the White king mores towards the
rook, the Blacks must attack and capture the pawn.
(5.) This variation is jtiven in order to show bow
the game will be lost by tye party who has only a rook,
If he makes any false moves.
(6.) If the Whites had played their king opposite
that of the Blacks, the latter would have been able to
regain the position of a drawn game, by giving check
with their rook.
(T.) If the Blacks had given check on the square a6,
the Whites would have covered the check with their
pawn; and if, instead of moving as they do, the Blacks*
had played king e B—d 8, the Whites would have bai*’
give check with their rook and then play king f
(8.) If the Blacks had left their king iu,' rte •* DW
place, the Whites would have had to give * n<l ex '
change rook for rook.
(9.) If the Whites had made op other move than
this, the game would have been (Vawn.
(19.) If the Blacks had pVtfed rook g 1-d Xt, the
Wnitos must have played k*g 4 T—e 7.
(11.) If the Blacks bgd played king t 7—f 6, the
Whites would have replied oy rook e B— f 81, and the
next move the Whites would have played pawn e 6—e I.
(12.) If the Whites had played pawn c 6—e 7, the
game would have been drawn.
(18.) The Blacks play thus in order to prevent the
White klilg from coming out on their left, and to drive
him back by giving check, in case he should attempt to
come out on the right.
END-GAME X.
(De la Bourdonnais, page 160.)
King, Bishop, and One Pawn, against King and
Two Pawns.
rosmojf.
WHITE. BLACK.
King on f 2 King on f 6
Pawn on f 3 Bishop on d 6
Pawn on e 3 Pawn on f 5
In this position, tho Whites will lose the game,
if both parties play to the beat advantage.
MOVES.
WHITE. j*t *mr
1 King f 2—e 2 King f 6—© 6
2 King e 2—d 3 Buhopd 6—c 7
3 King d 3—e 2 Kiug e 6—d 6
4 King © 2—d 3 King d ft—c 5
5 King d 3—c 3 Bishop c s—a 5 f
6 King c 3—d 3 . Bishops s—b 4
7 King d 3—e 2 King c s— e 4
8 King e 2—f 2 King c 4—d 3
The Blacks will win the game. But i£ in
stead of as above, the given position had beeJ
thus:
WHITE. BLACK.
King on g 2 King cm f 6
Pawn on g 3 Bishop on d 6
Pawn on f 3 Pawn on f 5
then, the game would be drawn; because the
Blacks cannot now advance, by their left, upon
the pawns of the adversary, as they were able to
do in the first position; and if they should pro
poSfc by their right, to bear upon those pawns,
th^Wlutes would be able to provoke the ex
change of pawn for pawn, and thus make a
drawn game. The Whites will play, therefore,
king g 2—h 3; if the Blacks play king f 6—g 5,
the Whites will return to square g 2; if the
Blacks turn by their right, tho Whites will play
pawn f 3—f 4, then king g 2—f 3, then bishop
g 3—g 4; the exchange of pawns will be forced,
and the game drawn.
END-GAME XI.
(De U Bourdonnais, page 159.)
Queen and one Pawn against Queen.
This will be a drawn game if both parties
play to the best advantage.
POSITION'. * .
WHITE. BLACK.
King on g 7 King on b 4
Queen on d 3 Queen on c 5
Pawn oh f 6
I;
MOVES.
WHITE. BLACK.
1 Pawn f 6—f 7 (1) Queen c 6—g 54-
2 Queen d 3—g 6 Queen g s—e 5 f
3 King g 7—g 8 (3) Queen e 6—d 6
4 King g B—h 7 Queen d 6—h 1
5 Queen g 6—h ft Queen h I—e 4 ■
6 King h 7—g 8 Queen e 4—g 4
7 Queen h 6—g 7 Queen g 4—e 6 (3)
NOTES.
(1.) In this position the White* should seek to effect
the- exchange of queens; and the Blacks in order to
avoid the exchange must keep their king at a distance
from the adverse king.
(2.) The Blacks can, now, no longer give check with
out losing the game; hut they can "prevent the pawn of
the Whites born reaching the eighth rank or queen-row.
(8.) When there ore no checks, it is always possible to
post the qneen so as to arrest the pawn, and Urns assure
gome.
END-GAME XII.
(De is Bourdonnais, page 161.)
c One Bishop against a Bishop and one Pawn.
If both parties play skillfully, a Pawn and
Bishop cannot win the game against a Bishop
of diferent color.
If the Bishops are of the same color, the
player who has the Pawn will win the game, if
he can gain the opposition over his adversary,
by bearing bis King >n front of his Pawn; and
then masking the range of 4iis adversary’s
Bishop by his own, supported by his King; and
finally sacrificing this Bishop in order to remove
the adversary’s Bishop from the line by which
the Pawn must pass in order to reach the eighth
«»nk or Quasojoir.
POSITION*.
WHITE. BLACK.
King on hft King on f 8
Bishop on d 2 Bishop on b 2
Pawn on g 6
MOVES.
WHITE. BLACK.
1 King h 6—h 7 (1) Bishop b 2—d 4
2 Bishop d 2—6 f King f B—e 8
3 Bishop h 6—g 7 Bishop d 4—c 6
4 Bishop g 7—e 3 Bishop c s—f 8
5 Bishop c 3—b 4 Lost game (2)
NOTES.
(1.) The Whites must have tho first move in order to
succeed in gaining the opposition. If tho Blacks hod
the first move, they would play their king f ft—g 8, and
it would be Impossible to drive the king from that po
sition. j, “
(2.) In a position less advanced, the Whites would be
unable to conduct their pawn to queen-row by means of
the sacrifice of their bi Aop, since the Blacks would have
time to return with their bishop and arrest the advance
at the p&wn. Thus, this game will usually be drawn ;
and cannot be won, except in favorable positions. In
order to decide upon the expediency or inexpediency of
exchanging piece for piece, players most look npon the
board and consider whether they can arrive first in op
position, whether they can maintaiu themselves there,
and whether they will be able to compel the adversary
to quit the opposition.
END-GAME XIII.
(De la Bourdonnais, page 162.)
King against King, Bishop and one Pawn.
Fosinox.
WHITE. BLACK.
King on g 6 King on h 8
Bishop on e 5
Pawn on h 5
It will be remarked that in this, and other
similar positions, a pawn upon the line of the
rooks cannot be advanced to the eighth rank,
or queen-row, even with the support of a bish
op, unless the Bishop be of the color of the
square at which the pawn will arrive at the
queen-row. In the position above given, the
king on the defensive cannot be displaced from
that corner-square, and consequently the stale
mate (drawn game) will be the result.
END-GAME XIV.
(De la Bourdonnais, page 16*1
A King, one Knight and severed Pawns, against
a Bishop, anyone Pawn more.
. POSITION.
WHITE. BLACK.
mg on f 2 King on g 8
Knight on e 5 Bishop on e 8
Pawn on g 2 Pawn on h 7
Pawn on li 2 Pawn on gl
Pawn on a 2 * Pawn on a 7
Pawu on b 2 Pawn on b 6
Pawn on c 3 on c 6
Pawn on <l4 Pawn on d 5
* Pawn on e 4
MOVES.
WHITE. BLACK.
1 King f 2—e 3 King g B—f 8
2 King e 3—f 4 King f B—e 7
3 Pawn g 2—g 4 Pawn h 7—h 6
4 Pawn h 2—h4 King e7 —e6
ft Pawn b2 —b 4 Pawn g7—g6
6 Pawn a 2—a 4 Pawn a 7—aC
7 King f 4—e 3 Pawn b 6—b 5
8 Pawn a 4—a 5 King e 6— 4 6
9 King e 3—f 4
Here the play is blocked up, and the gamo is
drawn. We improve the opportunity afforded
by the above position (in which a Knight on
one side is oppoead to a Bishop) to recommend
players at the end of a game, to keep a knight
rather than a bishop. The bishop can attack
pawns of his own color only, whereas a knight
may attack at will all (Jie adversary’s pieces. jg
403