The Goddess of Chess

If I were pagan, or even religious, I might attribute Kasparov's enormous success to his reverence for the goddess Caïssa. Two years ago when an interviewer referred to him as "The God of Chess", he tweeted: "Sorry, but chess has only one goddess, Caissa, and she doesn't like competition. Thanks for having me on in Berlin to talk AI, however!" More than any other chess player, Kasparov enjoys invoking the goddess in his commentaries to symbolize the inspiration behind strong chess moves and good fortune.

The idea of a goddess of chess dates back to the Scacchia Ludus, a 16th century Latin poem by an Italian bishop, which I've written about previously, and which was the inspiration for another chess poem by Sir William Jones (1746-1794). Jones is known to us for his pioneering work in linguistics. As a teenager his knowledge of Greek and Latin had already surpassed his teachers, who asked him to design the curriculum at the school and write lectures on the subjects. Bored with his work, he began to teach himself Hebrew and Arabic, and by the time he was 24 years old he had written a grammar of the Persian language which remained the most important work until long after his death.

He went on to become a lawyer and judge, and when he was appointed to a judgeship in India, he began learning Sanskrit because he felt that Britain's Indian subjects ought to be ruled by their own laws. He realized immediately that the Sanskrit language was closely related to Latin and Greek and gave a lecture which included the following famous passage:

The Sanscrit language, whatever be its antiquity, is of a wonderful structure; more perfect than the Greek, more copious than the Latin, and more exquisitely refined than either, yet bearing to both of them a stronger affinity, both in the roots of verbs and the forms of grammar, than could possibly have been produced by accident; so strong indeed, that no philologer could examine them all three, without believing them to have sprung from some common source, which, perhaps, no longer exists; there is a similar reason, though not quite so forcible, for supposing that both the Gothic and the Celtic, though blended with a very different idiom, had the same origin with the Sanscrit; and the old Persian might be added to the same family.

Although he was not the first person to recognize the similarities, this passage, in which he postulates a common source for this family of languages, is often considered the foundation for the study of historical linguistics. For the next century and a half the study of these Indo-European languages was the basis of just about all serious linguistic work, and scholars were able to reconstruct the Proto-Indo-European language in great detail, despite the fact that it was never written down. Finally some of these scholars began to turn their attention to living languages, and the modern field of linguistics was born with the lectures of Ferdinand de Saussure, which were collected and published posthumously as Cours de linguistique générale in 1916.

When he was only 17 years old, however, in 1763, Jones was ill and unable to attend school regularly. During this time he wrote a poem about chess in 179 rhyming couplets, called Caissa: or, the Game at Chess, in which he invents the character of Caïssa. It was only published ten years later but it was an immediate success, and it was reprinted in an English translation of Philidor's book L'analyze des échecs in 1804. It tells the story of Mars, the god of war, who falls in love with the nymph Caïssa, but is rejected by her. He asks the brother of Venus, the goddess of love, for help, and the game of chess is invented as a gift to help him win her love:

He fram'd a tablet of celestial mold,
Inlay'd with squares of silver and of gold;
Then of two metals form'd the warlike band,
That here compact in show of battle stand;
He taught the rules that guide the pensive game,
And call'd it Cassa from the dryad's name.

The story of the game's origin is told during a game between two nymphs who decide to pass a hot day playing chess beside a cool stream in an idyllic setting. Delia plays the white pieces, those that bore the lily's hue, and Sirena plays the black pieces, the swarthy crew. Daphnis sets up the board for them:

He rose, and on the cedar table plac'd
A polish'd board, with differing colours grac'd;
Squares eight times eight in equal order lie;
These bright as snow, those dark with sable dye;
Like the broad target by the tortoise born,
Or like the hide by spotted panthers worn.
Then from a chest, with harmless heroes stor'd,
O'er the smooth plain two well-wrought hosts he pour'd;
The champions burn'd their rivals to assail,
Twice eight in black, twice eight in milkwhite mail;
In shape and station different, as in name,
Their motions various, not their power the same.

Jones asks Who form'd the legions on the level field? and goes on to describe each of the pieces and their respective powers, starting with the kings:

High in the midst the reverend kings appear,
And o'er the rest their pearly scepters rear:
One solemn step, majestically slow,
They gravely move, and shun the dangerous foe;
If e'er they call, the watchful subjects spring,
And die with rapture if they save their king;
On him the glory of the day depends,
He once imprison'd, all the conflict ends.

Then the queens:

The queens exulting near their consorts stand;
Each bears a deadly falchion in her hand;
Now here, now there, they bound with furious pride,
And thin the trembling ranks from side to side;
Swift as Camilla flying o'er the main,
Or lightly skimming o'er the dewy plain:
Fierce as they seem, some bold Plebeian spear
May pierce their shield, or stop their full career.

The bishops:

The valiant guards, their minds on havock bent,
Fill the next squares, and watch the royal tent;
Tho' weak their spears, tho' dwarfish be their height,
Compact they move, the bulwark of the fight,
To right and left the martial wings display
Their shining arms, and stand in close array.
Behold, four archers, eager to advance,
Send the light reed, and rush with sidelong glance;
Through angles ever they assault the foes,
True to the colour, which at first they chose.

The knights:

Then four bold knights for courage-fam'd and speed,
Each knight exalted on a prancing steed:
Their arching course no vulgar limit knows,
Transverse they leap, and aim insidious blows:
Nor friends, nor foes, their rapid force restrain,
By on quick bound two changing squares they gain;
From varing hues renew the fierce attack,
And rush from black to white, from white to black.

The rooks:

Four solemn elephants the sides defend;
Beneath the load of ponderous towers they bend:
In on unalter'd line they tempt the fight;
Now crush the left, and now o'erwhelm the right.

And finally the pawns:

Bright in the front the dauntless soldiers raise
Their polish'd spears; their steely helmets blaze:
Prepar'd they stand the daring foe to strike,
Direct their progress, but their wounds oblique.
Now swell th' embattled troups with hostile rage,
And clang their shields, impatient to engage

In the end, Delia wins the game, and Daphnis himself challenges her. After another long battle, Delia wins again, but rather than swipe the pieces off the board in an emasculated rage, like we hear about occasionally in the contemporary chess world, Daphnis falls in love with her. The poems ends with the pieces placed away once again: Low in their chest the mimic troops were lay'd, / And peaceful slept the sable hero's shade.