Felix Sicre, Cuba's Very First Chess Champion
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This little treasure of knowledge is thanks to the incredible research work of Fabio Stassi, who unearthed—who knows where, deep in the archives of the Manhattan Chess Club in New York—an autograph manuscript by José Raúl Capablanca and published it in Italian.
My only contribution was to translate it and share it here in blog form.
It tells the story of the very first chess champion of the island of Cuba.
It’s an incredible tale—so enjoy it! Happy reading ☺️
Felix Sicre, Cuba's Very First Chess Champion
If it weren’t for the unmistakable documentary evidence, this story might sound like a folk legend. It tells of events from more than 200 years ago, when Cuba was a Spanish colony—a vast slave-owning, plantation-based society whose economy revolved around the sugar trade.
José Raúl Capablanca knew this story because his grandfather told it to him when he was still a teenager. Even then, he was more than just a passionate chess lover—he was already a highly skilled player.
The fact that Capablanca later passed it on himself—Cuba’s champion and, in time, the world’s number one—speaks both to his humility and to the deep bond he felt with his homeland and its people.
This is the story of the Cuban slave Felix Sicre (1817-1871), who became the very first chess champion of Cuba in 1860, and of his astonishing draw with Paul Morphy.
Felix was a slave on the cotton plantations.
He was a Black man of gigantic build—strong and healthy, yet also gentle and intelligent.
He was illiterate and unbaptized, yet somehow he had learned to play chess remarkably well.
His master, impressed, decided to have him educated.
Every Friday a tutor came to teach him arithmetic, Christian doctrine, and how to read and write.
At the same time, he was spared the harsh labor of the fields, as his owner had decided to use him as a “breeding stud.”
The plan was that, over the course of twenty years, he would come to own the finest stock of slaves ever seen in those parts. Felix accepted his role without protest.
In carrying out his duty, he carefully avoided any haste or violence and, before bringing it to completion, would speak at length with the women, so as not to frighten them—almost as if he were asking for forgiveness.
He entertained them with the strangest stories, for he was also a tireless storyteller. He gave them words for every occasion: words to laugh and to cry, words to survive, words to endure, and words to yield, until love finally freed them from that whirlwind of words as the natural end of it all.
The other men on the plantation hated him deeply—for what he did with their women and, even more, for having been chosen. Yet no one ever found the courage to confront him.
There was, in fact, a brutal attempt to ambush him from behind, but it was uncovered by the plantation guards. The instigator, a man named Higinio Máximo, was put in irons and whipped so severely that no one ever attempted it again.
By the end of his schooling and Christian education, Felix had improved markedly at chess and had become the strongest player in Cuba… but he was no longer able to carry out his other “duty.”
One Saturday, in the stifling heat of his hut with another slave, Evelina, he lingered longer than he usually did.
“Come on, Felix—let’s not waste time. I’m no novice.”
He pretended not to hear, and kept talking as he gently stroked her hair.
“Come on, Felix—you’ve never been lazy. Enough with all these stories. You know I’ve been waiting for this; I’ve been breaking my back for a month.”
Felix shrugged and held her close. His eyes were trembling.
“I can’t do it anymore, Evelina,” he blurted out.
“Can’t do what?”
“I don’t know… maybe it was all those books.”
Evelina burst out laughing. “Oh, come on—stop joking.”
“There’s a poet who says we are not animals.”
“Oh yes—you are the most beautiful animal on earth,” she said, running a finger across his forehead, down his nose, then along his chin.
Felix brushed aside the hand that was already slipping between his legs and brought it to his lips.
“No, Evelina—if this goes on, I’ll kill myself… we are slaves… they exploit us. They even decide when, and with whom, we are allowed to make love.”
“I’m perfectly fine with it,” she said. “At least for today.”
But neither that afternoon, nor on any other, was Evelina able to rid herself of her desire for Felix. There was nothing to be done.
The deep unease born of awareness had taken hold of Felix Sicre—and it would never leave him.
And so, when Paul Morphy arrived in Cuba to challenge him, Felix did not let the opportunity slip away.
After two defeats, Felix managed to wrest an epic draw from him at the end of a struggle that lasted nearly eight hours. Soon after, he boarded a brigantine with Morphy and fled to the United States.
Only a few, fragmentary traces remain of the games played between Felix Sicre and Paul Morphy—as often happens with stories meant to be passed down more by word of mouth than on paper.
Only the first two are preserved in the records, both won by Paul Morphy, who was, after all, a true genius. The first game took place in 1862:
The rematch, in 1864, was hard-fought as well, but Paul Morphy ultimately prevailed without difficulty:
The third game was never recorded, because by then the two players—now friends—were completely absorbed in other analyses and strategic planning… the plan to escape the island.
Some say that Felix later returned to the island to seduce more women in Cuba. Who knows. Perhaps a bit of that wild Black blood really did run in the veins of the young Capablanca.
Perhaps that, too, was part of where his irresistible charm came from.
Warm regards, and...
See you soon!
@DocSimooo
Stassi, Fabio. La rivincita di Capablanca. minimum fax, 2008.
