Twin Souls: Roots — José Raúl Capablanca & Aleksandr Alechin
Welcome back, dear chess friends,
this time, as I stare at a blank page, I find myself struggling. There is a subject very close to my heart, that is not easy to approach.Back to Top
To explore it, I will adopt the same style I used in a previous blog post dedicated to Amadeus Mozart and Magnus Carlsen: parallel biographies.
The research behind this work was demanding.
The main sources for the biographical material were Paolo Maurensig and Fabio Stassi—novelists and chess enthusiasts—and Adolivio Capece, chess author and historian.
For the catalogue and analysis of the games, I relied on Alessandro Bossi and Claudio Brovelli, chess champions of the Province of Varese (Italy) in 2019 and 2020 respectively, and certified chess trainers (see bibliography).
For Capablanca, I draw inspiration from Fabio Stassi’s splendid narrative, re-organizing and condensing its episodes into a single, continuous biographical interpretation.
For Alechin, instead, I will attempt a more personal and fragmented path—inevitably imperfect, just as the man himself was.
So, enjoy these novelized biographies of José Raúl Capablanca and Aleksandr Alechin.
José Raúl Capablanca & Aleksandr Alechin
Table of Contents
- Preface
- Introduction
- Birth, Childhood, and Youth
- Epilogue
- Bibliography
Twin souls, because they were devoted to the world of chess to the point of consecrating their entire lives to it.
Men of profoundly different temperaments, yet bound by the same fate.
Their initial feeling of mutual sympathy and friendship would soon give way to a fierce rivalry.
Love—hate, life—death, strength and, above all, fragility: all of this paints the portrait of two figures so deeply human that they awaken affection and empathy, even though—at first glance—they seem like unreachable champions: José Raúl Capablanca and Aleksandr Alechin.
Enjoy the read,
@DocSimooo
Birth, Childhood and Youth
José Raúl Capablanca
José Raúl Capablanca y Graupera was born at home on November 19, 1888, in Havana, Cuba. The birth was assisted by his grandmother and a midwife.
A very rare circumstance: José Raúl was born en caul (the amniotic sac did not rupture). His grandmother would often remind him of it. He was sticky with a greenish substance that covered his body. It was as if he had been born protected from the stale air of the world. This was considered a sign of great fortune, but it was never spoken of—to anyone—out of humility and superstition.
“Only the one who possesses it,” his grandmother told him, “must know of his own fortune.”
He was nursed by a wet nurse, as his mother had no milk, something she suffered greatly from.
His was a very wealthy bourgeois family, whose members held highly prestigious positions in Cuban society.
By the age of four, José Raúl already knew how to play chess. He would silently observe—deeply focused—the games played by his father and grandfather, and that is how he learned, without anyone ever explaining the rules to him.
This is a photograph of him playing with his father… it was 1892. He won in less than an hour.
When Chigorin came to visit Cuba, his father—overcome with emotion—went to introduce himself and shake his hand. Little Capablanca witnessed the scene. Chigorin resembled Michel Strogoff, one of the heroes of his bedtime stories.
At eight years old came his first escape to the chess club of his city. Amusement at his boldness soon turned into disbelief when he swept everyone from the board.
His father—and even more so his mother—were opposed to him wasting time playing chess.
They wanted him to study. He was meant to become an engineer.
They hid the chessboard.
They tried to distract him in every possible way: they bought him a dog, tried to spark his interest in kites, enrolled him in music lessons—piano.
Nothing worked. He was always distracted and absent, apathetic, unhappy.
His math notebooks were filled with chess notation, just as the musical staves were.
In the end, they gave in and allowed him to play, provided he did not neglect his studies.
Not long after, José Raúl’s grandmother fell ill. He rushed to the sanatorium to see her.
She lay there, abandoned on a small bed, her lungs failing and her femur broken.
A coarse woolen blanket covered her.
He approached her and held her hand.
“José Raúl,” his grandmother said, “I want to thank you.”
José Raúl listened.
“You have been the light of my eyes.”
“Don’t say that, Grandma. You’ll get better soon.”
“I am dying, my love. That’s how it happens at a certain age.”
“Grandma, please…”
José Raúl lowered his head.
“Don’t hide your eyes from me—not now. They are just like your grandfather’s…” then a coughing fit.
José forced himself to look at her, his vision blurred with tears.
“It’s a pity I won’t know what you’ll be like when you grow up, what you’ll become.”
“You’ll see me, Grandma. I’ll grow up quickly, and they’ll print postage stamps with my face on them,” he swore. “And I’ll send you a letter, so you can see me—wherever in the universe you may go.”
His grandmother smiled.
José Raúl also had a special bond with his grandfather, always.
It was he who, when José was seven, told him about the legendary Paul Morphy, who soon became his absolute favorite hero.
In 1898 (José Raúl was ten), an American battleship anchored outside the harbor of Havana exploded.
The blast shook the city. Two hundred and sixty-six young sailors died that night.
Then came war and the promise of independence—but only the flags changed: first red and gold, then stars and stripes.
A few months after that tragic event, José Raúl’s grandfather took him to see the wreck.
“Look at it carefully, Raúl,” his grandfather said.
“That battleship is like truth: a half-sunken skeleton.”
“I don’t understand, Grandpa.”
“You will when you’re older. Truth only serves a purpose when it is whole. Otherwise, it’s nothing but rusted iron.”
“You’re a bright grandson, José. Remember: freedom is something you must take for yourself—no one will ever give it to you.”
“I will, Grandpa,” José promised.
When José Raúl grew older, his grandfather told him the story of the Cuban slave Félix Sicre and his astonishing draw against Paul Morphy. But you already know this story.
The young Capablanca liked to think that a bit of that wild, dark blood flowed in his own veins as well.
At twelve, José Raúl lost his virginity and defeated the two strongest players in Cuba, becoming the champion of the island.
One of the two had a congenital malformation: he had been born without part of his skull. He had miraculously survived surgery in which his exposed brain tissue was covered with a metal casing.
That was how it happened. José Raúl walked to the harbor. There, he was approached by a dark-skinned woman wearing a frayed skirt that revealed her thighs.
“What are you looking for around here, boy?”
“They told me there’s a very strong chess player here. One with a metal box instead of a head.”
She looked him over with curiosity.
“If you care that much, you’ll find him tonight at the tavern. I can take you. Fifty centavos.”
Then she smiled. “In the meantime, you can wait with me. My name is María.”
That afternoon, José Raúl experienced for the first time the sweetness of a woman’s body.
Everything the older boys had said was true: the touch, the warmth, the surrender.
That evening, he discovered that the other story—the one about the man with the metal casing instead of a head—was true as well.
And that night, after many hours of play, after the sweetness of love, he experienced—also for the first time—the bitterness of defeat.
At the next challenge, a few months later, after preparing meticulously, studying and restudying the lost game he knew by heart, he won with ease.
The same happened against the reigning Cuban champion, Juan Corzo: first a bitter defeat, then victory.
How many truly realize that defeats teach more than victories?
After finishing school, José Raúl enrolled at Columbia University—Faculty of Chemical Engineering—but despite good academic results, he felt lost.
Once again that pervasive apathy returned, just like in childhood when his parents had hidden the chessboard. Over time, the discomfort became unbearable.
So he decided to leave the University just a few exams short of graduation.
He was nineteen; it was 1909. What a sense of freedom!
He went to New York and presented himself at the Manhattan Chess Club. He immediately felt at home and—at last at ease—began to breathe again.
There, he challenged and defeated the American champion Frank Marshall with a clear score of 8 wins, 1 loss, and 14 draws.
In 1911, he won the great tournament of San Sebastián.
The following year, at that same tournament, Julius Perlis would shine—caught between three worlds: love, mountains, and chess.
In 1912, in New Orleans, during an exhibition match featuring a series of simultaneous games, he learned the sad truth of Paul Morphy’s death.
His family had hidden it from him as a child, almost to protect him. He discovered it as an adult, purely by chance, in the bed of a young married woman who had yielded to his charms. He was deeply shaken.
They went together to the sanatorium. He saw the room where Paul Morphy had spent his final days and received as a gift from the director the chessboard Paul had used to play. It had been kept in a cabinet.
He never parted from it, until the end of his days.
In 1914, he took part in the last Tournament of the Tsars in Saint Petersburg, where—sparked by a flicker of amused enthusiasm—he encountered the sharp and mysterious rising star of chess, Aleksandr Alekhine.
Birth, Childhood and Youth
Aleksandr Alechin
Aleksandr Alechin was born in Moscow on November 1, 1892.
In that same year, Russia still lived under the heavy shadow of Alexander III. Order was rigid, authority unquestioned, and beneath the appearance of stability, silent tensions were already gathering strength.
Aleksandr came from a noble and extremely wealthy family. His father, Alexander Ivanovich, was a landowner; his mother, Anisya Ivanovna Prokhorova, was the daughter and heiress of a rich industrialist. Alechin learned chess from his mother at the age of seven—in 1900.
He then continued playing with his older sister Varvara and, above all, with his older brother Alexei.
A decisive moment, however, was his encounter with the American Harry Nelson Pillsbury.
When Aleksandr was just nine years old, he was deeply impressed by watching Pillsbury play a blindfold simultaneous exhibition on twenty-five boards at the Moscow Chess Club in 1901.
That evening, overwhelmed by emotion, his fever rose to 39°C. Aleksandr Alechin had made up his mind: he would devote his life to chess.
He saw chessboards everywhere: in the parquet floors of his home, in church pavements, even in the streets of the city as he walked holding his sister’s hand. He hopped from one porphyry slab to another like a knight—his favorite piece—scrupulously and almost religiously avoiding stepping on the lines that separated one stone from the next.
For him it was a natural, irresistible game.
For his sister, instead, it was torment: constant tugs to the right and left, sudden changes of direction, a broken march that made it impossible to walk at a steady pace.
Yet it was also fun, and both of them would remember those moments together even as adults.
Despite his noble status, Aleksandr’s home life was never easy.
His father—cordial and brilliant in society—often returned home late. He carried with him the smell of tobacco and drawing rooms, and a gloomy silence no one dared to break.
Aleksandr soon understood that gambling caused no scandal, made no noise. It resembled chess: endless waiting, silent calculations, sudden reversals—and then either victory or ruin.
No one spoke of it at home.
One winter night, Aleksandr was perhaps ten years old. The house lay in an unnatural silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock in the corridor.
He awoke to a sudden loud noise, like glass striking wood.
He slipped out of bed on tiptoe.
The door to the sitting room was ajar.
His mother was sitting on the sofa, motionless. Her gaze was empty, absent, fixed somewhere beyond him, beyond the room.
In front of her, on the low table, stood a half-empty bottle and a chessboard. The pieces lay scattered in disorder, some overturned.
Aleksandr stopped on the threshold. He did not dare to enter.
One thing struck him more than anything else: the white queen had fallen to the floor, under the table.
He approached slowly, picked it up, and placed it back in the center of the square d1.
Then he arranged all the other pieces, one by one, with almost manic precision.
His mother said nothing. She did not even look at him.
Aleksandr wanted to speak to her, to ask her something—anything—but no words came.
When he returned to his room, he could no longer sleep. Absences and silences hurt more than any defeat.
He lay staring at the ceiling, imagining a perfect chessboard, where every piece stood in its place and nothing could fall.
From that night on, Aleksandr Alechin would seek order: on the chessboard, in others, in the world.
He was sent away to boarding school, then to military school (look how striking he is in his cadet uniform).
He spent all his time playing chess, neglecting every other subject, so much so that the school attendants eventually confiscated his boards. But by then he had learned to play blindfold, like his idol Pillsbury.
At twelve, he began to play correspondence chess. The following year, in the 1905 16th RUE Correspondence Tournament (Round-Up Event), he faced—and defeated—August Gize, a strong competitive player of his time, remembered today for several notable games, including ones against Aaron Nimzowitsch. It tooks two years to conclude the tournament, which Aleksandr won with 11 points out of 14.
Now it’s your turn. From this position, Aleksandr Alekhine will checkmate August Gize in four moves.
Can you find the winning line? 😉
In the years that followed, and specifically in 1907, at the age of fifteen, Aleksandr Alechin was ready for his first international experiences. This game, played with the White pieces against Vasily Rozanoff, a Russian chess master, in Moscow, reveals both his development and his attitude in over-the-board play.
After 22. Qg5 Alechin's opponent played...Ng4, convinced he had him under control and would win the game quickly as you will see in the analysis. Aleksandr's brilliant reply would turn the tables. Let's see how it played out!
During that period, Aleksandr also enrolled in the prestigious Imperial Faculty of Law at the University of St. Petersburg, where he proved to be a very capable student. He would later graduate. At the same time, he continued to study chess relentlessly, and in 1909 he earned the title of Master by winning the Russian Championship in Saint Petersburg.
In January 1914, he won the Masters’ Tournament of All the Russias, again in Saint Petersburg.
Immediately afterward, in the same city, he took part in the last Tournament of the Tsars, where he finally met in person the only man who—apart from the Tsar himself—truly stirred his interest.
His eyes flashed and a faint smile crossed his lips as he shook hands with José Raúl Capablanca.
Two children raised in worlds unimaginably far apart. One surrounded by affection, care, and promises rich with meaning; the other brought up among absences, order, and empty silences.
José Raúl Capablanca—vivid and enthusiastic—moved through the green years of his life with ease, confidence, and joy, allowing himself to be amazed by the combinations of chance.
Aleksandr Alechin, just as young, had learned that nothing in life could be left to chance. It was not easy, but his razor-sharp intelligence allowed him to keep everything under control, never letting himself be surprised by any unexpected combination, whether in life or on the chessboard.
Yet neither of them was truly steady at the helm.
Who knows whether, in Saint Petersburg in 1914, they already sensed that their paths were destined to cross again. That encounter would, in any case, change forever not only their lives, but the history of chess itself.
But that is another story, still waiting to be written.
See you soon, friends,
@DocSimooo
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Stassi, Fabio. La rivincita di Capablanca. minimum fax.
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Maurensig, Paolo. Teoria delle ombre. Adelphi.
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Capece, Adolivio. Scacchi – I grandi maestri, le partite memorabili. Demetra.
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Bossi, Alessandro; Brovelli, Claudio. The Duel: The Parallel Chess Lives of Alekhine and Capablanca. Thinkers Publishing.
