Loser's POV: Louis Paulsen (1880-1889)
"According to eternal, immutable laws, mortal human beings must complete the cycles of their existence. Happy, however, is the individual whom the law of his existence guides into smooth and untangled paths. For him, like that of heavenly beings, life flows eternally clear and pure. For he is among those blessed beings who, unshaken by external blows of fate, also show themselves elevated above the storms of human passion. Rich in inner reflection and creativity, and in constant harmony with themselves, they quietly pursue their path until, joyful and peaceful, they reach the goal of their earthly journey.
The memory of the German master, whose untimely passing we mourn today, is what leads us to such reflections. His life moved and fulfilled in a harmonious cycle, which, alongside the most careful cultivation of a modest profession he freely chose, was devoted with inner joy to our noble spiritual recreation. And this was the star of his existence, which shone upon the boy at the tender age of five, then entwined itself like a harmoniously well-crafted band around his entire earthly activity."
The opening paragraphs of the Deutsche Schachzeitung's obituary of Louis Paulsen should give you an idea of the esteem in which they held the great master. He was the last surviving link between Morphy (and the Romantics at large) and the modern players, and his passing in August 1891 meant the end of an era. With Joseph Blackburne winning the previous vote (see here), our focus today will be squarely on this titan of German chess.
Ludwig "Louis" Paulsen was born on 15 January 1833 in Nassengrund, Lippe, Germany—a search on Google Maps tells me that it's a street in Blomberg that connects Dingelstedtpfad and Holstenhöfen, and at the time it was the location of the Paulsen estate. Louis's father, Carl Paulsen, was considered to be the strongest player in Lippe-Detmold (as it was known then), and he would play one game per week against Louis and his three siblings. Carl's insistence that his children focus on their education and work limited the amount of time that could be spent on chess, but for Louis, the seeds of his greatness were planted quite early.
In 1854, Louis and one of his brothers, Ernst (or Ernest) Paulsen, emigrated to Iowa, USA, and set up a tobacco business. His consistent practice with the local players over the next few years lead to him competing in the First American Chess Congress in 1857 (see Morphy's perspective here). This tournament served as the first display of Paulsen's soon-to-be legendary blindfold chess prowess, as well as the catalyst for his development into the greatest opening theoretician of his generation; let's talk a little bit about both.
Paulsen's four- and especially five-board blindfold simul at New York 1857 was a world record (four-board blindfold chess had been recorded back in the 1600s, and attributed to the Jesuit priest Giovanni Girolamo Saccheri). In the following years, he increased his capacity to 10 games, which he played regularly in cities across America. In 1865, he earned great fame at a 10-board blindfold simul in Elberfeld that lasted an agonizing 20 hours (Paulsen scored +6=4). Such exhibitions became less common after this half of the decade, but his reputation had already been cemented as a legendary one.
Opening theory (or lack thereof) was what Paulsen chiefly blamed for his loss against Morphy, as well as his generally slow play. He responded to this like any sane person would, and devoted the rest of his career to such devout study of the opening that he completely upended the entire theory of the game. We'll discuss a handful of examples in the opening play section, but for the purpose of breaking up this wall of text, I'll showcase a few examples of Paulsen's pre-1880 novelties.
Unfortunately for this particular blog, Paulsen's best years were behind him by the 1880s; he was getting into his 50s, and was not at all active in between tournaments, two big liabilities as the caliber of play increased. He made this list just barely, claiming a share of the final prizes at Frankfurt 1887 and Breslau 1889, thereby saving me from having to include Henry Bird on this list. I wish I could give a more fitting tribute to this great player, but for today, we look at his final decade only. Anybody looking for a more well-rounded biography of Paulsen can purchase Hans Renette's tome (I have it on Google Books, and it's an invaluable resource for good translations of contemporary notes, I can't recommend it enough).
Opening
If anybody deserves two sections on their opening contributions, it's Louis Paulsen. The Sicilian was his prime focus, including some Dragon setups (before Bird started his own campaign), but many involved the so-called "Paulsen Pawns." He broadly messed around with fianchetto openings like the Pirc and King's Indian, which I give one example of below. With White, his main contribution remained the Advance French, at least until Tarrasch "refuted" it at Nuremberg (see here). He made contributions to the Open Game as well, notably in the Scotch and Vienna—the latter was primarily taken over by Bardeleben and Mieses, though Paulsen played both the g3 and f4 systems.
Middlegame
One reason why Paulsen has flown under the radar of so many historical rankings is because he was derided as a boring player; his style mirrored Steinitz's in many ways (who was also considered boring), but he was just a worse player. As always, it's time for us to be more scientific.
Paulsen was a very patient player, and as a result, he was better at maneuvering than his peers. Amusingly, even Steinitz deprecated this element of his play, like in a note to an 1878 game with Anderssen: "In many of Paulsen's games a tedious phase like the present one occurs. Paulsen usually chooses a line of play calculated to bring about waiting positions, in which neither side can take the initiative." It's very well documented that the average chess player can't stand doing nothing, so while this approach may not have been very appealing to spectators, it got the job done.
What really set Paulsen apart, aside from his love of the Bishops before Steinitz, was his defensive capabilities. His deep dive into the unexplored waters of opening theory doubtlessly shaped him as a defensive player; often his more eccentric openings got him into bad positions, and he became incredibly experienced with seeking for compensation. My theory is that Paulsen was a "wide" calculator, one who considered many different moves at each layer, and this allowed him to consider resources that seemed to come out of left field. Couple this with his unwavering confidence and gritty resilience, and he could be an incredibly tough nut to crack.
Endgame
My problem with analyzing Paulsen's endgame play is one that I ran into with Schallopp, in that relatively few of their games ever actually got that far; most of Paulsen's games saw a mistake in the irregular middlegame (if not right out of the opening) that he carried through to the end, so it was rare to see any true endgames. I think his endgames suffered the same problems as some of his middlegames, chief among them being Paulsen's quirk of picking the more clever maneuvers over the simple, concrete ones. This quirk left quite a few points on the table, but there are still a couple of good specimens.
Conclusion
I don't think it's possible to write a single blog post on Louis Paulsen and properly do him justice, so perhaps this will be a project I will continue another day (when I have more time). Hopefully today's piece will suffice, and you've all gained a greater appreciation for one of the first true opening experts in our royal game.
The next match, between Tarrasch and Berger, will be incredibly short and sweet. It probably won't have any intrigue, but will hopefully be fun nonetheless.
Cheers.
