David Bronstein, One of the Greatest Attackers in History – Part 6
David Bronstein, One of the Greatest Attackers in History – Part 6
Learning the Art of Attack from Bronstein’s Games – Part 6
Which Were Bronstein’s Most Beautiful Games – in His Own View?
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“I prefer to pursue somewhat unconventional and slightly risky paths.”
Bronstein
In this article, I shall discuss Bronstein’s views on chess, examine two of his games — one of which he himself considered the finest of his career — and reflect upon his understanding of beauty in chess.
Apart from being an unquestionably great player, Bronstein was also a profound thinker and theoretician of the game. By this, I do not mean what is most commonly understood today — opening theory. Although he made significant contributions in a number of openings (the King's Indian Defence is inconceivable without his creative input; indeed, there is scarcely an opening in which he did not introduce something new), Bronstein reflected upon chess in a far broader sense. His thinking was philosophical — generalising in nature. One may agree or disagree with him, but one must respect what he wrote.
In 1975, together with Master Candidate and Master of Philosophy G. L. Smolian, he published a book entitled The Beautiful and the Fierce World, in which he presented his views on a variety of themes. The book contains hardly any games. It consists almost entirely of reflections (his own and those of his co-author) on different aspects of chess. Naturally, he later deepened and expanded these ideas so that virtually all his subsequent works addressed chess as an art form. Yes — for Bronstein, chess was art, and he never hesitated to say so. He repeated this conviction many times and never renounced it until the very end of his career.
In the aforementioned book, the authors lamented the scarcity of works in which chess is studied as a cultural phenomenon. They warned that this tendency posed a serious threat to chess as an art. In many respects, Bronstein was right — and in this respect as well: today, this subject is hardly discussed at all.
He was deeply inspired by a thought expressed by Emanuel Lasker in 1926, who wrote in his Manual of Chess that it was the idea of struggle which had enabled chess to endure for thousands of years. On the other hand, FIDE — the World Chess Federation — concerns itself with the organisation of tournaments, matches, rating systems… with everything except creative achievement. That was the situation at the time Bronstein wrote the above-mentioned book.
Today, FIDE awards medals for fair play (bearing the name of Svetozar Gligorić), for the best books, for the finest artistic achievements, and for the best trainers (bearing the name of Mikhail Botvinnik). Yet this remains insufficient, given that today — more than ever — chess is institutionally defined as a sport: sporting results determine a player’s importance, values, and rewards. Bronstein even expressed regret that the first World Champion, Wilhelm Steinitz, chose to call himself “World Champion,” thereby emphasising competitive achievement, rather than “laureate,” which would have granted primacy to creative accomplishment.
All of the above is open to discussion (for instance: how can creative achievement be objectively evaluated? What are the parameters of creativity?). Here we shall examine two of Bronstein’s important games and attempt to conclude what, in his view, constituted beauty in chess. Naturally, I do not pretend to completeness. This is, after all, merely a short text on a serious subject. The most important element of this article is his games.
In preparing my annotations, I consulted various sources (earlier commentaries). My own notes differ considerably from those previously published, so that readers encountering these games for the first time may enjoy their beauty, while experts familiar with them may discover new perspectives on certain moments. Just as I have criticised certain earlier annotations, I expect — and sincerely welcome — possible criticism of my own. That, indeed, is the only path to the advancement of chess thought.
The first game we shall examine was played in 1948 at the USSR Championship against the then master, later grandmaster, distinguished theoretician and pedagogue (he was, for example, a trainer of Anatoly Karpov), Semyon Furman.
First of all, the game carried great sporting significance. Prior to this tournament, Bronstein had won the Interzonal Tournament in Saltsjöbaden and thereby earned the grandmaster title. He wished to demonstrate that this success had not been accidental and to confirm his achievement. Secondly, at the moment this game was played, three players were tied for first place: Alexander Kotov, Bronstein, and precisely his opponent. Thus, victory in this game was essential for ultimate tournament success.
Immediately after the opening — a Nimzo-Indian Defence — Bronstein obtained an advantage. Attention should be paid to certain details here, as my analysis of this phase differs from earlier sources.
White achieved an advantage, though far from a decisive one. The first moment worthy of discussion arises at 17.Rab1. Bronstein, Boleslavsky, and Vainstein all awarded this move an exclamation mark. In my opinion, however, the move is inaccurate and relinquishes a considerable portion of White’s advantage.
Moreover, none of the commentators known to me paid attention to 18…Rd6?, which I consider a mistake. Nor was 19.Nf4 properly analysed; in my view, this move is dubious. The move 19…Kh8? was correctly identified as an error — all commentators noticed this. White then plays somewhat tamely with 20.Bf1?! instead of 20.b4!, which is typical play against hanging pawns. After 21.Nxd5, Black’s position collapses.
Up to this point, everything had proceeded favourably for White, and a relatively swift victory could have been expected — were it not for severe time trouble on both sides. Incidentally, B. S. Vainstein claimed that Bronstein almost always managed his time better.
In this phase, we must pay attention to beauty, as Bronstein himself understood it.
The true drama begins with 24.Nh3?, instead of the relatively simple 24.Rxd6, which would have maintained a winning position. After 24…Nd2, Black obtains serious counterchances. The next two White moves (25.Qxf5 and 26.Qf7) are also of doubtful value, and the position becomes entirely unclear.
However, in acute time pressure, Black plays 26…Qh6, after which White once again obtains a winning position. Naturally, time trouble generates events of its own, and Bronstein plays 27.f4 — a move which most commentators consider good (Bronstein and Boleslavsky give it an exclamation mark, Soltis leaves it without evaluation, and only Voronkov suggests a superior alternative for White).
Black’s next move, 27…Ng8 is a serious mistake: he should have played 27…Qg6, which would have compelled White to fight for a draw.
Here comes the climax: in a moment of hesitation, White plays the inferior 28.Qf8?, and here it is necessary to quote Bronstein:
“This quiet waiting move could have cost White half a point. At this moment, we had less than two minutes for thirteen moves. Therefore, I did not dare to play this move, which required precise calculation — a rare case when I did not trust my intuition. As Boleslavsky’s analysis later showed, this knight leap wins in all variations.”
A highly instructive comment. Bronstein most often trusted his intuition — and this was one of the secrets of his extraordinary successes. One should carefully examine 28.Ng5 and enjoy the beautiful variations that arise. After 28…Nxb1, the position becomes completely unclear!
In severe time trouble, Furman finds the excellent 31…Bxb3!, placing Bronstein in a critical situation (although analysis indicates that he probably had a draw). The move 32.e5, which won the game, should in fact have lost! 32…Bxg7 would have led to equality.
Psychologists (for example, Nikolai Krogius) have observed that under time pressure, players tend, by inertia, to choose active moves. Black does precisely this with 32…Rd1 — and after that, he is lost. The move 32.e6! decides the game. From that point onward, the remainder was straightforward.
The reader may legitimately ask: what, exactly, is beautiful here? For the moment, I shall give only one answer — STRUGGLE — and after examining the next game, I shall draw a broader conclusion regarding Bronstein’s aesthetics.
Bronstein’s Most Beautiful Game — According to Bronstein
The game against Vladimir Simagin, played in the USSR Championship Semifinal, Leningrad 1946, was regarded by Bronstein as his finest achievement — or at least so he told the Soviet master Turov when asked to select his best game for inclusion in a book. Although many were surprised by his choice, considering that he had played far more spectacular games (in their view!), we shall respect Bronstein’s judgment and analyse this game in depth. In doing so, we shall gain insight into his aesthetics.
The game carried theoretical significance for its time. Simagin had previously employed the same opening and the same variation against Bronstein’s second and friend, Alexander Konstantinopolsky. It is virtually certain that Bronstein had prepared something for this line. However, it was Simagin who first deviated, playing 9…Nbd7, which analysis later revealed to be inaccurate. Bronstein responded naturally and energetically, and after another opening mistake by Simagin, 11…Ng4?, we arrive at a particularly interesting position.
I would draw the reader’s attention to the especially intriguing reflections of Mikhail Botvinnik and Bronstein concerning White’s 12th move. Botvinnik analysed this game thoroughly in the magazine Shakhmaty v SSSR, which itself speaks to the game’s quality, since Botvinnik reserved such detailed treatment only for games he considered worthy (naturally, by his own standards).
Botvinnik maintained that the strongest positional continuation was 12.Qe2, rather than the 12.Bg5 played in the game. Bronstein agreed that Botvinnik’s move was good, but preferred his own, as he wished to attack. Once passions had cooled — and with the assistance of modern engines — we now know that Botvinnik was correct. On the other hand, had Bronstein played 12.Qe2, he would likely have won by technical means, and few would remember the game today. Instead, we were given a pearl of chess art.
The next interesting moment is 14…Bd6, which, to my knowledge, no one has evaluated critically. Here lies my modest contribution to a deeper understanding of the game. In my view, 14…Bf6 would have been preferable, leading to equality. I also consider White’s next move, 15.Re1, to be somewhat inaccurate (although I did not assign it a specific evaluation in my notes); 15.Bh6 was stronger. From moves 16 to 19, both sides play preparatory positional moves, and we arrive at the most fascinating phase of the struggle (though the preceding phases were by no means dull).
The seemingly modest and even passive 20.Ne3 by Bronstein, in fact, heralds great complications. Some psychologists claim that the hardest moves to perceive are those in which a piece retreats — and that is precisely what White does here.
As for the comments of Botvinnik and Bronstein, it must first be noted that both proceed from an incorrect premise: that White possesses some advantage (Botvinnik was uncertain as to its extent). Instead of the move played, Botvinnik proposed 20.f4 as stronger. Bronstein disagreed, offering various possible lines. The truth, however, is this: the position is objectively equal, and both moves lead to equality.
The moves up to 22…Qc7 represents a psychological battle, while this queen move constitutes a major challenge to White. Black is, in effect, provoking White to sacrifice on f7. I recommend that the reader consult Bronstein’s splendid commentary on this moment in the game notes.
Naturally, the climax follows: 21.Bxf7 — White decides to sacrifice material. Botvinnik described this move as “the unquestionably best chance.” I fully agree. Yet it must be added that both players were in severe time trouble, and a position arose that could not be navigated by logical arguments alone: sound intuition was indispensable.
According to my analysis, Black’s best continuation was 24…Qc6 (instead of the played 24…Qb8), which would have granted him excellent chances. Naturally, such moves are difficult to find even with ample time, let alone in acute time pressure. After 25.Qh6, Black faces an extremely difficult defensive task, although objectively the position remains equal. Black immediately errs with 25…Bxh2?.
Here, my commentary diverges from that of Botvinnik and Bronstein. Both great players awarded this move an exclamation mark, whereas in my view, it is inferior and, with correct play, should lose. The better move was 25…Ne6, leading to equality. Botvinnik considered this move poor; Bronstein disagreed, yet did not provide the best variation. The reader may consult my detailed analysis in the game notes. Indeed, not only the moves themselves, but also the analytical debates surrounding them, contribute to the drama and depth of this encounter.
Bronstein immediately replies with the strongest move, 26.Kf1!. The analyses of 26.Kh1 is also instructive. The difficulty with such games is that precise play is extraordinarily hard to achieve.
Bronstein’s next move, 27.Nxe7?, is a serious mistake. Stronger was 22.Qxh7, which should have led to victory. The principal variations in that line were already provided by Bronstein; I have merely corrected certain inaccuracies. Why Bronstein captured on e7 with the knight rather than taking on h7 with the queen can be read in his own commentary. Bronstein was completely open in annotating this game. He demonstrated that even great masters overlook resources and do not always perceive the correct continuations.
The game concluded swiftly: 28…Qb6 was the decisive error. With 28…Qh2, Black would have achieved equality. Bronstein believed the position to be equal, but supplied an incorrect variation — see the detailed analysis of the game.
We may now pose several questions: what connects these two games, and what, according to Bronstein, constitutes beauty in chess?
First of all, in both games, both players were in severe time trouble. Secondly, in both encounters the positions were virtually incalculable — chaotic. Intuition was required to discover good moves, even had the players possessed considerably more time. Furthermore, and most importantly, STRUGGLE was an indispensable component — without intense struggle, success in such positions is impossible.
What Bronstein loved was chaos, the absence of rigid rationality, pure intuition, and the necessity of swift responses under time pressure — in other words, the utmost tension of thought.
Naturally, we may debate with this great player and thinker whether he was correct in his aesthetic views, but we must respect them.
It should also be mentioned that only later did Bronstein reveal that Simagin had not seen the move 27.Bxf7 at all during the game and was more than a little surprised when it appeared on the board. The psychological shock of this unexpected sacrifice likely contributed to his defeat.
I hope that readers have enjoyed Bronstein’s creative genius in these two extraordinary games. In the next instalment, I shall discuss which of Bronstein’s games I personally consider the most beautiful, and reflect further upon his aesthetics — comparing them with other aesthetic conceptions, as well as examining the relationship between aesthetics and pragmatism (which Bronstein simply detested).
To be continued…
