| No. 1. | Baucher, |
| 2. | Bierwirth, |
| 3. | Bornemann, |
| 4. | Guibert, |
| 5. | Lequesne, |
| 6. | Potier, |
| 7. | Préti, |
| 8. | Seguin. |
Nearly all these gentlemen are well known in contemporaneous chess, and formed such a phalanx that many persons asked whether Morphy knew whom he was going to play against. Monsieur Arnoux de Rivière called the moves for the first four, and Monsieur Journoud for the others; and, all being prepared, Morphy began as usual with "Pawn to King's Fourth on all the boards."
Things went on swimmingly and amusingly. It was as good as a volume of Punch or the Charivari to hear the remarks made by the excited spectators; more especially when the "openings" were past, and the science of the combatants came out, in the middle of the game. There was the huge "Père Morel," hands in his pockets, blowing clouds from an immense pipe like smoke from Vesuvius, threading his way between the boards and actually getting fierce when anybody asked him what he thought of it. Seeing him seated at the end of the room towards evening, and looking as though dumbfoundered at the performance, I said to him,—"Well, Mr. Morel, do you believe now that Morphy can play against eight such antagonists?" He looked at me in an imploring manner and replied,—"Oh, don't talk to me; Mr. Morphy makes my head ache." It is related of Pitt that, making a speech in Parliament on a certain occasion, whilst under the influence of sundry bottles of Port, the doorkeeper of the House of Commons declared that the son of the great Chatham made his head ache, so violent was his language, and so loud his tone. This coming to Pitt's ears, he said—"Nothing could be better; I drink the wine, and the doorkeeper gets the headache." Monsieur Potier rises from his table to show on another board how Morphy had actually seen seven moves in advance; and Signor Préti gets quite nervous and agitated as our hero puts shot after shot into his bull's-eye; and I had much difficulty in assuring him that no absolute necessity existed for his playing on, until Morphy mated him; but that when he found his game was irretrievably lost, he would be justified in resigning. Monsieur Baucher was the first to give in, although one of the very strongest of the contestants; Morphy's combinations against this gentleman were so astonishing, and the finale so brilliant, that Mr. Walker declared in Bell's Life—"This game is worthy of being inscribed in letters of gold, on the walls of the London Club." Bornemann and Préti soon followed, and then Potier and Bierwirth; Messrs. Lequesne and Guibert effecting drawn battles; Monsieur Seguin alone was left. It was but natural that he should be the last, as he was the strongest of the eight combatants, and, truth to tell, he did not believe it possible for any one to beat him without seeing the board; but this Morphy finally effected in some beautiful pawn play, which would have tickled Philidor himself.
Forthwith commenced such a scene as I scarcely hope again to witness. Morphy stepped from the arm-chair in which he had been almost immovable for ten consecutive hours, without having tasted a morsel of any thing, even water, during the whole of the period; yet as fresh, apparently, as when he sat down. The English and Americans, of whom there were scores present, set up stentorian Anglo-Saxon cheers, and the French joined in as the whole crowd made a simultaneous rush at our hero. The waiters of the Café had formed a conspiracy to carry Morphy in triumph on their shoulders, but the multitude was so compact, they could not get near him, and finally, had to abandon the attempt. Great bearded fellows grasped his hands, and almost shook his arms out of the sockets, and it was nearly half an hour before we could get out of the Café. A well-known citizen of New York, Thomas Bryan, Esq., got on one side of him and M. de Rivière on the other, and "Le Père Morel,"—body and soul for our hero—fought a passage through the crowd by main strength, and we finally got into the street. There the scene was repeated; the multitude was greater out of doors than in the café, and the shouting, if possible, more deafening. Morphy, Messrs. Bryan and De Rivière and myself, made for the Palais Royal, but the crowd still followed us, and when we got to the guardhouse of the Imperial Guard, sergeants de ville and soldiers came running out to see whether a new revolution was on the tapis. We rushed into the Restaurant Foy, up stairs, and into a private room; whilst, as we subsequently learned, the landlord made anxious inquiries as to the cause of all this excitement. Having done our duty to a capital supper, we got off by a back street, and thus avoided the crowd, who, we were informed, awaited our reappearance in the quadrangle of the Palais Royal.
Next morning, Morphy actually awakened me at seven o'clock, and told me, if I would get up, he would dictate to me the moves of yesterday's games. I never saw him in better spirits, or less fatigued, than on that occasion, as he showed me, for two long hours, the hundreds of variations depending on the play of the previous day, with such rapidity that I found it hard work to follow the thread of his combinations.
Harrwitz was in the café for about an hour during blindfold play, and he actually had the assurance to say to me, "You can tell Mr. Morphy, that I will continue the match to-morrow." I replied: "I feel satisfied that Mr. Morphy will be willing to do so, but I shall most certainly object, and all that lies in my power will be done to prevent his seeing a chess-board until he has had at least twenty-four hours' rest." And I added: "You had better not let it be known that you have made the proposition, or you will be badly received in the café, depend upon it."
The evening after his blindfold feat, Morphy very inconsiderately took a nap in his sitting-room, with the window open. On my arrival I awoke him, and he complained of feeling cold. Next morning he was feverish, and in any thing but a fit state to meet Harrwitz. Nevertheless I could not induce him to keep his room; he said to me: "I would sooner lose the game, than that anybody should think I had exhausted myself by a tour de force, as some will do if I am absent at the proper hour." And he rode to the Régence in a state only fit for a hot bath and sweating powder. Well might Saint Amant call him the "chivalrous Bayard of Chess."