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Chess Master

‘There he is!’ my grandfather announced to a group of Frenchmen as I walked into the Café de la Régence. ‘My grandson, Benjamin Franklin Bache!’

I glowed to hear my grandfather use my full name—which he loved to do, since I was named after him. ‘I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world!’ I told him.

A stranger came up to me when he heard that I was the grandson of Benjamin Franklin, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States. Soon I was telling him all about Grandfather’s experiments with lightning and his inventions. As usual, I could talk forever about my famous relative.

‘Also,’ I added, ‘he’s very good at chess.’

The man chuckled. ‘Everyone who comes to the Café de la Régence already knows that.’

Grandfather had been playing chess here for the last six years, ever since we arrived in Paris in 1776. He told me that playing chess in cafés was a good way to meet important people. But I knew that he also just loved to play—and win—games of chess.

But tonight was different. As Grandfather had excitedly explained to me, a Hungarian inventor had created a marvellous invention known as ‘the Turk’. It was an automaton, a machine that moved in a life-like manner. The remarkable thing was that this machine played chess—very well!

Grandfather was determined to play against the automaton. Luckily, the inventor, Wolfgang Von Kempelen, was always looking for famous people to match wits with his invention. So I had travelled back to Paris from my boarding school just to watch Benjamin Franklin play chess against a machine.

I moved through the crowds so I could get a better view of Von Kempelen’s ‘Turk’. I saw a wooden figure of a man, dressed in a robe with a turban wound around its head. It looked so still, sitting at a desk.

I watched Von Kempelen start the show with a flourish, boasting of his automaton’s skills. He unlocked a little door in the Turk’s cabinet, opening it wide to display the gears and levers. Von Kempelen held a candle so everyone could see the machinery. The room filled with murmurs of appreciation.

Then, after closing the doors and cranking a large handle, Von Kempelen stepped aside. The machine lurched, and the Turk lifted his head, turning it from side to side. Next, he jerked an arm to the board, picked up a piece and made the first move. I gasped. The machine could really play chess!

Usually, Grandfather played to win. But during this match, he seemed focused only on the machine’s actions. The Turk must have intrigued Grandfather so much that he could hardly concentrate on the board. How else could you explain how a machine could defeat him?

Von Kempelen proudly announced the Turk’s victory over the great Benjamin Franklin. But then I spotted something—a human hand poking out from inside the Turk’s cabinet. There must be a person hiding inside, controlling the Turk’s moves!

I couldn’t wait to tell Grandfather that the famous machine that beat him was a fake. But even as we ate a late supper together, I couldn’t get a word in. Grandfather wouldn’t stop talking about the Turk.

‘Imagine a future filled with machines that think!’ Grandfather cried. ‘They could do the labour, freeing human brains for greater purposes. Or machines might solve problems more complex than we can solve. Ah, picture it!’

I saw Grandfather’s eyes glisten as he imagined a future of machines more brilliant than he was. And suddenly I knew the right thing to do was to keep the secret to myself.