Some Lewis Chess Pieces Being Returned to Scotland

Chessmen Pieces to be Returned to Scotland

Source : Celtic League

Porte parole:

Publié le 15/06/12 12:10

MANX —News from Celtic Press

A number of pieces of an historic chess set are planned to be returned to their home in Scotland from the British Museum in London.

Six pieces of the Lewis Chessmen will be repatriated to Scotland on permanent loan to the Museum and Archive at Lews Castle when it opens in 2014 after a £13.5m revamp. Previously the British Museum has refused to agree for the Chessmen to be returned, despite long term campaigns run by the Celtic League and individual Scottish politicians such as Scottish National Party (SNP) Western Isles MP Angus MacNeil.

Previously Scottish culture minister Linda Fabiani was sent to London to make the case for the return of all 82 pieces of the Lewis Chessmen that are currently held by the British Museum, but the Museum refused arguing that the return of the pieces would lead to further demands to return many other artefacts to Scotland that are being held at the Museum. In 2010 the British Museum agreed for 29 of the pieces to tour Scotland, which saw huge numbers of people visiting the priceless artefacts. Mr MacNeil has argued that the Chessmen, if put on display in the Isles of Lewis of Scotland near where the pieces were originally found in Uig, would give a massive boost to the local economy. Minister Linda Fabiani said:

"I am delighted that six of the Lewis Chessmen will be making a return, a Homecoming, to the Isle of Lewis where they were first discovered. It is particularly appropriate that this is happening in 2014 our second Year of Homecoming.

"The Chessmen are a significant part of our culture and an important symbol of European civilisation."

In 2011 the Celtic League wrote to the Scottish Government urging it to keep up the pressure on the British Museum to return the artefacts after the Government expressed a desire for all 93 pieces to be reunited again in Scotland. Perhaps Scotland's success in getting some of the Lewis Chessmen pieces returned will spur on the Governments and authorities in the other Celtic countries to campaign for the return of their stolen national treasures that are bing held elsewhere.

Lewis Chessmen from Iceland - Argument Continued

Chessbase presents the latest in the continuing epic of whether the Lewis chess pieces were created in Iceland or created in Norway (most likely in Trondheim).

The Lewis Chessmen: Lilleøren's final remark
27.03.2012– The Icelandic-Norwegian battle over the origin of the famous (infamous?) Lewis Chessmen – a collection of chess pieces, handcrafted in the 12th century – has been waging for almost two years now. The Norwegian critic of the Icelandic theory, Morten Lilleøren, has sent us final remarks. With it we close our discussion of the subject, which may be continued in archeological and historical journals.

I won't go into blah blah blah - the denials are about the same, as per the usual "cannot see the forest for the trees" blinders that experts put on when challenged by non-intelligentsia.  The nerve of those non-intellectuals!

Really, darlings, what difference does it make to the greater picture that there are not any Icelandic sagas known to have survived that are older or date about to the date of the Lewis chessmen? That proves nothing.

It does, however, make a difference that bishop pieces - that is BISHOP - as in the Roman Catholic Church version of the cleric, are known to pre-date the Lewis pieces, including one piece presented in the Chessbase article by Morten Lilleoren.  He states that this piece:

which he identifies as: 

A chess bishop carved of walrus ivory. The ivory itself has been radiocarbon dated within the usual 95% probability to 770-990 CE.

Also, note that the bishop’s miter is worn facing sideways, to borrow Robinson’s description, rather that frontally. This miter orientation predates the frontally worn type, which is found among the Lewis chessmen.

Changing focus, and viewing the canopy/piece as a whole, the old Arabic abstract shape of the alfil piece (with horns) is visible, too.

The bishop that predates the Lewis chessmen. From the private collection of Jean-Jaques Marquet, curator of the Louvre.

is evidence that those arguing for an Icelandic origin of the Lewis pieces are full of baloney.

Hmmmm, seems to me, however, that this may prove just the opposite.  If the Bishop piece was this widespread elsewhere in Europe for a couple hundred years before the date the Lewis chess pieces were made, why would the Bishop as a chess piece not also have been known and used and made/carved/ and possibly even distributed abroad from a production center in Iceland?

In the greater picture, it is, in fact, quite possible.  The piece the writer uses to discount the Icelandic theory rather, in fact, would seem to support their argument just by virtue of its very existence and age!

I don't think this argument is over.  Let's see what develops.

This Chessbase article does include a list of the articles discussing the "argument" and it's worth reading them over, if  you're interested either in this argument or the development of medieval western chess in general.  Well worth the time.  So says this amateur chess "herstorian."

More on the "Haunted Lewis Chess Pieces"

See original post from November 30, 2011, from information forwarded to me by Judith Weingarten of the Xenobia, Empress of the East blog.

Geoff Chandler provides much information that is new to me about the background of the Lewis chess pieces.  One note: Chandler mentions a Captain Pyrie, while the information I published in my prior blog post came directly from H.J.R. Murray's A History of Chess (account of the discovery and subsequent history of the Lewis pieces) and he refers to a Roderick Ririe as being the person who first brought the pieces to the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland in 1831.  I double-checked the name and spelling this morning just to make sure I had it correct from Murray.

Not Even From Lewis, Mate
Geoff Chandler

Based on the date of the initial comments at the bottom of the article, I figure it was written in October, 2009.  Comments have continued to be made.  Please read them.  They contain some very interesting discussion.

In addition to providing more background information about the discovery and subsequent sale(s) of the Lewis pieces, Mr. Chandler provides an interesting theory that the Lewis pieces aren't chess pieces at all, but are hnefatafl pieces!  I'm no expert on the game, mind you, but I do not recall reading any accounts where there were more than two different types of pieces used in hnefatafl:  a king and the guardsmen (in some accounts, these were females).  That being said, my memory isn't what it used to be, and I haven't done much study on hnefatafl, so Mr. Chandler could be perfectly correct in his assertion that hnefatafl games sometimes used more than two types of playing pieces... [more information on hnefatafl at Wikipedia]

It is an interesting theory.

Three issues from Mr. Chandler's article and the subsequent comments thereto kept poking at me since I read it a week or so before Mr. D and I left for Madrid -- I didn't have time to write about it then. 

First:

Mr. Chandler gets right to the heart of the issue surrounding the mystery of the Lewis pieces.  If they are chess pieces, where are the rooks? His discussion of why he thinks the warders were never meant to be rooks is very interesting, but so is the counter-evidence presented by a commenter by the handle of Pipistrel. 

It does not seem, contrary to what Mr. Chandler asserts, that the British Museum has changed its assertions that the Lewis pieces are chess pieces.  This summary from the British Museum website (today) continues to identify the pieces as chess pieces and the warders as "rooks."

The chess pieces consist of elaborately worked walrus ivory and whales' teeth in the forms of seated kings and queens, mitred bishops, knights on their mounts, standing warders and pawns in the shape of obelisks.

---

They were found in the vicinity of Uig on the Isle of Lewis in mysterious circumstances. Various stories have evolved to explain why they were concealed there, and how they were discovered. All that is certain is that they were found some time before 11 April 1831, when they were exhibited in Edinburgh at the Society of Antiquaries for Scotland. The precise findspot seems to have been a sand dune where they may have been placed in a small, drystone chamber.
Who owned the chess pieces? Why were they hidden? While there are no firm answers to these questions, it is possible that they belonged to a merchant travelling from Norway to Ireland. This seems likely since there are constituent pieces - though with some elements missing - for four distinct sets. Their general condition is excellent and they do not seem to have been used much, if at all.

By the end of the eleventh century, chess was a very popular game among the aristocracy throughout Europe. The Lewis chess pieces form the largest single surviving group of objects from the period that were made purely for recreational purposes. The question of precisely where they were made is a difficult one to resolve.

When Sir Frederic Madden first published the finds in 1832, he considered them to be Icelandic in origin. This argument has been repeated recently by Icelandic commentators on the subject. Other authorities have thought them to be Irish, Scottish or English. Each of these attributions is possible.
What is known with certainty is that the chessmen are vigorously northern in their character and are strongly influenced by Norse culture. This is most evident in the figures of the warders or rooks which take the form of Berserkers, fierce mythical warriors drawn directly from the Sagas. The historic political, economic and cultural links between the Outer Hebrides and Norway and its dominance of the Norse world might suggest that Norway is the most likely place to have produced these high status, luxury commodities.

A board large enough to hold all the pieces arranged for a game played to modern rules would have measured 82 cm across. Records state that when found, some of the Lewis chessmen were stained red. Consequently the chessboard may have been red and white, as opposed to the modern convention of black and white.

Of the 93 pieces known to us today, 11 pieces are in Edinburgh at the National Museum of Scotland, and 82 are in the British Museum.

More information about the Lewis chessmen

I was shocked, however, when I read this in Mr. Chandler's responsive comment dated May 20, 2011:

They are not chess pieces and this is now accepted even by the museum.

They have recently replaced the shield biting man with a stone tower in the Lewis Sets they sell - go an see for yourself.

This Tower is a PR job to make it look more like a chess set.

WHAT?  That really set me back.  I mean, how could the British Museum possibly do such a thing -- substitute a different "rook" piece altogether in replica chess sets that are meant to be the Lewis pieces???

I happen to own a replica Lewis chess set.  It was a gift to me in 2002 and means a great deal.  I haven't played with the set at all but I did take some of them out (kings, queens, knights) and photographed them once when I got my digital camera in 2006 and I was playing around, learning how to use it properly and trying my hand at "staging: a scene.  The set has a certificate that says it is "entirely hand made at S.A.C. Ltd, Studio Anne Carlton, Hull, England."  I took it out and opened the box - lo and behold!  The rook is not the crazed warder chewing on his shield!  It is, in fact, a four-sided rectangular tower!  The same tower design was used for both sides.

[After initial posting, it is now 1:31 p.m., I visited the British Museum shop online and discovered that the three types of Lewis chess sets they are selling - small, medium, and delux, all feature the warder as the "rook" and the "tombstones" as pawns -- no substituted tower for rook to be found!  So -- what does it all mean???]

[After writing the above, I did some image searches.  This set looks identical to mine. I learned that S.A.C. was sold in 2003 and production of the pieces was subsequently moved to China!  Ohmygoddess!  If my "Certificate of Authenticity" is to be believed - and the fact that I KNOW the set was gifted to me in May, 2002 - my set was produced in Hull, England, not in China.  Note: my rooks (towers) and my pawns (miniature warders) are the same as in this image, and the colors look about the same.  Compare these figures to some of the figures in the sets depicted below and you will readily see differences in the amount of detail inscribed on the pieces.]

Second:

The issue of the color of the Lewis pieces.  Yes, it is well known that over time color put on things wears off or fades away.  I recall reading descriptions of the Lewis pieces that authoritatively said that some of the pieces had traces of red.

Except -- Mr. Chandler proposed a very interesting theory for how some of the pieces obtained their traces of red color!  In 1831, would anyone have been able to detect such a fraud, if indeed some of the pieces had been newly colored with "beetroot?"

From the little reading I've done on hnefatafl, the pieces were brown and natural ivory.  Some chess sets, on the other hand, often featured red and natural-colored pieces.  "The Book of Games" of King Alfonso X of Spain, for instance, holds many depictions of such sets. 

The mere fact that the pieces were mostly ivory colored at the time of discovery doesn't mean they were not parts of chess sets.

Third:

The missing pawns.  It has been said that the Lewis pieces comprise parts of four different chess sets.  Four chess sets would mean 64 pawns.  However, only 19 pawns are known to exist.  Mr. Chandler correctly pointed out that 45 are missing, and this seems a great deal of missing pawns when one considers that most of the other primary pieces for comprising some four different chess sets are NOT missing.

Consider what this might mean.  It could mean that the pawns aren't pawns at all, but something else -- perhaps pieces from a different game altogether.  We do know that 14 other game pieces (Murray called them "tablemen") were included in the Lewis "hoard" that was purchased by the British Museum and it seems that they were never considered as being chess pieces.  Or, perhaps one of the commenters to Mr. Chandler's article was correct when he (or she) suggested that the "pawns" were meant for use with both chess and hnefatafl.  That still does not solve the mystery of the great number of missing pawns, however.

The foundation of hnefatafl that differentiates it from other forms of "tafl" ("table") games is that the attackers have twice as many pieces as the king.  So, if the king has 8 defenders around him, the attackers total 16; if the king had 12 defenders, the attackers total 24.  With 19 pawns at hand, a hnefatafl set would have the king and 6 defenders and there would be 12 attackers, with 1 piece left over.  Murray's illustration of the Lewis pawns shows four (possibly five) different types:

I do not know how many exist of each type of pawn.
Where are the other 45 pawns?  Did they sink into the sea long ago?  Are they still buried somewhere?  I don't know - were excavations or a good old-fashioned treasure hunt ever conducted around the area where the sellers said the original Lewis pieces had been discovered?  One would assume so, but then again --

In a search I found several images of Lewis replica sets still for sale featuring the "warder" as the "rook" with the "tombstones" as pawns (the first two pawns in Murray's drawing, above, remind me of Islamic pieces):

An S.A.C. set in red/white.

Brookstone set in brown and white. Brookstone was a relatively expensive set - and comparing the quality of these pieces to the others depicted - thumbs down!

Design Toscano set with checkers set.

There looks to be a lot more research that could and should be done about the Lewis pieces.  Perhaps someone has written a thesis?  I sure would like to read it if that's the case.  I've learned things today that I never knew before just putting this little blog piece together .  How much more might we be able to learn?

Haunted Lewis Chess Pieces?

Judith Weingarten, author of the excellent blog Xenobia, Empress of the East, sent along the following, for which I thank her! 

Haunted Chessmen
November 25, 2011
From Strange History.net

[Excerpted]

***This post is dedicated to Invisible***

Invisible writes in with the news that the Lewis Chessmen are about to go on exhibition in New York. And Beach took this as a prompt for one of his favourite archaeological stories. The unnamed Lewis farmer in the following account was one Malcolm ‘Sprot’ Macleod.

In 1831 a high tide on the coast near Uig in the Isle of Lewis washed away a sand-bank and exposed a cave in which there as a small beehive-shaped building rather like the little domestic grinding querns to be found in the Highlands. A labourer working near found it, and, thinking it might contain some treasure, broke into it. He found a cache of eighty-four carved chessmen ranged together. They had an uncanny look, and he flung down his spade and ran, convinced that he had come on a sleeping company of fairies.

[In] the narrative above, from the great Katharine Briggs, continues with poor Malcolm being sent back to get the chessmen by his furious wife.
The greater part of them [67 of 78] are now in the British museum. Replicas have been made of them, but the originals, all mustered together, are much more impressive. A tradition has risen about them. It is said that the guards who take the guard-dogs round at night cannot get them to pass the Celtic [sic] chessmen. They bristle and drag back on their haunches. So perhaps the Highlander’s superstition can be excused.

The chess pieces are actually Norse in origin and were probably made in Scandinavia, quite possibly in Norway, which ruled the Western Isles at this time. But in Gaelic legends chess games between mortals and fairies are a commonplace, perhaps because chess was seen as a ‘game of kings’.

As to those poor dogs, Katharine Briggs is always reliable and she will certainly have come across this tale in her endless fairy hunting. It remains to be seen though whether it is just third-hand London rumour or a folk belief from the staff of the British Museum itself.

************************************

I don't know who Katharine Briggs is -- but I too, wonder if there is anything more to the intriguing notion that the pieces might be "haunted."  It seems plausible to me that a simple laborer coming across the wondrously carved pieces for the first time, with those large bulging, staring eyes of theirs, might have been a little spooked by the sight of all of them lying there, seeming to stare right at him!  In the 1830s, away from the big cities, the legends of the land would still have been close in the hearts of the local people.  Who knows - perhaps the laborer at first mistook the pieces for fairies themselves -- you know, "The Wee Little People"...

I looked through what resources I have in my library, but there was no mention direct mention of the "laborer" discovering the pieces and running away because they frightened him!  Indeed, accounts I've read online generally say that there is no report of how the pieces were first discovered other than the well known "facts" (the location of the discovery and the interesting fact that they were evidently "buried" in a sort of oven or stone cache of one sort or other).  But - read on for yourself, and check out Note 8 at the very end. 

I did find some information about how the pieces first came to the attention of the public, in H.J.R. Murray's "A History of Chess" (pages 758-762, including hand-drawn illustrations of some of the pieces in the British Museum): 

The Lewis chessmen were discovered in 1831 in a sand-bank at the head of the Bay of Uig, on the west coast of the island of Lewis, one of the outer Hebrides.  There is no circumstantial account of the discovery, but it appears that they were found in a small chamber of dry-built stone, resembling an oven, about 15 feet below the top of the sand-bank.  The chessmen were exhibited by Mr. Roderick Ririe at a meeting of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, April 11, 1831, but before the members had raised the money to purchase them Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe stepped in and bought 10 of the pieces, while the remaining 67 chessmen, 14 tablemen, and a buckle were bought for the British Museum.  On the dispersion of Mr. Sharpe's collection, the Lewis chessmen, now 11 in number, Mr. Sharpe having obtained another one from Lewis, were purchased by Lord Londesborough, and at the sale of the latter's collection in 1888 they were purchased by the Society of Antiquaries for the Scottish National Museum.  All the game-pieces, as well as the buckle, are carved of walrus-ivory.  The 78 chessmen comprise 8 Kings, 8 Queens, 16 Bishops, 15 Knights, 12 Rooks, and 19 Pawns, of which 2 Kings, 3 Queens, 3 Bishops, a Knight, and 2 Rooks are now at Edinburgh.  The Kings and Queens are carved seated, the Kings holding a half-drawn sword across the knees, the Queens usually resting the head on the right hand.  Seven of the Bishops (2 at Edinburgh) are also seated, the other 9 are standing.  All are represented with the crozier.  The Knights are on horseback with spear in the right ahnd and shield on the left arm.  The Rooks are armed warriors on foot, with  helmet, shield, and sword.  The Pawns are of various shapes and sizes, but most have octagonal bases.  Two of them bear some ornamentation.  A Queen of the same type as the Lewis Queens was found in County Meath, Ireland, in the first half of the 19th century.  It is now in a private museum in Dublin.(7)

The carving of the Rooks as warriors on foot undoubtedly points to Icelandic workmanship.  La Peyrere, Lettre a M. La Mothe (1664), Paris, [1663, 56, describing the Icelandic chessmen, says:

La difference qu'il y a de leu pieces aux notres, est, que nos Fous sont des Evesques parmy eux . . . Leu Rocs sont de petits Capitaines, que les escoliers Islandois que sont icy apelent Centurions.  Ils sont representez, l'espee au coste, les joues enfles, et sonnant du cor, qu'ils tiennent des deux mains.

[Don't ask me to translate!] 

Sir Frederick Madden, in his Historical Remarks (Archaeologia, 1852, xxiv; also separately printed, and in CPC., i), endeavoured to prove that these pieces are of Icelandic carving of the middle of the 12th century.  The latest authority, Mr. O.M. Dalton (Cat. Ivory Carvings . . . in the B. Mus., London, 1909), ascribes them to the 12th century, and thinks that they may be of British carving.  Wilson had already claimed a Scotch origin for them.  Both views depend upon the assumption that the chessmen are as old as the 13th century.

If there were any truth in the tradition which Capt. Thomas discovered to be current in Lewis, they may be the work of Icelandic carvers of the beginning of the 17th century only.(8)

The notes from Murray:

(7)  A rough woodcut of it was given in O'Donovan's Leabhar na g-Ceart, Dublin, 1847, lxii.  Other Norse chessmen are depicted in Fabricius, Danmarkshistorie, 1861, i. 494 (a seated Bishop), in  Worsaae, Nordiske Oldsager i det kongelige Museum i. Kjobenhawn, Kjobenhavn,  1854, 160 (a King, Bishop, and Pawn) and in Engelhardt, Guide illustri du Musee des Antiquities du Nord, Copenhague, 1870, 57 (a Knight); - v. d. Linde, ii. 312.

(8)  The tradition is to the effect that a shepherd employed by George Mor Mackenzie (who settled in Lewis, 1614-15) murdered a sailor, who had swum ashore from a wreck with the chessmen in a bag.  The shepherd buried the bag in the sand, and never prospered afterwards.  Capt. F. and W. L. Thomas, in Proc. Soc. Antiq. Scotl., 1863, iv. 411.  In addition to the works already mentioned, information respecting the Lewis chessmen is also contained in Wilson, Prehis. Annals Scotl., ii 341; and Proc. Soc. Antiq. Scotl., 1889, xxiii. 9.

********************************************

This is some good stuff! A possible murder connected to the Lewis chess pieces?  Now that could be a capital haunting, indeed! 

Imagine this:  what if the story is true; or at the least, a mangled version of the story (regardless of its truth) is talked about for years around the islands, enough so that it has passed into general folklore after some years (we don't know when the shipwreck occurred or when the murder of the sailor took place).  Given this background, in addition to an enduring belief in hauntings and ghosts and, of course, the Wee Little People, the laborer's reaction might not seem so silly to our modern eyes if he knew that tale of a long-ago murder and the burying of the unfortunate sailor's bagful of goodies...

Woooooooo, sends chills down my spine, I have to say! 

*************************************************

I don't recall coming across in any of the accounts I've read about how the Lewis chess pieces ended up where they did the information contained in Murray's account.  Much more fascinating reading than bare-bones reports that the British Museum acquired 67 pieces and the National Museum of Scotland acquired the other 11 pieces!

Here's the line of "descent" of the pieces after they surfaced -- no indication, unfortunately, of whether they were held for a period of time after their discovery before being sold to Mr. Roderick Ririe, or when he may have acquired them, or what he paid for them.  It is quite possible, of course, that Ririe was not the original purchaser, but as he exhibited the pieces at the Antiquarian Society I am assuming that he must have been an avid antiquities collector and I assume he may have been the first buyer.  How he came to know about the pieces, however, now that is something not known either.  Arghhh! 

1.  Roderick Ririe exhibits the pieces to the Scottish Antiquarian Society on April 11, 1831.  They consist of 77 chess pieces, 14 "tablemen" (checkers? tablut pieces?) and an ivory belt buckle.

2.  Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe buys 10 chess pieces directly from Ririe.

3.  Ririe sells 67 pieces, 14 "tablemen" and one belt buckle to the British Museum. 

4.  Kirkpatrick Sharpe acquires another Lewis piece - but it is not described how, or how the piece was identified as belonging to the Lewis cache.  In any event, either Sharpe or someone on his behalf or on behalf of his Estate sells 11 Lewis pieces to Lord Londesborough.

5.  In 1888 the Society of Antiquaries acquires the 11 Sharpe pieces for the Scottish National Museum.

It appears at least some record of these transactions were kept -- else Murray couldn't have tracked down the information he provided in his History of Chess!  Didn't 'gentlemen' of the period nearly always write diaries and letters and what not? Was nothing from their records saved that can be dug around in today that might contain further information or clues?  Inventories?  Estate records?  Attorneys' records?  Bills of Sale?  We know that the pieces passed through the hands of at least three gentlemen:  (1) Ririe; (2) Sharpe; (3) Lord Londesborough. 

And what of Capt. Thomas?  Who was he, and why was he interested in the Lewis chess pieces?  How did he track down the old story about the shepherd murdering the sailor and burying the contents of the sailor's sack? What, exactly, were the contents of the sailor's sack?  It is assumed it was the Lewis chess pieces but - how do we really know...

And why would the local people have been willing to talk to him?  We've all read tales from all over the world about how notoriously closed-mouth villagers are when it comes to outsiders - whether a thousand years ago or today.  So how did the Captain sniff out the murder story? 

I do love a mystery, but I don't know if I have the time or resources to try and explore this any further.  Like the blogger who reported the original "haunted pieces" story (see above, from strangehistory.net) , I'm wondering if anyone out there has any information on this? 

Another Article on the Lewis Chess Pieces

From The Wall Street Journal:

NOVEMBER 24, 2011
Masterpiece: The Lewis Chessmen (12th Century)
Lively, Ivory Warriors

In the 2001 film "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," Harry and his pal Ron play a Christmastide game of "wizard chess" in the bedecked Great Hall of Hogwarts. To many film lovers the chess pieces' gnomelike appearance would seem another example of the film's masterly art direction. But connoisseurs of antique chess sets recognize the pieces as copies of what is arguably the most famous chess set of all, the 12th-century Lewis chessmen.

Eighty-two Lewis chessmen reside in the British Museum, which purchased them between 1831 and 1832 (an additional 11 pieces are owned by the National Gallery of Scotland). The tangled history of this doughty little army—selections from which are currently on exhibition at the Cloisters, the Metropolitan Museum of Art's medieval treasury in upper Manhattan—is worthy of a Wilkie Collins mystery.

According to the illustrated essay accompanying the exhibition, by the British Museum's curator of late medieval collections, James Robinson, they were part of a hoard of luxury goods unearthed in 1831 in a sandbank along Uig Bay, on the west coast of the windswept Isle of Lewis, largest of the Outer Hebrides west of Scotland. Suffice it to say that the Lewis chessmen eventually arrived at the British Museum via a chain of avarice, sharp dealings and, happily, dedicated scholarship.

Soon after the discovery, stylistic inspection revealed that the multiple kings, queens, bishops and other pieces in the hoard represented pieces from at least four distinct but incomplete sets. Stylistic similarities to contemporaneous church sculpture point specifically to the Norwegian city of Trondheim.

"These pieces represent the highest class of society," observes Mr. Robinson as we examine them together at the Cloisters. "And though they were by tradition thought to have been a merchant's hoard, they may well have been made for a Medieval Norwegian king and presented by him to one of his ambassadors as part of the wealth they were supposed to display, symbolic of their sovereign's power."

Chess, which originated in sixth-century India and came to Europe by way of Persia and the Islamic lands, was truly the game of kings. Sovereigns and their courtiers played chess not only for amusement, but to exercise their skill at military strategy in an age when might often made right.

Medieval European chessmen were fashioned from various precious materials, but virtually every one of the Lewis chessmen is a masterpiece ivory sculpture in miniature. Tough, though prone to splitting when worked or stored near heat, ivory has a satisfying heft when held, and can be polished to a buttery sheen. These animated little warriors were hand-carved using a variety of knives, saws, files and drills. Moreover the Lewis chessmen are distinctive because most are made of walrus ivory, a characteristic medium of maritime North Europe. Walrus tusks are much smaller than African elephant tusks, which dictates the size of objects carved from it. Walrus is also more yellow in color than elephant ivory, and because the smooth outer layer is also thinner than elephant ivory, carving often exposes the darker pulp beneath. Exposed pulp is often kept in less prominent places on the Lewis figures—under a carved fold of a costume, for instance—which shows how skillfully the anonymous craftsmen planned the carving of each piece.

That carving itself is distinctive, especially in its visual strength. As chess is an abstract battle, so the chessmen, especially the pawns, are carved as lively abstractions of human figures. Their overall shape is dictated by the tapering shape of a section of tusk, and their features, physiques and costumes are worked with marvelous detail within this limitation.

Certainly, the pieces bear distinct family resemblances within the different ranks, though their sizes vary, depending on the size of the original piece of tusk. Kings—some bearded, some not, all with long plaited hair under their crowns—sit on their elaborately carved thrones, swords in their laps. Their cloaks are meticulously detailed to show the right arm free to wield that sword. Queens, their veils falling from beneath their crowns, are carved to show their position as regal advisers. Though their right hands seem to be slapping their cheeks in consternation, the gesture was meant to signify thoughtful deliberation.

To carve a queen's fully rounded right arm required consummate skill to drill through the ivory, shape the limb and finally polish it in the round without fracturing it. Similar pierce-work distinguishes the bishops, each of whom holds a crozier, the hooked staff of episcopal office.

Kings, queens and bishops are all enthroned, and the exquisite scrollwork carved on the backs of each throne "recalls the marginalia of a manuscript" Mr. Robinson says. This intricate, sinuous visual language was an essential part of Northern European Medieval art, linking these chessmen to Romanesque and early Gothic stone carving and illuminations of the Book of Kells.

Warder.
The Trustees of the British Museum

The helmeted knights break most vigorously from the conical form, each, replete with shield, sword and suit of mail, seated astride a sturdy little pony. The warders or rooks are carved as bearded, helmeted foot soldiers (castle shapes came later) with shields and swords adding to their fierceness. But several of them, called "Berserkers," are particularly fierce, their bared teeth literally chomping on their shields in their lust for battle. This frenzy was called beserksgangr in Norse and gave us the word "berserk."

Finally the most abstract of all the chessmen, the little pawns, each worked from a tiny bullet-shaped tip of a tusk and carved only with a series of facets, or with incised flat sides, instead of human features.

Superficially, the bulging eyes of those chessmen with faces lend them a comically lunatic stare. But as you compare these pieces, each reveals nuances—facial features, gestures and postures—that the master ivory carvers achieved within the limitations imposed by the walrus tusk. For example, one of the warders is carved with his face and even his eyes turned slightly off to the side in apparent thought. It is this essential humanity of the unknown carver's hand that reaches across to us over the centuries. Viewed this way, we can understand Mr. Robinson's comment that "these Lewis Chessmen are my Elgin Marbles."

—Mr. Scherer writes about classical music and the fine arts for the Journal.

An Isle of Lewis Chess Queen

One of the Lewis chess queens:



One of the Lewis chess queens, from the MET exhibit:
The Game of Kings:  Medieval Ivory Chessmen from the Isle of Lewis   
November 15, 2011–April 22, 2012

Unlike the author of the previous newspaper article from The New York Times, I don't think she's saying "Doh!"  I think she's saying "Oy Vey!" 

Or maybe she just has a toothache.  Her jaw does look rather swollen.  And what is the object held in the left hand?  Could it be a Viking drinking horn?  Filled with mead or something stronger?  Some narcotic-laced concoction designed to knock out the pain in her throbbing jaw?  Or is that a walrus tusk, this incredible chess piece creator's way of making a pun about its origins? 

What if this isn't a Queen at all, but a young king?  The description of this piece reads:

Left: Chess Piece in the Form of a Queen, ca. 1150–1200. Scandinavian, probably Norway, found on the Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides, Scotland, 1831. Walrus ivory; H. 3 3/4 in. (9.6 cm). The British Museum, London (1831,1101.84)

But, could that be a short beard instead of a swollen jawline?  There appear to be verticle demarcations on this figure's chin that are typically used to denote a beard.  This figure does not appear particularly feminine to me.  And that horn - in ancient societies a horn was a sign of power, a sign of authority. Did Viking queens carry such symbols?  How does the crown of this figure match up to the crowns on any other queen pieces?  And what does it look like in comparison to the crowns worn by the four identified kings? 

Was an assumption made that this piece had to be a queen because, unlike the other four kings that the exhibit article says have been identified, it was not holding a sword across his lap:  Each of the pieces is a delightful sculpture in miniature, with a specific, individualized character. The kings all sit with their swords on their laps, but some have long hair and beards, and others are clean shaven.

Or was it identified as a queen because it appears to be wearing a cloth head covering (some kind of veil) underneath the crown?  A bearded queen?  Hmmm....we've seen that before, in ancient Egypt, for one (Hatsepshut). 

Here is a photograph I found of a queen and king from an article at The Guardian, from October 1, 2009:

Photograph: Murdo MacLeod

This queen has right hand on cheek, left hand clasping her right elbow.  Hmmm, she also looks like a bearded lady to me.  Another bearded queen?  Is it possible it was an artistic convention of the time for the Norwegian artisans to portray their queens with a sort of "mini-beard" to denote a form of authority - less than the king's, but still there?  Just asking, for I've no idea.  Again, this Queen does not strike me as a particularly feminine figure.

When comparing the first and second "queens", I see at least two similarities: the right hand on cheek pose looks identical, and there are what appear to be bracelets, or some kind of intricate cloth gathers, on the right wrist of both queen figures.  I can't tell from the second photograph if the queen is wearing a veil underneath her crown, or if that is her hair flowing down her back.  I do find it interesting that the queen and king paired in the second photograph appear to be of equal height - as are their thrones. 

Compare to this photograph from Wikipedia which depicts two kings and two queens, where it appears that the kings are not only more substantially carved (wider figures on both), but also taller in comparison to the respective queens.



Photograph by Andrew Dunn (c) 2004:  Two kings and two queens from the Uig, or Lewis chessmen at the British Museum

 Is this queen figure on the left the same one as the first queen image I posted in this article?  The folds of the gowns in front appear identical and, more importantly, both queens are holding what appears to be a drinking horn (or possibly a walrus tusk) in their left hands. 

 Is there a fourth queen?  I'm not clear on that.  I keep looking, but not tonight - it's bed time!

The Game of Kings: Medieval Whimsy

An "art review" (yep, in the Arts section, not Sports, har!) article from The New York Times:

Art Review
Medieval Foes With Whimsy
By KEN JOHNSON
Published: November 17, 2011   

Photographs are by Karsten Moran for The New York Times

If, by some typically improbable turn of events, Homer Simpson were to unearth from his backyard an old chest containing a chess set from medieval times, what would the pieces look like? Chances are they would resemble the lovable little contestants beautifully carved from walrus tusks by anonymous artisans in the famous cache known as the Lewis Chessmen.       

Two similar, but differently styled, Lewis kings.

Except for the pawns, which are shaped like tombstones and dome-topped, octagonal towers, each king, queen, bishop, knight and warder, as rooks used to be called, has the bug-eyed, stupefied expression of a Simpson. They could be Homer’s ancestors. You can judge for yourself: 34, all from the British Museum, are in “The Game of Kings: Medieval Ivory Chessmen From the Isle of Lewis,” presented in the perfect setting of the Cloisters, the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s citadel for medieval art. The exhibition includes other chess pieces — Islamic and medieval — and carved bone objects from the Met’s collection, all of which serve mainly to show by contrast just how adorable the Lewis chessmen are.

A Lewis "berserker" (warder) or Rook.

In a booklet from the British Museum about the collection, James Robinson, the museum’s curator of medieval collections, asks, “Were the chessmen, in fact, meant to be comic?” Mr. Robinson points out some funny things about them. One of the warders, who wears a conical helmet and long robe and holds a sword and a shield, seems to glance nervously to his left, as if he’d heard a suspicious sound while standing guard at night. Some warders have their teeth overlapping the tops of their shields, a curious biting gesture thought to identify them as “berserkers”: Nordic warriors who went into battle in frenzied states that might have been induced by alcohol or Amanita muscaria, hallucinogenic mushrooms.

The kings, sitting on ornate thrones with swords across their laps, seem lost in thought, their shoulders weighed down by their preoccupations. The queens, also enthroned, have their hands clapped to their cheeks as if in dismay and thinking, “D’oh!” But Mr. Robinson observes about the pieces in general, “Identifying the exact nature of their attraction for people of the time is a challenge,” and so the humor question remains unanswered.

What is known about the chessmen is that they were found by a farmer on the Isle of Lewis, the largest island of the Outer Hebrides, in 1831. How they got there is a mystery. Some think they arrived from Iceland, but conventional wisdom has it that they somehow came off a merchant ship traveling a regular trade route between Norway and Ireland and that they were produced in Trondheim, a Norwegian town, between 1150 and 1200.

The hoard included 78 chessmen from at least four different, incomplete sets; some pieces resembling checkers; and a belt buckle carved from ivory. The British Museum quickly acquired most of them, and in 1888 the National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh, secured 11 that had remained in private hands.

Humorously intended or not, each piece is a wonderful, diminutive sculpture, ranging from 1 5/8 inches to just over 4 inches tall. Unlike Renaissance chess sets that abounded in feats of technique, the Lewis Chessmen have a folk art quality. Something archaic about them makes them seem strange and otherworldly. Though not realistic in the modern sense of the word, they appear magically animated, as if the right spell would awaken them from their dormant state.

Certainly they were a good choice for a scene in “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” in which Harry and Ron Weasley play Wizard’s Chess using reproductions of the Lewis Chessmen. In the movie white pieces oppose red ones, which is how the figures were originally divided. But the red stains have worn away, and now they are all the color of ivory.

Close looking shows many details rendered with a tender touch. The faces are generically stylized, but each is different enough that some scholars have speculated that they might portray real people. Beards on the male combatants come in a variety of shapes and sizes; some of the kings are clean-shaven. Robes fall in buttery folds, with occasional passages of slight rumpling. Throne backs are carved into intertwining vines, mythic beasts and architectural elements. Each bishop wears an individualized miter. The knights ride pony-size steeds resembling carousel horses.

It is frustrating that plexiglass containers prevent you from picking them up for intimate examination. You would like to heft them, feel the smooth, warm bone and zoom in to see patterns on fabric and other details realized with eye-straining delicacy.

Mr. Robinson notes that some stragglers might yet turn up and make four complete sets. You might want to keep an eye out for a knight, 4 warders and 45 pawns. Meanwhile, a word to “The Simpsons” producers: How about an episode starring Bart as Harry in “Harry Potter and the Lewis Chessmen”?

A version of this review appeared in print on November 18, 2011, on page C23 of the New York edition with the headline: Medieval Foes With Whimsy.

Iceland, Not Trondheim?????

From The New York Times Arts Beat:

August 16, 2011, 12:30 pm
They’re Chess Pieces. They’re Old. O.K. They’re From Norway. Oh, Yeah?
By DYLAN LOEB MCCLAIN

Icelandic piece - the fore-runner of the Lewis chess pieces?

Scholars have long thought that the Lewis Chessmen — eight-century-old chess pieces carved mostly out of walrus tusk that were found on the Isle of Lewis, in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland, in 1831 — were made in Trondheim, Norway.

Last year two chess aficionados in Iceland, Gudmundur G. Thorarinsson and Einar S. Einarsson, set out to prove that the pieces were actually from their country.

Though the two men are not scholars — Mr. Thorarinsson is a civil engineer and a former member of the Icelandic Parliament and Mr. Einarsson is a former president of Visa Iceland — they put up a web site expounding their theory and attended a conference at the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh to present their case before leading authorities.

Their quest might have seemed like a knight’s errand (or perhaps a fool’s, which was the original name for the bishop chess piece in much of Europe), but their perseverance may be paying off.

On Friday there will be a symposium in Skalholt, Iceland, where two of the world’s foremost scholars on the pieces, James Robinson of the British Museum and David H. Caldwell of the National Museums of Scotland, will lecture on their possible origin. The Icelandic theory is on their minds. A chess piece made of fish bone that seems to be from roughly the same period as the Lewis Chessmen and resembles the berserkers (or rooks) of the Lewis sets was found recently in Siglunes, Iceland.

In an e-mail on Monday, Dr. Caldwell wrote: “I have an open mind about where the chessmen were made. We said Trondheim when we did our exhibition, but that was really just a guess. Now some colleagues are saying Iceland, and maybe that is the case.” Or maybe not. “I have still to hear incontrovertible evidence for it,” he added.

12th Chess Piece Excavated in Iceland

Exciting new find!  Unfortunately, no details about the size of the piece or the particulars of the excavation (?) were given. With a shield and what looks like a pike (weapon held close to figure's right side), what chess piece is it?  A pawn?  That was my first thought - but -- see the article after also posted below and compare the recovered piece to a "rook" from the Lewis chess pieces.  From Iceland Review Online

30.07.2011 | 10:57
Twelfth Century Chess Piece Discovered

A chess piece cut out of herringbone was among the objects found in an archeology expedition at Siglunes by Siglufjordur. According [to] Fréttabladid team leader Birna Lárusdóttir thinks that most likely the piece was cut out in Iceland in the 12th or 13th century. The group found remains of camps for fishermen in the area, which is now in danger because of waves breaking down the coast.

Siglunes is the farm of Thormódur rammi, the first settler in Siglufjördur according to Landnáma, the Book of Settlements in Iceland.

It is clear that the habitants had a lot to do. Besides the chess piece the team found a comb made of bone and dice for games. In addition some whale and fish bones were discovered, giving and indication of what was caught and eaten.

The chess piece was wearing a helmet and weapons.

Lárusdóttir said that she hopes that research will continue in Siglunes in the future.

**********************************************************************

31.07.2011 | 09:44
New Theory: The Lewis Chess Pieces Stem from Iceland

The discovery of a chess piece at Siglunes reported yesterday has strengthened engineer and chess enthusiast Gudmundur G. Thórarinsson in his belief in his new theory that a remarkable set of chess pieces, the Lewis Chessmen, is of Icelandic origin.

The Lewis Chessmen are a group of 78 chess pieces from the 12th century most of which are carved in walrus ivory, discovered in 1831 on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland. [Image: one of the warder or rook pieces from the Lewis cache of chess pieces, discovered in 1831. Scandinavian (Norwegian) (?) (ca. 1150-1200). Walrus ivory. H. 6 cm (2.4 in.). Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides, Scotland. © The Trustees of the British Museum.  Cf. to image of chess piece from Siglunes Farm.]

Until recently, the best guess among scholars and historians was that the chessmen probably originated in Trondheim, Norway. But in 2010, Gudmundur G. Thórarinsson put forward a compelling new theory about the enigma of the origin of these unique chess pieces.
Thórarinsson is best know as chairman of the Icelandic Chess Federation during the Fischer Spassky Match of the Century for the World Championship in Chess, held in Reykjavík in 1972. He was later member of Althingi, Iceland’s parliament. Thórarinsson is an impressive speaker and is well known for his supreme knowledge of Shakespeare's works, parts of which he knows by heart.

His tantalizing hypothesis -- based on circumstantial evidence -- is that the Lewis Chessmen might have been handcrafted in Iceland at the old workshop at Skálholt under the guidance of Bishop Páll Jónsson and his team of Margrét the Adroit, Thorsteinn the Schrinesmith and other craftsmen. (The ruins of the old workshop and its scrap heap is still lying there untouched, awaiting excavation).

Skálholt in southern Iceland, about an hours drive from Reykjavík, was the seat of the bishops from 1056 to 1801.

On Friday, August 19th, 2011, Skálholt will host a SYMPOSIUM on the possible origins of the mystical and most precious artifacts, the Lewis Chessmen, which date from the late 12th century. The Lewis Chessmen are the world's oldest chess pieces that bear the features of modern chessmen. [What is meant by the term "modern?"  For instance, the Afrasiab pieces, found in Iran and dating to the mid 700's CE, are clearly figural, not abstract as in the later Islamic style, and are universally acknowledged by chess historians as chess pieces from a set.]

The proposed Agenda for the Lewis Chessmen Symposium at Skálholt includes 6-7 short lectures (15-20 min. each) delivered by 2-3 esteemed scholars from overseas, e.g. David H. Caldwell from the National Museum of Scotland and James Robinson of the British Museum. Both of them have recently authored books on the enigma of the Lewis Chessmen. Next on the agenda will be Gudmundur G. Thórarinsson who will summarize and expound upon his new theory. Following Thórarinsson, several Icelandic scholars and professors will speak about Bishop Páll and the theme of the conference. The agenda will be further augmented by an open session. The Symposium will be held in English and is open to all.

A New Theory on the Origin of the Lewis Chess Pieces

Kudos to Dylan Loeb McClain for this article from his Gambit blog at The New York Times.

September 7, 2010, 12:30 pm
A New Theory on the Origin of the Lewis Chessmen
By DYLAN LOEB MCCLAIN

[Excerpted.]

"Oy vey!  A new theory on the Lewis Chess Pieces!"

Scholars have studied the pieces since they were discovered and say that based on the style of their carvings they were made between 1150 and 1200 A.D., most likely in Trondheim, Norway. On Saturday, Sept. 11, there will be a conference on the Lewis Chessmen at the Scottish national museums timed to coincide with a tour of some of the pieces, called “The Lewis Chessmen: Unmasked.”

The question of the provenance of the chessmen may seem academic, even trivial. But scholars say their design, how they were created, who created them, even why they were made reveal important clues to the history and development of the North Sea region.

The two men pushing Iceland as the birthplace of the pieces are two chess aficionados, Gudmundur G. Thorarinsson and Einar S. Einarsson. According to a Web site created to explain his theory, Mr. Thorarinsson is a civil engineer and a former member of the Icelandic Parliament. Mr. Einarsson, a former president of Visa Iceland and a friend of the late chess champion Bobby Fischer, is helping to promote the idea.

They wrote e-mails to the organizers of the Scottish conference asking that the Icelandic theory be added to the agenda, but they said they were told the schedule had already closed. Still, they say they plan to attend and discuss the idea with scholars there.

Rest of article.

***********************************************************************

It really is a shame that Thorarinsson and Einarsson weren't able to officially present their intriguing hypothesis to the Conference.  Unfortunately, pointed exclusion is a method that has so often been used to shut out the voices of people who disagree with the accepted line. 

Thank Goddess for the internet. 

Through its power, hypotheses and theories - no matter how far out they may seem - may now be discovered and pondered over.  It is no longer an academically controlled shut-out on people who like to think Outside The Box.  Isn't that what we are supposed to do?  Stimulate discussion.  Stimulate thinking.

Personally, I believe that Thorarinsson and Einarsson  have advanced a viable hypothesis that is worth further exploration and discussion.  Just off the cuff, I found the "bishop" information very compelling.  Check out their website: The Origin of the Lewis Chessmen. 

David Shenk on the Lewis Chess Pieces

I saw this at Susan Polgar's blog. 

It's an excellent piece giving a clear and concise history of the discovery and subsequent sale of the Lewis chess pieces (dated to about 1150 CE) in the early 1830s. 

I am a big fan of David Shenk.  His book "The Immortal Game: A History of Chess" is a wonderfully readable work that presents facts of chess history along with the suppositions of various authors on aspects of the ancient history and development of chess, all blended into a move-by-move description of  "The Immortal Game" - an actual chess game that took place in the mid-19th century -- a game that, ultimately, changed the way chess was played.  Someone with no prior knowledge of the game of chess will be able to read this book and afterward say "wow!"

The Battle Over the Lewis Chess Pieces Continues

From heraldscotland.com
Time to put treasures on display where they belong
Published on 30 Jul 2010
By Jennifer Cunningham

The 11 carved ivory pieces of the Lewis Chessmen belonging to the National Museum of Scotland have been joined by 25 of the 82 pieces held by the British Museum for a Scottish tour.

On display in Edinburgh until September 19, they will spend next summer in Stornoway, the museum nearest to where they were found at Uig in the west of Lewis.

The intricate 12th century carvings are the Scottish equivalent of the Koh-i-Noor diamond: unique, priceless and in safekeeping far from the place they were originally found. Both are the subject of campaigns to have them returned home and both raise similar questions over how disputes over custodianship of cultural artefacts of international importance should be resolved.

On an official visit to India designed to increase business between the two countries, David Cameron refused to return the Koh-i-Noor on the grounds that if every request were granted the British Museum would be emptied.

The literally priceless diamond (no gemmologist has put a value on it) means mountain of light but it also now betokens the murky dealings which haunt the provenance of some of the world’s greatest cultural artefacts.

The Koh-i-Noor was mined in India and seized by the British after they gained control of Punjab. It was presented to Queen Victoria and has been part of the British Crown Jewels for over 150 years. It was last worn by the late Queen Mother and displayed on top of her crown when her coffin lay in state after her death in 2002.

That firmly establishes its place in British culture but in India, a campaign for the return of the 105-carat diamond has attracted high-profile backers including Tushar Gandhi, great grandson of the leader of India’s independence movement, Mahatma Gandhi, who wants it returned as “atonement for the colonial past”. Labour politicians Keith Vaz and Tom Watson have suggested that a British government intent on a positive new partnership with India should seal it with a return of the fabled diamond.

That is not as easy as it sounds. There is substance to Cameron’s argument that granting one request would not only open the gates to more but would also empty the British Museum. It is well-known that Egypt wants the Rosetta Stone to be back in Cairo and Greece has been campaigning for 30 years for the Elgin Marbles to be returned to Athens and has even built the new Acropolis Museum to boost their case. Nigeria wants 900 historic bronzes back.

In addition the Koh-i-Noor, the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) has a list “too long to handle” of cultural treasures it wants foreign countries to return. Those in Britain include the Amravati railings, a series of limestone carvings dating from around AD100, acquired from a Buddhist temple in Andhra Pradesh by Victorian explorers and the Saraswati idol, a sculpture of the Hindu deity from the Bhoj temple.

A few museums have been willing to part with individual smaller items, such as the Ghost Shirt, taken from the body of a warrior at the Wounded Knee massacre and returned to the native American Lakota people by Glasgow City Council in 1999, and preserved Maori heads returned to New Zealand from Kelvingrove and Perth Museum. These are the easy cases as there is no appetite in the 21st century to hang on to grisly human remains and there is equal reluctance to deprive communities of religious significance.

Major items are a different matter. Most museums are reluctant to even enter talks about returning them, pointing out that in many cases they are banned by law or their founding articles from divesting their collections. The director of the British Museum, Neil MacGregor, is currently using a 100-episode series on BBC Radio 4 to demonstrate how the breadth and depth of its collection illustrates the inter­connection of cultures throughout the world over the last two million years.

This is the kernel of the argument; that far from being the souvenir collection of the British Empire’s pith-helmeted governing classes, the global range and significance of the collection is necessary to understand human history. It is bolstered by the fact that they have been preserved in optimum conditions, whereas many would have deteriorated had they remained in their country of origin.

In addition, they are on display to a public that does not have to pay to see them. The Crown Jewels, however, can only be viewed by paying the admission charge (£17 for an adult) to the Tower of London. It is a reminder that the economic gains from cultural tourism are an additional factor in many repatriation demands.

The difficulty of unravelling the historical complexities of what was seized as booty and what was bought legitimately has been recognised in the 1970 Unesco Convention requiring the return of illicitly traded artefacts, which cannot be applied retrospectively. That must not prevent action on recent thefts or unauthorised sales, such as the 9,000 artefacts looted from the Iraq Museum of Antiquities in the wake of the 2003 invasion.

Even if the thorny questions of ownership, entitlement and custodial expertise are resolved, the final question of where is home can prove equally tricky. It is a safe bet that when the travelling chessmen reach the Museum nan Eilean in Stornoway next summer, there will be a campaign for at least some of the pieces to be returned to Uig, particularly if the planned St Kilda Centre can provide sufficient security.

That will find popular appeal but those who support the theory that they were probably hidden in the sand dunes by someone shipwrecked en route from Norway may suggest they go to Scandinavia.

It is time to recognise that the most important thing is that such treasures are on public display. Wherever possible, that should be in the place they are most closely associated with.

That is more likely to be achieved by collaboration and agreeing loans than by acrimonious ownership contests that are doomed to failure.

************************************************************************

Yeah, and what she's not saying is what happens if the Scots decided not to give the on-loan Lewis pieces back once the show is over? 

I doubt England would send it the Army.  But there would be hell to pay if museums could no longer trust that artifacts loaned out to others would be returned per agreement.  Guess what - no more world tours of artifacts that otherwise one would only see in the pages of a purchased exhibit catalog (which are not exactly inexpensive) or online photographs - if available.  Many precious artifacts are not available in photographs, even from museums such as the British Museum, the Met and the Louvre, let alone lesser-known museums that hold equally precious artifacts, such as rare game boards and ancient gaming pieces. 

The Lewis Chessmen: Bewitching

From the Scotsman, Scotland on Sunday:

Dug up on a beach 180 years ago, Lewis Chessmen still have a bewitching effect
Date: 09 May 2010
By Peter Ross
TO walk into a room in Granton, in the north of Edinburgh, and see the Lewis chessmen set out on a table is one of those rare moments in life when the old saying about having your heart in your mouth seems less like a banal cliché and more a statement of visceral fact. I can feel the pulse and taste the blood. (Photo: National Museums of Scotland conservator Jane Clark with some of the pieces.  Love this photo because you get a real sense of the scale of these pieces, which are, as far as I can tell by looking, are from two different sets).

The chessmen are the most precious archaeological treasures ever discovered in Scotland. It is believed they were made in Trondheim, Norway, in the late 12th century and dug from the sands of Lewis's Atlantic coast in 1831. Yet here they are, huddled near the corner of the large white lab table, as if in the midst of a heated discussion over whether they should shin down the leg, make their way to the nearby Firth of Forth, and rebury themselves by the water. "No fighting now," says the conservator Jane Clark in mock-admonishment, plucking up a knight on horseback with one of her white-gloved hands; the pieces are so lifelike that one half expects a whinnying protest at this indignity.

We are in the collection centre of the National Museums Scotland (NMS), a bland modern building in which conservation work takes place and where objects are kept when not on display. The chess pieces are here to be checked, photographed and packed ahead of an exhibition, The Lewis Chessmen: Unmasked, which opens at the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh on 21 May and continues to Aberdeen, Lerwick and Stornoway. There will be 29 chessmen on display – six from NMS and 23 on loan from the British Museum in London – except during the Edinburgh run when the entire NMS collection will swell the total to 34.

Today, Jane Clark is letting me see all 11 NMS pieces and has grouped them by type – two kings, three queens, three bishops, one knight and two of the rook-like pieces known as warders. It feels jarringly anachronistic to see them in a modern workplace with someone on the radio droning about Nick Clegg and a mobile phone playing, rather gratifyingly, the theme to Raiders Of The Lost Ark.

The larger of the kings is the biggest piece – almost 10cm tall and 223.5 grams. The pieces are brownish-white, the colour of tobacco-stained teeth, and are made from the tusks of walruses hunted, most likely, in Greenland. They are covered in tiny grooves, like frost veins on a window pane, which are thought to be the marks left by insects burrowing in the white Lewis sand.

Most striking of all are the facial expressions. These are not the interchangeable symbolic pieces of a modern chess set. These figures seem frozen in the moment of feeling strong emotions. The larger king gives a saucer-eyed scowl and looks set to pull his sword from its scabbard. The queens, as if in response, seem flustered, their palms pressed to their cheeks; it's an expression familiar from The Broons (there were 11 in that family, too) when Paw does something that leaves Maw black-affronted. The queens, could they speak, might well be saying "Crivvens!"

It's the warders, though, that are most compelling. One, usually referred to as a "berserker", looks terrified at the thought of going into battle. He is biting the top of his shield with five tiny teeth. He's a comic figure in a way, though oddly moving too. He seems to say something about what we ask of soldiers in our contemporary wars, and how heroism is largely a matter of continuing to function in frightening situations. It's daft, but I feel for him.

The chessmen have always had this ability to move us. Thousands, perhaps millions of eyes have gazed upon them over the years and found the encounter rich. Sir Walter Scott spent an hour contemplating them on 17 October, 1831, the day they were brought to the British Museum and offered for sale; more than a century later, visits to see the chessmen at the museum inspired Oliver Postgate and Peter Firmin to make The Saga Of Noggin The Nog, the 1960s animated series. How strange and delicious to think that the creators of Ivanhoe and Ivor the Engine can be linked by these ancient objects.

"He's one of my favourites," says Clark of the berserker. "I also like the knight 'cos he's in such a sorry state." She's responding to the knight's vulnerability – it is the most worn of the pieces – as if it is a person. It seems that anyone who spends prolonged periods with the chessmen can't help but perceive them in that way.

"Maybe I should be smacked for thinking these thoughts," says Dr David Caldwell, the curator who has been responsible for the pieces since 1973, "but you get very possessive about your collections. You see them as being yours, though I don't think in an unhealthy way. Undoubtedly I see them as part of my family. I do have those feelings. Somebody asked me fairly recently if I knew what their names were. I haven't actually said, 'Right, he's Robinvald and he's Angus,' but the fact is that I do know a lot of likely names one could call them, and I have actually personalised them deep down in me."

The question is why should people feel so strongly about the chessmen? In part, surely, because they are figurative; indeed, colloquial accounts of their discovery relate that the islanders referred to them as "fairy folk". It's even said that Malcolm "Sprot" Macleod, the crofter who is believed to have uncovered them, was so unsettled by their appearance that he ran home in alarm to his wife. She, like Maw Broon or a Norse queen, told him to not be so daft and to go back and get them. But there is something more. Standing over the chessmen in the NMS lab, the desire to reach out and lift one, or even just lay a finger on a crown, is very strong (as is the converse impulse to run away in case I break them). This, I think, is key to their attraction. It's easy to imagine them being held by hands which have themselves long turned to bone. They are a tangible link to the people of the past, and because they are gaming pieces they say something rather poignant about human pleasure and intellect. The men and women who played with these, we might think, were not so different from us.

The chessmen also derive glamour from their mysterious origins. No one knows for sure where they were made or how they came to be on Lewis, and last year Dr David Caldwell published research claiming that they may have been discovered in the machair by Mèalasta, a village now deserted, six miles south of the point on the beautiful Uig sands which has long been considered the true "findspot".

Caldwell's theory has not found favour with Comann Eachdraidh Uig, the local historical society. Its members continue to maintain that the chessmen – which they pointedly call the Uig chessmen – were found by Malcolm Macleod in the Bealach Bàn, a hollow in the dunes near what is now the village of Ardroil. "It's absolutely consistent throughout our oral tradition going back that that's where they came from," says the society's treasurer Sarah Egan. "Something that happened 180 years ago is really no distance away. The population has been pretty consistent. For someone who is 80 now, their grandfather would have had it as a child that the chessmen were found there and by Malcolm."

Macleod's living descendants on Lewis keep a low profile. It's said, though, that he sold the chessmen to a merchant from Stornoway who took them to the Scottish mainland. Not long after his discovery, Macleod's village fell victim to the Clearances and he moved to the north of the island, dying within ten years. The chessmen, meanwhile, were divided and sold in both Edinburgh and London.

There's also a tantalising possibility that further pieces may have been sold in secret to private collectors. James Robinson of the British Museum jokes that he always looks out for them on Antiques Roadshow. "And I never dismiss anyone who tells me they have one. Every month I get at least one enquiry about a potential find of a chessman, but invariably they turn out to be resin copies that we've made here."

Greater than the controversy over where the chessmen came from is that over where they should be kept in future. Scottish Nationalist politicians have long argued that the 82 pieces held in London should be returned to Lewis, and the issue has gained a greater urgency since the SNP came to power. "They are the Lewis chessmen," says the MP Angus MacNeil, whose constituency includes the island. "Seeing them in their own natural setting would fire the imagination, people would understand the background better, and they would be appreciated more."

Unsurprisingly, this view is not shared by the British Museum and, according to Sarah Egan, there is no great demand locally for the entire hoard of chessmen to return permanently to the island "where nobody will see them". Even National Museums Scotland takes the view that the situation is best left as it is. "But if my fairy godmother waved a magic wand and gave me the rest," says David Caldwell, "then, of course, I am only human."

At the end of my visit to the NMS lab, Jane Clark packs the chessmen back into the silver carrying case which may transport them on their forthcoming tour. It's a brief return to the darkness for treasures which have and will continue to brighten the lives of all who return their unblinking ivory gaze.

Lewis Chess Pieces Back in the News (Again)

This is turning into the never-ending story. Image from the British Museum.

http://www.pressandjournal.co.uk/Article.aspx/1639532

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/scotland/highlands_and_islands/8559305.stm

http://news.scotsman.com/inverness/Lewis-chessmen-must-stay-in.6141066.jp