By Stefan Zweig
Chess Story, often referred to as The Royal Game, is the Austrian grasp Stefan Zweig's ultimate success, accomplished in Brazilian exile and despatched off to his American writer in simple terms days sooner than his suicide in 1942. it's the simply tale during which Zweig seems at Nazism, and he does so with attribute emphasis at the psychological.
Travelers by way of send from big apple to Buenos Aires locate that on board with them is the area champion of chess, an conceited and unfriendly guy. they arrive jointly to attempt their talents opposed to him and are soundly defeated. Then a mysterious passenger steps ahead to recommend them and their fortunes swap. How he got here to own his notable clutch of the sport of chess and at what rate lie on the center of Zweig's story.
This new translation of Chess Story brings out the work's strange mix of excessive suspense and poignant mirrored image.
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Additional resources for Chess Story
He was disappointed at the useless pic of Miss Topchev; perhaps that had summoned his mood of pessimism. Or was there more to come? m. New York time, an appointment with General Nitz’ rep, a colonel named—God, what was his name? Anyhow, at that time Lars would receive the Board’s reaction to the last batch of mockups constructed by Lanferman Associates in San Francisco from earlier Mr. Lars, Incorporated, sketches. “Haskins,” Lars said. ” the KACH-man said. “It’s Colonel Haskins. Do you know,” he said meditatively to Henry Morris, “that Nitz has fairly regularly avoided having anything to do with me, lately?
History had taken a decisive new turn … and all because of a few beans frozen in the snow which the defenders of Vienna had discovered after the Turks had withdrawn. And here, already in a booth, cup in hand, sat small, pretty Miss Bedouin, with her pointed silver-tipped breasts fashionably in sight. She greeted him as he entered. “Mr. Lars! ” “Okay,” he said, and he and Pete shuffled and squeezed in on both sides of her. Surveying Miss Bedouin, Pete interlaced his fingers and rested his hairy arms on the table of the booth.
No,” Miss Bedouin said. ” “Process-server,” Lars said; the elderly, short gentleman had an official look to him. ” he asked. The elderly gentleman said haltingly, “Mr. ” “That’s me,” Lars said; evidently his guess had been correct. “Autograph collector,” Miss Bedouin said, in triumph. “He wants your autograph, Mr. ” “He’s not a bum,” Pete added reflectively. “Look at that stickpin in his tie. That’s a real cut stone. But who today wears—” “Mr. Lars,” the elderly gentleman said, and managed to seat himself precariously at the rim of the booth.
Chess Story by Stefan Zweig