In this blog post, after reading Stefan Zweig’s “The Royal Game,” I followed the two intertwined narratives within the work to reflect on human reason and psychology, as well as the violence of fascism, as revealed through the game of chess.
“The Royal Game” is said to be Stefan Zweig’s final work, written between 1941 and 1942, and one of his most famous works. After being first published in Portuguese in September 1942, a limited edition of 300 copies was published in German on December 7 of the same year, and it was published in Europe in Stockholm in 1943. The English edition was released in New York in 1944, and even after its publication as a paperback in 1974, it has remained a steady bestseller, with over 1.2 million copies sold to date.
This work is structured as two stories nested within one another like a frame. While the chess match taking place on a passenger ship traveling from New York to Buenos Aires serves as the outer narrative, it contains within it the story of Dr. B., a mysterious gentleman. On one side is Mirko Centovic, a young man who is nearly illiterate, greedy, and ignorant, yet possesses a natural talent for chess; on the other is Dr. B., a lawyer who once served as the secret financial advisor to the royal family and a monastery.
Dr. B.’s story begins when he is suddenly arrested by the Gestapo one day. He is confined to a hotel cell completely cut off from the outside world and forced to live in solitary confinement. During this time, he stumbles upon a stolen chess manual and teaches himself the game, gradually becoming more and more absorbed in it. Eventually, he splits his self into two and reaches the point of playing blindfold chess, plunging into severe mental turmoil. The process of learning and mastering chess—which initially served as a means to endure isolation and despair—is impressively portrayed as driving him toward yet another extreme.
What I found particularly fascinating while reading this work was how actual historical events, the author’s personal experiences, and his interpretation of the era were exquisitely interwoven into a single narrative. The real-life model for Dr. B. is said to be Louis Nathaniel von Rothschild, who was confined to the Metropol Hotel for 14 months in 1938. Furthermore, although Stefan Zweig himself is said to have had little expertise in chess, he reportedly drew on Chess Master Tartakower’s book ‘Ultra-Modern Chess Matches’ to create the dramatic chess scenes in the story. The scene in which Dr. B., who happened to witness the chess match between Centovic and MacConner’s group, intervenes in the game while recalling the 1922 match between Alekhine and Bogolyubov also appears to have been created against this backdrop.
Considering the circumstances of the era in which Stefan Zweig lived, it feels as though Dr. B. embodies the image of the educated Austrian middle class of that time, which had no choice but to succumb to fascism. Strictly speaking, this image may also represent the author himself. In contrast, the caricatured figure of Centovic can be seen as a projection of Hitler. Viewing these two characters in contrast, one realizes that the work as a whole is permeated not merely by a chess match, but by a clash between different worlds and types of people.
From this perspective, the process by which Dr. B. ultimately loses the chess match takes on even greater significance. Cento’s attitude reminds him of the torture he himself endured, and these memories push his psychological burden to the breaking point. Ultimately, he is unable to fully maintain his rationality on the chessboard. Considering that one of the Nazis’ greatest weapons was psychological warfare against the masses, this scene feels less like a mere demonstration of victory or defeat in chess and more like a depiction of the power of violence to shatter the human spirit.
Chess is a highly rational, abstract, and at the same time psychological game based on human rationality. However, if this rationality is used—as in Centovic’s case—for the purpose of blind self-preservation and the pursuit of personal gain, it inevitably degenerates into a mere tool. This point struck me as particularly significant in ‘The Royal Game’. This is because reason itself does not save humanity; rather, depending on the purpose for which it is used, it can produce entirely different outcomes.
That is why I came to believe that Zweig was expressing the harrowing reality of that era—when his books were burned and he was ultimately forced into exile—on the chessboard. While the chessboard may appear to be a space where two people compete intellectually, it also contains the violence of the era, the human psyche, and the corruption and destruction of reason. In that sense, the chessboard in the work felt less like a mere space for a game and more like a space that condenses and illustrates the tragedy of contemporary Europe.
It was also striking that “The Chess Story” was written in the form of a novella rather than a conventional novel. A novella refers to a relatively short prose or verse form that recreates a curious event—one that could actually occur—through concise description. Originating with Boccaccio, the novella form—centered on “new events”—developed in 18th-century Germany through the works of Wieland, Goethe, and the German Romantic writers, and is said to have reached its heyday in the 19th century.
It is said that Stefan Zweig deliberately chose the writing style of 19th-century novella authors such as the Austrian writer Adalbert Stifter, the Swiss writer Konrad Meyer, and the German writer Theodor Storm. This led me to reflect on how, even in terms of form, he was carrying on the tradition of the great educated middle class. It was fascinating to note that not only the content of the work but also the form in which it is presented reflects the cultural traditions and historical consciousness of the author’s era.
I felt that the strength of this novella lies in the fact that the unprecedented events unfolding consecutively in each chapter not only intensely captivate the reader’s attention but also create dramatic tension through character types with distinct characteristics. Because formal and narrative tension work in tandem, the story unfolds rapidly despite the work’s brevity, and every single action of the characters leaves a strong impression.
Perhaps because of these characteristics, “The Chess Story” has often been used as a textbook for students and was even adapted into a film in 1960 by director Gert Oswald. In January 2021, a new film adaptation directed by Philip Stölzl was planned but reportedly postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. This work has been adapted not only into a film but also into an audiobook and a radio drama, and in 2012, it was presented as an opera by Spanish composer Cristóbal Jiménez-Encina.
After reading ‘The Chess Story’, one finds oneself reflecting longer not on the game of chess itself, but on how the human psyche and the tragedies of the era are superimposed upon the chessboard. For one person, chess is a means of demonstrating talent and securing personal gain, while for another, it becomes the last mental tool for enduring isolation and torture. And when that tool becomes too powerful, it can ultimately shatter the human spirit. Through this contrast, the work illustrates how reason can be a powerful force, yet how easily it can be corrupted into a mere tool.
Ultimately, “The Chess Story” is not merely a work about a chess match; rather, it can be read as a tale in which human reason, psychology, the instinct for self-preservation, and the violence of the era—namely, fascism—collide on the confines of a chessboard. Given how densely it captures both historical reality and the human psyche within the concise format of a novella, it is easy to understand why the work has endured for so long and been adapted into various forms.
