"I, of course, was aware of the mysterious charm of this "royal game". The one and only of all those that man invented that is not bind to the tyranny of luck and grants glory only to those outwitting their opponents, or to those having a certain kind of intelligence. But, by calling chess a "game", don't we demote it? Isn't it art, a sciense of itself, maybe something between the two, like Muhammad's sarcofagus, that lies between earth and the sky, a synthesis unique, that joins the opposite pairs? Ancient, and still, always new. Mechanical regarding its composition, works only with creativity. Restrained to a close geometrical frame but at the same time its combinations are countless. Constantly developing but always dry. A thought that leads to nothing, an algebra that solves nothing, an art with no exhibits, an architecture without material."

 

Abstract from Stefan Zweig's last novel "The Royal Game" (Schachnovelle). The translation was done by myself from the original, please don't try to quote it as it is written here, you might be laughed at.