Jan Timman - Timmans Titans: My World Chess Champions

Alexander Alekhine

The first time I saw the Largo do Chiado was in winter. Light snow was whirling down, old trams were riding by, and steam rose from a stall where chestnuts were being roasted. A shock of recognition went through me, only it wasnt caused by the atmosphere but by the architecture. Or perhaps it was the combination of the two, but the architecture must have been overriding, for I must have seen old illustrated books on Lisbon already in my youth.

It was dj vu. For a long time I had been strolling uphill through the cold, through this quarter that had been blackened by a big fire.

There were many bookstores all around the square, there was a pleasant bustle, so this had to be the beating heart of the city. True to custom, I bought a pocket dictionary, Portuguese-English and vice-versa this time. It was late in the afternoon, and the square was already covered by a dark shade. I drank a glass of red wine in an old caf with a magnificent wall clock.

I had come to Lisbon to give a lecture. I had received a letter of invitation from Marinus Luyks, a Dutchman who had been living in Portugal for quite some time. It was a hand-written, three-page letter. He had no email, and not even a fax machine, and so he wrote this letter. Those written lines might have been enough for me to realize that time seemed to have been standing still in Lisbon. The letter had been written in the early summer of 2004. An annual chess festival had been organized in Lisbon for many years in late November and early December.

In the old ramshackle building where the festival took place, I held my discourse in the early evening of the day after my arrival. In the morning, I drank coffee in one of the cafeterias you often come across in Spanish cities as well. My lecture was titled The life of a chess player. Unconsciously, I must have been thinking of the novel Het leven op aarde (Life on Earth) by the Dutch writer J.J.Slauerhoff; anyway, this association didnt enter my mind until several months after I wrote the lecture.

The main characters in Slauerhoffs novels are loners. That was also how I often felt certainly at my arrival in Lisbon. The fados, the general atmosphere: loneliness forced itself upon me.

Of course I met people there. Juan Pereira was a philosopher in his mid-forties, balding and energetic. He had organized the lecture, and the day of the lecture was also his birthday.

During the lecture I told some anecdotes about Misha Tal, the World Champion from Riga, who had led an adventurous life just like Slauerhoff. Afterwards, more questions were asked about the writer than about the chess player. A large man, past sixty and long-haired, kept asking questions about Life on Earth, about which I had been talking. The man had lived a long part of his life in Macao, the former Portuguese colony where the novel started.

When question time was over, we went downstairs to the bar. Big balloons with Portuguese cognac were brought in, and calor gas burners were standing ready to warm them up. This was just a little too much for me. I left the bar.

Close to the large wooden door leading out of the building was a bookstall. I picked up an almost square hardcover book. On its green cover was written in gold letters: Schachgenie Aljechin, Mensch und Werk.

The authors were Hans Mller and A.Pawelczak. I knew Mller from his manual Z speelt Botwinnik (Botvinnik Teaches Chess), which I had studied with great devotion in my youth.

I opened the book and saw a photo of the participants at the Semmering tournament in 1926. That was how these pictures were made in the day. Most of the participants were standing. A smaller group was sitting before them in armchairs, with a small table standing in between them. On the far right was Akiba Rubinstein; his face made a tortured, tired impression. Aaron Nimzowitsch could be seen on the far left, aggrieved and grudging. At least, that was my impression. In the middle was Siegbert Tarrasch, eminent and unassailable, in a three-piece costume. To his left sat Alexander Alekhine. His armchair was comfortable, but he didnt look relaxed at all. You could see his characteristic agitated nervousness in his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to sit down at the board as soon as possible.