1. Luigi Einaudi and Books: A Lifelong Relationship

Einaudi and books, a combination that immediately, and pour cause, convey to the sensational collection, the fruit of an early passion that was as intense as it was lifelong and immortalised in the monumental catalogue compiled with exceptional expertise by Dora Spinazzola Franceschi is akin to a “sweet flounder” for anyone afflicted, even mildly, by bibliophilia.

Anyone who has browsed the catalogues of antiquarian bookshops, particularly the more illustrious ones, will be familiar with the frequent reference to the Einaudi collection mentioned just after the title. Its inclusion enhances the significance of works in the fields of economics and political history, while its absence underscores their rarity.

In the listings of legendary antiquarian dealers like London’s Quaritch, the Dutch firm Gerrits, and Italy’s Il Polifilo and Pregliasco, or even in contemporary platforms like Abebooks, the notation “not in Einaudi’s” serves as a mark of distinction.

Yet, the subject of “Einaudi and Books” encompasses a field with a much broader scope, a field which assigns a privileged space to the celebrated bibliophile where his “love for books” merely scratches the surface of a relationship that spanned his entire life. This relationship is vividly illustrated by the moving testimony of Antonio d'Aroma, Einaudi’s devoted collaborator, who described the "protective covers of readings that accompanied Einaudi to life’s threshold: Essais by Montaigne, Elective Affinities by Goethe, L’Ancien Régime by Tocqueville, Romans et nouvelles by Stendhal, and works by Goldoni and Leopardi”.

The relation to books, and through books — whether read, written, to be written or only planned, consulted, reviewed, recommended, purchased, exchanged, or restored—offers a lens through which to fully - although this adverb may induce a suspicion of presumption - understand Einaudi's multifaceted personality. As delighted as Montaigne, he regarded books as as “la meilleure munition que j'aye trouvé à cet humain voyage” (the best provision I have found for this human journey). Einaudi’s eclecticism and his identity as a “scientist, statesman, banker, politician, economist, magister, professor and educator” emerge with remarkable clarity when viewed through his unique relationship with books—nourishment for the mind and solace for the soul. Books “the printed things that stirred his mind, stimulated his interest, aroused his restless curiosity, satisfied his acute hunger, stirred his passion” throughout his life. Books, “objects” so closely intertwined with his existential vicissitude that they were, not infrequently, taken as a temporal reference or context of facts and events narrated, evoked, recalled.

These notes have no other purpose but inviting readers to explore a space teeming with intellectual provocations and insights. It is a journey that may induce bibliophilic fervour, given the extraordinary richness, variety, and depth of Einaudi’s thoughts. Yet, the rewards far outweigh the risks: the cultural landscape he unveils to a reader-wanderer offers not only a fertile ground for intellectual exploration with arduous ascents succeeded by flat expanses, but also a rare clarity of argument and style. With its alternation of registers and rhythms, every reader can accommodate his “dimension” of reading in line with curiosity and interests, ensuring that few emerge from the experience unmoved.

Even those well-acquainted with Einaudi’s world may be surprised by the depth of his pedagogical vocation: “a tireless and steadfast commitment to moral and intellectual education, always wisely balanced and occasionally tempered by a trace of ancestral scepticism”. His civil pedagogy is evident in works like Prediche inutili (Useless Sermons) and Buon governo (Good government), as well as in the Cronache (Chronicles), a collection brimming with public wisdom. But beyond these, Einaudi's writings deliver an ongoing lesson he deploys page after page across diverse occasions and places and circumstances.

Starting from a “as one should” or from a “as one should not”, Einaudi explains, illustrates, constructs, and deconstructs, in order to offer to present-day readers — often overwhelmed by the complexity of modern realities and stunned by the deluge of information often misled by crude and instrumental simplifications — some not ephemeral food for thoughts. His polemical edge, though sharp, can not veil his clear reasoning nor alter its substantial calmness. It ignores incendiary tones or hyperbole. Instead, he places unwavering trust in the power of reason and the persuasiveness of knowledge.

To immerse oneself in Einaudi’s bibliography, for those who are not deterred by its size, is to embark on an intellectual and cultural odyssey. When going through titles, the breadth of his interests, the rigorous methodology of his analysis, and his exceptional work ethic are strikingly evident in his prolific output. Gleaning haphazardly, a reader will never have reason to remain disappointed for each title, true to its promise, opens vistas of thought that vary in scope, breadth and depth but are united by their clarity, rigour, and intellectual honesty constantly practiced with scrupulous punctiliousness.

The division of these notes into paragraphs is merely a functional accommodation for the reader’s “times”. In truth, this is a stretch since books are a constant thread running through Einaudi’s biography. This reality underlies and forms the bedrock of his work just as his life.

2. The Book “Pipeline” : from Paper to a Bibliographical Rarity

Prominent figures who shared Luigi Einaudi’s passion for books, and who, through their personal interactions with him—albeit to varying degrees—offer invaluable firsthand accounts, have dedicated significant reflections to the bibliophile Einaudi. Foremost among these is the distinguished scholar Luigi Firpo, whose own library resides within the same historic building as Einaudi’s: the Palazzo D’Azeglio in Turin. Together, these neighbouring collections constitute indispensable cultural landmarks for scholars of political science and economics.

Another notable figure is Alberto Vigevani, a distinguished antiquarian bookseller and a man of refined cultural sensibilities. Vigevani served as Einaudi’s “supplier,” “correspondent”, and literary interlocutor. Many hours were spent in Vigevani’s Milanese bookshop on Via Borgonuovo, where Einaudi could be found perusing catalogues, debating books and editions, and negotiating prices or proposing exchanges of “duplicates.” Antonio d’Aroma, meanwhile, shared a bond with Einaudi that was almost filial in nature. Their relationship, which originated during Einaudi’s tenure at the Bank of Italy, was further enriched and solidified by enduring “family memories.”

Luigi Einaudi stands out as a singular figure in his relationship with books. An insatiable “hunter” of volumes, he often sought out specific editions of works, and, with a philologist’s meticulousness, assembled collections encompassing all editions of certain texts published over time. His passion extended to corresponding with an extraordinary range of individuals, including those scarcely known or entirely obscure, whom he identified through tenuous clues as potential owners or sellers of coveted works. Yet, Einaudi was far removed from the archetype of the “pure bibliophile,” a category which, as Raffaele Mattioli remarked, is akin to that of “philatelists” who collect stamps but rarely will use them.

As Luigi Firpo exuberantly observed, “This type of bibliophile, like a miser, guards his treasures with jealous fervour, delights in the pristine beauty of his specimens, revels in their rarity and value, and stores them not on shelves but in vaults. Such a collector derives sterile lust from each tile arduously added to his incomplete mosaic—a mosaic destined to remain unfinished, even if he were to live for a thousand years[…] Fortunately, however there exists another form of bibliophilia, enlightened and constructive. This variety eschews ostentatious vanity and prioritises content. It pursues rarity not for rarity’s sake but to extract uncommon insights. It employs a systematic approach to compensate with industrious competence of the gatherer for the disjointed and fragmented nature of public collections, which are often unrealistically universal in their aims. Each acquisition and discovery contributes to an organic tapestry, transforming a personal collection into an indispensable tool for scholarship—both for the collector and for future generations.”

Luigi Firpo paints a compelling portrait of the bibliophile Einaudi, to which Alberto Vigevani adds a vivid brushstroke:

“He combined his love of books with an almost obsessive punctiliousness— verging on mania - in appreciating books also for their physical attributes: the quality of the paper, the bindings, their qualities and even their flaws. He meticulously catalogued them, uncovering their hidden values and provenance on top to their content with the most tenacious determination to acquire them under the best possible conditions…a behaviour… which blended together passion, cultural refinement, and economic acumen—the very traits that define a true antiquarian bookseller”.

Einaudi cherished books “as a scholar does, to use them.” This attitude, which he ascribed to Adam Smith, did not refrain him from making a stiff lip when perusing Alfred Marshall’s library catalogue:

“Marshall’s catalogue - he wrote - is far inferior to those of his predecessors: Morellet, Smith, McCulloch, Papadopoli and others — all of which were compiled by individuals who loved not only the content of books but also their aesthetic appeal… Marshall treated books as mere tools for work, showing no intention to build comprehensive collections on any subject. He often mishandled his materials, tearing apart magazines to extract articles of interest and discarding the rest”.

Einaudi was a patient and methodical hunter of books, attuned to the faintest hints of availability. He pursued volumes with relentless focus, whether for scholarly studies, erudite readings, or to reconstruct the intellectual and historical trajectories of authors and schools of thought after grasping the head of the knot he possibly tracked the various paths. His aim was not merely acquisition but understanding, tracing connections, confirming insights, and, where necessary, exploring their wider ramifications. Einaudi - Firpo vividly described - did not miss: “an indefatigable vigilance and a painstaking, dogged patience. Month after month, he meticulously combed through hundreds of catalogues from across the globe. He braved dusty and dark shops, rummaged through stalls and obscure warehouses, and remembered, one by one, the thousands of volumes he already owned to avoid duplication. At every turn, he weighed opportunities and assessed the worth of his acquisitions with unerring judgment”.

Einaudi did not shy away from modest “author’s proofs”. He regarded these as indispensable sources of documentation and knowledge as well as mainstream publication:

“The book of a minister or a well-known politician, of an industrialist, or of a farmer is not purchased for its contribution to the construction of science, which, in most cases, is negligible. Such a book is an action, and its significance lies in the influence it may exert, rightly or wrongly, on the actions of others. The history of social movements and economic measures is reconstructed, to a considerable extent, through books, pamphlets, and printed sheets, which, if not collected immediately, become exceedingly difficult to gather later”.

While Einaudi’s relationship with books naturally stemmed from his intellectual “pursuits”—where books served as the primary raw material for his work—it was the extraordinary breadth of his activities and the diversity of his interests that defy any attempt to confine his connection with books to a single disciplinary framework. For Einaudi, books represented “the connective tissue of my life as a scholar”.

This profound relationship represents a distilled essence of his personality, expressed through a meticulous exploration of every conceivable recess of a book and its role. For Einaudi, books were simultaneously objects, masterpieces of genius and tangible artefacts, tools for acquiring knowledge and “commoditie”. Approaching books, Einaudi alternated between various roles: the scholar and economic specialist, the exacting philologist, the editor of the Collezione di scritti inediti o rari di economisti (Collection of unpublished or rare writings by economists), and the uncompromising critic of similar editorial initiatives that failed to uphold the same scrupulous standards of fidelity to the “original”. He was also the discerning advocate for the “cultured individual, seeking to acquire the knowledge […] necessary to interpret daily occurrences and pass judgment on pressing contemporary issues.” As a reviewer of new publications, Einaudi brought acute discernment and erudition to his evaluations. He navigated an already hypertrophied publishing landscape with incisive arguments and thoughtful analysis, offering guidance to scholars and prospective readers alike.

For the economist and the scholar of the history of economic thought, Einaudi’s collection of reviews written for La Riforma Sociale constitutes a significant corpus in its own right. It serves as an invaluable reservoir for specialists, offering insights that are either unpublished or long overlooked. For authors, publishers, and editors, these reviews form a compendium—an extraordinary manual of editorial rigour—worthy of constant consultation, both as a guide and as a safeguard against errors, such as those that “occurred in the reprinting of Ferrara’s works”.

Einaudi combined the precision of an entomologist with the tenacity of a bloodhound. He dissected, classified, and pursued elusive traces, drawing evidence from a myriad of sources. Yet, the driving force behind this relentless pursuit was an insatiable intellectual curiosity, one that never sought a final destination but rather stages along a journey — a journey that spanned the entirety of his life.

Antonio d’Aroma poignantly captured the essence of Einaudi’s spirit:

“Accurate information, erudite anecdotes, precise historical references, and the systematic narration of concrete facts were the free currency of the elder statesman’s intellectual realm. He remained tirelessly devoted to acquiring new knowledge, ever willing to acknowledge his own ignorance as a means to fill gaps and dispel uncertainties”.

Einaudi’s curiosity extended with equal fervour to grand questions just like to minute details, irrespective of whether he approached them as a bibliophile, an economist, or a farmer. Consider, for instance, his correspondence with Cavalier Pio Amori, a skilled book restorer. In sending the volume La Venaria Reale, Einaudi provided detailed instructions: “There is nothing to be done on the inside [...] the only repairs required are to the spine of the binding. Avoid alterations; simply reinforce the upper section [...] On the back plate, there is also a scratch—please see if anything can be done about this” (letter, 21 November 1951).

Addressing the ruling class a nation depleted by four years of conflict, he offered pragmatic solutions to settle the temporary “shortage of string”, which threatened “ a really pressing problem[a delay of the harvest] whose gravity was perhaps not fully appreciated by public opinion” but upon which “the nation’s resilience in the war depended.”

His curiosity, eventually, takes steps from his profound rejection of intellectual conformism, from his structural aversion to dominant ideologies.

He described himself his motivation as “wandering, driven by curiosity to read the original texts of those already labelled.”

3. “They Seek out the Wisdom of all the Ancients”

Luigi Einaudi appears to have modelled his intellectual ethos on this verse taken from the wisdom of Sirach, grounding his life’s conduct in its timeless principle. Across various settings and circumstances, he consistently underscored—sometimes overtly, sometimes with subtlety—the indispensability of a rigorous method in research, study, and the dissemination of knowledge. This method was characterised by a resolute commitment to “returning to the source” and seeking out “the origins.” His approach aimed to forestall the risk of “accumulating important facts and information without substance” or delivering “interpretations […] fashionable at the moment”. For Einaudi, this was not merely a methodological preference but a deeply held creed. It found expression in myriad forms—sometimes it “sneaks out” from his words, at other times, one can grasp it - by coincidence from unrelated contexts—always conveyed with the tenacity of one who understood that scholarship offers no shortcuts, regardless of the path chosen by the researcher, author, or thinker. For Einaudi there was no difference whether reflecting on how to structure a political economy textbook, composing a history volume for schools, designing a sociology text, planning the reprinting of classical works, or delving into the financial history of Turin during the 1706 siege.

4. “On the road” with Books

On top of the passion lying on his core, Einaudi was somehow “compelled” to travel in the company of his books. This necessity was not merely incidental but intrinsic to the multifaceted activity and the historical and environmental conditions of his traveling.

Today’s scholars benefit from a vast array of digital tools as unlimited Web or data repository with library catalogues. They can easily access the ever-expanding digital library resources. They can hardly identify with the condition and needs of a colleague born and educated in the 19th century.

At the close of the 19th century, universities and research institutions were few and far between, public libraries were scarce and often poorly resourced, and private collections were indispensable for any serious intellectual work. Public libraries of the time were frequently assembled through “donations, confiscations, or acquisitions made by librarians whose expertise lay more in librarianship but not […] than in the specific disciplines of the scope to their libraries”. As a result, these libraries were often “very rich in some disciplines and very poor in others.”

Einaudi’s library, meticulously assembled to serve the diverse needs of its owner, offers a profound testament to the depth and breadth of his analyses. Beyond its intrinsic value as a collection, it reflects the rigorous intellectual foundation underpinning his prolific output as a professor, essayist, journalist, and civic polemicist.

While Einaudi’s devotion to books was undoubtedly rooted in a reverence for their role as vehicles for disseminating ideas, culture, and civilisation. A cult of which Einaudi was a faithful priest; a zealous officiant. The vast array of interests and topics represented in his library also illustrates the broader ethos of the “ruling class” of his time. This was an era in which those entrusted with public responsibilities embraced a moral obligation to cultivate their cultural, intellectual, and professional capacities to the fullest extent.

A poignant illustration of this ethos is found in Einaudi’s initial hesitation to contribute an essay to a collection to be honored to Benedetto Croce on his 80th birthday. While Einaudi ultimately overcame his reservations, he prefaced his essay with a note that sheds light on his inner struggle: “I hesitated for many reasons, of which I recall only one: since the beginning of 1945, I have lost contact with those who were always, along with my true and few friends, my greatest friends—books. Instead of leafing through and reading books, I read papers and memoirs”.

5. Between Libraries and Catalogues: Different Models for a One Purpose only, Knowledge

Catalogues—whether originating from the collections of distinguished bibliophiles, eminent economists, major libraries, antiquarian booksellers, or humble second-hand dealers—were an enduring focus of Luigi Einaudi's scholarly attention.

Much like his "Viaggio tra i suoi libri" (Journey among his books), Einaudi embarked on other intellectual explorations through notable collections, meticulously studying and analysing their catalogues. These readings were focused on making meaningful connections and comparisons or critical evaluations. Under Einaudi’s keen and methodical gaze, a catalogue was transformed into an animated creature. Well beyond a mere inventory of authors and titles, it became an annotated repertory, enriched with references, cross-references, and insightful commentary, almost as if it were an additional “piece” of the book collection it described. Einaudi’s incisive observations lent these catalogues some “preciousness”. It is therefore unsurprising that Einaudi lamented the paucity of “printed catalogues of books belonging to economists.”

Occasionally, however, this lament was mitigated by noteworthy initiatives providing bibliographical tools that enabled scholars to “locate” books with greater ease. “The announced volume is a wonderful thing”: this is how he welcomed the publication of the Kress Library catalogue for which he shared a detailed review with the scholarly community in his characteristic manner, infusing his analysis with both erudition and rigorous scrutiny.

However, it goes without saying that not all catalogues held equal merit also in Einaudi’s eyes. Alongside those documenting great collections, there were the more modest lists compiled by publishers, booksellers, and librarians of varying, and sometimes questionable, competence. Einaudi approached even these less polished works with a sense of duty. He noted: “Browsing through catalogues of new and old books is the unremarkable occupation of those who, for the sake of their studies, must stay informed about what is being published day by day, as well as about books that have gone out of print…; or of those conducting research on a particular subject who must first assemble what is often called a bibliography”.

While this painstaking reconnaissance work was burdensome even for seasoned scholars, Einaudi observed that it posed an even greater challenge “for the general public which in fact, does not leaf through catalogues, does not use them,” yet often aspires to read in order to “increase the wealth of their intellectual knowledge.” While this aspiration is commendable, Einaudi emphasised that “one must read well and in an orderly fashion.” For this, he insisted on the importance of “method and order”—the same principles that should guide the creation of catalogues intended for public libraries.

Hence, catalogues as essential tools for guiding individuals who sought cultural and intellectual growth. Without neglecting the risks posed by the fact that for “the quantity of mediocre books flooding the market, one must be cautious about buying them.” This represents an invaluable piece of guidance for posterity!

6. Luigi Einaudi “publisher”: Giulio's Apprenticeship?

Upon engaging with Riccardo Faucci’s indispensable study, focus is naturally drawn to the chapter dedicated to Giulio Einaudi Editore to speculate with regard to books, on an initiation, a trade learned in his father's workshop. It is tempting to figure out Giulio’s early role as an “errand boy” assigned by his father the task of collecting books from the post office from Laterza for review. This marked the inception of a story deeply intertwined with the cultural history of 20th-century Italy. Even as a youth, Giulio displayed an innate aptitude, demonstrating an eye for detail while “assisting his father with editorial tasks” for La Riforma Sociale. He even suggested adjustments to the “typographical layout”. On 15 November 1933, the Giulio Einaudi publishing house was officially registered with the Chamber of Commerce, assuming the mantle as of La Riforma Sociale's publisher.

Between 1933 and 1944 — according to Faucci’s account — twenty-nine titles were published under the series Problemi contemporanei virtually all selected by Luigi Einaudi himself. Another series that bore his influence was the Collezione di opere scientifiche di economia e finanza (Collection of scientific works on economics and finance). Luigi Einaudi’s guidance was also evident in the Collezione di opere scientifiche di economia e finanza (Collection of unpublished or rare writings on economics), which likely benefited from his recommendations. Notably, one of the most successful pre-war publications by Giulio Einaudi was Johan Huizinga’s La crisi della civiltà (The crisis of civilisation), a work that also bore the imprint of Luigi’s encouragement.

Over time, Luigi Einaudi’s direct involvement with the publishing house diminished, allowing Giulio to emerge from this remarkable apprenticeship with an exceptional mentor.

Nonetheless, Giulio continued to seek his father’s counsel and opinion, particularly on financial matters, as the fledgling publishing house soon faced challenges stemming from limited assets although its cultural impact and prestige grew steadily. In 1946, Giulio wrote to his father outlining the publishing house’s financial difficulties. Luigi, a prudent manager of both public and private affairs, responded: “a certain proportion between debts and assets must never be exceeded! … The only secure solution is to seek new, unborrowed capital—capital that does not require interest or commissions.” Giulio relied on the wise guidance of Raffaele Mattioli, one of the few who placed faith “in this adventurous endeavour”.

7. “Wise prudence” in Buying Books

For Luigi Einaudi, the acquisition of desired books was a powerful impulse, yet even this drive never overruled his innate sense of moderation—a moderation rooted in the moral principles governing his customs, habits, and lifestyle. These values have given rise to a rich tapestry of anecdotes, not least the oft-repeated tale of the “divided pear”.

Einaudi was a figure markedly different from the archetypal “collectors [of the early 20th century] who, with the tenacity of bloodhounds, roamed the antiquarian bookshops of Europe, often recklessly plunging themselves into debt and leaving their families with no food or clothing” like Foxwell “caught by death with a telegram form in his hand, perhaps one of the few unsuccessful attempts to outbid a competitor for a rare volume”. Yet, despite Foxwell’s apparent “foolishness,” we owe him a debt of gratitude for the creation of the Goldsmiths-Kress Library.

Einaudi’s writings on books rarely omit a reference to their price not only when discussing about rare and coveted editions or about his purchase and the quotation of famous books. His reviews, too, often conclude with a mention of price, listed alongside details of binding and page count, as though to provide a full account that includes the price-quality ratio.

In his own acquisitions, Einaudi displayed a discernment and austerity that align with his legacy as the architect of Article 81 of the Italian Constitution. His meticulous evaluation of a book’s cost and the “sustainability” of its purchase within his budget mirrored the rigorous standards he applied in his ministerial duties.

Alberto Vigevani recalls a telling episode from 1960, when Einaudi, “no longer president, described with enthusiasm a twelve-metre wardrobe filled with duplicate volumes acquired ‘by mistake of memory’, which he generously offered to me for potential exchanges". Yet Einaudi took genuine satisfaction in knowing that his purchases had not required reckless spending and fair prices has been paid. To Vigevani, he confided with quiet pride: “Every time I receive your catalogue, I feel as if I am enriched”. This sentiment, tinged with humour, was part of a friendly yet enduring debate between the two over the pricing practices of Vigevani’s bookshop.

In the rooms of George Wheeler’s renowned Great Russell Street bookshop, Einaudi, by then no longer President of the Republic, experienced hours of pure delight. He casted a “swift yet melancholic glance over walls densely packed with books, untidy stacks, and ageing, chaotic bookcases. With methodical patience and a prodigious memory, he unearthed bibliographical treasures, lamenting only that he could not spend a week delving into these dusty troves”. Instead, he contented himself with taking out from his pocket “an accurately annotated catalogue and […] leafing through […] the pile of new arrivals and posing challenging questions to the bookseller so much that he was compelled to continually resort to learned consultations of the Dictionary of Political Economy".

This is an occasion for him to recall as “a technician among technicians the earliest acquisitions at the close of the 19th century, the later fortuitous discoveries, and indulge in comparative calculations of prices and exchange rates”.

Driven by “analytical” purpose, he tracked the prices of books in antiquarian catalogues over time. In 1948, on the centenary of the Bourlot bookshop—where he had been a long-standing customer and an avid reader of catalogues for over half a century—Einaudi penned a short memoir. In it, he expressed regret at not possessing the complete series of 270 books published by the shop until that moment and resolved “to conduct excavations among the book-filled basements of Via Lamarmora in Turin”.

The material, he envisioned, would serve as a basis for research by a young scholar “who will trace the historical fluctuations of book prices in the antiquarian market over the preceding century […] would contribute significantly to the study of price history of a non ordinary commodity to describe the evolving currents of culture, taste, and economic capacity among the bibliophile classes”.

Thus, we return to where we began: Einaudi’s profound love for books. This narrative has sought to circumnavigate the Einaudian continent, charting a course guided by his bibliophilic passion. It aims to offer younger readers a series of brushstrokes to compose the portrait of a great Italian.

Italy, and indeed the community of scholars and bibliophiles, owe an immense debt to Einaudi’s enduring devotion to books—to the passion for culture they contain, and to the civilisation they chronicle. This legacy whose immense value was elegantly summarised by old George Wheeler on a distant Saturday in August 1955, when he presented to a smiling Einaudi:

“your economic library, Mr President, is today the most complete private collection in the world. I say this as the supplier of countless rare pieces that I would gladly buy back at double the price. My American clients, who have had the good fortune to visit your home in Dogliani, confirm this”.