Italy

Primo Levi (1919–1987): The Chemist Who Became a Witness to History

Primo Levi (1919–1987) was an Italian Jewish chemist, writer, and Holocaust survivor from Turin. Arrested for his involvement in the anti-Fascist resistance, he was deported to Auschwitz in 1944 and later transformed his experience into some of the most important literary testimonies of the Holocaust.

Turin

Read the story

Chapter 1. A Childhood in Turin and a Passion for Science

Primo Levi was born on 31 July 1919 in Turin, Italy, into a Jewish family with deep roots in the Piedmont region. His family lived in the same Turin apartment building where he would spend most of his life.

From an early age, Levi was drawn to books, scientific questions, and the natural world. He attended the Massimo d’Azeglio classical secondary school in Turin, where he developed an interest in chemistry and physics. In 1937, he enrolled in the University of Turin to study chemistry.

His university years coincided with the growing influence of Fascism and the introduction of antisemitic legislation in Italy. In 1938, the Fascist government enacted racial laws that restricted the rights of Jewish Italians, including access to education. Levi was nevertheless able to continue his studies, although the political climate increasingly affected his academic life.

In 1941, he graduated with a degree in chemistry. His diploma carried a reference to his Jewish background, reflecting the discriminatory restrictions of the period.

Levi entered professional life as a chemist, initially working in a mining-related laboratory and later in Milan for the Swiss pharmaceutical company Wander. He believed in the practical value of science: observing carefully, testing assumptions, and understanding how the material world worked.

1 / 6

Explore this story further

Discover this story through imagination, audio and downloadable materials.

The Laboratory of Forgotten Colours

Read the fairy tale

Chapter 1. The Glass Bottles

In the old quarter of Turin stood a narrow building with green shutters and a brass sign:

"THE LABORATORY OF COLOURS"

Most people believed it had been closed for decades. Its windows were dusty, its door was always locked, and ivy covered the little stone staircase.

But twelve-year-old Luca knew that someone still worked there.

Every evening, just after sunset, a warm light appeared behind the upper window.

One rainy afternoon, Luca found a small brass key beneath the door. A paper label was tied to it.

*For someone who is curious enough to look carefully.*

He unlocked the door.

Inside, he found shelves filled with glass bottles. Some held bright blue liquid, others a deep amber, a cloudy green, or a colour he had never seen before.

An elderly man in a grey waistcoat appeared from behind a curtain.

"You are late," he said.

"I didn't know I was expected."

"Curiosity is often expected. It simply doesn't send invitations."

The man's name was Professor Bellini. He explained that the laboratory had once studied the chemistry of pigments, minerals, and dyes.

"But these bottles are different," Luca said.

The professor nodded.

"They contain colours that cannot be found in nature. Each one comes from a memory."

Chapter 2. How Memories Change

Professor Bellini showed Luca a small blue bottle.

"This is the colour of a first journey," he explained. "It was collected from a woman who remembered travelling by train as a child."

He opened another bottle, a warm golden shade.

"This one came from a baker who remembered the first loaf he made with his father."

Luca was fascinated.

"Can memories really become colours?"

"Not literally," the professor replied. "The colours are a way of representing what people remember. The chemistry is real. The meaning is something we give it."

He taught Luca how to prepare pigments, measure liquids, and keep careful notes.

Every experiment had to be recorded. Every ingredient had to be labelled. If a result was unexpected, they wrote that down too.

"Why so many notes?" Luca asked.

"Because memory can change," said the professor. "And because a beautiful explanation is not necessarily a true one."

Luca began keeping his own notebook.

He recorded the names of the colours, the people who had shared their memories, and the details that made each account unique.

Some memories were joyful. Others were difficult.

The professor never asked anyone to share more than they wanted.

"A memory belongs first to the person who lived it," he reminded Luca.

Chapter 3. The Man Who Wanted One Colour

One morning, a visitor arrived at the laboratory.

He wore a perfectly pressed black coat and introduced himself as Mr. Grey, the director of the city's new Department of Harmony.

"I have heard about your collection," he said. "The city would benefit from a simpler system."

Professor Bellini raised an eyebrow.

"What sort of system?"

"One official colour. One approved history. No contradictions, no confusing details, no disagreements."

He placed a large empty bottle on the table.

"Put all your memories into this. Mix them together. The result will be clear, uniform, and easy for everyone to understand."

"But the memories are different," Luca said.

"That is precisely the problem," replied Mr. Grey.

Professor Bellini refused.

Mr. Grey left the laboratory, but not before warning them that the city's new regulations would soon apply to all private collections.

That evening, Luca noticed that several bottles had been moved.

Someone had entered the laboratory.

The labels were missing from a row of shelves. The blue bottle of the first journey stood beside the golden bottle of the baker's memory. Their colours had begun to blur.

Luca looked at the professor.

"Someone is mixing them."

"And if we cannot identify them," Bellini said, "we may lose the stories they represent."

Chapter 4. The Great Experiment

Luca and Professor Bellini worked through the night.

They examined the remaining samples, compared their notes, and searched for the original records.

Some bottles could still be identified by their chemical properties. Others required the testimony of the people who had shared their memories.

The baker came to help.

So did the woman who remembered her first train journey.

A retired musician brought an old photograph. A teacher brought a letter. A carpenter remembered the smell of the workshop where he had learned his craft.

Together, they rebuilt the collection.

But the most important discovery came from Luca's notebook.

He had recorded not only the colours but also the exact measurements, dates, ingredients, and explanations given by each person.

The notes made it possible to separate many of the mixed samples.

The professor looked at the restored bottles.

"You have understood something important."

"What?"

"An archive is not simply a room full of objects. It is a record of how those objects came to be. Without evidence, even a true memory can be misrepresented."

They decided to open the laboratory to the public.

Every visitor could contribute a memory, examine the records, and learn how the colours had been made.

No one was required to agree with every story.

But every account had to be treated with care.

Chapter 5. A Thousand Colours

The laboratory reopened in the spring.

People came from every part of the city. Some brought photographs and letters. Others brought recipes, drawings, or small objects that reminded them of someone they loved.

The shelves filled again.

There was no single official colour.

There were colours of journeys, discoveries, friendship, loss, courage, and ordinary days that had once seemed unimportant.

Mr. Grey returned one last time.

He stood before the shelves and frowned.

"How can anyone understand such a collection?"

Luca answered:

"By looking carefully. By reading the labels. By asking who made each bottle and what evidence supports its story."

"And if two people remember the same event differently?"

"Then we keep both accounts and try to understand why."

The professor smiled.

That evening, Luca added one final entry to his notebook:

The purpose of the laboratory is not to make every memory identical. It is to preserve the differences without losing the truth.*

Years later, Luca became a scientist. He continued to work with pigments and materials, but he never forgot the old laboratory.

Whenever someone asked why he was so careful with his measurements and records, he told them about Professor Bellini.

And whenever someone asked whether one colour could represent an entire city, he opened his notebook and showed them the page with the thousand different shades.

The city had learned that remembering was not the same as agreeing.

Sometimes, remembering meant having the courage to keep asking questions.