生性沉默寡言，尤不愿意剖陈自己，但却欢迎有这个机会，谈论文学创作的种种。他所构想设计的讲稿，无可避免地提到他自己的作品，他的创作方法、企图和希望。这本书因此被视为卡尔维诺赠予世人的遗产；他在书中精心勾勒的文学价值，既可充当评鉴一般作品的尺度，也可以作为认识卡尔维诺的指南。
写作这回事有什么东西值得珍惜？卡尔维诺以五篇演讲（五份给读者的备忘录），分别解说五种不可或缺的文学价值。第一讲「轻」，引述希腊神话、欧维德、薄伽丘、塞万提斯、昆德拉、卡夫卡等等作品来诠释：生命存在的沉重必须以轻盈的态式来承担；第二讲「快」，阐述如何以敏捷来融合「行动」（快）和「沉思默想」（慢）；接下来的第三讲「准」，强调的语言的精确和明晰；第四讲「显」，说明视觉想像系认识世界和自我的媒介；第五讲「繁」是一份展示力作，生动而精彩地描述文学如何送出常轨，企图传达人类面对无限的可能所流露的痛苦、困惑和振奋。
卡尔维诺出入古今典籍，旁征博引，阅读品味和学识见解，在在令人叹为观止，这本书可说是专为熟悉和热爱小说艺术的行家和读者所写的备忘录，本世纪最雄辩而毫无防护意味的文学辩护书，给下一个千福年的贴切礼物，担忧和关切文学之未来命运的读者，可以在这里发现十分有力的证词。
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巴尔扎克《无名的杰作》（英译本）
小。说。t。xt…天堂
（卡尔维诺《未来千年文学备忘录》中曾提到这篇小说。这里的应该是定稿的英译本，译者不详。电子文本来自project gutenberg，原网址为gutenbergetext23060）
the unknown masterpiece
by honoré de balzac
to a lord
1845
igillette
on a cold december morning in the year 1612； a young man； whose clothing was somewhat of the thinnest； was walking to and fro before a gateway in the rue des grands…augustins in paris。 he went up and down the street before this house with the irresolution of a gallant who dares not venture into the presence of the mistress whom he loves for the first time； easy of access though she may be； but after a sufficiently long interval of hesitation； he at last crossed the threshold and inquired of an old woman； who was sweeping out a large room on the ground floor； whether master porbus was within。 receiving a reply in the affirmative； the young man went slowly up the staircase； like a gentleman but newly e to court； and doubtful as to his reception by the king。 he came to a stand once more on the landing at the head of the stairs； and again he hesitated before raising his hand to the grotesque knocker on the door of the studio； where doubtless the painter was at workmaster porbus； sometime painter in ordinary to henri iv till mary de medici took rubens into favor。
the young man felt deeply stirred by an emotion that must thrill the hearts of all great artists when； in the pride of their youth and their first love of art； they e into the presence of a master or stand before a masterpiece。 for all human sentiments there is a time of early blossoming； a day of generous enthusiasm that gradually fades until nothing is left of happiness but a memory； and glory is known for a delusion。 of all these delicate and short…lived emotions； none so resemble love as the passion of a young artist for his art； as he is about to enter on the blissful martyrdom of his career of glory and disaster； of vague expectations and real disappointments。
those who have missed this experience in the early days of light purses； who have not； in the dawn of their genius； stood in the presence of a master and felt the throbbing of their hearts； will always carry in their inmost souls a chord that has never been touched； and in their work an indefinable quality will be lacking； a something in the stroke of the brush； a mysterious element that we call poetry。 the swaggerers； so puffed up by self…conceit that they are confident over…soon of their success； can never be taken for men of talent save by fools。 from this point of view； if youthful modesty is the measure of youthful genius； the stranger on the staircase might be allowed to have something in him； for he seemed to possess the indescribable diffidence； the early timidity that artists are bound to lose in the course of a great career； even as pretty women lose it as they make progress in the arts of coquetry。 self…distrust vanishes as triumph succeeds to triumph； and modesty is； perhaps； distrust of itself。
the poor neophyte was so overe by the consciousness of his own presumption and insignificance； that it began to look as if he was hardly likely to penetrate into the studio of the painter； to whom we owe the wonderful portrait of henri iv。 but fate was propitious； an old man came up the staircase。 from the quaint costume of this newer； his collar of magnificent lace； and a certain serene gravity in his bearing； the first arrival thought that this personage must be either a patron or a friend of the court painter。 he stood aside therefore upon the landing to allow the visitor to pass； scrutinizing him curiously the while。 perhaps he might hope to find the good nature of an artist or to receive the good offices of an amateur not unfriendly to the arts； but besides an almost diabolical expression in the face that met his gaze； there was that indescribable something which has an irresistible attraction for artists。
picture that face。 a bald high forehead and rugged jutting brows above a small flat nose turned up at the end； as in the portraits of socrates and rabelais； deep lines about the mocking mouth； a short chin； carried proudly； covered with a grizzled pointed beard； sea…green eyes that age might seem to have dimmed were it not for the contrast between the iris and the surrounding mother…of…pearl tints； so that it seemed as if under the stress of anger or enthusiasm there would be a magnetic power to quell or kindle in their glances。 the face was withered beyond wont by the fatigue of years； yet it seemed aged still more by the thoughts that had worn away both soul and body。 there were no lashes to the deep…set eyes； and scarcely a trace of the arching lines of the eyebrows above them。 set this head on a spare and feeble frame； place it in a frame of lace wrought like an engraved silver fish…slice； imagine a heavy gold chain over the old mans black doublet； and you will have some dim idea of this strange personage； who seemed still more fantastic in the sombre twilight of the staircase。 one of rembrandts portraits might have stepped down from its frame to walk in an appropriate atmosphere of gloom； such as the great painter loved。 the older man gave the younger a shrewd glance； and knocked thrice at the door。 it was opened by a man of forty or thereabout； who seemed to be an invalid。
〃good day； master。〃
porbus bowed respectfully； and held the door open for the younger man to enter； thinking that the latter acpanied his visitor； and when he saw that the neophyte stood a while as if spellbound； feeling； as every artist…nature must feel； the fascinating influence of the first sight of a studio in which the material processes of art are revealed； porbus troubled himself no more about this second er。
all the light in the studio came from a window in the roof； and was concentrated upon an easel； where a canvas stood untouched as yet save for three or four outlines in chalk。 the daylight scarcely reached the remoter angles and corners of the vast room； they were as dark as night； but the silver ornamented breastplate of a reiters corselet； that hung upon the wall； attracted a stray gleam to its dim abiding…place among the brown shadows； or a shaft of light shot across the carved and glistening surface of an antique sideboard covered with curious silver…plate； or struck out a line of glittering dots among the raised threads of the golden warp of some old brocaded curtains； where the lines of the stiff； heavy folds were broken； as the stuff had been flung carelessly down to serve as a model。
plaster _écorchés_ stood about the room； and here and there； on shelves and tables； lay fragments of classical sculpture…torsos of antique goddesses； worn smooth as though all the years of the centuries that had passed over them had been lovers kisses。 the walls were covered； from floor to ceiling； with countless sketches in charcoal； red chalk； or pen and ink。 amid the litter and confusion of color boxes； overturned stools； flasks of oil； and essences； there was just room to move so as to reach the illuminated circular space where the easel stood。 the light from the window in the roof fell full upon por…buss pale face and on the ivory…tinted forehead of his strange visitor。 but in another moment the younger man heeded nothing but a picture that had already bee famous even in those stormy days of political and religious revolution； a picture that a few of the zealous worshipers； who have so often kept the sacred fire of art alive in evil days； were wont to go on pilgrimage to see。 the beautiful panel represented a saint mary of egypt about to pay her passage across the seas。 it was a masterpiece destined for mary de medici； who sold it in later years of poverty。
〃i like your saint；〃 the old man remarked； addressing porbus。 〃i would give you ten golden crowns for her over and above the price the queen is paying； but as for putting a spoke in that wheel；the devil take it！〃
〃it is good then？〃
〃hey！ hey！〃 said the old man； 〃good； say you？yes and no。 your good woman is not badly done； but she is not alive。 you artists fancy that when a figure is correctly drawn； and everything in its place according to the rules of anatomy； there is nothing more to be done。 you make up the flesh tints beforehand on your palettes according to your formulae； and fill in the outlines with due care that one side of the face shall be darker than the other； and because you look from time to time at a naked woman who stands on the platform before you； you fondly imagine that you have copied nature； think yourselves to be painters； believe that you have wrested his secret from god。 pshaw！ you may know your syntax thoroughly and make no blunders in your grammar； but it takes that and something more to make a great poet。 look at your saint； porbus！ at a first glance she is admirable； look at her again； and you see at once that she is glued to the background； and that you could not walk round her。 she is a silhouette that turns but one side of her face to all beholders； a figure cut out of canvas； an image with no power to move nor change her position。 i feel as if there were no air between that arm and the backgroun