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Updated: May 8, 2025
In the theory of some writers, perfect fidelity to the type is the only originality. To paint the Russian peasant or the French bourgeois as he is, to catch the exact shade of exquisite soullessness in Oriental loves, to reproduce the Berserker rage or the dull horror of battle, is indeed to give the perfect sense of life.
Into the chink shot the particles of snow, and formed again that icy mark across the floor of the shop. One by one the candles burned away on the tree, gave a gasp, a flare, and expired. Silently, loyally the group of big, rough miners and toilers sat in the cheerless gloom, hearing that music, in its soullessness, come on the gusts of the storm waiting, waiting for their tiny guest.
Oscarovitch had pretty strong nerves, and he was well accustomed to regard any kind of crime as a quite proper means of furthering political ends: but there was something in this man's utter soullessness and the weird horror of the crime which he had just accomplished for by this time his victim would be already lying self-slain on the floor of his own spider's lair that chilled him, cold-blooded as he was.
He confesses by his soreness that the illusion ought to have been true; he seldom confesses that he loved himself more than the woman, and so lost her. He lays the blame on God, on the woman, on the soullessness of the universe anywhere but on the one being in which he is interested enough to be sure it exists his own precious, greedy, vulgar self.
Her legs trembled under her knees. A dismal feeling of impotence and loneliness gnawed at her heart sickeningly. "I mustn't go away," she thought. "I mustn't!" and holding on to the rails firmly, she waited. The police commissioner walked up the steps of the town hall and said in a rebuking voice, which had assumed its former blankness and soullessness: "You're fools, you damned scoundrels!
Steve warned himself there remained a fighting chance. It was the man's courage which inspired the thought. The dogs took the only chance they knew. They at least understood the soullessness of Nature's might when arrayed for destruction. Steve drove for the fringe of it all, where the ice lapped against the rising walls of the valley to which they were dropping. It was his only course.
John Addington Symonds, in a chapter of 'The Renaissance in Italy' treating of the Bolognese school of painting, which once had so great cry, and was vaunted the supreme exemplar of the grand style, but which he now believes fallen into lasting contempt for its emptiness and soullessness, seeks to determine whether there can be an enduring criterion or not; and his conclusion is applicable to literature as to the other arts.
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