the daughter of an
educated peasant, who occupies a position as a teacher. She is large,
ruddy, full of health and uncorrupted vigor. John Kurt takes a violent
fancy to her, and moves heaven and earth to induce her to marry him. He
goes even to the length of bribing all her female friends, and they by
degrees begin to sing his praises. At last she yields; a net of subtle
influences surrounds her, and unconsciously she comes to reflect the
view of society. Her moral prudery begins to appear ridiculous to her,
and the so-called common-sense view predominates. The author here, with
great earnestness, emphasizes the responsibility of society in weakening
the moral resistance of the individual rather than strengthening it.
Thomasine Rendalen would not have married John Kurt if society had not
condoned his offences; and society in condoning such offences undermines
its own foundations.

After his marriage Kurt endeavors to hold his exuberant nature in check,
and for a while is moderately successful. But an uneasy suspicion haunts
him that his wife's friends, in a confidential moment, may expose his
delinquencies, and destroy her confidence in him. He watches her like a
lynx, surprises her at all hours and places, and thereby produces the
suspicion which he is endeavoring to avert. The relation develops with
inevitable logic toward an awful crisis. This is brought about by a mere
trifle. John Kurt, failing to humble his wife, strikes her. The baleful
forces that lurk in the depths of the Kurt temperament rise to the
surface; the whole terrible heritage of savagery overwhelms the feeble
civilization which the last scion has acquired. If Thomasine had been
weak, she would have been killed; but she defends herself with fierce
persistency, and though it seems as if she must succumb, her compact
frame, strengthened by generations of healthful toil, possesses an
endurance which in the end must prevail over the paroxysmal rage of John
Kurt. When the combatants part there is not a whole piece of furniture
in the room. John Kurt retires a conquered man. But with cowardly
viciousness he locks the door and leaves his wife for hours despairing,
while he himself goes to a dinner-party. There he is stricken down by
apoplexy.

The terror with which Thomasine contemplates her approaching maternity
is one of the finest points in the book. Has she the right to perpetuate
such a race, which will be a curse to itself and to future generations?