ABSTRACT
There is one defect in the book to be noted-a defect common indeed to all readable histories. Every now and then the author invents and pads, in order to ease the jolting that comes from the unmitigated use of documents. When he does this over trifles, the device is pardonable. For instance, in the first chapter Grandier 'rode slowly' into Loudun, while later on there are some horses that 'trotted'. It is unlikely that authorities can be quoted for the speed of the horses in either case, but who cares? We do care when it comes to psychology. Are the earlier ravings of the Prioress taken from the memoirs she subsequently wrote? Or has Mr. Huxley made them up for her? We are not sure, but we are sure that he makes up the thoughts and the talk of the plotters in the apothecary's shop. This engenders mistrust. In a book dealing with the interior life we have the right to know whose interior we are viewing.
