ter, lovelier, and
more beloved for the imperfections which have been divinely appointed,
that the law of human life may be Effort, and the law of human
judgment, Mercy.

Accept this then for a universal law, that neither architecture nor any
other noble work of man can be good unless it be imperfect; and let us
be prepared for the otherwise strange fact, which we shall discern
clearly as we approach the period of the Renaissance, that the first
cause of the fall of the arts of Europe was a relentless requirement of
perfection, incapable alike either of being silenced by veneration for
greatness, or softened into forgiveness of simplicity.

Thus far then of the Rudeness or Savageness, which is the first mental
element of Gothic architecture. It is an element in many other healthy
architectures also, as in Byzantine and Romanesque; but true Gothic
cannot exist without it.

The second mental element above named was CHANGEFULNESS, or Variety.

I have already enforced the allowing independent operation to the
inferior workman, simply as a duty _to him_, and as ennobling the
architecture by rendering it more Christian. We have now to consider
what reward we obtain for the performance of this duty, namely, the
perpetual variety of every feature of the building.

Wherever the workman is utterly enslaved, the parts of the building
must of course be absolutely like each other; for the perfection of his
execution can only be reached by exercising him in doing one thing, and
giving him nothing else to do. The degree in which the workman is
degraded may be thus known at a glance, by observing whether the
several parts of the building are similar or not; and if, as in Greek
work, all the capitals are alike, and all the mouldings unvaried, then
the degradation is complete; if, as in Egyptian or Ninevite work,
though the manner of executing certain figures is always the same, the
order of design is perpetually varied, the degradation is less total;
if, as in Gothic work, there is perpetual change both in design and
execution, the workman must have been altogether set free.

How much the beholder gains from the liberty of the labourer may
perhaps be questioned in England, where one of the strongest instincts
in nearly every mind is that Love of Order which makes us desire that
our house windows should pair like our carriage horses, and allows us
to yield our faith unhesitatingly to architectural theories which fix a
form for eve