As the commencement of a series of sketches of the Churches of the Metropolis, we cannot select one more worthy of the exertion of the artist, or the gratification of the reader, than the one of which a view is given at the head of the present article—St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. We need not speculate on the years that have elapsed since that portion of its name which was given it as a distinction became a complete misnomer. We are not particularly disposed “to babble of green fields,” to sigh over the growth and spread of that mighty city which, if it usurps something on nature yet speaks of the irrepressible energies of man. There is a balance of good in all things; and it may be questioned whether the conversion of country to town has not created more human happiness than would have existed had it remained country still. Bricks and mortar form but a dingy combination; chimneys are less picturesque than waving branches; and hard flagstones are less pleasant to the tread than a green turf enamelled with daisies; and, as a whole, our common street and domestic architecture is about the ugliest and most repulsive on the face of the earth. Yet in spite of all regrets, utility predominates, and use and necessity banish the beautiful. It is a matter in which society obeys its own impulses, as careless of the regrets of poetry as if they were but the echoes of the pipings of Arcadia; and society is right.
But faint as our rural sympathies may be, we do lament that the spread of the great city has been so utterly remorseless and unsparing, that it has left the “sunny spots of greenery” so very few and far between. Some oases we would fain have had left amid the hard and arid expanse of pavement and dwelling, and in those spots we would have placed our CHURCHES. The sanctity of worship seems to require something at least of seclusion; we know nothing that jars more disagreeably with our better feelings than the position of most of the metropolitan churches. Surrounded on all sides by the abodes of men, and hemmed in by their paths, the echoes of feet passing in the ceaseless pursuit of gain, or even of crime, are never silent around their walls. The world, in all its gorgeous pride, or squalid misery, cannot be kept even a pace from their threshhold; it seems as if mammon had grudged that even the pace they occupy should have been rescued from its grasp and dedicated to Heaven.
St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields is no exception to these remarks. It stands in the highway of traffic, and as we look at it, we frequently wish that some portion of the “fields ” it once stood in, had been preserved, and that, like so many of the churches scattered over the face of our fair isle, it stood embosomed in stately trees. Its noble portico is worthy of a Grecian grove. There is nothing very remarkable in its history, except that both it and its predecessor have been peculiar objects of royal munificence. It is dedicated to an Hungarian saint, for what reason has never been discovered, for the origin of the old church, that stood on the same site, is lost in oblivion. That it must have dated far back, is evident from the fact, that there are authentic records of dispute, in 1222, between the Abbot of Westminster and the Bishop of London, as to which of them had jurisdiction over it: how long it had then been a religious edifice, is not known; but we think it likely that it was then first built, and was claimed by both dignitaries, for it stands on debateble ground, between London and Westminster. It is supposed then to have been a chapel for the monks of Westminster, when they visited their “Convent Garden,’ which then extended to it. The pious brethren would stare, if they could visit that ” Convent Garden” now! Pleasant and profitable doubtless, were the walks in the “garden,” and the meditations it the “chapel; ” but the time came which deprived the monks of
Westminster both of one and the other. They fell to Henry VIII, who, with more than his usual consideration in such matters, built a small church on the site of the chapel at his own expense. As population increased, the small church grew smaller in proportion to it, and in 1607 it was enlarged, by the addition of a spacious chancel, built at the expense of Prince Henry and some of the nobility. Time passed on, and this too fell to decay; till, after many expensive repairs, it was taken down, and the frst stone of the present structure laid, in 1721. And an elegant building it is, though the praise must be chiefly confined to the portico, the proportions of which are said to have been taken by the architect (Gibbs) from the remains of an ancient temple, at Nismes, in France. It was completed and consecrated in 1726, when George I. gave a hundred guineas to the workmen, in addition to 27,441£. 10s. 4d., which he contributed to the building, and a further sum of 1500£. for the organ. This is a liberality so creditable to the character of a king not said to have been remarkable for that virtue, that we have thought it unjust to diminish the credit of it even by the odd fourpence. The whole cost was 69,891£., of which more than 30,000£. was granted by parliament, and the rest made up by voluntary subscriptions.
The portico, as above stated, has been often and justly admired. The effect is injured by the steps being imperfect, the north side of the porch being on higher ground than the southern; but this being unavoidable is rather a misfortune than a fault. Six fine Corinthian columns support a pediment which contains the royal arms in bas-relief. Pilasters of the same order extend round the buildings. The roof is concealed by a handsome balustrade in good keeping with the rest of the building. It is admired by every one possessed of any taste, and has now the advantage of standing in contrast with the National Gallery, a building which no one with any taste can admire at all. The interior of St. Martin’s is not so superior in its arrangement as to leave all other churches behind it, as may be said with regard to its exterior front. The body of the church is the usual quadrangle, the galleries and side aisles divided off by pillars; there is no approach to a nave, and the square form is only broken by the recess in which the altar is placed. The ceiling is richly carved, and the chief beauty of the interior may be said to be the lightness with which the roof springs from the pillars. The fittings up are good and substantial, having that general appearance which speaks the weekly presence of wealth, indicating that the inhabitants are proud of their church, and have no Braintree-like aversion to church rates, or that they are not wanted to an edifice so royally founded. The living is in the patronage of the Bishop of London, and is held by the Rev. Sir Henry Dukeinfield.
The Illustrated London News, London, England, Week Ending July 2, 1842
