Having arrived at the east end of the Nave, we find ourselves standing between the four lofty piers which, previous to its demolition, supported the great central tower. At this point the transept divides the nave from the choir, and though shorn of its fair proportions by modern reparations wholly devoid of taste, yet contains enough of the original work to give us an idea of its ancient grandeur. Eastward lay the Choir,—now for the most part in ruins, and shut out from the present Church by an interpolated window of very moderate pretensions. The space beneath this window, once part of the choir, has now become, consequent on these alterations, the Chancel of St. John’s.
To the right of the Chancel is another horse-shoe arch of very early work, disclosing, behind, a “fayre chappell,” once the burial place of the Warburtons, an ancient Cheshire family. A fine sketch of this Chapel, in his own masterly style, will be found in that now scarce work, Prout’s “Antiquities of Chester.” The floor is strewed with a number of incised slabs, discovered at various periods in the church or churchyard: three of these have been illustrated by Mr. Boutell, in his valuable works on the history of Christian Monuments. On the opposite side of the Chancel rests a sculptured slab, bearing the recumbent effigy of an ecclesiastic, robed in the chesuble and other priestly vestments of the thirteenth or fourteenth century. The slab, which is somewhat defaced, and without inscription, was found, in December 1855, some feet below the surface, on removing the house on the east side of the porch. This is the third or fourth relic, of a similar character, rescued from destruction by the intelligent zeal of the present rector, the Rev. W. B. Marsden. To the left is the Vestry; and near by, ignominiously stowed away in a corner, lies the crosslegged figure of a warrior, of the twelfth century perhaps, clad wholly in mail, and supposed to represent a redoubtable hero of the Carrington family. Close beside, but totally unconnected with it, lies another incised slab, commemorating one of whom all we know is that inscribed on the stone itself, “Hic jacet Johennes le Serjaun.” Most modern “Guide”-mongers have ignorantly supposed the mailed figure adjoining to be this Johennes le Serjaun; but this is an error, for the two relics were dug up in different parts of the churchyard! Numerous other monuments, of more or less interest, lie scattered around; but as we are now arrived at the north chancel door, we will bid adieu to the interior of St. John’s, and again emerge into the open air.
In the graveyard before us, to the left of what was originally the extreme north of the Transept, stood until the last century an ancient house, called the Woolstaplers’ Hall, of which all trace has now passed away. Over the churchyard wall we can see the upper portion of the Grosvenor School, a charitable institution, erected and endowed by the first Lord Westminster, but now supported by voluntary contributions. Farther still to the right is the Rectory House, abutting upon Love Street and Barker’s Lane, neither of which possesses any charms for us sightseers.
Turning away to the right from the Church door, a few paces will bring us to a decayed and half-ruined wall, in the centre of which is a small pointed arch, known as the entrance-gate to the Priory. This arch originally formed part of the Nunnery of St. Mary, near the Castle, and was placed in its present position on the demolition of the ruins of the former establishment, about thirty years ago. The ground within is, strictly speaking, private; but permission being courteously afforded to visitors, we will quietly step into the interior, and ponder awhile on the scene which now presents itself. The genius of desolation reigns dominant here; this spot, once the holiest of holies, the sanctum sanctorum of the Church of St. John, is now a roofless and floorless waste. We are standing on the site of the original choir, whose walls oft resounded with purest melody:—but where now are the white-robed train? The occupation of the chorister is gone—the voice of the priest has hence for ever died away, and the hymn of praise, of matin and evensong, no longer echoes along its richly vaulted aisles! Here we see the effects produced by the fall of the centre steeple, in 1470, and again in 1572, laying the whole east end of the structure in ruins. Yet still, amid the general decay, for everything here seems crumbling into dust, the rich old chancel arch (call it Saxon or Norman, whichever you will) maintains erect its venerable crest,—the ivy that clasps it, the trees that overshadow, the mould that corrupts it, serving but to increase and develop its charms. Passing under the arch, we are straightway in the Chancel, and close to the spot where the high altar of St. John’s of old time stood. Here, it may be, the censor of the priest wafted aloft the incense at the daily sacrifice;—here the anathemas of the church were pronounced against excommunicated sinners;—and yet, here, after a lapse of some four hundred years, rank weeds and grass now desecrate the ground, while the owl and the bat hold their midnight levies in this once “holy place.” Cast your eyes o’er that fragment heap, now formed into a sort of rockery,—every stone there, could it but speak, has its tale to tell;—here a shattered niche, there a sepulchral slab, yonder a broken font, there again an image defaced—all rich and glorious in their time, but surrendered now to undeserved decay! Pass we on into one of the chapels, where high up in the wall, snugly housed within the masonry, stands an ancient oak coffin bearing the appropriate inscription of
Dust to Dust.
The Priory House was built on the ruins of the priests’ houses, but has of itself no other claim to our notice, being little in character with aught else around. Thus, then, have we inspected these venerable ruins, so typical of the vanity of everything human; let us now, all unwilling, tear ourselves away,
And thence returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!
Perhaps the best general idea of the Church and Ruins is obtained from yonder gateway at the east end of the yard, where the eye embraces the whole at one view. During the Siege of Chester, St. John’s Church was taken and garrisoned by the puritans.
From hence we proceed along a narrow pathway to the right, turning round, as we do so, to take a last fond look at the south side of the Ruins, which, from whatever point viewed, are distinguished alike for their sublimity and beauty. Slightly to the westward, on this side of the Church, stood formerly the Chapel of St. James, which the brothers Lysons assert was the original parish church. If this be true, it was probably while St. John’s was the Cathedral of the united sees of Lichfield, Coventry, and Chester; in which case St. James’s must have been even of greater antiquity than the present Church of St. John. There is now no trace existing of this venerable Chapel. Yon block of buildings at the extreme west of the churchyard is known as Dee Side, and the two mansions comprising it were erected on the site of the Bishop’s Palace and Deanery of the episcopal foundation.