The church was in a parlous state when prior Méliand began his repairs. The roof was in a miserable condition, with a temporary covering over the altar to keep out the rain and the door was almost in the last state of decay; so Messire Claude Menardeau was called in (he was a councillor of the King's, and a commissaire), and he decided "que des réparations seraient faites au plus tôt, d'autant que l'églize despérit journellement par la pluye et autres injures du temps, qui y tombent, comme en plaine campagne." Unfortunately the master mason, Bernard Roche, to whom the work was given, began by destroying the Gothic west front and portal, to make room for lodgings for the ecclesiastics. Then we read of plasterings, and a new front with pediment and Ionic columns, and all the Classicisms so much beloved in the 17th and 18th centuries.

In 1655 the priory and its possessions were made over to the Hôtel-Dieu; and thenceforth, until the demolition of the old building a few years ago, it was used as the hospital chapel. But previous to this, Cardinal Mazarin had turned over an annual payment of 2,500 livres to the Hôtel-Dieu from the revenue of his abbey of Saint-Étienne at Caen, and in his capacity of abbot in chief of the order of Cluny, he made a bargain which put an end to the independence of S. Julien. The prior was to resign, and all the revenues of the convent were to go to the establishment of a convalescent hospital; the Hôtel-Dieu undertaking, in return, to carry on Divine service in the church, and to fulfil the conditions of the different foundations belonging to it. At this time, 1660, the property of S. Julien consisted of thirty-eight houses and gardens in the neighbouring streets, besides certain lands in the Faubourg S. Jacques, at Montmartre, at Vitry, Villeneuve and Versailles, together with revenues in kind—corn and fodder, and donations made at burials; altogether amounting to about 2,400 livres.

It appears that the misfortunes of S. Julien were not over when it lost its independence, for Louis Roche required payment for his various "improvements," and so the poor church had to sell its plate. Nor could services be held there without the permission of the archbishop, as the curé of S. Séverin seems to have objected: "Défense lui (the chaplain of S. Julien) est faite de célébrer des messes hautes, de faire l'eau bénite, la bénédiction du pain, de reçevoir offrande, faire quête, chanter l'office et le salut, ni même exposer le Saint-Sacrament en ladite église, sans la permission de Son Eminence."

In 1705 an inventory of the furniture, vestments, and plate was taken, and a very poor collection it seems to have been; indeed, at that time, even the hospital revenues were only about a sixth of the expenses. The inhabitants of Paris had largely increased, and famines and wars had brought many of them to the Hôtel-Dieu; so full was it that seven or eight patients were packed into one bed, which, even considering the width of an 18th-century sleeping place, must have been rather unpleasant crowding.

At the Revolution, the revenues passed over to the State, and God's House was converted into the "House of Humanity." The old church became a salt warehouse, the asile was pulled down, and it was only in 1826 that S. Julien was restored to its right use.

The first time I visited the church was before the Franco-German war, when I was taken over the hospital by one of the Augustinian sisters. Two or three patients were there pouring out their sorrows, or giving thanks for mercies received. Outside, in the garden, were a few more sitting about among the trees, making a charming picture, such as Fred Walker would have delighted in. All this is now changed, and the sisters are gone with the old hospital buildings and the quaint covered bridge—a second Ponte Vecchio. Whether the poor have gained anything by being nursed by lay-women instead of religious, we cannot say; but no one will deny that the sisters were devoted to their work—kindly, patient, sweet-tempered, of the same spirit as when, in the old time, they not only nursed, but "au plus fort de l'hiver," they broke the ice of the river, "qui passe au milieu de cet hôpital, et y entrer jusqu'à la moitié du corps pour laver les linges." It was in S. Julien that the White Sisters took the veil, and devoted themselves specially to the service of God and the care of His poor.

The Miraculous Well and some of the foundations are all that remain of the first Carlovingian church; the arcades of the nave and some of the columns date back to the commencement of the 12th century, but the rest of the building belongs to the end of that period. The tower, like the portal, was improved away by Master Bernard Roche, and the old bell has at present to content itself with a little pointed roof as a covering. Its inscription is dated, and is in French:

✠
J. H. S.
MARIE SUIS NOMMÉE PAR M. JEAN BOURLON, CONSEILLER DU ROY
ET GREFFIER EN SA CHAMBRE DES COMPTES, ET PAR DAME MARIE
PAJOT, FEMME DE M. ALEXANDRE REBOURS, CONSEILLER DU ROY
EN SON CONSEIL D'ÉTAT ET PRIVÉ, ET PRÉSIDENT DE LA COUR DES
AYDES DE PARIS ET VE DE BARTHÉLEMY TOUSSAINCT MOUSSIER
GOUVERNEUR DE L'ÉGLISE DE CÉANS DELAUNAY.
1640.

The plan of the church was originally a nave and aisles of six bays, each terminating in an apse, but in 1675 two bays were demolished with the entire west end, to make room for a forecourt. (It is said that, of all the churches of Paris, the two which stand most truly East and West are Notre-Dame and S. Julien.) Although parts of the interior have suffered from "improvements" and neglect, the two bays of the choir and the apsidal terminations have lost nothing of their original beauty. The single-shaft pillars, recalling upon a small scale those of Notre-Dame, the clustered columns which support the vault, and the little columns of the windows; the capitals, the bosses, and the mouldings are all in the best style of the end of the 12th century. The sculpture of the details is treated with the greatest care, and the ornamentation of the capitals (about one hundred and fifty in all) has all the variety of foliage and imagery so dear to the Mediæval artists. The most curious example is on the south side of the choir. Springing from a mass of foliage are four figures of birds with female heads, bodies of feathers, outspread wings, and clawed feet. Some of the foliage is the acanthus, but still more represents the water plants which probably, in those early days, grew in the Seine; for it must be remembered that the sculptors of the Middle Ages were in the habit of taking their inspiration from the types of Nature which surrounded them. It is curious that one of the capitals in Notre-Dame, in the same position (the south side of the choir) is almost identical with the one just described. On the right side of the altar is the piscina, which is said to communicate with the Miraculous Well; the water having been held in great veneration, people came to fetch it from far and near.