The famous placards posted up in the capital and all over France on that October night of 1534 had carried trouble into the hearts of the peacemakers. They had seen, as they imagined, the torch suddenly applied to the house in which they were quietly laboring to reconcile Rome and the Reformation. ‘Such a seditious act agitates the whole kingdom, and exposes us to the greatest dangers,’[672] wrote Sturm from Paris to Melancthon. ‘The authors of those placards are men of a fanatical turn, rebels who circulate pernicious sentiments, and who deserve chastisement,’ wrote Melancthon to the Bishop of Paris. But at the same time the most energetic of the German protestants, revolted by the cruelty of Francis I., refused to join in union with a prince who burnt their brethren. The King of France had formed the plan of a congress, destined to restore peace to Christendom; but an imprudent hand had applied the match to the mine, and the friends of peace were struck with terror and confusion. From that moment there was nothing heard but recriminations, reproaches, and altercations. Francis I. saw clearly that, if his project was on the brink of failing, the fault was due mainly to his own violence; he therefore undertook to set straight the affairs he had so imprudently damaged. On the 1st February, 1535, he wrote to the evangelical princes of the empire, assuring them that there was no similarity between the German protestants and the French _heretics_, his victims. The contriver of the strappadoes of the 21st January, assumed a lofty tone, as if he were innocence itself. ‘I am insulted in Germany,’ he said, ‘in every place of assembly, and even at public banquets. It is said that people dressed like Turks can walk freely about the streets of Paris, but that no one dares appear there in German costume. People say that the Germans are looked upon here as heretics, and are arrested, tortured, and put to death. We think it our duty to reply to these calumnies. Just when we were on the point of coming to an understanding with you, certain mad-men endeavored to upset our work. I prefer to bury in darkness the paradoxes they have put forth; I am loth to set them before you, most illustrious princes, and thus display them in the sight of the world.[673] I think it sufficient to say that even you would have devoted them to execration. I wished to prevent the pestilence from spreading over France, but not a single German was sent to prison.[674] The men of your nation, princes and nobles, continue to be graciously received at my court; and as for the German students, merchants, and artisans who work in my kingdom, I treat them like my other subjects, and, I may say, like my own children.’ The letter produced some little effect, and there was a reaction on the other side of the Rhine. Melancthon resumed his schemes of reunion.