This was too much. Melancthon stopped; the arrow, aimed by the elector, had pierced his heart. His decision was soon made: ‘Because of these words,’ he said ‘I will not go.’ He afterwards underlined the passage, and wrote in the margin the words we have just quoted.[750] The elector had been still more severe, when he dictated the despatch. ‘Go,’ were his words, ‘go and do as you please; engage in this adventure. But we leave all the responsibility with you. Consider it well.’ He suppressed this paragraph at the chancellor’s desire.[751] Melancthon’s simple and tender heart was crushed by his sovereign’s dissatisfaction. Surmounting his natural shyness, he had determined to brave danger, in the hope of seeing the Reformation triumph, and now disgrace was his only reward. The courtiers maintained that he and the other theologians were obstinate and almost imbecile, and would do much better to be content with their schools and leave the government of the Church to others. Melancthon lightened his grief by sharing it with his friends; he wrote to Camerarius, to Sturm, and even to William du Bellay. The great hellenist, who had lived much among the ancient republics of Greece, imagined that Europe was already overrun by the evils under which those states had perished. ‘I have never known a more cruel prince,’ he said to them: ‘with what harshness he treats me![752] He not only does not permit me to depart, but he insults me besides. My fault is in being less obstinate than others. I confess that peace is so precious in my eyes that it ought not to be broken except for matters really great and necessary. Oh! if the elector did but know those who take advantage of this proposed journey to sow discord! It is not the learned who do it, but the ignorant and the fools. They call me deserter and runaway.... O my friend, we live under the _régime_ of the democracy, that is to say, under the tyranny of the unlearned,[753] of people who quarrel about old wives’ stories, and think of nothing but gratifying their passions. How great is the hatred with which they are inflamed against me!... They slander me and say that I am betraying my prince.’ Theramenes was condemned to drink hemlock because he had substituted an aristocracy or government of the worthiest for a democracy, and governed the state with wisdom. ‘I do not deceive myself,’ he exclaimed; ‘the fate of Theramenes awaits me.’[754]