The fact is, however, that it was in many instances Melanchthon’s own pusillanimity and too great deference to the Protestant Princes which caused him to sanction things which afterwards he regretted. For instance, we hear him complaining, when alluding to the cruelty of Henry VIII. of England, of the “terrible wounds” inflicted on him by a “tyrant.” The “tyrant” to whom he here refers was the bigamist, Philip of Hesse. Melanchthon had been too compliant in the case of both these sovereigns. When Henry VIII., who had fallen out with his spouse, made overtures to the Wittenbergers, it was Melanchthon, who, in view of the king’s desire to contract a fresh marriage, suggested he might take a second wife. Concerning Philip of Hesse’s bigamy he had at the outset had scruples, but he set them aside from the following motive which he himself alleged not long after: “For Philip threatened to apostatise unless we should assist him.”[1250] His conscience had reason enough to complain of the “terrible wounds” inflicted upon it by this tyrant, but for this Melanchthon himself was answerable. He even assisted personally at the marriage of the second wife, though, possibly, his presence was secured by means of a stratagem. When later, he, even more than his friends, was troubled with remorse concerning his part in the business—especially when the Landgrave, wilfully and “tyrannically,” threatened the theologians with the publication of their permission—he fell a prey to a deadly sickness, due primarily to the depth of his grief and shame. Luther hastened to Weimar where he lay and, in spite of his own depression, by the brave face he put on, and also by his loving care, was able to console the stricken man so that he ultimately recovered. “Martin,” so Melanchthon gratefully declared, “saved me from the jaws of death.”[1251]