[It was natural, that medicine should be carefully studied among a people who set such a high value upon life as did the Persians.  Pliny indeed, (XXX.  I.) maintains, that the whole of Zoroaster’s religion was founded on the science of medicine, and it is true that there are a great many medical directions to be found in the Avesta.  In the Vendidad, Farg.  VII. there is a detailed list of medical fees.  “The physician shall treat a priest for a pious blessing or spell, the master of a house for a small draught animal, etc., the lord of a district for a team of four oxen.  If the physician cures the mistress of the house, a female ass shall be his fee, etc., etc.”  We read in the same Fargard, that the physician had to pass a kind of examination.  If he had operated thrice successfully on bad men, on whose bodies he had been permitted to try his skill, he was pronounced “capable for ever.”  If, on the other hand, three evil Daevayacna (worshippers of the Divs) died under his hands, he was pronounced “incapable of healing for evermore.”]

Kassandane was very gentle with her son; she begged him not to yield to passionate anger, and to remember what a sad effect every such outburst had on his health.

“Yes, mother, you are right,” answered the king, smiling bitterly; “I see that I must get rid of everything that rouses my anger.  The Egyptian must die, and my perfidious brother shall follow his mistress.”

Kassandane used all her eloquence to convince him of the innocence of the accused, and to pacify his anger, but neither prayers, tears, nor her motherly exhortations, could in the least alter his resolution to rid himself of these murderers of his happiness and peace.

At last he interrupted her lamentations by saying:  “I feel fearfully exhausted; I cannot bear these sobs and lamentations any longer.  Nitetis has been proved guilty.  A man was seen to leave her sleeping-apartment in the night, and that man was not a thief, but the handsomest man in Persia, and one to whom she had dared to send a letter yesterday evening.”

“Do you know the contents of that letter?” asked Croesus, coming up to the bed.

“No; it was written in Greek.  The faithless creature made use of characters, which no one at this court can read.”

“Will you permit me to translate the letter?” Cambyses pointed to a small ivory box in which the ominous piece of writing lay, saying:  “There it is; read it; but do not hide or alter a single word, for to-morrow I shall have it read over again by one of the merchants from Sinope.”

Croesus’ hopes revived; he seemed to breathe again as he took the paper.  But when he had read it over, his eyes filled with tears and he murmured:  “The fable of Pandora is only too true; I dare not be angry any longer with those poets who have written severely against women.  Alas, they are all false and faithless!  O Kassandane, how the Gods deceive us! they grant us the gift of old age, only to strip us bare like trees in winter, and show us that all our fancied gold was dross and all our pleasant and refreshing drinks poison!”