The breath of the lion is fetid, and that of the bear quite
pestilential; indeed, no beast will touch anything with which
its breath has come in contact, and substances which it has
breathed upon will become putrid sooner than others. It is
in man only that Nature has willed that the breath should
become tainted in several ways, either through faultiness in
the victuals or the teeth, or else, as is more generally the case,
through extreme old age. Our breath in itself was insensible
to all pain, utterly devoid as it was of all powers of touch and
feeling, without which there can be no sensation; ever renewed, it was always forthcoming, destined to be the last adjunct that shall leave the body, and the only one to remain
when all is gone beside; it drew, in fine, its origin from
heaven. In spite of all this, however, certain penalties were
discovered to be inflicted upon it, so that the very substance
by the aid of which we live might become a torment to us in
life. This inconvenience is more particularly experienced
among the Parthians, from their youth upwards, on account
of the indiscriminate use of food among them; and, indeed,
their very excess in wine causes their breath to be fetid. The
grandees, however, of that nation have a remedy for bad breath
in the pips of the Assyrian citron,[1] which they mix with their
food, and the aroma of which is particularly agreeable. The
breath of the elephant will attract serpents from their holes,
while that of the stag scorches them. We have already made
mention[2] of certain races of men who could by suction extract
from the body the venom of serpents; and swine will even eat
serpents,[3] which to other animals are poisonous. All those
creatures which we have spoken of as insects, can be killed by
merely sprinkling them with oil.[4] Vultures, which are put
to flight by unguents, are attracted by other odours: the beetle,
too, is attracted by the rose. The scorpion puts to death certain
serpents. The Scythians dip their arrows in the poison of
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