Forty four dead stone lions
My China travelling companion had remarked, having perused a large number of traditional statues and paintings which depicted various artistic renderings of lions, that it is doubtful that anyone in ancient China had actually ever seen a lion, or else possibly had them mixed up with Pekingese dogs, they being, with the one small exception of a slight difference in size and ferocity, approximately the same thing.
After attending the Lunar New Year festival in Chinatown on Sunday, and watching in fascination as the elaborately decorated dancing lion costumes dodged firecrackers to tear savagely into big leafy heads of lettuce, I am now positively certain the ancient Chinese had never actually seen a lion.
Not a real one, at any rate.
Consider. The ancient Chinese, as played by a couple of clippy Brits in this particular production:
"Egads! A rather large fierce lion!"
"He must think we have lettuce! Any greens on you?"
"No. Not a shred."
"Neither have I!"
"Aha! We're safe, then. I suppose we can cease all this silly running."
"Quite right."
. . . At which point a shopkeeper appears inexplicably out of the brush to insert a little red envelope of crisp bills under the men's hats, after which both men are promptly transformed into lunch. Bringing fortune to all upon whom their bits are scattered, of course.
After attending the Lunar New Year festival in Chinatown on Sunday, and watching in fascination as the elaborately decorated dancing lion costumes dodged firecrackers to tear savagely into big leafy heads of lettuce, I am now positively certain the ancient Chinese had never actually seen a lion.
Not a real one, at any rate.
Consider. The ancient Chinese, as played by a couple of clippy Brits in this particular production:
"Egads! A rather large fierce lion!"
"He must think we have lettuce! Any greens on you?"
"No. Not a shred."
"Neither have I!"
"Aha! We're safe, then. I suppose we can cease all this silly running."
"Quite right."
. . . At which point a shopkeeper appears inexplicably out of the brush to insert a little red envelope of crisp bills under the men's hats, after which both men are promptly transformed into lunch. Bringing fortune to all upon whom their bits are scattered, of course.