Costard. O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.
—Love’s Labour’s Lost V.i.
“By three methods we may learn wisdom,” said Confucius. “First, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” I, by chance, happened to notice this piece of oriental philosophy when I took a stroll through the town of A—, the district of B—, and the county of C—. My stroll was intended as a means of cleansing, for I found myself corrupt and in need of intellectual awakening. I consulted several books, many of which were on the topic of philosophy. I encountered the empirical works of Francis Bacon and Rene Descartes; the
Encyclopedia of Denis Diderot; Rousseau’s
Social Contract; the
Analects of Confucius; and several texts on the religious dogma of Søren Kierkegaard. My mind a heap of philosophical putrescence, I thought a walk would serve me well. It was then, through my travels, that I entered upon the town of D—, which was a small piazza that was occupied by a conglomerate of people.
The parish of D— was a fanciful one. The piazza resembled St. Peter’s Square in Vatican City, with its infamous basilica. From the air, if one were to fly in a plane, the piazza would be in the shape of a
fleur di lis. A terrific fountain rests in the piazza’s center, molded and created in the image of King Solomon, from biblical fame. A series of concrete steps rise to the main structure, which is the government building—the “Senate”—of the town of D—. The buildings were shaped in the manner of those found in the extinct Roman Empire; each building constituted of columns, colored in the manner of a clay Greek statue. The scene was beauteous and awesome. The magical realism, which I claimed it to be, pervaded my soul. It was like a city in Heaven! Alas, I entered with careful consideration. The good folks of the town of D— chatted away, full of serendipity; they seemed perfect in every case, except one. They all spoke several languages which I could not decipher. Nevertheless, I proceeded to examine the piazza. In the center where I now was, I saw a concrete appendage rising at the feet of Solomon, the words engraved on a gold plaque. It was here that I found the quote by Confucius.
A few individuals approached me. They spoke in Dutch, and were dressed in clothing resembling the flag of the Netherlands, which are bands hued, in order, orange, white, and blue. I spoke only English, so they couldn’t understand me. Next came a Belgian, whom became, in essence, my “companion” during my stay. He, like all the citizens of D—, was dressed in a suit hued by the flag of his native country. His suit was hued in black, gold, and red. He had a ghastly smile upon his face with a mustache sticking outward from his upper lip—two distinct, very hard points of black hair. He wore a top-hat so high and thin, it resembled a pencil. Upon his hands were white gloves
“My name is Flanders,” he said, shaking my hand. He spoke in perfect English.
Flanders and myself then proceeded to discourse upon the piazza, even a little history of D—. He explained that language is an essential tool in the world, that it is abused and unwisely altered.
“No language can be perfectly translated,” he told me. “Each nation within the world has a unique language, or a verisimilitude of several others from other surrounding regions. For example, in my native Belgium, we have three national languages: Dutch, French, and German. There is no such language as ‘Belgian.’ Yet, our demonym is ‘Belgian’—which means, quite literally, we are united by being ‘Belgian,’ but being disunited through our three national languages. However, in a country like Luxembourg, who also has three national languages, Luxembourgers have the ability of being united, for there is such a language as ‘Luxembourgish.’ Then there are countries which have only one official language, like Italy. For the English-speaking nations, including the United States, English is the predominant language; yet, there are several dialects and accents which distinguish them from one another. A person from Wales would have the ability to understand a person on New Zealand, but communication would be difficult as a result of accent and dialect.”
I was enamored by his soliloquy. I questioned him about this state, its “true unity,” and why there were several different languages.
“How do you individuals understand one another?” I anticipated.
“Excellent question!” he proclaimed, extending his index finger on his left hand in excitement. “You see, our state is divided into twenty-six cantons, each with a different ethnic background. In these cantons, we have the following: Spanish, Dutch, French, German, Luxembourgish, Czech, English, Italian, Estonian, Russian, Croatian, Bulgarian, Polish, Portugese, Welsh, Romansh, Hebrew, Norwegian, Swedish, Finnish, Icelandic, Danish, Chinese, Turkish, Swahili, and Pig-Latin. Each of the twenty-six constitutes as the 'national language' of each of our twenty-six provinces in our state. Our state is divided demographically as follows:
“Town of A— (English)
“District of B— (Dutch)
“County of C— (Spanish)
“Parish of D— (German)
“Canton of E— (Danish)
“Province of F— (Finnish)
“Capital of G— (Estonian)
“Republic of H— (Icelandic)
“City of I— (Russian)
“Empire of J— (Polish)
“Constitution of K— (Czech)
“Quaff of L— (French)
“Verisimilitude of M— (Bulgarian)
“Federation of N— (Luxembourgish)
“Democracy of O— (Romansh)
“Parliament of P— (Norwegian)
“State of Q— (Hebrew)
“Kingdom of R— (Welsh)
“Trench of S— (Chinese)
“Antiquarian of T— (Russian)
“Dump of U— (Swahili)
“Bowl of V— (Croatian)
“Spoon of W— (Portugese)
“Highway of X— (Turkish)
“Exclamation of Y— (Swedish)
“People’s State of Z— (Pig-Latin).
“Now that you have a sense of the demography of our nation, collectively, and in the literature of geography, we call ourselves, as do others, the State of
Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz.
“And now you have a survey of our country.” His smile was wide, very prideful of his superb layout of Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz’s geography.
“!—!—!— !—! —Egad! Splendid! I give you great congratulatory!”
“As you should,” nodded Flanders. We continued walking. “See, while you, an outsider, may think that we do not understand each other, we do.”
“Flanders,” said I, rubbing my chin. “You stated earlier that several languages cause disunity.”
“Indeed I did,” said my interlocutor. “However, our state is one of bliss and prosperity. We are the enlightened ones! Here, we can live, diversify, have different ethnic backgrounds without shedding a single unit of violence. I think perpetual bliss is a correct term to attach to Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz. We are unified because we are disunified.”
As we conversed, myself intrigued by Flanders’s awesome knowledge, we were approached by an eccentric fellow. This man, if I may take the liberty to describe, was an old man, of about seventy years in age. His beard was long and white, his head devoid of any form of hair; his eyes were crystal blue; his jaws were missing a good portion of teeth; he was dressed only in a brown-paper bag, which covered his bosom and genitalia. The fellow was dancing for joy, laughing like a crazed lunatic, saliva dripping from his lower lip. We watched him dance in horror. He then spoke, albeit with a lisp, the following words:
“Oway, heytay avehay ivedlay onglay onway hetay almsway-asketbay ofway ordsway. Iway arvelmay hytay astermay athhay otnay eatenway heetay orfay away ordway; orfay houtay artway otnay osay onglay ybay hetay eadhay asway onorificabilitudinitatibushway: houtay artway easierway wallowedsay hantay away lapfay-ragonday.”
This gibberish I could not decipher; I doubt Flanders could, for he had the most horrific of countenances glued upon his face. His frame became a statue—he was frozen in a state of majestic terror. Even so, I was also fixated upon the strange fellow. His eyes were definitely possessed by a demon; forthwith, the sun was so hot that I froze to death! Yet, Flanders’s discourse proved true.
“Dear god!” gasped Flanders. “That fellow is an idiot...”
The words of the knowledgeable Flanders were ceased by a mighty quake beneath us. The whole piazza shook with vigor; people were screaming—the buildings were carved with mighty cracks! Flanders dove forward, attacking the eccentric fellow. He beat him to within an inch of his life. The quake roared like an angry lion. The citizens were shouting in their languages. Confusion pervaded the scene. None of them knew where to go or what to do. They ran in all different directions—this way and that way, into every nook and cranny. Absurd! Where was the unity? I quickly made haste for the exit. The buildings, the fountain, the skeleton of the fleur di lis crumbled into a pool of detestable rock. I tried to communicate with the good folk, but could not to save my soul.
“Help us!” screamed one.
“Nosotros no podemos ir a casa!” said another.
“Se pousser, l’idiot!” said a third.
“Wird, Außenstehender gegangen!” boasted a fourth.
“Andare a casa, l’anomalia!” ejaculated a fifth.
“Noedelss!” boasted a sixth.
“Palhaço!” said a seventh.
“Esel!” shouted an eighth.
The quake cause fire and brimstone to rise from the concrete. Thunder and lightening struck the poor chaotic whirlpool. The screams of the people—the roar of the lion—curse this philosophical journey! The piazza fell from grace. The whole state was destroyed, being devoured by hungry flames! Horrific is this disunity! Can we not learn one language? I reached the port of Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz just in time. I turned to see the mighty lion unleash his rage of destruction. The disunity was at the hands of its enemy. I jumped into a row boat near the dock. Like the eruption of a volcano, the state died—
as a result of undecipherable gibberish!
