Here’s another Romanian folktale I loved as a kid. My first instinct was to translate and adapt this story— collected by Petre Ispirescu and published in Bucharest in 1883—to bring it closer to modern sensibilities. But then I decided to stay as close to the archaic language and cadence as possible to give you a sense of what storytelling sounded like for my ancestors almost 150 years ago. I hope you enjoy it!
The Salt of the Meal
Once upon a time, there was a king who had three daughters. And because he was a widower, all his love went to them. As the girls grew, they saw how their father cared for them, how he taught them and shielded them from every harm, so they tried in turn to ease the sorrow that had weighed on him since their mother died.
One day, the king had no better sense than to ask his eldest daughter, “My daughter, how do you love your father?”
“How do I love you, Father? Why, I love you like honey,” she said after pondering what could be the sweetest thing in the world. That was all she could think of, and that was what she told him.
“May you live long, my daughter, and may God grant me the blessing of you.”
Then he asked his second daughter, “And you, my daughter, how do you love me?”
“Like sugar, Father.” That was all she could think of, and that was what she told him.
“May God grant you good things, my daughter. May I have joy in you.”
These two daughters knew how to say the things that pleased their father and to show him more love than they truly felt. And the king rejoiced to hear how much his older daughters loved him. He believed there could be no sweeter love than honey and sugar.
Looking at his youngest daughter, who stood a little apart, he asked her as well, “And you, my daughter, how do you love me?”
“Like the salt of the meal, Father,” she answered, serene, smiling with sincere love as she lowered her gaze. She felt overwhelmed that her father spoke to her too, as she was the youngest.
When her older sisters heard her answer, they burst out laughing and turned their faces away from her.
The king frowned, and in his anger said, “Come closer, you foolish child, and let’s make this clear. Didn’t you hear your older sisters describe the kind of love they have for me? Why didn’t you think to follow their example and share how much sweet love you have for your father? Is this why I work so hard to take care of you and raise you so that no other princess in the world could be your equal? Leave my house at once, and take your salt with you as you go.”
When the youngest daughter saw her father’s wrath fall upon her, she felt as if the earth had swallowed her, so great was her grief. Gathering her courage, she said, “Forgive me, Father, for I never meant to anger you. I thought in my heart that the love I have for you is—if not greater than my sisters’—at least no less than honey and sugar.”
“What now?” her father cut her off. “How dare you speak against your older sisters? Away with you, shameless girl, and may your name never be heard in my house again.”
He silenced her and left her in tears. Her sisters tried to comfort her, but their words did more harm than good.
The king’s youngest, seeing that even her sisters didn’t spare her, put all her hope in God and set out to go wherever His mercy would guide her. She took from home a bundle of clothes, worn and plain, and wandered from village to village until she reached the court of another king.
There, she stood at the gate. The keeper of the king’s storerooms, a woman of good heart, saw her and came to ask what she wanted. The princess told the keeper she was a poor girl with no parents and would gladly work as a servant if there was a place for her there.
The keeper had just lost her helper and was trying to find another. She took a good look at the girl and found her fit for the job. When asked what wages she sought, the princess said she didn’t want money yet but would rather work for a time, and if her service proved to be good, then she should be paid whatever seemed fair. The keeper rejoiced at this sensible answer and took her on as her helper. She told the girl what her duties would be and gave her a few of the many keys she herself carried.
The princess was well‑behaved and clever. She began by cleaning the storerooms and the cupboards whose keys she had been given, putting every item in its proper place. And because she knew how to knead dough, boil fruit preserves, and prepare fine food from the ingredients in the king’s stores, all these tasks soon fell to her. And of course she knew how to do all these things to the royal family’s delight. She was a princess after all. And no one found cause to complain about her work, for she did everything with measure and fairness, and no one could accuse her of fault or favor.
She never wasted time in idle talk with the men and women at the court, nor with the strangers who stopped by the storerooms for food and supplies. She didn’t speak in haste, nor did she listen to gossip, for such things embarrassed her, and she always found polite words to quiet those who talked too much. She kept her distance from the other servants, and whenever she had a free moment, she read books. In time, people learned to respect her ways and leave her in peace.
News of the helper’s worth and gentle manner soon reached the queen, who wished to see her. And when the princess stood before Her Highness, she knew how to present herself and speak with an open heart, without pretense or overstepping. The queen took a liking to her and began to suspect that this girl came from a good family. She was a princess after all.
In due time, the queen took the young woman as her own helper. Wherever the queen went, her helper went as well. When the queen worked, her helper worked beside her. And the work that came from the helper’s hands was flawless. But what the queen loved most was the wisdom that came from her helper’s mouth. Soon they became inseparable, and the queen loved her like her own child. The king was surprised by the closeness that had grown between his wife and this helper.
The king had a son—his only son—and both he and the queen loved him more than anything in the world. Having to go to war, the king took his son with him to teach him the ways of battle. There, whatever happened and however it happened, the prince was harmed and brought back wounded.
The queen lamented and cried. She didn’t know what to do to help him heal faster. She turned night into day sitting and watching over him. And when she was too tired to stand on her feet, she entrusted her helper with the care of her son. And so one or the other was always at his bedside.
Her kind, wise words, her sweet and sincere care, and her quiet humility stirred in the patient’s heart a feeling he had never known before. More than anything, the gentle way she tended his wounds made him love her like a sister, for whenever she touched him, his pain soon faded.
One afternoon during his recovery, he said to his mother as they were talking, “You know, Mother, I’d like to get married.”
“Very well, my son, very well. It’s better to marry while you’re young than to venture alone into the rough waters of the world. Let your mother find you a princess from a good king’s family and of good behavior.”
“I’ve already found her, Mother.”
“And who is she? Do I know her?”
“Don’t be upset, Mother, when I tell you. But my heart is set on your helper. I love her, Mother, like my own soul. Of all the daughters of kings and noblemen I’ve met, I’ve never liked one the way I like her. She stole my heart.”
The queen argued with him for a while but couldn’t change his mind about this marriage. Seeing there was no other way and that the girl her son had chosen as a wife was well‑behaved, kind, and wise—and above all humble, honest, and hard‑working—the queen gave her approval. What was left now was to persuade the king to also agree with the prince’s choice. This wasn’t very hard though, because both mother and son praised the helper as best they could.
The king and queen betrothed their son to the helper and set the day of the wedding. When the time came to send out the invitations, the bride-to-be begged them to invite a certain king—meaning her own father—though she didn’t say she was his daughter. They agreed and invited that king to the wedding as well.
On the wedding day, the guests arrived and began celebrating, and the festivities lasted the whole day because it was a royal wedding. In the evening, a grand table was set with platters of roasted meats, spiced stews, fresh bread, warm pies, and jugs of wine and ale—enough to make anyone lick their fingers while eating.
The bride had told the cooks which dishes to prepare, but she cooked for one guest all by herself. She then ordered a trusted servant to be very careful and bring to the table the food she had prepared, setting it before the king she had invited. But she warned her servant not to place those dishes before anyone else, for there was deadly danger in that. The servant did as he was told.
The guests sat at the table and began eating and having a great time. The bride’s father ate a little but not much. From the moment he had arrived, he kept looking at the bride, and something stirred in his heart, but he couldn’t trust his eyes. He noticed the resemblance to his youngest daughter, yet he couldn’t imagine how she had ended up marrying another king’s son, so he didn’t dare say anything to anyone. The hardships the princess had endured had changed her enough that her own father couldn’t quite recognize her.
Seeing the appetite all the other guests had, the king would have liked to eat and have a good time too, but after taking a few bites from his own plate, he stopped again. The servant who had brought his food carried it back almost untouched.
The king kept wondering how all the guests could eat food that, to him, had no taste at all. At last, he dared to ask the guest on his right, who replied that he hadn’t eaten such delicious food in as long as he could remember. The king took a bite from the guest’s plate and saw that the food was indeed great. He did the same with the guest on his left.
The king’s mouth watered after tasting the fine dishes set before the other guests. Hunger urged him to eat more, but how could he eat the food brought to him? He held himself back as best he could. Now and then he took a small bite from his own plate so he wouldn’t embarrass himself before the other guests, but still he went hungry.
At long last, he could bear it no more, and rising to his feet, he called out, “Noble king, did you invite me to your son’s wedding to make a mockery of me?”
“My goodness, Your Highness, how can you think such a thing? As everyone gathered here can see, I honor you just as I honor all my guests, without favor.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but the food the other guests have is truly good, while mine is not.”
The host king grew greatly upset and ordered that the cooks be brought before him at once so he could learn what they had done—and have the guilty ones put to death.
But the truth was that the bride had cooked all her father’s dishes without a grain of salt, using only honey and sugar. Even the small cellar set before him was filled with powdered sugar, so when he tried to take what he thought was salt with the tip of his knife and sprinkle it over his food, it only grew sweeter and tasted worse.
Then the bride stood up and said, “I myself cooked the dishes for the king who is now angry, and I will tell you why I did that. This king is my father. We were three sisters at home. One day our father asked us how we loved him. My older sisters said, one that she loved him like honey and the other like sugar. But I told him that I loved him like the salt of the meal, for I believed there was no greater love than that. My father got angry and banished me from home. Yet God didn’t let me perish, and through work, honesty, and devotion, I’ve come to stand where you see me now. Today I wished to show my father that people can live without honey and sugar, but without salt they cannot. That is why I cooked his food without salt. Now judge for yourselves who was right and who was wrong.”
All the guests spoke with one voice, saying it was unjust for the daughter to have been cast out of her home. And her father confessed that he had not known how to value his daughter’s wisdom, and he asked for her forgiveness. She kissed his right hand and also asked his forgiveness for having caused him sorrow.
All the guests rejoiced, and word of that feast and celebration spread far and wide. The bride’s father felt both joy and sadness, but the groom’s father was happy and proud, for he had gained a daughter from a good family, wise and hardworking.
I was at that wedding too, hidden among the guests, and I saw it all with my own eyes. It was a feast to remember, full of music and merriment. And so, I brought this tale to you. Long life to those who listen, and long life to the one who tells the tale.
