I love you like Salt

This piece takes as its premise the quote from a number of fairy tales which are common in many countries which show how the good hearted daughter refuses to flatter her father when he asks his daughters in turn how much they love him. The most honest states ‘she loves him like salt’. I.e. in ancient times salt was highly prized, in fact, salt is what Roman soldiers were paid in and led to our word salary – (from salt) and our unit for currency. The tale formed the basis for Shakespeare’s King Lear. The honest daughter Cordelia is banished and the evil flattering ones rewarded. Lear later comes to rue his folly and this leads to his down fall – and the death of Cordelia. I want the words ‘I love you like salt’ to be written in salt at the water’s edge – when the tide is low so that the incoming tide will engulf them and the words erased – claimed by the sea and the material consumed and returned from whence it came – the sea. I want this to illustrate the redemptive and cleansing powers of the sea and to show that love can reach out across the world but can be easily destroyed and all trace of it removed. Instructions: Buy salt in NZ. Take to the beach and when tide is low write the words: ‘I love you like salt’ with the salt on the beach. Photograph and then film or photograph the words as they are reclaimed and erased. Post the images/film on the internet and circulate via social networks the link with these instructions and the narratives below. To Love My Father All William Shakespeare Lear Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. Goneril Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty, Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare, No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour, As much as child e'er loved or father found; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. ... Regan I am made of that self metal as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love ... Cordelia I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. Lear How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. Cordelia Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sister, To love my father all. Source: William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of King Lear, act 1, scene 1. Written 1605 or 1606. This story is also told by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia Regum Britanniae, finished about 1136. An on-line edition: The British History of Geoffrey of Monmouth, translated from the Latin by A. Thompson; revised and corrected by J. A. Giles (London: James Bohn, 1842), pp. 32-37. Return to the table of contents. Cap o' Rushes England Well, there was once a very rich gentleman, and he'd three darters [daughters]. And he thought to see how fond they was of him. So he says to the first, "How much do you love me, my dear?" "Why," says she, "as I love my life." "That's good," says he. So he says to the second, "How much do you love me, my dear?" "Why," says she, "better nor all the world." "That's good," says he. So he says to the third, "How much do you love me, my dear?" "Why," she says, "I love you as fresh meat loves salt," says she. Well, he were that angry. "You don't love me at all," says he, "and in my house you stay no more." So he drove her out there and then, and shut the door in her face. Well, she went away, on and on, till she came to a fen. And there she gathered a lot of rushes, and made them into a cloak kind o', with a hood to cover her from head to foot, and to hide her fine clothes. And then she went on and on till she came to a great house. "Do you want a maid?" says she. "No, we don't," says they. "I hain't nowhere to go," says she, "and I'd ask no wages, and do any sort o' work," says she. "Well," says they, "if you like to wash the pots and scrape the saucepans, you may stay," says they. So she stayed there, and washed the pots and scraped the saucepans, and did all the dirty work. And because she gave no name, they called her Cap o' Rushes. Well, one day there was to be a great dance a little way off, and the servants was let go and look at the grand people. Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go, so she stayed at home. But when they was gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and went to the dance. And no one there was so finely dressed as her. Well, who should be there but her master's son, and what should he do but fall in love with her, the minute he set eyes on her. He wouldn't dance with anyone else. But before the dance were done, Cap o' Rushes she stepped off, and away she went home. And when the other maids was back, she was framin' [pretending] to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on. Well, next morning, they says to her, "You did miss a sight, Cap o' Rushes!" "What was that?" says she. "Why the beautifullest lady you ever see, dressed right gay and ga'. The young master, he never took his eyes off of her." "Well, I should ha' liked to have seen her," says Cap o' Rushes. "Well, there's to be another dance this evening, and perhaps she'll be there." But come the evening, Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go with them. Howsumdever, when they was gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance. The master's son had been reckoning on seeing her, and he danced with no one else, and never took his eyes off of her. But before the dance was over, she slipped off, and home she went, and when the maids came back, she framed to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on. Next day they says to her again, "Well, Cap o' Rushes, you should ha' been there to see the lady. There she was again, gay an' ga', and the young master he never took his eyes off of her." Well there," says she, "I should ha' liked to ha' seen her." "Well," says they, "there's a dance again this evening, and you must go with us, for she's sure to be there." Well, come the evening, Cap o' Rushes said she was too tired to go, and do what they would, she stayed at home. But when they was gone, she offed with her cap o' rushes, and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance. The master's son was rarely glad when he saw her. He danced with none but her, and never took his eyes off her. When she wouldn't tell him her name, nor where she came from, he gave her a ring, and told her if he didn't see her again he should die. Well, afore the dance was over, off she slipped, and home she went, and when the maids came home she was framing to be asleep with her cap o' rushes on. Well, next day they says to her, "There, Cap o' Rushes, you didn't come last night, and now you won't see the lady, for there's no more dances." Well, I should ha' rarely liked to ha' seen her," says she. The master's son he tried every way to find out where the lady was gone, but go where he might, and ask whom he might, he never heard nothing about her. And he got worse and worse for the love of her till he had to keep his bed. "Make some gruel for the young master," they says to the cook. "He's dying for love of the lady." The cook she set about making it, when Cap o' Rushes came in. "What are you a' doin' on?" says she. "I'm going to make some gruel for the young master," says the cook, "for he's dying for love of the lady." "Let me make it," says Cap o' Rushes. Well, the cook wouldn't at first, but at last she said "yes," and Cap o' Rushes made the gruel. And when she had made it, she slipped the ring into it on the sly, before the cook took it upstairs. The young man, he drank it, and saw the ring at the bottom. "Send for the cook," says he. So up she comes. "Who made this here gruel?" says he. "I did," says the cook, for she were frightened, and he looked at her. "No, you didn't," says he. "Say who did it, and you shan't be harmed." "Well, then, 'twas Cap o' Rushes," says she. So Cap o' Rushes came. "Did you make the gruel?" says he." "Yes, I did," says she. "Where did you get this ring?" says she. "From him as gave it me," says she. "Who are you then?" says the young man. "I'll show you," says she. And she offed with her cap o' rushes, and there she was in her beautiful clothes. Well, the master's son he got well very soon, and they was to be married in a little time. It was to be a very grand wedding, and everyone was asked, far and near. And Cap o' Rushes' father was asked. But she never told nobody who she was. But afore the wedding she went to the cook, and say she, "I want you to dress every dish without a mite o' salt." "That will be rarely nasty," says the cook. "That don't signify," says she. "Very well," says the cook. Well, the wedding day came, and they was married. And after they was married, all the company sat down to their vittles. When they began to eat the meat, that was so tasteless they couldn't eat it. But Cap o' Rushes father, he tried first one dish and then another, and then he burst out crying. "What's the matter?" said the master's son to him. "Oh!" says he, "I had a daughter. And I asked her how much she loved me. And she said, 'As much as fresh meat loves salt.' And I turned her from my door, for I thought she didn't love me. And now I see she loved me best of all. And she may be dead for aught I know." "No, father, here she is," says Cap o' Rushes. And she goes up to him and puts her arms round him. And so they was happy ever after. Source: Eveline Camilla Gurdon, County Folk-Lore, printed extracts no. 2: Suffolk (Ipswich: Published for the Folk-Lore Society by D. Nutt, 1893), pp. 40-43.