Towards evening he dismounted, and entering a stable he placed Cannetella in the same stall as his horse, and said to her: ‘Now listen to what I have to say. I am going to my home now, and that is a seven years’ journey from here; you must wait for me in this stable, and never move from the spot, or let yourself be seen by a living soul. If you disobey my commands, it will be the worse for you.’
The princess answered meekly: ‘Sir, I am your servant, and will do exactly as you bid me; but I should like to know what I am to live on till you come back?’
‘You can take what the horses leave,’ was Scioravante’s reply.
When the magician had left her Cannetella felt very miserable, and bitterly cursed the day she was born. She spent all her time weeping and bemoaning the cruel fate that had driven her from a palace into a stable, from soft down cushions to a bed of straw, and from the dainties of her father’s table to the food that the horses left.
She led this wretched life for a few months, and during that time she never saw who fed and watered the horses, for it was all done by invisible hands.
One day, when she was more than usually unhappy, she perceived a little crack in the wall, through which she could see a beautiful garden, with all manner of delicious fruits and flowers growing in it. The sight and smell of such delicacies were too much for poor Cannetella, and she said to herself, ‘I will slip quietly out, and pick a few oranges and grapes, and I don’t care what happens. Who is there to tell my husband what I do? and even if he should hear of my disobedience, he cannot make my life more miserable than it is already.’
So she slipped out and refreshed her poor, starved body with the fruit she plucked in the garden.
But a short time afterwards her husband returned unexpectedly, and one of the horses instantly told him that Cannetella had gone into the garden, in his absence, and had stolen some oranges and grapes.
Scioravante was furious when he heard this, and seizing a huge knife from his pocket he threatened to kill his wife for her disobedience. But Cannetella threw herself at his feet and implored him to spare her life, saying that hunger drove even the wolf from the wood. At last she succeeded in so far softening her husband’s heart that he said, ‘I will forgive you this time, and spare your life; but if you disobey me again, and I hear, on my return, that you have as much as moved out of the stall, I will certainly kill you. So, beware; for I am going away once more, and shall be absent for seven years.’
With these words he took his departure, and Cannetella burst into a flood of tears, and, wringing her hands, she moaned: ‘Why was I ever born to such a hard fate? Oh! father, how miserable you have made your poor daughter! But, why should I blame my father? for I have only myself to thank for all my sufferings. I got the cursed head of gold, and it has brought all this misery on me. I am indeed punished for not doing as my father wished!’