n tears what she wanted in food, bewailing her fate which had
brought her down from a royal palace to a stable, from mattresses of
Barbary wool to straw, from nice, delicate morsels to the leavings of
horses. And she led this miserable life for several months, during
which time corn was given to the horses by an unseen hand, and what
they left supported her.

But at the end of this time, as she was standing one day looking
through a hole, she saw a most beautiful garden, in which there were so
many espaliers of lemons, and grottoes of citron, beds of flowers and
fruit-trees and trellises of vines, that it was a joy to behold. At
this sight a great longing seized her for a great bunch of grapes that
caught her eye, and she said to herself, "Come what will and if the sky
fall, I will go out silently and softly and pluck it. What will it
matter a hundred years hence? Who is there to tell my husband? And
should he by chance hear of it, what will he do to me? Moreover, these
grapes are none of the common sort." So saying, she went out and
refreshed her spirits, which were weakened by hunger.

A little while after, and before the appointed time, her husband came
back, and one of his horses accused Cannetella of having taken the
grapes. Whereat, Fioravante in a rage, drawing his knife, was about to
kill her, but, falling on her knees, she besought him to stay his hand,
since hunger drives the wolf from the wood. And she begged so hard that
Fioravante replied, "I forgive you this time, and grant you your life
out of charity, but if ever again you are tempted to disobey me, and I
find that you have let the sun see you, I will make mincemeat of you.
Now, mind me; I am going away once more, and shall be gone seven years.
So take care and plough straight, for you will not escape so easily
again, but I shall pay you off the new and the old scores together."

So saying, he departed, and Cannetella shed a river of tears, and,
wringing her hands, beating her breast, and tearing her hair, she
cried, "Oh, that ever I was born into the world to be destined to this
wretched fate! Oh, father, why have you ruined me? But why do I
complain of my father when I have brought this ill upon myself? I alone
am the cause of my misfortunes. I wished for a head of gold, only to
come to grief and die by iron! This is the punishment of Fate, for I
ought to have done my father's will, and not have had such whims and
fancies. He who minds not what his f