That Babette Müller was, as I may say, the cause of all my
life's suffering. She was a baker's daughter in Heidelberg — a
great beauty, as people said, and, indeed, as I could see for
myself I, too — thou sawest my picture — was reckoned a beauty, and
I believe I was so. Babette Müller looked upon me as a rival. She
liked to be admired, and had no one much to love her. I had several
people to love me — thy grandfather, Fritz, the old servant
Kätchen, Karl, the head apprentice at the mill — and I feared
admiration and notice, and the being stared at as the 'Schöne
Müllerin,' whenever I went to make my purchases in Heidelberg.
Those were happy, peaceful days. I had Kätchen to help me in the
housework, and whatever we did pleased my brave old father, who was
always gentle and indu
