I had been in his boyhood. I thanked him in my
heart for his trust; for were the need for telling
all less than it seems to me now I could not
speak of my past life. But she, who was my
sister-in-law still, held back her welcome, and,
for want of that, I did not go to live in Heidelberg
as I had planned beforehand, in order to be
near my brother Fritz, but contented myself
with his promise to be a father to my Ursula
when I should die and leave this weary world.

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 indulgent towards us
women, though he was stern enough with the
apprentices in the mill. Karl, the oldest of
these, was his favourite; and I can see now that
my father wished him to marry me, and that
Karl himself was desirous to do so. But Karl
was rough-spoken, and passionate—not with me,
but with the others—and I shrank from him in
a way which, I fear, gave him pain. And then
came thy uncle Fritz's marriage; and Babette
was brought to the mill to be its mistress. Not
that I cared much for giving up my post, for, in
spite of my father's great kindness, I always
feared that I did not manage well for so large a
family (with the men, and a girl under Kätchen,
we sat down eleven each night to supper).
But when Babette began to find fault with
Kätchen, I was unhappy at the blame that fell
on faithful servants; and by-and-by I began to
see that Babette was egging on Karl to make
more open love to me, and, as she once said, to
get done with it, and take me off to a home of
my own. My father was growing old, and did
not perceive all my daily discomfort. The more
Karl advanced, the more I disliked him. He
was good in the main, but I had no notion of
being married, and could not bear any one who
talked to me about it.

Things were in this way when I had an
invitation to go to Carlsruhe to visit a schoolfellow,
of whom I had been very fond. Babette was all
for my going; I don't think I wanted to leave
home, and yet I had been very fond of Sophie
Rupprecht. But I was always shy among
strangers. Somehow the affair was settled for
me, but not until both Fritz and my father had
made inquiries as to the character and position
of the Rupprechts. They learned that the father
had held some kind of inferior position about
the Grand-Duke's court, and was now dead,
leaving a widow, a noble lady, and two daughters,
the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend.
Madame Rupprecht was not rich, but more than
respectable—genteel. When this was
ascertained, my father made no opposition to my
going; Babette forwarded it by all the means in
her power, and even my dear Fritz had his word
to say in its favour. Only Kätchen was against
it—Kätchen and Karl. The opposition of Karl
did more to send me to Carlsruhe than anything.
For I could have objected to go; but when he
took upon himself to ask what was the good of
going a-gadding, visiting strangers of whom no
one knew anything, I yielded to circumstances
—to the pulling of Sophie and the pushing of
Babette. I was silently vexed, I remember, at
Babette's inspection of my clothes; at the way
in which she settled that this gown was too old-
fashioned, or that too common, to go with me
on my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in
which she took upon herself to spend the money
my father had given me to buy what was
requisite for the occasion. And yet I blamed
myself, for every one else thought her so kind
for doing all this; and she herself meant
kindly, too.

At last I quitted the mill by the Neckar-side.
It was a long day's journey, and Fritz went with
me to Carlsruhe. The Rupprechts lived on
the third floor of a house a little behind one of
the principal streets, in a cramped-up court, to
which we gained admittance through a doorway
in the street. I remember how pinched their
rooms looked after the large space we had at the
mill, and yet they had an air of grandeur about
them which was new to me, and which gave me
pleasure, faded as some of it was. Madame
Rupprecht was too formal a lady for me; I was
never at my ease with her; but Sophie was all
that I had recollected her at school: kind,
affectionate, and only rather too ready with her
expressions of admiration and regard. The
little sister kept out of our way; and that was
all we needed, in the first enthusiastic renewal
of our early friendship. The one great object of
Madame Rupprecht's life was to retain her position
in society; and as her means were much
diminished since her husband's death, there was
not much comfort, though there was a great
deal of show, in their way of living; just the
opposite of what it was at my father's house. I
believe that my coming was not too much
desired by Madame Rupprecht, as I brought with
me another mouth to be fed; but Sophie had
spent a year or more in entreating for permission
to invite me, and her mother, having once
consented, was too well bred not to give me a
stately welcome.

The life in Carlsruhe was very different from
what it was at home. The hours were later,
the coffee was weaker in the morning, the
pottage was weaker, the boiled beef less relieved
by other diet, the dresses finer, the evening
engagements constant. I did not find these
visits pleasant. We might not knit, which
would have relieved the tedium a little; but we
sat in a circle, talking together, only interrupted