The Woman of Rome by Alberto Moravia

people.” He spoke with admiration of his employers and with scorn of poor people; and, partly because of the comparisonI kept on making between that house and my own, and partly because of his words, I felt very poor.
    We went up the staircase to the next floor. Gino put his arm round my waist and hugged me tight. And then, I don’t know why, I almost felt as if I were the mistress of the house just going upstairs with my husband, after some reception or dinner, on my way to spend the night with him in the same bed, on the next floor. As if he had guessed what I was thinking (Gino was always having these intuitions) he said, “And now let’s go to bed together — tomorrow they’ll bring us our coffee in bed.” I began to laugh, but almost hoped it would come true.
    I had put on my best dress that day to go out with Gino, and my best shoes, blouse, and silk stockings. I remember the dress was a two-piece, a black jacket and a black-and-white-check skirt. The material wasn’t too bad, but the dressmaker in our neighborhood who had cut it was not much more experienced than Mother. She had made a very short skirt, shorter at the back than in front, so that although my knees were covered, my thighs could be seen from behind. She had made the jacket extremely close-fitting, with wide lapels and such tight sleeves that they hurt my armpits. I felt as if I were bursting out of the jacket; and my breasts stuck out as if a piece of the jacket were missing. My blouse was a very plain one, made of some cheap pink stuff, without any embroidery, and my best white cotton petticoat showed through it. My shoes were black and shiny, the leather was good but the shape old-fashioned. I had not got a hat and my wavy chestnut-brown hair hung loose over my shoulders. It was the first time I had worn the dress and I was very proud of it. I thought myself very smart and could not help imagining everyone turned round in the street to look at me. But as soon as I entered the bedroom of Gino’s mistress and saw the enormous downy bed with its embroidered silk coverlet, embroidered linen sheets and all those gossamer draperies flowing down over the head of the bed, and saw myself reflected three times over in the triple mirror standing on the dressing table at the end of the room, I realized I was dressed like a scarecrow, my pride in my rags was ridiculous and pitiful, and I thought I would never again be able to callmyself happy unless I could dress well and live in a house like this. I almost felt like crying; I sat down on the bed in bewilderment, without saying a word.
    “What’s the matter?” asked Gino, sitting down beside me and taking my hand.
    “Nothing,” I said. “I was looking at a peasant I happen to know.”
    “Who?” he asked in amazement.
    “There,” pointing to the mirror in which I could see myself seated on the bed beside Gino; and really, we both looked like a couple of hairy savages who had wandered into a civilized house by mistake, but I looked worse than he did.
    This time he understood the feeling of depression, envy, and jealousy that was tormenting me.
    “Don’t look at yourself in that mirror,” he said as he put his arms round me. He feared for the outcome of his plans and did not realize that nothing could have been more favorable to them than my present feeling of humiliation. We kissed one another and the kiss revived my courage, because I felt that after all I loved and was loved.
    But a little later when he showed me the bathroom, which was as big as an ordinary room, with its white, shining tiles and the built-in bath with nickel-plated faucets; and when he opened one of the closets and showed me his mistress’s dresses, packed tight together, the sensation of envy and of my own poverty returned and made me feel quite desperate. I was suddenly overcome by a desire to think no more about these things; and for the first time I wanted, consciously, to become Gino’s mistress, partly so as to forget