In 1958, when ordinary women were not expected or encouraged to have adventures, American novelist Paul Gallico created the character of a London cleaning woman, Ada Harris—or ‘Arris in Cockney lingo–who is so relentlessly cheerful and optimistic, that good things happen to her even in gloomy situations.
The first book in the four-part series, Mrs. ‘Arris Goes To Paris, is an effervescent Cinderella-like story in which the widowed, middle-aged Mrs Harris, falls in love with a Dior dress. She decides that she has to get herself a Dior gown, which costs an unaffordable £500 (Over £13,000 today, after inflation). But practicalities seldom come in the way of a dream. Mrs Harris takes on extra sewing work, tries betting on dog races (and fails), and finally with luck, and the kindness of friends, she collects the money to go to Paris.
This fairy tale has just been turned into a film by Anthony Fabian, with the talented Lesley Manville playing Mrs Harris. Even after six decades, the story seems fresh, and the wide-eyed but steel-willed protagonist just as endearing.
When she arrives in Paris (the city is in the midst of a garbagemen’s strike), she has no clue where to go, and has to spend her first night on a railway station bench. The tramps who share their bottle of wine with her, do not rob her, or sneer at her mission. The next morning, one of them gallantly walks her to the legendary Christian Dior showroom, where he is about to show his latest collection.
When she manages to get into the store, and asks for a £500 “frock,” the snooty manageress, Claudine Colbert, orders her to be escorted out, even as Mrs Harris empties rolls of cash on their counter to prove that she can afford it.
The post-War years have been tough, and the accountant, Andre Fauvel’s, eyes gleam at the idea of a cash sale. The other chic employees and models are amused by the English cleaning lady who saved her pennies to buy a gown. A friendly Marquis invites her as his guest to the showing, and she picks the dress she would like to acquire. So infectious is her determination, that Andre offers a vacant room in his apartment for her to stay while her dress is tailored and his sister’s stylish clothes to borrow. Natasha, a model, drives her around and shows her the sights.
Claudine makes all attempts to dissuade her, because she believes a one-of-a-kind Dior gown is special; the clients are “ladies and honourables from England, baronesses from Germany, principessas from Italy, new-rich wives of French industrialists, veteran-rich wives of South American millionaires, buyers from New York,” who demand and get exclusivity. Besides, where would an “invisible” cleaning woman even wear it? But who can argue with a dream?
The plot follows the classic Cinderella trope in which an ordinary woman is transformed into a princess when she wears a shimmering ball gown. The transformative power of clothes have been used in so many stories and films (Pretty Woman, Miss Congeniality,The Devil Wears Prada). It could be argued that equating a woman’s worth with her appearance in today’s world is not politically correct, but it is equally true that the couture gowns on display (with the participation of the House of Dior) are breathtaking, (like the the gara that a maid coveted in Gangoobai, the uncredited Hindi version of the story). Which woman would not–at least once–like to glide into a party, and have everyone’s heads turn. The male equivalent of a bespoke tuxedo does not have the same magical impact. Also, while it is all very well to say that beauty is just skin deep, women (men too) are judged by how they look, and clothes have much to do with this perception. There is also the matter of class and other social indicators of wealth of the lack thereof.
Mrs Harris has common sense, sweet nature and self worth in equal measure, which makes her change the lives of the Parisians she counters. She nudges the romance between Andre and Natasha, saves the jobs of the seamstresses by marching with them to the boss’s office, and goes on to possibly save the sinking fashion house, by pushing Andre to present his prêt and merchandise ideas to the maestro (who, she comments, looks like her milkman!) Of course, she is looking for love too, but only if it comes with respect. Lesley Manville is pretty, and as the man taking her measurements says, has the proportions of a model, but had she been short, fat and dumpy (the covers of the books do not portray a stunning woman), her desire to be touched by the loveliness of silk, tulle, lace and sequins would be no less valid. As Gallico wrote, the gown “worked no miracles except in her soul.”
So popular was this novel that Gallico wrote three more: In Mrs Harris Goes To New York, she tries to reunite a child with his father; in Mrs Harris Goes to Parliament she contests the election and wins, and in Mrs Harris Goes to Moscow, she carries a love letter from her employer to his long-lost Russian sweetheart, and encounters the full force of the KGB.
Rosalind Jana, writing in bbc.com correctly conveys the appeal the story and its protagonist. “What remains so interesting about Mrs Harris Goes to Paris is that for all its fairy tale trappings, it is more complex in its understanding of transformation. Without giving too much away, for Mrs Harris there is a distinction between merely wearing a dress and knowing it is yours. It is the latter experience that is more valuable. She wants a Dior dress “hanging in her cupboard, to know it was there when she was there, when she was away, to open the door when she returned and find it waiting for her, exquisite to touch, to see, and to own.” When she finally makes her way to that fabled atelier, she is thrilled not so much by her own reflection as by her ability to possess such beauty. “Buying a Paris dress was surely the most wonderful thing that could happen to a woman.” Much as we might see this as the ultimate capitalist fairy tale, there is a tenderness and dignity in Gallico’s approach to Mrs Harris. She is, above all, an aesthete: someone who deserves her ravishingly gorgeous gown just as much as the rich ladies whose houses she cleans; a singularly determined woman, moving through the world in pursuit of that perfect feeling of “IT!!”
Like in a conventional fairy tale Mrs Harris’s transformation does not get her a prince or an upper berth in the social hierarchy, but it allows her to quit the job with an exploitative employer (in whose wardrobe she had seen the Dior dress and been bewitched by it) and tell her, “The days of treating people like scum and expecting loyalty are over.” This Eliza Doolittle does not need a Professor Higgins (of My Fair Lady) to teach her the ways of the world. She is, after all, the heroine of her own adventures, far more exciting than attending the royal ball.
(This piece first appeared in The Free Press Journal on November 4, 2022)