Everyone thinks of Lillian Russell as this mysterious beauty with the golden voice, but in her childhood, she remembered herself as the ugly duckling of the family. “I was the reckless, tow-headed brat,” said Russell, “who got into all the mischief and scrapes.” She frequently ran away and beat up neighborhood boys just to “prove to them that women were men’s equal.” But that might not have been all her fault. Russell’s mom was a trailblazing woman’s suffrage advocate and made sure her daughter knew women were the equal of any man.
In 1905, Lillian told Theater Magazine beauty was a double-edged sword. “If a woman gets the reputation of being a professional beauty, it is hard work to live up to it. She must keep herself up to her standard. She must never lapse from the standard the public has set for her.”
Beauty was a common theme in Lillian Russell’s life. She often talked about it, but just as often poked fun at it. “The neighbors out in Clinton, Iowa, used to tell my parents that I was a good-looking youngster,” she said. “But you can never put your trust in the neighbors. They may merely be paving the way to borrow the mower or the clothes wringer.” People are funny that way.
In another article, she spoke of beauty as a great drawback. People often wrote her off as brainless. Then, when she said something tactful, they would say, “I had no idea you were so clever,” and looked at her as a precocious child or freak.
However, the worst part of being beautiful was being forced to live up to yesterday’s standards. If she didn’t do her hair just right, or her makeup was a little off, people would point and say, “That’s Lillian Russell. She’s not at all beautiful when you’re close to her.”
Russell said she never made plans for the future. Never had. “Perhaps I am something of a fatalist,” she said. “I always think, ‘if I make such a plan and it doesn’t work out, well I shall be disappointed, so I won’t make it.’” She paused for a moment, glancing around the room, before saying, “Do not worry about the future.”
“I never think of yesterday or tomorrow,” she said. “Today is enough.”
When asked how she studied her parts, Russell said it was a long and tedious process. “Generally, six weeks before the opening night, I read it through carefully, picture myself in different positions in the several scenes, and then I separate the music from the dialogue and study the music first.” After she had the music down, Russell concentrated on the dialogue. That was the method that worked best for her, but she was careful to say it might not work for everyone.
Critics were close at hand during Russell’s career. Author Lewis Clinton Strang said in her early days, Lillian Russell wasn’t much of an actress, “but she didn’t need to act. When one saw her, he forgot all about acting.” She could sing, too. “Her voice, a brilliant soprano, was rich, full, and complete, liquid in tone, pure and musical.”
In 1914, one of Lillian’s newspaper articles tackled the reason so many marriages ended in failure. She decided money, or more precisely, the girl’s failure to quiz her suitor about his finances, was the major cause of divorce in America.
“Don’t be satisfied with promises,” she said. “Insist that [he] sign a contract duly witnessed that when you become his wife, you shall have half his income to do with as you like.” She also believed that the household expenses should be paid for by the husband’s half. I’m not sure, but she may have invented the prenup.
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