What must the singer have? A voice? Of course. But how good must that
voice be? "Ah, there's the rub!" It is this very point which adds so
much fascination to the chances of becoming a great singer; and it is
this very point upon which so many, many careers have been wrecked. The
young singer learns that Jenny Lind was first refused by Garcia because
he considered her case hopeless; he learns that Sir George Henschel told
Bispham that he had insufficient voice to encourage him to take up the
career of the singer; he learns dozens of similar instances; and then he
goes to hear some famous singer with slender vocal gifts who, by force
of tremendous dramatic power, eclipses dozens with finer voices. He
thereupon resolves that "voice" must be a secondary matter in the
singer's success.
There could not be a greater mistake. There must be a good vocal basis.
There must be a voice capable of development through a sufficient gamut
to encompass the great works written for such a voice. It must be
capable of development into sufficient "size" and power that it may fill
large auditoriums. It must be sweet, true to pitch, clear; and, above
all, it must have that kind of an individual quality which seems to
draw the musical interest of the average person to it.