On 2 September 1930, Eugene O'Neill wrote to his son, Eugene, Jr., “I gave Gruenberg the composer the opera rights to Jones six months ago—signed and sealed” (Selected Letters 371).  Apparently, in March of 1930 O'Neill and Louis Gruenberg had set in motion a series of events which would culminate in January 1933 at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York.  With librettist Kathleen de Jaffa, Gruenberg transformed one of O'Neill's finest early plays into what was alternately called “an authentic masterpiece” and “not so much an opera as incidental music and sound effects for the O'Neill play” (Briggs 136).

 

In late summer and early fall of 1920, Eugene O'Neill was working simultaneously on two plays, Diff'rent and The Emperor Jones.  When the latter was premiered by the Provincetown Players, it was an immediate and overwhelming success.  Not only did Jones bring the Provincetown Players their first real recognition from Broadway audiences and managers; it made scenic design history as well.  Provincetown's Jig Cook was the moving force behind the innovative use of a large plaster dome in front of which the play was so effectively staged.  “Viewers seated three feet from the stage had the illusion of vast distance; an actor could stretch his hand to within inches of its plaster surface and still seem to be far away from it” (Gelb 444).  The Provincetown Players had managed to bring to life O'Neill's eight-scene experiment in expressionism and (almost) monodrama; which was no simple task.

 

The Emperor Jones takes place primarily in the jungle of a Caribbean island and is filled with hallucinations and supernatural beings.  It tells the story of Brutus Jones, ex-Pullman porter, who escapes from an American chain gang to become emperor of the island.  There he subdues and dominates the natives, convincing them he can be killed only by a silver bullet which he, himself, possesses.  When the natives revolt, Jones flees into the jungle, where he is confronted by “ha'nts” and other frightening hallucinations.  He loses his way and is finally killed by the natives, who fell him with silver bullets made during their night-long ceremony.  The persistent drum beat of their ritual pulses throughout the play, adding to the frantic flight of the emperor.  A tremendously successful production, Jones went on to become a standard selection in the American repertoire, as well as being translated into seventeen different languages (Terras 90).

 

Any such literary or theatrical success is, naturally, a prime target for adaptation; and so Louis Gruenberg enters the scene.  Born near Brest Litovsk, Poland, in 1884, Gruenberg was brought to the United States as an infant.  He studied piano with Adele Margulies in New York.  Later, in Berlin, he studied piano and composition with Busoni.  Gruenberg performed with the Berlin Philharmonic and also studied at the Vienna Conservatory, where he was a tutor.  He completed his first opera, The Witch of the Brocken, in 1912.  This piece for children was followed by an adult opera, The Bridge of the Gods.  In 1919 he returned to America and continued to concentrate on composition.

 

A champion of modern music, Gruenberg was one of the earliest American composers to incorporate jazz rhythms in works of symphonic dimension (Slonimsky 653).  His symphonic work, The Hill of Dreams, won the Flagler Prize in 1919.  In 1923, Gruenberg helped to form the League of Composers, which later presented a number of his works, such as Daniel Jazz in 1925, and The Creation, which incorporated traditional spirituals.  Then in 1929 his symphonic poem The Enchanted Isle, which was commissioned by Juilliard, was a resounding success.  Following the premiere of Isle, Juilliard commissioned Gruenberg to write an opera version of Jack and the Beanstalk with librettist John Erskine, which premiered in November of 1931.  Later in life, Gruenberg wrote extensively for motion pictures; and three of his scores, for the films Flight for Life, So Ends Our Night and The Commandos Strike at Dawn, won academy awards.  The arc of Gruenberg's work included five symphonies, chamber music, the operas Queen Helena and Volpone, and four collections of spirituals.  His most important work, however, is The Emperor Jones.

 

Collaboration is often a tricky business, and in the case of O'Neill and Gruenberg it approached disaster.  Gruenberg wanted O'Neill to write the libretto and, in one meeting in Paris which lasted from midnight to four a.m., tried to convince the playwright to do so.  The attempt failed, but when the libretto was finished, O'Neill expressed pleasure with the results (Gelb 724-725).  While the Gelbs feel that Gruenberg was “compelled to resort to his own literary talents” (725), it is well documented that Kathleen de Jaffa was credited with the libretto.  In any event, the true writer was O'Neill himself, as the opera's English text is nearly identical to the play, including stage directions and descriptions.

 

Except for the obvious addition of music, there are only two significant differences between the opera and the play.  The first is the use of a virtually unseen chorus, located in the orchestra pit, who are at first partially visible only when they raise their hands and arms into view.  As the opera progresses, the chorus become more visible when they sing, gradually rising up out of the orchestra pit and finally taking to the stage at the climax.  Their function is much like that of a classical Greek chorus.  They chant commentary between scenes with such phrases as “he mus' die if we are to live” and “He's 'fraid alreddy” (Gruenberg).

 

The second major change in the opera is at the climax, when, instead of being hunted down and killed by the natives as O'Neill had prescribed, the operatic Jones shoots himself while the chorus, in the form of ghostly natives, closes in around him.

 

In his review of the premiere, Olin Downes of the New York Times said this of the chorus:

At the end it is the embodiment of the forces which, by their workings, reduce the erstwhile porter, alias Emperor, in modern garb, to a terrified savage in a loin-cloth, chosen for the sacrifice.  That is a musical transmutation of the essence of the play, and it is powerfully good theatre into the bargain.  (7 January 1933)

Whatever the details of the collaboration, in the case of the added chorus the result was successful.

 

It would appear from O'Neill's correspondence that the collaborative difficulties were related not to text, but to personality.  On 22 January 1931, O'Neill wrote to Carlotta, “I anticipate a dull evening with the composer gent!” (Selected Letters 376).  Mrs. O'Neill seemed to feel even more strongly about Gruenberg.  Witness this 9 January note to Saxe Commins:

I am not surprised that Gruenberg's behaviour towards you has been as it has.—His whole public insistence of being unappreciated & misunderstood & left to starve is a bit thick & very undignified to say the least.  If he can use you for any thing he'll turn up again!!  (Commins 137)

In the same letter she goes on to say, “We could hear nothing much over the radio—but what I could hear sounded like a play with music—not grand opera!”  This was an opinion shared by many critics.  Ethan Mordden, in his book on twentieth century opera, said that the “Harlemite drum beating” of Gruenberg's score “added little more to the original script than some burdensome postverismo recitative” (144-145).  “Skeptics contended that ... the sung portions of the work, instead of heightening dramatic tension, merely slowed up the action and made the words unclear” (Briggs 136).  In his history of the Metropolitan Opera, Irving Kolodin claimed that

the opera lacked the tremendous impact of the play, especially as Gruenberg had minimized the use of the drum-beat which is so vital a factor in the play's success in the theatre.  There was little character to the music nor was the Sprechstimme utilized with a sufficient appreciation of word-emphasis to be really meaningful (441).

While the critics differed on what exactly were the opera's strengths and weaknesses, the consensus seemed to alternate between “the greatest American opera to date” and “an interesting play with music.”  The one point about the score with which there was no dispute was that it depends much more on rhythmic patterns than on tonal variation or melodic line.

 

Despite mixed reviews, the opera enjoyed some success and certainly generated considerable discussion.  There were several factors involved which perhaps compensated for the shortcomings of Gruenberg's music.  The first, of course, was the strength of O'Neill's original play.  In a letter to Eugene O'Neill, Jr., dated 14 January 1933, O'Neill comments quite succinctly on the opera's strength:

Emperor Jones as opera with Tibbett playing it at the Met, seems to be the season's sensation in the theatre line!  Fact!  People woke up to Jones again, it seems.  I couldn't hear it for static over the radio but the critics say it is play with incidental music rather than opera.  And they all rave over Tibbett's acting & voice.  Which pleases me.  I always knew any good actor, white or black, could make a hit in Jones.  It's simply realistic superstition to think only a coon can play it.  It's one of the surest fire parts in modern drama.  (Selected Letters 409)

Lawrence Tibbett was, in the opinion of Kolodin, “doubtless the best non-Negro Jones one could imagine, close to the dramatic level of Gilpin and Robeson” (371).  The Bakersfield, California native's first Metropolitan audition had not been a success.  Instead of the Pagliacci prologue he was expecting to sing, Tibbett was asked for “Eri Tu” and broke on a high note.  Three weeks later he returned with Iago's “Credo” and was handed a modest contract by Gatti-Casazza.  After his debut in 1923, Tibbett sang a series of small parts until 1925, when he became a huge success with his poignant interpretation of Ford in Falstaff (Peltz 93).  By 1933, when he originated the role of Brutus Jones, Tibbett had become “the strong man of the American wing” (Brockway 480).

 

Another factor in the success of The Emperor Jones was the work of Jo Mielziner, “though it was drastically reduced by the conservative Metropolitan minds from his first bold sketches” (Kolodin 372).  The leading set designer of his era, Mielziner was born in Paris, but studied in America at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts.  A list of only his finest work would include nearly all the best plays and some of the most successful musicals for the fifty years he was active, particularly after 1930 (Bordman 475).  In fact, Mielziner's credits alone fill more than a page in The Biographical Encyclopedia & Who's Who of the American Theatre.  He was known for creating a “visual counterpart to the poetic realism of the plays of the period” (Banham 677).  Mielziner's stage designs have been exhibited at the Research Library and Museum of the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center, and on the International Exhibitions Foundation tour (1968, 1969) as well as in many other prestigious exhibits (McGill 987).  In 1933, Mielziner was no stranger to O'Neill or his work, having designed the set for Strange Interlude in 1928.  Certainly the Metropolitan Opera could not have hoped for a better qualified or more talented designer.

 

A crucial factor in any operatic performance is the conductor.  In this instance, Tullio Serafin, formerly of La Scala, occupied the podium.  Serafin, who had been publicly considered the most desirable successor when Toscanini left the Metropolitan Opera in 1915, had joined the Met in 1924.  He soon became the unquestioned master of everything relating to the Italian repertory (Kolodin 320); but one may wonder if his grasp of American opera equaled that of the Italian.  Nevertheless, Serafin retained sufficient memory of The Emperor Jones to produce it successfully in Italy in 1952, with Nicola Rossi-Lemini as the Emperor (Kolodin 372).

 

An interesting anecdote regarding the stage director of the premiere production and the members of the chorus has been recorded by John Briggs in Requiem for a Yellow Brick Brewery:

When Alexander Sanine, the Russian director who staged The Emperor Jones, first met with his dark-skinned cast, he asked whether any in the group spoke French; his English was poor.  One of the dancers stepped forward.

 

“Speak Russian,” she said in Russian.  “I will interpret for you.”

 

Sanine found that she was part gypsy and had performed all over Europe.  She had in fact appeared at the theatre in Moscow where he made his debut as stage director.  (292)

Certainly the production would not have been a success if the people following Sanine's direction had been lacking.  The opera depends heavily on staging, particularly on dance and pantomime.  Hemsley Winfield, the first African-American to appear in a Metropolitan Opera production, danced the major role of the Witch-Doctor.  The corps of dancers was made up of members of the New Negro Art Theatre Group, of which Winfield was a member.  The critics unanimously praised the ensemble for its raw vitality and exuberance.

 

Unfortunately, not all of the original performers were of the same quality.  Marek Windheim, the German tenor who played the Cockney Smithers, was a liability in some respects.  “At one point, O'Neill heard, he pronounced a line as “I vas forgettin' dot silver bullet'” (Sheaffer 414).

 

Despite such incidental shortcomings, The Emperor Jones was given more than ten performances in two seasons, and not only in New York, but also in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Hartford and Boston (Eaton 323-327).  It was also a triumphant success in Chicago in May of 1933, as well as in San Francisco that November.  The opera was also performed in Amsterdam in 1934.  Not all of Europe, however, had been anxious to see The Emperor Jones.  Kolodin reports that the opera was originally scheduled to premiere in Berlin, but with the rise of Nazism it was withdrawn when Erich Kleiber, who was to conduct it, decided that a music drama with an African-American as the central figure would be unacceptable in the current political climate (371).  One can only speculate how a premiere in Berlin might have influenced the subsequent American premiere in 1933.  Perhaps it would never have come to New York at all.  Or perhaps a success in Berlin would have stirred more interest among American operagoers.

 

This adaptation of The Emperor Jones was certainly not a financial success for either of its creative collaborators.  The playwright received only eighty dollars per performance, whereas he sold the film rights to the same play for thirty thousand dollars.  Much more lucrative!  And without question Louis Gruenberg received far greater remuneration for his motion picture scores than he ever did for The Emperor Jones.  Vernon Leftwich, in Music Magazine, states:

Gruenberg's experience with Emperor Jones, in spite of its success, shows how naďve it would be to expect reasonable compensation for the time involved in writing an opera.  It took him more than a year to actually write it and, even though it had nineteen performances at the “Met,” he wound up with the miserable remuneration of $1,000.  (January 1957)

Furthermore, while one certainly would expect Gruenberg to have received considerable funds for such a venture, the proposed production of The Emperor Jones by NBC Television in 1950 was cancelled because the public relations department was afraid the opera would be offensive to the African-American community.

 

Without a doubt, the Metropolitan Opera has produced many new operas more successful than The Emperor Jones.  Nor is there any doubt that it was primarily financial considerations that forced the work from the repertoire.  Indeed, there is still something haunting and intriguing about this early experiment in a new American musical art form.

 

WORKS CITED

 

Banham, Martin, ed.  The Cambridge Guide to World Theatre.  Cambridge UP, 1988.

 

Bordman, Gerald.  The Oxford Companion to American Theatre.  New York: Oxford UP, 1984.

 

Briggs, John.  Requiem for a Yellow Brick Brewery.  Boston: Little, Brown, 1969.

 

Brockway, Wallace, and Herbert Weinstock.  The Opera.  New York: Simon and Schuster, 1941.

 

Commins, Dorothy, ed.  “Love and Admiration and Respect”: The O'Neill-Commins Correspondence.  Durham: Duke UP, 1986.

 

Eaton, Quaintance.  Opera Caravan.  New York: Farrar, 1957.

 

Gelb, Arthur and Barbara.  O'Neill.  New York: Harper & Row, 1962.

 

Gruenberg, Louis.  The Emperor Jones, Op. 36.  Newton Center: GunMar, n.d.

 

Kolodin, Irving.  The Metropolitan Opera, 1883-1966.  New York: Knopf, 1967.

 

McGill, Raymond, ed.  Notable Names in the American Theatre.  Clifton: White, 1976.

 

Mordden, Ethan.  Opera in the Twentieth Century: Sacred, Profane, Godot.  New York: Oxford UP, 1978.

 

O'Neill, Eugene.  Selected Letters, ed. Travis Bogard and Jackson R. Bryer.  New Haven: Yale UP, 1988.

 

Peltz, Mary Ellis.  Spotlights on the Stars.  New York: Metropolitan Opera Guild, 1943.

 

Sheaffer, Louis.  O'Neill, Son and Artist.  Boston: Little, Brown, 1973.

 

Slonimsky, Nicholas, ed.  Baker's Biographical Dictionary of Musicians.  New York: Schirmer, 1978.

 

Terras, Rita.  “A Spokesman for America: O'Neill in Translation.”  Eugene O'Neill's Century, ed. Richard F. Moorton, Jr.  New York: Greenwood Press, 1991.