Showing posts with label bohemianism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bohemianism. Show all posts

Sunday, September 14, 2025

Tied by Death on Riviera Roads—Isadora Duncan and Grace Kelly

 

                                                    Movie icon Grace Kelly became Princes Grace of Monaco. 

On September 14, 1982 the former Grace Kelly, Princes of Monaco, died of injuries sustained in an automobile crash in the Principality.  That was 55 years to the day that dancer Isadora Duncan died in a bizarre open car accident not far away on the Riviera in Nice.  They were nearly the same age at death—the Princes was 53, Duncan 50.  Both were cultural icons.

Aside from being American performing artists of striking personal beauty living in Europe, however, the two could hardly have been more different.

Princess Grace was raised in Philadelphia high society, into which her wealthy Irish Catholic family managed to crash.  She had a fabulously successful, if brief, movie career in which she was tagged as an “ice princess” for her cool blonde beauty.  She remained a devoted Catholic and consented to marry into one of the oldest royal families in Europe despite hardly having met the groom, Prince Rainier.

 

Princess Grace's wrecked Land Rover at the bottom of a mountain hairpin turn. 

Duncan, on the other hand, was a wild bohemian and rejected every constraint of conventionality the Princess embraced.  She publicly took lovers of both sexes.  It must be noted, however, that despite Grace Kelly’s aloof reputation in Hollywood, she apparently took most of her leading men as lovers.  But she was chaste and discrete compared to the dancer. 

Of the two, however, Isadora Duncan was by far the more interesting.

 

Isadora Duncan in one of her Greek inspired dance costumes. 

On September 14, 1927 Isadora Duncan, the American-born mother of modern dance and an avant-garde icon died in Nice, France when her signature long flowing scarf became entangled in spokes of a wheel of the open automobile in which she was riding.  She broke her neck and died instantly.  She was only 50 years old.  Her legions of admirers thought her end fitting and symbolic.

Duncan was born on May 26, 1877 in San Francisco, the youngest of four children.  Her father, Joseph Charles Duncan, was a successful mining engineer turned banker and a local patron of the arts and her mother came from an influential California political family.  Despite the promising beginning, Joseph Duncan was disgraced in a banking scandal shortly after Isadora’s birth  and her mother divorced him and relocated the family to Oakland where the family lived in dire, if genteel, poverty.  

 

Isadora--already a wild child. 

Isadora was wild and rebellious and dropped out of school.  She and her sisters were consumed with dance and they helped support the family by giving lessons in their home.  By the age of 18 in 1895 she found herself in Augustin Dalys prestigious New York City theatrical troop as a dancer.  Daly had fostered the careers of many stage notables including Sarah Orne Jewett, John Drew, Jr., Maurice Barrymore, Fanny Davenport, Maude Adams, and Tyrone Power, Sr. and was noted for his unorthodox settings of Shakespearian cannon such as casting a woman as Oberon in A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Despite the seemingly ideal situation for a young dancer, Duncan became disillusioned by the restrictions of conventional theatrical performance and went to London in 1899 in search of artistic purity.  Within a year she was in Paris, then the undisputed cultural capital of Europe and brimming with energy and innovation.  She tried immersing herself in the thriving bohemian life of the Montparnasse but found the poverty of the artist life depressing.  But she was young, extremely attractive, and entirely unconventional in her sexual life.  It was not too hard for her to find lovers and supporters who helped her move in 1909 to a large and comfortable apartment at 5 rue Danton where she also maintained a second floor dance studio.

 

Although they were never dance partners, Isadora was paired with Russian ballet super star Vaslav Nijinsky in a bas relief adorning a new Paris theater in 1913.

It was there that she and her adoring pupils began to discard the conventions of classical ballet, which she described as “ugly and against nature.”  Despite her contemptuous aversion to “commercial exhibition” in the pursuit of “pure art” the private recitals she put on with her students made her famous almost overnight.  Within a couple of years artists and sculptors were using her and her flowing movements as a model.  She was immortalized in a bas relief over the entrance to the new Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in 1913 and painted as one of the Muses in an interior mural.

Duncan danced barefoot and her performances were loosely choreographed to allow her to capture the moment of the music.  She said that she used images from Grecian pottery she found in museums as an inspiration for both her on-stage look and the fluidity of her lines.

 

Isadora's grace and fluidity of line and motion were captured in this photograph. 

Despite her distaste for public performances, economic circumstances often made it essential that she tour, although she was often careless of dates and commitments.  She appeared across Europe, and Latin America, and returned to America for a controversial tour in 1916.

By that time, Duncan’s private life was attracting as much attention as her dance.  She was always open about her devotion to the idea of Free Love and was openly bi-sexual.  She had two children out of wedlock—Deirdre, born in 1906 and fathered by theater designer Gordon Craig, and Patrick, born May 1, 1910 by Paris Singer, a son of sewing machine magnate Isaac Singer.  The children and their nanny were killed in a freak accident in April of 1913 when the car in which they were riding rolled into the Seine when the chauffer got out to re-start the engine with a hand crank.  

 

Twenty years older than Isadora the great Italian actress Eleonara Duce offered her solace--and perhaps a love affair--when the dancer was grieving the death of her children.  

Devastated, Duncan spent months on the island of Corfu with her siblings recovering from an apparent break down.  Soon after she spent weeks at a seaside resort with another avant-garde icon, actress Eleonora Duse, nearly 20 years her senior and with whom she may—or may not—have had a lesbian relationship.

Duncan remained a committed teacher.  In cooperation with her sisters she founded a famous school in Grunewald, Germany, where the Isadorables, her most celebrated troupe of pupils, were formed.  They had started training with her and her sister Elizabeth Duncan as children in 1909, but Duncan later adopted the six girls in New York in 1916. Thereafter they performed using her last name.  With Duncan frequently absent, however, Elizabeth took the troop in a direction from which Isadora disagreed and, worse, allowed them to perform in commercial venues.  Eventually this caused a rift with Elizabeth and with her brother, who arranged independent performances by the girls in the United States.  Five of the girls remained in the US and performed together as the Isadorables for some years rising to considerable fame despite their original mentor’s disdain.

 

Isadora with her students, adopted daughters, and performance troupe, the Isadorables. 

Duncan was an outspoken political radical as well as an artistic one.  In 1922 she went to the Soviet Union to establish a new, revolutionary school in the homeland of the classical ballet.  She was aided by the most loyal of the former Isadorbables, Irma Duncan.  While in Russia she met, fell in love with, and actually married poet Sergei Yesenin, eighteen years her junior despite her knowing only six or seven words of Russian and he no English at all.  Duncan soon became disillusioned when the elaborate promises of support for her school by the State failed to materialize.  By 1923 she was back in Paris with Yesenin in tow and Irma left in charge of the Moscow academy.

 

Isadora with her abusive and alcoholic husband, the Russian poet Sergei Yesenin. 

Duncan resumed touring to support herself.  But Yesenin went into frequent alcoholic rages and destroyed the contents of several hotel rooms, although he was never known to harm Isadora herself.  The public scandal overshadowed her performances.  Within a year Yesenin went back to Russia, where he continued his dissolute ways, took another wife without divorcing Duncan, and died of drink in 1925 at the age of 30.

In 1925, her reputation as a performer damaged by her own drinking and sexual escapades, Duncan made a final tour of the United States.  In Boston, of all places, she came to the stage swathed only in a red banner.  She exposed her breasts and proclaimed. “This is red, and so am I.”  In Hollywood she became one of the many lovers of playwright Mercedes de Acosta, who reprinted passionate love letters in her scandalous autobiography Here Lies the Heart, published in 1960.

Duncan’s final years were plagued with financial woes as her erratic behavior and advancing age cut into her performance opportunities and her public drunkenness alienated many friends.  She split her time between Paris and the Riviera, often leaving un-paid hotel bills in her wake.  Friends, including F. Scott Fitzgerald who she met in Paris, tried to encourage her to finish the autobiography which she had been working on for some years in the hope that the income might bring her some stability.  The book, My Life was published in 1927.

 

An illustrated newspaper account of Isadora's death had all of the celebrity gossip of a breathless Access Hollywood Report. 

Unfortunately, Duncan did not live to earn an income from the book.  On September 14, 1927 she climbed into an open Amilcar roadster with handsome French-Italian mechanic Benoît Falchetto at the wheel.  Her friend Mary Desti later told the press that Duncan’s final words were “Good bye, friends, I’m off to glory!”  Much later she would admit that she censored Duncan’s actual words which were, “I’m off to love!” apparently for a night with Falchetto.  As they sped away, Duncan’s scarf became enmeshed in the rear wheel.  She was nearly decapitated by the force and yanked from the car.  She died instantly.

Duncan’s creative legacy lives on in almost all modern dance.  The last and most famous of the Isadorables, Maria-Theresa Duncan preserved much of Isadora’s most famous choreography which is still performed by troops around the world.  In 1977 Maria-Theresa co-founded the Isadora Duncan International Institute which continues to preserve her legacy.

 

Vanessa Redgrave as Isadora. 

In 1968 her life was celebrated in a dazzling wide screen color epic, Isadora starring Vanessa Redgrave for which she won the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival.  Both Duncan’s and Redgrave’s personal radicalism prevented similar honors from the Motion Picture Academy.  In fact, the whole production was so “drenched in Red” in the words of one critic that the cast included a rare screen appearance of Ronnie Gilbert of The Weavers in a small role.  Despite being a hit and stirring a revival of Art Nouveau and modern dance that influenced the wider culture through the‘70s, the film almost vanished and has seldom been seen since.

The story of Duncan’s life and death has inspired writers and artists to this day.  Carl Sandburg in his poem Isadora Duncan wrote:

The wind? I am the wind.

The sea and the moon? I am the sea and the moon.

Tears, pain, love, bird-flights? I am all of them.

I dance what I am.

Sin, prayer, flight, the light that never was on land or sea?

I dance what I am.

 

Monday, September 14, 2020

Isadora Duncan—Free Spirit Maven of Modern Dance

Movie icon Grace Kelly became Princes Grace of Monaco.

On September 14, 1982 the former Grace Kelly, Princes of Monaco, died of injuries sustained in an automobile crash in the Principality.  That was 55 years to the day that dancer Isadora Duncan died in a bizarre open car accident not far away on the Riviera in Nice.  They were nearly the same age at death—the Princes was 53, Duncan 50.  Both were cultural icons.

Aside from being American performing artists of striking personal beauty living in Europe, however, the two could hardly have been more different.

Princess Grace was raised in Philadelphia high society, into which her wealthy Irish Catholic family had managed to crash.  She had a fabulously successful, if brief movie career in which she was tagged as an “ice princess” for her cool blonde beauty.  She remained a devoted Catholic and consented to marry into one of the oldest royal families in Europe despite hardly having met the groom, Prince Rainier.

 

Princess Grace's wrecked Land Rover at the bottom of a mountain hairpin turn.

Duncan, on the other hand, had been a wild bohemian and had rejected every constraint of conventionality the Princess embraced.  She publicly took lovers of both sexes.  It must be noted, however, that despite Grace Kelly’s aloof reputation in Hollywood, she apparently took most of her leading men as lovers.  But she was chaste and discrete compared to the dancer. 

Of the two, however, Isadora Duncan was by far the more interesting.

Isadora Duncan in one of her Greek inspired dance costumes.

On September 14, 1927 Isadora Duncan, the American born mother of modern dance and an avant-garde icon died in Nice, France when her signature long flowing scarf became entangled in spokes of wheel on the open automobile in which she was riding.  She broke her neck and died instantly.  She was only 50 years old.  Her legions of admirers thought her end fitting and symbolic.

Duncan was born on May 26, 1877 in San Francisco, the youngest of four children.  Her father, Joseph Charles Duncan, was a successful mining engineer turned banker and a local patron of the arts and her mother came from an influential California political family.  Despite the promising beginning, Joseph Duncan was disgraced in a banking scandal shortly after Isadora’s birth  and her mother divorced him and relocated the family to Oakland where the family lived in dire, if genteel, poverty

Isadora--already a wild child.

Isadora was wild and rebellious and dropped out of school.  She and her sisters were consumed with dance and they helped support the family by giving lessons in their home.  By the age of 18 in 1895 she found herself in Augustin Daly’s prestigious New York City theatrical troop as a dancer.  Daly had fostered the careers of many stage notables including Sarah Orne Jewett, John Drew, Jr., Maurice Barrymore, Fanny Davenport, Maude Adams, and Tyrone Power, Sr. and was noted for his unorthodox settings of Shakespearian cannon such as casting Oberon in A Midsummer Night’s Dream as a woman

Despite the seemingly ideal situation for a young dancer, Duncan became disillusioned by the restrictions of conventional theatrical performance and went to London in 1899 in search of artistic purity.  Within a year she was in Paris, then the undisputed cultural capital of Europe and brimming with energy and innovation.  She tried immersing herself in the thriving bohemian life of the Montparnasse but found the poverty of the artist’s life depressing.  But she was young, extremely attractive, and entirely unconventional in her sexual life.  It was not too hard for her to find lovers and supporters who helped her move in 1909 to a large and comfortable apartment at 5 rue Danton where she also maintained a second floor dance studio.

Although they were never dance partners, Isadora was paired with Russian ballet super star 
                    Vaslav Nijinsky in a bas relief adorning a new Paris theater in 1913.

It was there that she and her adoring pupils began to discard the conventions of classical ballet, which she described as “ugly and against nature.”  Despite her contemptuous aversion to “commercial exhibition” in the pursuit of “pure art” the private recitals she put on with her students made her famous almost overnight.  Within a couple of years artists and sculptors were using her and her flowing movements as a model.  She was immortalized in a bas relief over the entrance to the new Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in 1913 and painted as one of the Muses in an interior mural.

Duncan danced barefoot and her performances were loosely choreographed to allow her to capture the moment of the music.  She said that she used images from Grecian pottery she found in museums as an inspiration for both her on-stage look and the fluidity of her lines.

Isadora's grace and fluidity of line and motion were captured in this photograph.

Despite her distaste for public performances, economic circumstances often made it essential that she tour, although she was often careless of dates and commitments.  She appeared across Europe, and Latin America, and returned to America for a controversial tour in 1916.

By that time, Duncan’s private life was attracting as much attention as her dance.  She was always open about her devotion to the idea of Free Love and was openly bi-sexual.  She had two children out of wedlockDeirdre, born in 1906 and fathered by theater designer Gordon Craig, and Patrick, born May 1, 1910 by Paris Singer, a son of sewing machine magnate Isaac Singer.  The children and their nanny were killed in a freak accident in April of 1913 when the car in which they were riding rolled into the Seine when the chauffer got out to re-start the engine with a hand crank

Twenty years older than Isadora the great Italian actress Eleonara Duce offered her solace--and perhaps a love affair--when the dancer was grieving the death of her children. 

Devastated, Duncan spent months on the island of Corfu with her siblings recovering from an apparent break down.  Soon after she spent weeks at a seaside resort with another avant-garde icon, actress Eleonora Duse, nearly 20 years her senior and with whom she may—or may not—have had a lesbian relationship.

Duncan remained a committed teacher.  In cooperation with her sisters she founded a famous school in Grunewald, Germany, where the Isadorables, her most celebrated troupe of pupils, were formed.  They had started training with her and her sister Elizabeth Duncan as children in 1909, but Duncan later adopted the six girls in New York in 1916. Thereafter they performed using her last name.  With Duncan frequently absent, however, Elizabeth took the troop in a direction from which Isadora disagreed and, worse, allowed them to perform in commercial venues.  Eventually this caused a rift with Elizabeth and with her brother, who arranged independent performances by the girls in the United States.  Five of the girls remained in the US and performed together as the Isadorables for some years rising to considerable fame despite their original mentor’s disdain.

Isadora with her students, adopted daughters, and performance troupe, the Isadorables.

Duncan was an outspoken political radical as well as an artistic one.  In 1922 she went to the Soviet Union to establish a new, revolutionary school in the homeland of the classical ballet.  She was aided by the most loyal of the former Isadorbables, Irma Duncan.  While in Russia she met, fell in love with, and actually married poet Sergei Yesenin, eighteen years her junior despite her knowing only six or seven words of Russian and he no English at all.  Duncan soon became disillusioned when the elaborate promises of support for her school by the State failed to materialize.  By 1923 she was back in Paris with Yesenin in tow and Irma left in charge of the Moscow academy.

Isadora with her abusive and alcoholic husband, the Russian poet Sergei Yesenin.


Duncan resumed touring to support herself.  But Yesenin went into frequent alcoholic rages and destroyed the contents of several hotel rooms, although he was never known to harm Isadora herself.  The public scandal overshadowed her performances.  Within a year Yesenin went back to Russia, where he continued his dissolute ways, took another wife without divorcing Duncan, and died of drink in 1925 at the age of 30.

In 1925, her reputation as a performer damaged by her own drinking and sexual escapades, Duncan made a final tour of the United States.  In Boston, of all places, she came to the stage swathed only in a red banner.  She exposed her breasts and proclaimed. “This is red, and so am I.”  In Hollywood she became one of the many lovers of playwright Mercedes de Acosta, who reprinted passionate love letters in her scandalous autobiography Here Lies the Heart, published in 1960.

Duncan’s final years were plagued with financial woes as her erratic behavior and advancing age cut into her performance opportunities and her public drunkenness alienated many friends.  She split her time between Paris and the Riviera, often leaving un-paid hotel bills in her wake.  Friends, including F. Scott Fitzgerald who she met in Paris, tried to encourage her to finish the autobiography which she had been working on for some years in the hope that the income might bring her some stability.  The book, My Life was published in 1927.

An illustrated newspaper account of Isadora's death had all of the celebrity gossip of a breathless Access Hollywood Report.

Unfortunately, Duncan did not live to earn an income from the book.  On September 14, 1927 she climbed into an open Amilcar roadster with handsome French-Italian mechanic Benoît Falchetto at the wheel.  Her friend Mary Desti later told the press that Duncan’s final words were “Good bye, friends, I’m off to glory!”  Much later she would admit that she censored Duncan’s actual words which were, “I’m off to love!” apparently for a night with Falchetto.  As they sped away, Duncan’s scarf became enmeshed in the rear wheel.  She was nearly decapitated by the force and yanked from the car.  She died instantly.

Duncan’s creative legacy lives on in almost all modern dance.  The last and most famous of the Isadorables, Maria-Theresa Duncan preserved much of Isadora’s most famous choreography which is still performed by troops around the world.  In 1977 Maria-Theresa co-founded the Isadora Duncan International Institute which continues to preserve her legacy.

Vanessa Redgrave as Isadora

In 1968 her life was celebrated in a dazzling wide screen color epic, Isadora starring Vanessa Redgrave for which she won the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival.  Both Duncan’s and Redgrave’s personal radicalism prevented similar honors from the Motion Picture Academy.  In fact, the whole production was so “drenched in Red” in the words of one critic that the cast included a rare screen appearance of Ronnie Gilbert of The Weavers in a small role.  Depite being a hit and stirring a revival of Art Nouveau and modern dance that influenced the wider culture through the‘70’s, the film almost vanished and has seldom been seen since.

The story of Duncan’s life and death has inspired writers and artists to this day.  Carl Sandburg in his poem Isadora Duncan wrote:

The wind? I am the wind.

The sea and the moon? I am the sea and the moon.

Tears, pain, love, bird-flights? I am all of them.

I dance what I am.

Sin, prayer, flight, the light that never was on land or sea?

I dance what I am.


 

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

You Don’t Need a Parka and Mukluks to Read this Poet But You Kinda Want to Put Them on Anyway

Already a famous poet, Robert Service posed at the Dawson cabin where he wrote many of his Klondike verses.


One of the joys of my life is highlighting poets that drive poetry snobs the brink of homicidal mania.  They are so cute choking on outrage and condescension.  And no poet fits that bill better than the once wildly popular Canadian bard Robert W. Service.
Service was born on January 16, 1874 in Preston, Lancashire, England.  He was the oldest son of a Scottish banker and was eventually joined by 10 brothers and sisters.  Despite having the honor of being named for his father, the boy was farmed out for one reason or another to the care of his paternal grandfather, the local Postmaster in Kilwinning, Scotland and three maiden aunts.
When he was only six year old he showed off his native aptitude by composing and reciting his first poem—grace at the dinner table.  Recorded for posterity it went like this:

            God bless the cakes and bless the jam;
            Bless the cheese and the cold boiled ham:
            Bless the scones Aunt Jeannie makes,
            And save us all from bellyaches. Amen
It annoys be no end that this bit of juvenile ephemera is so much better than my first poetic effort not attempted until I was above the ripe old age of 10.  The stab at a limerick failed because I couldn’t get it to scan right and was built around rhyming Elvis with pelvis which is lame and pathetic.
Back to Service.  When his father got a plumb job at the Bank of Scotland in Glasgow the boy rejoined his family and began studies at age 9 at Hillhead Primary School, a prestigious day school attended by children of the faculty of the near-by University of Glasgow, civil servants, and the managerial staff—the aspiring middle class.  In addition to pursuing the established curriculum young Robert widely read poets in the English Romantic tradition.  He was soon peddling occasional verse to local newspapers for a few pennies of spending money.
In the new Hillhead High School, Robert excelled in his studies but also enjoyed adventure yarns, especially stories about pioneer and cowboy in the American West.  After graduating from school and saving his money from Commercial Bank of Scotland minor clerkships, Service was able to immigrate to Vancouver Island, British Columbia arriving on the scene to some ridicule bedecked in a costume modeled on Buffalo Bill Cody.
Service took up the life of a sort of gentleman hobo ranging down the Pacific Coast as far as Mexico and back working an odd assortment of catch-as-catch-can jobs, sponging off sympathetic fellow Scotts when he could find them, and having various adventures including a suitably tragic doomed romance.
In 1899 he found himself a clerking in a Cowichan Bay, British Columbia store.  An offhand comment to a customer that he wrote verse resulted in an invitation to submit pieces to the Victoria Daily Colonist, which published six pieces on the Boer War in the summer of 1900 under the initials R.S.  For inspiration Service drew on letters of his younger brother Alex who was in Boer prisoner of war camp with a young cavalryman named Winston Churchill.  One of the poems, The March of the Dead attracted a lot of attention and was picked up by papers across Canada.  The poem would end up in Service’s first collection. 
The Colonist continued to print Service’s verse through 1902 and he discovered that he was getting something of a literary reputation.  But he failed at love and at a fling at brand new Victoria College, a two year off-shoot of McGill University.
So in 1904 he used his Bank of Scotland letter of recommendation to get a job with the Canadian Bank of Commerce branch in Victoria.   He proved his worth and was soon advancing. In 1905 Service got his dream post, to a bank brank in   Whitehorse, a rough and tumble frontier town and the base for hoping off for the Yukon gold fields.  Service had been dreaming of this adventure for some times and had already composed some gold field ballads before ever arriving on the scene.
Service passed his idle time in the saloons frequented by sourdough veterans and naïve city kids caught up in the flush of gold fever.  He played the piano and kept his ear open for good yarns.  Using popular verses like Casey at the Bat and especially Rudyard Kipling’s Barracks Ballads as his model, he began to turn some of those yarns in poetry.
The Shooting of Dan McGrew was dashed off at the suggestion of a local newspaper editor for recitation at a Sunday afternoon Church entertainment.  That was so well received the he quickly finished another The Cremation of Sam McGee.  The poems made him famous almost overnight and he continued to collect more yarns and set them down in rhyme and meter.  He seldom ventured far from Whitehorse himself and he did not make it to Dawson in the Klondike   until 1908, ten years past the frenzied peak of the Gold Rush.  
Service sent sheaves of his poems to his father, by then living in Toronto, who arranged them and found a publisher. Service had planned to pay for the run himself and peddle his books back around Dawson and Whitehorse.  But the editors and typesetters were so taken by the rhymes that they legendarily began reciting them as they worked.  Friends shared them informally in galley proofs.   Based on word of mouth, more than 1,700 were sold in advance before the book could be bound.  Songs of a Sourdough went through seven printings even before its official release date.  Editions printed in New York, Philadelphia, and London were just as successful.
Service was suddenly a rich man, making more than $100,000 pre-inflation dollars on his first book alone.
But he was still working for the bank.  After finishing three years in Dawson Service was given a three month leave which he used to go back to Vancouver Island and to look up the pretty girl who had once spurned him because of his poverty and slim prospects.  This time Constance MacLean agreed to an engagement.  
Service was assigned by the bank back to Whitehorse, where he used his spare time to collect more yarns from old timers.  A second book, Ballads of a Cheechako, was as big a success as the first.  He now felt comfortable to turn down a promotion to manager of the Whitehorse Branch and quit banking for good in 1909.
He returned to Dawson where he rented a small cabin and set to writing a novel. The Trail of ’98, written in five intense month of work, was yet another best seller.  Service used his new wealth to travel to Europe and to Hollywood where some of his best known poems were being made into silent films.  But somewhere in those travels and adventures he lost his lady love.
Service came back to Dawson one last time in 1912 to collect stories for another book of poems, Ballad of a Rolling Stone. After that it was off to Europe as a foreign correspondent covering the Balkan Wars for before settling in France to live off of his considerable wealth.
In 1913 he settled in Paris with a summer home in Lancieux, Côtes-d'Armor, in Brittany.  In Paris, despite his wealth, Service chose to live as an artist on the Left Bank.  He married Parisienne Germaine Bourgoin, thirteen years his junior, a happy union that produced children and lasted the rest of the poet’s life.
When the war broke out Service was turned down for active service with the British because of varicose veins.  Instead the 41 year old poet became a war correspondent again.  After nearly being shot as a spy by panicked English troops near Dunkirk, Service enlisted in the American volunteer Ambulance Corps, the same outfit that other writers like Ernest Hemingway and e.e. cummings served.  His book of wartime poetry, Rhymes of a Red Cross Man, in 1916 was dedicated to his brother LT. Albert Service, Canadian Infantry, killed in action that august.  Most critics agree that the verses represented his best work ever.  They were written in Paris after his health broke under the strain of combat.
In post-war Paris, Service reveled in the life of the city.  By day he could be a gay boulevardier bedecked in finery, carrying a gold-headed cane and wearing a monocle.  At night in the roughest workman’s he caroused with the doorman of his pension in the lowest dives and bistros in the city.  He was reputably the wealthiest expatriate writer in Paris and sometimes a soft touch for down and out artists and writers.  He chronicled those days in a new collection of poetry, Ballads of a Bohemian in which the verses are interspersed with journal passages.
Through the ‘20’s Service concentrated on writing popular thriller novels, some of which were adapted to Hollywood.
The rise of tyrants of the Left and Right caught his attention after a visit to the Soviet Union in 1930 which inspired the savage sarcasm of a new long poem Lenin’s Tomb.  Hitler fared no better in poems printed in the popular press.  When news of the Hitler-Stalin Pact broke in 1939 Service and his family were in once again visiting.  With the secret police of both nation’s looking for him, the family had to go on the lam across the continent.

After a brief return to Canada, Service and his family settled into California during World War II.  He lent his talents to the war effort by entertaining the troops with recitations of his most popular work.  He found that many of the GIs could recite with him, word for word.  At the request of Marlene Dietrich he was cast as himself in The Spoilers with John Wayne and Randolph Scott.

After the war, Service and his family returned to France.  They found their summer home in Brittany destroyed.  They rebuilt the chateau and Service lived there the rest of his life between travels.  In semi-retirement he continued to write novels, occasional satiric verse.  He completed two volumes of memoirs, Ploughman of the Moon and Harper of Heave in addition to six more books of verse.  If his poems seemed old fashion, if the critics sneered—and they always sneered—if the new volumes failed to sell faster than they could be printed, Service was serine.

He never claimed to be a poet, he said, just a simple versifier who could catch the imagination of common people much like himself.  He never won an award or prize.  His status in Canada became more of one of National buffoon instead of the national bard despite selling more poetry than anyone before or since. 

Service died on September 11, 1958 at age 84 in Lancieux, Côtes-d'Armor, and was buried there. His wife Germaine lived on 31 years following his death, dying at age 102 in 1989.

Critics may continue to scoff.  But when I was a Cub Scout long ago, we voluntarily memorized The Cremation of Sam McGee so that we could recite it around a winter campfire. No greater tribute could there be.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
      By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
      That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
      But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
      I cremated Sam McGee.