Prompt: Ballet, from Hades Lord of the Dead
It was, as I recall, in the late autumn of 1881 when my friend, Sherlock Holmes, was first asked to investigate a case outside of Great Britain, and so we found ourselves in Paris. I had not yet been to the fabled City of Lights, and minded not at all that Holmes had told me nothing about the case as yet. I was enchanted by the unique architecture and cityscape, so different from London, as we ambled through the streets. I was content to follow where Holmes led, for he seemed to know where he was going, though I did not know how. I still knew little of my friend's life before he and I had taken rooms together. Though by now I did know that any questions as to our destination or our case would be met with silence. Holmes was curiously reticent when he wanted to be, and I knew better than to try to force a confidence.
If I had hoped to see the great sights of Paris, however, the Louvre and Notre Dame, I was to be disappointed. We passed by these famous landmarks and stopped at last in front of a small gallery on a street that would be little more than an alley in London. I barely had time to notice the advertisement outside for an art exhibition before Holmes had pulled me inside after him. "Holmes, what are we doing here?" I asked.
"We have some time before we must meet our clients," Holmes said. "What better way to spend an afternoon in Paris than at an art exhibition?"
I must confess to being somewhat nonplussed. Until now, I had never seen Holmes express any interest in painting, or any art at all save music. Later on, of course, I would come to realize that his taste in art was strange and at times incomprehensible. Indeed, my first inkling of such was to be on this trip. However, reasoning that Paris was justly famous for its artistic culture, I followed Holmes inside the building, where paintings were hung on every conceivable surface, some on top of others. It was not what I had ever thought of when I pictured going to one of Paris's famous art exhibitions. Holmes, next to me, seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary, and discoursed at length to me about the use of light in the pictures.
"This is not what I expected when you said we were going to an art exhibition," I said. "Is not the Paris Salon famous for its history paintings, its landscapes?" The paintings here seemed to be little more than dabs of color. If one squinted, one could make out the merest impression of a dawn on the water or a party scene on a boat, but the effect was very slapdash to me.
Holmes laughed. "Those pompous gatekeepers of art? Why, Watson, I did not think you were so obtuse! It is the avant-garde where art is truly made, and that is what we have come to see."
"But, Holmes, these are hardly great pieces!" I said. "It takes true skill to render a scene as it is, or to reimagine a great scene from history. This is-"
"Does it not take equal skill to render an impression?" Holmes asked amusedly. "To capture what it is one first sees? My first impressions are of great value to me. Here, Watson, take these paintings in front of us."
I looked and nearly laughed aloud. "Why, Holmes, these are simply pictures of ballet dancers!" At least I could easily tell what these were supposed to be, though I still did not think of simple dancers as a fit subject for art. "They are not even depicting the performances, just the rehearsals! Why, that is nearly scandalous!"
Holmes laughed silently. "Ah, Watson, again you see but you do not observe. One must have as many observational skills to be a good artist as I must. You see how in the merest few brushstrokes the artist has captured the exhaustion and loneliness of this dancer? There is enough there to tell me that she spends many hours a day practicing, and yet lives in a tiny garret with her sisters who she must support, and who will no doubt end up dancing as well."
"Holmes, it is impossible for you to know that!" I spluttered, looking at the painting in question.
"She is a mere ballet dancer."
"Your friend is right," a heavily accented voice said behind me. "I must congratulate you. Even my fellow artists do not appreciate my work. You see they all paint outside, like barbarians."
"I find people to be much more interesting than landscapes," Holmes said haughtily. To my immense surprise, he then began speaking in a string of perfect French. His new acquaintance seemed pleased to continue in his own language, and I soon left to peruse the rest of the exhibition. After viewing each painting in turn, however, I still could not see what Holmes found so intriguing. It seemed to me that his taste in art was as lacking as his knowledge of astronomy.
"Do forgive me, Watson. That was the artist of those dancer paintings you found so objectionable," Holmes said, appearing at my side again. "A Mr. Degas. Extraordinary. It may surprise you to learn he was as disparaging of his fellow artists here as you are!" He laughed again. I had rarely seen Holmes in so good a mood.
"Truly?" I asked. "I find that surprising. At the very least, landscapes are a better subject for art than ballet rehearsals."
"I will make an artist of you yet, Watson," Holmes said. "Now, speaking of the ballet, that is where we must go next. Or rather the Opera House, for that is where we are to meet our clients."
"The Paris Opera!" I exclaimed as my friend brandished two tickets to tonight's performance. "Why, Holmes, that is most unusual."
"Not at all, since our clients are the owners," Holmes said. "They told me very little of the case, yet I could not pass up the opportunity to investigate in Paris. One must expand if one is to stay in business."
I nearly snorted. I had not yet seen any evidence that Holmes possessed any sense of business. "I hear the Paris Opera has the most wonderful ballet. Why would the owners of the Paris Opera hire you?"
"I am sure we shall find out tonight," Holmes said. "Until then, we shall spend the evening in music. You are right, Watson, that the ballet of the Paris Opera is very well regarded. In addition, I have heard they have recently had the most wonderful new soprano - a Miss Christine Daaé. Come, Watson, we do not wish to be late."
A/N: Another prompt that I took some liberties with - I know next to nothing about ballet, and my original idea of having them see the initial performances of the Nutcracker wouldn't really have worked given when the ballet was finally performed in Britain.
So, I ended up playing around with that one time Watson says Holmes's taste in art is strange, and took that to mean he would like the most unusual and avant-garde art styles of the time, which in this time period would be the Impressionists, who were not well thought of publicly yet. Degas actually was that disparaging of his fellow Impressionists, and didn't like that they painted outside and actually refused to consider himself one of them even though he continually exhibited with them. He also was the only Impressionist who painted ballet dancers, which hopefully fills the prompt.
As for the quick crossover at the end, according to the musical, anyway, the events of The Phantom of the Opera took place in 1881. Couldn't resist!