Wednesday, 11 October 2017

The Mystery of the Dark Lady

I like finding out interesting stories to do with paintings and so was delighted to come across the subject of today's post.  As you will know, the long-suffering Mr Walker is curator at the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery and Museum, home to this painting...

The Fortune Teller, 'Beware of a Dark Lady'  (1940) Frank Cadogan Cowper
As you will know from my previous post on Cowper, the artist was a Pre-Raphaelite follower, whose career reached into the middle of the twentieth century, when he seemingly continued to use the same style.  If you asked people to date The Fortune Teller, more likely they would guess Victorian rather than Second World War.  It is a very odd picture for many reasons, but I find it rather compelling, not least because of the implied tension between the two women (even if blondie is unaware of it) and the overwhelming detail of that ivy hedge.  Anyway, I didn't think any more about it until Mr Walker asked me to read a letter...

Frank Cadogan Cowper (1932) Bassano Ltd
Cowper first exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1899 at the tender age of 22, so by 1940, he'd been showing his paintings there for around two-thirds of his life.  The Royal Academy exhibition of 1940 is often referred to as 'the Blitz Exhibition', owing to the fact that it occurred during the bombardment of London in the Second World War.  According to the Yorkshire Post of the 4th May 1940, Cowper's 'Fortune Teller' was a highlight in the 'brighter' show and describes it thus: 'It shows two fashionably dressed young women, a blonde and a brunette, seated in a garden, and a gypsy is telling the fair one: "Beware of a dark lady". The look on the dark one's face suggests some ground for the warning.'  On Sunday 5th May, Andrew W. Arnold of Tunbridge Wells, a notable collector of art and friend of Cowper, was one of the 30 or 40 people who braved the bombs to see the exhibition. 

The Russell-Cotes Art Gallery rather liked the look of the painting and were about to ask for the loan of it but it had already been sold. Mr Arnold bought the painting, and a decade later offered it to the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery for their collection.  He was by this point in his 90s and possibly knew his time was limited so this might have been the reason to break up his collection.  Some of his paintings, 'modern pictures', seems to have been part of a Christie's sale in 1949 (catalogue reference 1949:22).  He did not place the Cowper picture in the sale, maybe because he was so attached to it.  The painting was offered first to Bristol Art Gallery, but they turned it down, so it was offered to Bournemouth, with some items of furniture, and it was that correspondence I ended up reading.

Mr Arnold gave a thousand guineas for the piece, which is around £40,000 in today's money, a fairly substantial amount for such a curious work of art, but Mr Arnold had a special reason for wanting the picture...


As Mr Arnold said in his letter 'Modern pictures are so awful that in recent years I have never gone [to the RA exhibition]  unless Mr Cadogan-Cowper tells me that he...had pictures in it.'  Well, there's a man after my own heart.  Not only that but he goes on: 'I shall be 92 next month and it is more than 60 years ago that I and the two girls in the picture had glorious fun at Brighton and Eastbourne.'  

Mr Arnold, NOW you have my attention...

 Mr Arnold is therefore describing people he met in the 1880s-90s, not some young, war-time girls that caught his eye.  He describes the dark haired woman as being 'very clever and had a beautiful contralto voice' (thank you Helen for being able to read this bit).  The blonde girl was nicknamed 'the golden butterfly', which is a wonderfully evocative name, and he had seen her again, after the First World War - 'She was a widow when I last saw her 30 years ago, her husband was a Colonel in the Royal Artillery.'  There is no hint as to when the husband had died, but given that the girls would have been around the age of Mr Arnold, therefore born in the 1860s, I'm guessing her husband could well have died outside conflict, being possibly too old to have died in the Great War.

Also in the file was a letter from Frank Cadogan Cowper, about the painting which offers a few other details. He reports that The Fortune Teller was declared 'painting of the year' and likened to the Pre-Raphaelites in the press, and that when the Academy closed its exhibition, it transferred down to Eastbourne Art Gallery to be part of their summer exhibition, in the town where Mr Arnold had 'glorious fun' with the models!

So, the puzzle I am left with is this - Mr Arnold was very attached to this painting and donated it to a gallery rather than sell it, even though it had cost him a fortune.  He obviously had fond memories of the models in the painting but here is the question: he remembers running around with them in 1890, before Cowper had really started to paint professionally, but the painting of them was not exhibited until 1940.  

When and how did Frank Cadogan Cowper paint that picture?

The Ugly Duckling (1950)

There is much to recommend it being a painting from 1940: firstly, you are not exactly allowed to drag any old picture out of your attic and shove it on display as your picture of the year, and that would also beg the question of why Cowper hadn't displayed it over the intervening 50 years.  Also, the dresses, although worn with bonnets, are quite modern and much like ones worn by the various young women whose portraits Cowper painted in later years. However, the women were of an age with Cowper, so had he met them when young?  Had he made sketches of them and brought out those sketches when considering this work, sixty years later?  It's even not out of the question that Mr Arnold had photographs of the women he obviously remembered with such fondness and as he was friends with Cowper, maybe the artist had used the photographs as inspiration.  I want to know more!

Sadly, unless anyone has information about the Golden Butterfly and her beautiful-voiced friend, it will remain something of a tantalizing mystery...

Monday, 11 September 2017

If Hope Were Not, Heart Should Break

Recently I was discussing next year's Burne-Jones exhibition at the Tate on Facebook and I said I hoped that they would talk about Fanny Cornforth.  It's not that I'm Fanny obsessed (okay, my life is almost entirely Fanny-centric), but I have always been fascinated how Fanny and Ned got together in the first place. In this post I wrote a few years back, I talked about how Ned and Fanny have always been one of art's odd couples because they didn't seem to match, aesthetically speaking.  Then again, I have always loved this picture...

Hope (1862) Edward Burne-Jones
It is one of Burne-Jones' most lovely, if unfinished, paintings, and I have always regretted we couldn't see the rest of the image.  What was the vision of her? What made Fanny personify 'Hope' for the artist and what did that vision entail?  Come to think of it, Burne-Jones spent a lot of time thinking about hope.  What was Burne-Jones hoping for?

If Hope Were Not, Heart Should Break (1890s)
The quote comes either from a Stuart clergyman, Thomas Fuller, or a thirteenth century proverb, but the meaning is obvious - don't give up, things will get better etc etc, but also possibly more than that.  Hope is essential for living, it is hope that keeps us going.  It is an acknowledgement of the power of nil desperandum.  I began to wonder if there was a connection between the images of Hope and the times in which they were painted.  Did Burne-Jones acknowledge his need for hope at certain times and the paintings were material manifestations of these feelings, or was it just a subject he liked? And what does all that have to do with an unfinished painting of Fanny Cornforth?

Hope (1896) 
This Hope (1896) was painted towards the end of Burne-Jones' life, and was commissioned by Mrs George Marston Whitin of Whitinsville, Massachusetts. She wanted dancing girls but the artist needed Hope.  His best friend, William Morris, had just died and that had dealt a severe blow to him and his work.  He offered Mrs George Marston  Whitin a painting of a figure reaching up to the heavens, despite the bars that obscure her view. It was at this point he needed to reach up, despite being shackled to the sadness of life.

Windows at St Margaret's Church, Hopton-on-Sea
The 1896 oil painting was a copy of an early watercolour from 1871, which had served as a draft for a stained glass window.  1871 was during a personally disastrous period for the artist and his family, much of which was self-inflicted.  In Georgiana Burne-Jones' diary the period 1868-71 are simply recorded as 'Heart, thou and I here, sad and alone', as her husband conducted a destructive affair with Maria Zambaco.  Even though the climax of the affair had been in 1869, with the attempted suicide of Zambaco in the street while Burne-Jones clung to her, Zambaco's image haunted the artist's work and no doubt caused much tension and pain within the marriage.  No wonder Burne-Jones needed some optimism that it would all blow over.

Spes, Hope in Prison (1874)
However, the 1870s were not kind to Burne-Jones.  The fact he felt the need to do another version of Hope (although some argue that this one was painted mostly by his studio assistants) may indicate that the need for Hope during a period of 'imprisonment' within a situation.  As we covered in this post, the critics were unkind to Burne-Jones for many reasons in the 1870s and while recovering his personal life, his professional life was under attack.  He obviously needed intervention by Spes, the Goddess of Hope. So, returning to the first picture, what 'hope' did Burne-Jones need in 1861? His son Philip had been born, he was doing well, his friends were all married and expecting children and the firm of Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co had opened for business.  No doubt he was busy but it doesn't exactly sound like desperate times.  Then again, maybe it wasn't him who needed hope...

Merlin and Nimue (1861) Edward Burne-Jones
When Rossetti married Elizabeth Siddal in 1860, he allegedly swore off all models except his beautiful wife.  This was a terrible blow to Fanny Cornforth, who had been living a jolly life as his mistress and muse.  In George Price Boyce's diary we are left in no doubt how seriously Fanny took her relationship with Rossetti - she worried about how Rossetti perceived the time she spent with Boyce and she became bedridden with grief when Rossetti married Elizabeth.  She had lost her lover and her income at one fell swoop, but oddly it was Burne-Jones who provided her with work, using her as the beautiful but shifty Nimue and a firey-orange-clad Venus in Laus Veneris.  He also started the abandoned oil entitled Hope, possibly because by the time he worked on it, Mrs Rossetti had died and Fanny had been reunited with her erstwhile and damaged beloved.  She was definitely in need of hope, in need of the reassurance that all would get better, but aside from the whistful face, very little else of the oil painting was clear, and I had always wondered what the finished picture was going to look like.  

Bocca Baciata (1859) Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Rewinding back a few years to the high-days of Fanny and Rossetti (and Boyce)'s affair, the painting Bocca Baciata had encompassed all the sexual freedom that their lives had consisted of.  Fanny was loved by these two men who found her beautiful and untainted by their physical devotion to her.  She is temptation, as shown by the apple; she is luxury, expressed by the jewellery and the glorious expanse of hair. I have wondered over her expression in the past, as she looks slightly distracted as if she is aware that her time in the spotlight is finite.  The marigold she holds is a member of the calendula family, meaning 'little clock' possibly indicating the passing of time, emphasized by the butterfly on the apple. Maybe there is a case for changing the famous poem to 'Gather ye marigolds while you can...'

Viridis of Milan (1861)
In many ways, it is unsurprising that when Burne-Jones came to use Fanny as a model he envisaged her in similar ways as his friend had done.  Fanny provided a nice counterpoint to his angelic images of Georgiana from this time, and there are shades of slight threat to paintings such as Viridis of Milan,  where she portrays a woman from history, whose father was so bad the Pope preached a crusade against him.  Maybe that explains Viridis' 'what's he done now?' expression...

Anyway, it's not a big leap from Bocca Baciata to Viridis of Milan and then to this gouache painting of Hope...

Hope (1861-2) 

Hope (1862)
Seen together these canvases are obviously related and the rest of the unfinished oil can be transposed across from the gouache.  In her hand she holds an orb with the inscription 'If hope were not, heart should break', and the dark jacket revealing the white underclothes beneath seems to be inspired by Bocca Baciata.  Unlike some of Burne-Jones' other images of Fanny, there seems to be kindness here, a sympathy for her situation where she was truly helpless.  All the threat of power that exist in his other images of her is absent and Fanny is just a woman literally holding onto hope and waiting.  Unlike his later figures of Hope, Fanny doesn't reach up, or seem to be imprisoned, she just sits there with her little handful of hope, waiting for the call from her beloved.  

Maybe the reason Burne-Jones never finished the oil is because the call came, but at another's expense.

Saturday, 26 August 2017

Rococo Loco!

As some of you that read this blog will know, I also have a bit of a fetish for the eighteenth century.  In both my degree and masters with the glorious Open University, I studied the art, architecture, literature, music and politics of eighteenth century Europe.  I also make a delicious capezzoli di venere.  Nom nom nom. Anyway, some of my favourite Victorian art is based on eighteenth century scenes, filled with massive dresses, heaving bosoms and marital entanglements.  Hurrah all round!

Rejected Addresses (1876) Charles Lidderdale
No wonder the Victorians loved the Georgians; the century before got to indulge (and overindulge) in things that were frowned upon in the time of good Queen Vicky.  Plus, the fabrics were wonderful and there was a sense of romance in the air at all times.  Take our lady in the painting above.  She's been well and truly snubbed by some bastard.  You take some time to think, my darling, and you'll realise that he didn't deserve you and you are well out of that.  Plus, with those hip pads you'd never fit through his gate.

The Trysting Place (1878) Charles Lidderdale
Here we are again, waiting for our beloved to turn up.  Take my advice and give him 5 minutes, tops. If he doesn't turn up by then, he's just not into you.  Have a bit of self respect, no matter how hot he is. I do wonder if a big silk dress is the ideal outfit for wandering around woodland looking for a good tryst.  I hope she's wearing wellies underneath...

A Tangle (1897) Francis Muschamp
Of course, the Victorian idea of Georgian life wasn't just filled with bitter jiltings.  There was plenty of lovely courtships too, including this charming pair who are having japes whilst winding some yarn.  That is a patient man indeed and she should marry him immediately because any man who will sit still for that long is a keeper.  Also, look how shiny his outfit is.  I think she likes him as he got the chair on the furry rug.  He's in there.

Harmony (1879) Jean Carolus
These three sisters all sing together beautifully and I'm sure will not be elbowing each other out of the way for the chap with the violin.  Something the Victorians attribute to the Georgians is a love of music and there are many scenes of girls singing, dancing and generally being lovely and accomplished. Georgian women are the best.

The Minuet (1892) Elizabeth Stanhope Forbes
Everybody dance now! And start them young!  Perhaps the Victorians thought Georgian women were far better behaved (which is optimistic of them), rather than those pesky suffragettes and women with their own thoughts.  Look at those nice Georgian ladies, why can't you be more like them?  They do dancing, waiting for feckless lovers, and sing a bit. That's proper girl business.

The Rehersal (1886) Edmund Blair Leighton
Is it just me or do neither of these two look particularly happy about playing the song?  Often the Victorians took the opportunity to  equate musical duets with lovers, but in the case of this unlikely pair, they don't look too thrilled.

The Singing Lesson by Arturo Ricci
Take The Singing Lesson by Arturo Ricci; that couple is definitely in love and singing something romantic to each other.  In fact all of Ricci's Georgian paintings are a cavalcade of Rococo interiors packed with jolly, satin clad lovelies who are all filled with the romance of being strictly corsetted...

Rococo Interior by Circle of  Arturo Ricci
For the Victorians who had rules and boundaries, the perceived freedom of the previous century seemed carefree and beautiful.  The fact that there are some attractive manly ankles on show can't have hurt either.  It was only when I watched Pride and Prejudice on the BBC that I learnt how men changed from knee breeches and stockings to boring trousers.  Looking at the interior above it's all bright colours and smiles.  Those Georgians are so jolly, but then it's all fun and games until someone cuts a king's head off. The French just ruined it for everyone, t'uh.

The Picnic (no date) Edwin Blair Leighton
See, this is far calmer and less likely to end in revolution.  No-one gets regicidal with a cheese scone in their hand.  Trust Blair Leighton to find the calm, sweet side of the previous century.

Market Day (1900) Edmund Blair Leighton
Artistically, he often gets left behind, but The Other Leighton carved a very decided path for himself with his warm paintings of innocent life.  These two ladies are taking flowers to market and this handy chap is rowing them.  Now, he might be their brother or he might have his eye on one of them.  Maybe the narrative of this one is that the ladies are competing for the man with the muscly forearms and shortly there will be a discreet splash and only one lady will be left in the boat.  However, the way Blair Leighton plays it is innocent and respectable.

The Golden Train (1891) Edmund Blair Leighton
There is a certain amount of fetishistic treatment of the clothing in these paintings.  It's not like the Victorians didn't have beautiful clothing but maybe the impractical elements of the women's clothes emphasise desirable feminine helplessness.  You won't be riding bicycles in that frock, let alone trying to get the vote or other such nonsense.  If you have any sense, you will sit still and look pretty.  Why would you want to do anything more in a dress that beautiful?  Anyway, thinking gives you wrinkles.  Sit still and enjoy your dress...

The Clumsy Suitor by Francis Muschamp
One thing that is a safe bet for a big-dressed lady is that true love will prevail, even if he is a tad uncoordinated.  This poor chap is knocking everything over with his enormous sword (not a euphemism), much to the amusement of the young lady.  She obviously likes a man with an unwieldy weapon.  Moving on.

Cut off with a Shilling (1885) Edmund Blair Leighton
What the Victorians sought out in these paintings was obviously an idea of themselves.  This is where they came from, their forefathers, the scandal-ridden, pleasure-loving dancers who transformed into a nation that defeated Napoleon and embraced the rules and boundaries of the Victorian age. In images like Cut off with a Shilling they show the caprices of the Georgians, but that scene could have come from any Dickens novel.  The Georgian age might have also had the rosy glow that all previous ages tend to have - look at the way the Victorians are often shown to us, without the disease, prejudice and questionable hygiene that is no doubt true.  To the Victorians, the previous age might have represented a more stable social order.  If you were a nouveau riche type, buying a nice painting for your brand new house, then you would seek to align yourself with one of those rich Georgian men who had always been the ruling class, who had knowledge, money and power.  The Victorian social order must have felt like shifting sands at time, with money raising people up or dumping them down, like a see-saw. 

The End of the Journey (c.1870) Philip Richard Morris
When the Victorians paint other periods they are obviously talking about themselves.  That is a quality they very much share with our modern times in that respect.  I wonder if other periods were guilty of this?  The people in the past are so glamorous, beautiful, romantic and brave. The women are gentle and waiting for your proposal, however long it might take.  The men are courtly, suave, strong of arm and long of sword. By buying the art you buy into the ideals, the myth and say 'this is my world, this is how I want life to be'.  It's no different to people liking period dramas now, wishing life could be that elegant and polite.  History paintings have certain outcomes, we are the living proof of how things turned out.  Maybe by looking back we are not facing our own paintings, our own lives that have far less certain outcomes.  We can only hope that future generations look at us and find us beautiful. 

Sunday, 13 August 2017

Some Thoughts on Emily Peacock

As you will have read in a previous post of mine, sometimes the job of a biographer can be awfully tricky, especially in the case of women.  If that woman is a model, it becomes nigh on impossible because if we know anything of them it tends to be via the filter of the artist's biographers, and therefore prone to bias.  Nine times out of ten, they are of little consequence to biographers of the great and good and therefore slip from history. I find rather a lot of fun in seeing if I can fish them back into view.  Say hello to Emily Peacock...

Emily Peacock (1871) Julia Margaret Cameron
 Miss Peacock and her sister appear in a large number of Julia Margaret Cameron's photographs between 1871 and 1875, but very little is known of her because she was not local.  For models such as the Keowns and all the many Marys, finding them is easy as Freshwater is not a massive place in 1861 and so tracking them down and following them through birth, marriage, census and death records is fairly easy. Not only that but they crop up in local newspapers because in a small place, everything is news.  I love tracing people in small areas with a thriving local press, it's ever so much fun.  So, where does that leave us with the lovely Miss Peacock?

And Enid Sang (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron
Books such as Tracing Echoes (2001) by Nicky Bird and Julia Margaret Cameron's Women (1998) by Sylvia Wolf made an effort to find out more about the various models, but poor Emily escaped them both. All that could be said was that she was probably a visitor to Freshwater between 1871 and 1875 as no Peacocks were resident in the 1871 census.  In order to trace her, you would have to find every Emily Peacock in the World and work out if they were likely to be in Freshwater on holiday in 1871.  Sounds like fun, eh?
Emily Peacock (1873) Julia Margaret Cameron
You know me, I love a challenge (or rather my Aspergers manifests in my inexhaustible need to find out everything about everyone), so I could not let this one go.  After all, Miss Emily Peacock is a pretty important model for at least four years of Julia Margaret Cameron's career.  She deserves to be recognised as one of the faces of Cameron's work when it comes to some icon pictures such as Ophelia and And Enid Sang.  Where to start?

Aurora (1871-5) Julia Margaret Cameron
Always start with what we know: we can be fairly sure her name is Emily Peacock as that is written against her images.  In the images of 1871-5 she looks around 20 years old, so we are looking for someone born in the early 1850s.  We also know her sister was called Mary...

The Sisters (Emily and Mary Peacock) (1873) Julia Margaret Cameron
Therefore we are looking for Emily and Mary Peacock, born in the early 1850s.  That narrows it down a bit because although there are loads of Emily Peacocks, there are only a handful that have a sister called Mary (or Maria or anything that could be shortened to Mary).  Marvellous.  We can thin out the field further by making a reasonable assumption.  If the Peacock family were not residents in Freshwater during the 1870s it is fair to say that they were on holiday at Freshwater when Mrs Cameron discovered the sisters.  As Emily appears in images over a few years, the family had to be rich enough to take an annual holiday over at least four years.  There is a sea of Agricultural Labourers (or Ag Labs, as they are often called), who cannot be expected to continually visit the Isle of Wight to pose for Mrs Cameron. Not only that, why did Emily stop? So who are we left with?  Well, my money is on Miss Emily Denman Peacock and here's why...

The Sisters (1873) Julia Margaret Cameron
First of all, I'll start with Mr Peacock, Emily and Mary's father.  He is mentioned in a couple of Cameron's biographies, but not particularly flatteringly.  Mr Peacock is described in Brian Hill's 1973 biography of Cameron as a 'neighbour' in Freshwater, but everywhere else as a 'visitor', so it can be guessed that he stayed in a house close to Dimbola for extended periods.  Anyway, to quote from Hill's book:
"His daughters were goodlooking enough to sit for Julia, but their father was an affected individual who was always stressing his devotion to 'the beautiful'. He was foolhardy enough to remark one day to Mrs Cameron that really it would be a good thing if all plain people were quietly eliminated. 'At which I said to the man, whom I hate, "Then what would become of you and me, Mr Pocock?"' She was quite aware, of course, of his proper name." (p.125-126)
He sounds smashing.  However, that does give you an idea of how Mr Peacock regarded himself and his place in the world. He doesn't sound much like an agricultural labourer to me.  Anyway, armed with that bit of delightful fascism, I went in search of a man of independent means (and over inflated ego).  Sadly, you can't search for 'cockwomble' in a census. 'Quietly eliminated', for heaven's sake.

Three King's Daughters Fair (Mary and Emily Peacock and Annie Chinery)
(1873) Julia Margaret Cameron
Out of all the Peacock families in England, I narrowed it down to just one likely lot, and actually I found them first in Brooklyn, New York.  Samuel Alexander Peacock appears in the 1855 American census, aged 25, living with his 30 year old wife Maria and his daughters Emily and little Maria, whom I would like to go out on a limb and say they probably called Mary to save her being mixed up with her mother.  Samuel worked as a 'Printer' (later 'Newspaper Proprietor' which would explain the ego) but had not been in America more than a year or so because Emily, aged 2, had been born in Herfordshire in January 1853.  Maria Jnr however, at only a couple of months old, had been born in Brooklyn.  Their brother Thomas was also born in Brooklyn three years later but no further siblings follow until the family is back in England in 1865.  Grace, Clarrisa and Charles Peacock complete the family by the end of the 1860s, and the family had settled back in Watford, where Emily had been born almost twenty years before.

I See a Hand You Cannot See (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron
In the 1871 census, Samuel Peacock is described as a 'Master Printer' and employed four men and two boys.  He was incredibly nouveau riche which possibly explains why he would say something so naff in order to impress people he felt intimidated by. Anyway, as part of 1871, the family travelled to Freshwater to stay and there Julia Margaret Cameron discovered Emily and Mary Peacock...

The Angel in the House (1873) Julia Margaret Cameron
It seems that either Emily was more willing and available to pose, or Cameron found her more inspiring because during the four years the girls were on the island, Cameron used Emily on her own as well as occasionally with Mary.  She also took portraits of Emily that had no other title other than her name.  Emily posed for The Angel in the House, from a poem by Coventry Patmore of the same name, personifying the ideal of docile, middle-class womanhood.
Ophelia (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron

Ophelia (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron
 Most famous of Cameron's images of Emily has to be her Ophelia photographs, the top one especially.  The fragility and concern of her expression and the smattering of foliage underplays her madness beautifully, so you are left with a believable, worrying young woman.  The fact you can see the grasp of her fingers in her hair in the first picture, and the furrowing of her brow, is very moving and make these some of the most artistically striking of Shakespeare's doomed heroine.

'He thought of that sharp look Mother I gave him yesterday' (1875)

New Year's Eve (1875)
'He thought of that sharp look Mother I gave him yesterday' (1875)Julia Margaret Cameron
I wonder if part of the Peacock family's attempt at middle class-ness in their stay in Freshwater was also to meet Tennyson.  Although Mr Peacock sounds a bit of a pretentious and slightly fascist ninny, I can imagine him being impressed by the presence of the poet laureate in the village, maybe even the reason the family stayed there.  Imagine how chuffed he must have been when his daughter not only posed for images inspired by the great poet's work, but also posed with the great poet's son!  'He thought of that sharp look Mother I gave him yesterday' from 1875 is from Tennyson's 'The May Queen', and Emily is posed with Lionel Tennyson, young son of the poet, portraying the young May Queen and her erstwhile beau Robin.  The middle image, Cameron ascribed to 'New Year's Eve' a different poem, but possibly she intended it to be part of the Robin and May Queen story as well.

'For I'm to be the Queen of the May, Mother' (1875)

'So now I think my time is near' (1875)
Julia Margaret Cameron
'The May Queen' was a poem that Cameron returned to repeatedly for inspiration, and Mary Ryan had already been the unlucky girl, expiring on a bed of flowers in photos from 1864.  The two images of Emily as the May Queen from a decade later, taken on 1st May 1875, show a rather more 'Ophelia' figure, saintly in her martyrdom.  I like the fake halo from the straw boater. The dress in the second photograph looks rather like the Ophelia dress too. Despite the difficulties in posing and the whole process, the photographs are clear and beautiful images the convey the emotion and pathos of the poem beautifully.

Egeria (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron
Then Emily disappears from Cameron's art.  So what became of her?  Did her family just stop holidaying on the Isle of Wight?  Did they too object to the scandalously high ferry charges? Did Cameron finally kill Mr Peacock for being an annoying wierdo?  Well, if my Emily Peacock is the right Emily Peacock there is a really good reason for why her last appearance is in 1875.  Don't worry, she didn't die.  She got married.  In Australia.  That'll do it.

Enid (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron
Miss Emily Denman Peacock, daughter of Samuel and Maria, of Herfordshire, married Professor Charles Henry Herbert Cook from Kentish Town, Middlesex on 2nd December 1876 in St Peter's, Victoria, Australia.  Charles was a graduate of Cambridge who had just been employed as Professor of Mathematics at Canterbury College, Christchurch, New Zealand.  His parents had emigrated to Australia where he had gone to school, returning to England for his degree and meeting Miss Peacock whom he whisked away to Oz.

Charles Henry Herbert Cook
There is a lovely biography of Charles here and it seems he and Emily had a pretty decent life together.  One of their five children, Charles Frederick Denman Cook died in 1918, during the First World War, of spinal meningitis.  Other son Henry studied mathematics like his father and one of their three daughters was called Mary, after Emily's sister.  

Charles and Emily's grave
Emily died in September 1925 and is buried beside her husband (who had passed in 1910) at the cemetery in Wanganui, Rangitikei in New Zealand.

Is this our Emily Peacock?  Well, as she had children who married and had children of their own, hopefully somewhere out there (possibly in New Zealand) might be an image of Emily that could be compared to Cameron's photographs.  Possibly on a wall in Christchurch hangs a Julia Margaret Cameron print, who knows?  I'm really hoping so...