As Banks never received anything like the encouragement which he deserved, the character of his genius must be sought more in the works that he sketched, than those that he executed in marble. Among his sketches, the poetical abounded, and these were founded chiefly on Homer. Several splendid sketches are his Andromache lamenting with her handmaidens over the body of Hector, the Venus rising from the Sea, shedding back her tresses as she ascends, and a Venus bearing Æneas wounded from the Battle. “In his classical sketches,” says Cunningham, “the man fully comes out: we see that he had surrendered his whole soul to those happier days of sculpture when the human frame was unshackled and free, and the dresses as well as deeds of men were heroic; that the bearing of gods was familiar to his dreams; and that it was not his fault if he aspired in vain to be the classic sculptor of his age and nation.” His monument to the only daughter of Sir Brooke Boothby, now in Ashbourne church, Derbyshire, represents the child when six years old, lying asleep on her couch in all her innocence and beauty. “Simplicity and elegance,” says Dr. Mavor, “appear in the workmanship, tenderness and innocence in the image.” The sculptor’s daughter Lavinia says, “He was a minute observer of nature, and often have I seen him stop in his walk to remark an attitude, or some group of figures, and unconsciously trace the outline in air with his finger as if drawing paper had been before him. He would in the same way remark folds of drapery, and note them in his mind, or sketch them on paper, to be used when occasion called.”
BANKS’ KINDNESS TO YOUNG SCULPTORS.
His daughter Lavinia often marvelled at his patience in pointing out the imperfections or beauties of drawings and models submitted by young artists to his inspection. Even when little hope of future excellence appeared, he was careful not to wound the feelings of a race whose sensitiveness he too well knew. He would say, “This and better will do,—but this and worse will never do,” and ended by recommending industry and perseverance. One morning a youth of about thirteen years of age, came to the door of Banks with drawings in his hand. Owing to some misgiving of mind, the knock which he intended should be modest and unassuming, was loud and astounding, and the servant who opened the door was in no pleasant mood with what he imagined to be forwardness in one so young. Banks, happening to overhear the chiding of the servant, went out and said with much gentleness, “What do you want with me, young man?” “I want, sir,” said the boy, “that you should get me to draw at the academy.” “That,” replied the sculptor, “is not in my power, for no one is admitted there but by ballot, and I am only one of those persons on whose pleasure it depends. But you have got a drawing there—let me look at it.” He examined it for a moment, and said, “Time enough for the academy yet, my little man! go home and mind your schooling,—try and make a better drawing of the Apollo, and in a month come again and let me see it.” The boy went home, drew with three-fold diligence, and on that day month appeared again at the door of Banks with a new drawing in his hand. The sculptor liked this drawing better than he did the other, gave him a week to improve it, encouraged him much, and showed him the various works of art in his own study. He went away and returned in a week, when the Apollo was visibly improved—he conceived a kindness for the boy, and said if he were spared he would distinguish himself. The prediction has been fulfilled,—the academician Mulready has attained wide distinction.
THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE AND CHARACTER OF BANKS.
In person, Banks was tall, with looks silent and dignified, and an earnestness of carriage that well became him; he spoke seldom; he had a winning sweetness in his way of address, and a persuasive manner which was not unfelt by his academic companions. He was simple and frugal in his general style of living, yet liberal to excess in all that related to the encouragement of art; his purse was open to virtuous sufferers, and what is far more, he shrank not from going personally into the houses of the poor and sick, to console and aid them in adversity. In his younger days it was his custom to work at his marbles in the solitude of the Sabbath morning, when his assistants were not at hand to interrupt him; but as he advanced in life he discontinued the practice, and became an example to his brother artists in the observance of the Sabbath day. He grew strict in religious duty, and, like Flaxman, added another to the number of those devout sculptors, whose purity of life, and reach of intellect, are an honor to their country.
FLAXMAN’S TRIBUTE TO BANKS.
That Flaxman appreciated and honored Banks’ genius, he was ever ready to give strong proof.—“We have had a sculptor,” he says in one of his lectures, “in the late Mr. Banks, whose works have eclipsed the most, if not all his continental cotemporaries.” On another occasion—that of the sale of the sculptor’s models—Mrs. Siddons and Flaxman were seated together, when the auctioneer began to expatiate upon the beauty of an antique figure, saying, “Behold where the deceased artist found some of his beauties.” “Sir,” exclaimed Flaxman, more warmly than was his wont, “you do Mr. Banks much wrong, he wanted no assistance.”
Banks died in 1805. In Westminster Abbey a tablet is erected with this inscription, “In memory of Thomas Banks, Esq., R. A., Sculptor, whose superior abilities in the profession added a lustre to the arts of his country, and whose character as a man reflected honor on human nature.”
JOSEPH NOLLEKENS, THE ENGLISH SCULPTOR.
Cunningham says, “He was passionately fond of drawing and modelling, and labored early and late to acquire knowledge in his profession; yet he was so free from all pride, or so obliging by nature, that he would run on any errand; nor did he hesitate to relate, in the days of his wealth and eminence, how he used to carry pots of porter to his master’s maids on a washing day, and with more success than Barry did when he treated Burke, ‘for,’ says he, ‘I always crept slowly along to save the head of foam that the lasses might taste it in all its strength.’ Such traits as these, however, I cannot consent to set down as incontrovertible proofs of a mean and vulgar spirit; nay, they often keep company with real loftiness of nature.”