Back in the fifteenth
century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen
children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table
for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith
by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and
any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
Despite their seemingly hopeless
condition, two of the elder children, Albrecht and Albert, had
a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but
they knew full well that their father would never be financially
able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.
After many long discussions
at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out
a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the
nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while
he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss
completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other
brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if
necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday
morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off
to Nuremberg.
Albert went down into the
dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother,
whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation.
Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better
than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated,
he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned
works.
When the young artist returned
to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their
lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After
a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter,
Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table
to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice
that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing
words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it
is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your
dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager
expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears
streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side
to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no
...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and
wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long
table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close
to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go
to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look, look what four
years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every
finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been
suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot
even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate
lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No,
my brother ...for me it is too late."
More than 450 years
have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful
portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals,
woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the
world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar
with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being
familiar with it, you very
well may have a reproduction
hanging in your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to
Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly
drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers
stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply
"Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their
hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love
"The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy
of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your
reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - -ever
makes it alone!
The Praying Hands by Albrecht Durer
