The Praying Hands
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
Albrecht Durer the Elder's children 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 were, 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, 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."
~author unknown~
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