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, 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."
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!
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