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, 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.”
Moral: 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!