Praying Hands
In the 15th C., in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with
eighteen children. In order merely to keep food on the table, the father,
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, 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. 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 to celebrate Albrecht's homecoming. After a long and memorable
meal, 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!
And, remember to sincerely thank those who have helped you to get where
you are!
--- End Message ---