(I do not know if this is true but sounds great)
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 support 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, long ago, 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."
