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 … looks 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!
