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!
