Praying Hands
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I'd never heard the story behind the picture of "The Praying Hands"
before.
I found it touching and inspirational. Hope you enjoy it too.
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 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,
supported 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 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,br> 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
