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The Praying Hands
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen!
In order to keep food on the table for his family, the father, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his shop and any other paying work he could find in the neighborhood.
Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of the eldest children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew 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. The winner of the toss will attend the academy first and complete his study. Once, the first winner of the toss completes his study, he will help the other brother to attend the academy and support him financially by selling arts or working at the mines if necessary.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer, one of the brothers won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert, the other brother went to work at the mines and for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht’s artworks were far better than most of his professors. By the time he graduated, he began 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 triumphant 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’s your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream and I will take care of you.”
All heads turned in eager 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.
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glances down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, he said softly, “No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. 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. My brother, for me, it’s too late.
More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer’s hundreds of masterful pieces hang in every great museum in the world, but people are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer’s works.
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.”