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."

Author Unknown

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