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."