[Fwd: Fw: Praying Hands (touching story)]
From: dtouch (dtouch@bellsouth.net)
Sun Feb 17 10:49:51 2002
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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
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."
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!
A true story
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