The Praying Hands

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.”


Mora: 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!