"During the fifteenth century, in a small village near Nuremberg, lived a family with 18 children. In order to put bread on the table for such offspring, the father and head of the family, working almost 18 hours a day in the gold mines, and anything else that came along.
Despite such poor conditions in which they lived, two of Albrecht Durer's children had a dream. They wanted to develop his talent for art, but they knew that their father never could send any of them to study at the Academy.
After many nights of quiet talks between the two reached an agreement. would toss a coin. The loser in the mines to pay for college when he won. After completing his studies, the winner would then pay studies that stay at home, with sales of his works, or as necessary.
coin released to air on Sunday to leave the Church. Albrechtt Durer won and went off to Nuremberg.
Albert then began the dangerous work in mines, where he remained for the next four years, financed his brother's studies, which from the outset was a sensation at the Academy.
Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than many of their teachers, and when he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family gathered for a festive dinner in his honor. After the memorable evening, Albrecht stood in their place of honor at the table, and proposed a toast to his beloved brother, who had sacrificed much for his ambition.
His final words were: "And now, my brother Albert, it's your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dreams, I will take care of you." All eyes were full of expectation
into the corner of the table occupied by Albert, who had his face wet with tears, and moved from side to side head muttering over and over again: "No. .. no ... no ...".
Finally, Albert rose and wiped her tears. He looked for a moment to each of those loved ones and went after his brother, and putting his hand on the cheek of that he said softly:
"No, brother, I can not go to Nuremberg.
is too late for me . Look what four years of work in the mines have done to my hands. Every bone in my hand is broken at least once, and lately
arthritis in my right hand has advanced so much that I could hardly lift the cup during your toast ... much less be able to work with delicate lines compass or parchment and could not handle the pen or brush. No, brother ... for me it's too late. "
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