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 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!
~Source Unknown~
Midi: My Prayer
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