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Bell Ringer.
After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent
word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed. The
bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and went up
into the belfry to begin the screening process.
After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had
decided to call it a day. Just then, an armless man approached him and
announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop
was incredulous. "You have no arms!" "No matter," said the man. "Observe!"
And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful
melody on the carillon. The bishop listened in astonishment; convinced he
had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo. But suddenly, rushing
forward to strike a bell again, the armless man tripped and plunged
headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below.
The stunned bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the street, a crowd
had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they
had heard only moments before. As they silently parted to let the bishop
through, one of them asked, "Bishop, who was this man?" "I don't know his
name," the bishop sadly replied, "but his face rings a bell."
WAIT! WAIT! There's more . . .
The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily on his heart
due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist, the bishop
continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame.
The first man to approach him said, "Your Excellency, I am the brother of
the poor armless wretch that fell to his death from this very belfry
yesterday. I pray that you honour his life by allowing me to replace him
in this duty." The bishop agreed to give the man an audition, and, as the
armless man's brother stooped to pick up a heavy mallet to strike the
first bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest, twirled around, and died on
the spot.
Two monks, hearing the bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy,
rushed up the stairs to his side. "What has happened? Who is this man?"
the first monk asked breathlessly. "I don't know his name," sighed the
distraught bishop, but..."
(Wait for it . . . . . . . It's worth it). . .
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"He's a dead ringer for his brother."
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