After Quasimodo’s death, the bishop of the cathedral of
Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that
a new bellringer 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 decided to call it a day when a lone, armless man
approached him and announced that he was there to apply
for the bellringer’s job. The bishop was incredulous.
“You have no arms!”
“No matter,” said the man, “Observe!”
He then began striking the bells with his face, producing
a beautiful melody on the carillon. The bishop listened
in astonishment, convinced that he had finally found a
suitable replacement for Quasimodo. Suddenly, rushing
forward to strike a bell, 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 replied, sadly,
“but his face rings a bell.”
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 bellringer 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 honor 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 mallet to strike
the first bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest 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?” the first breathlessly asked, “Who is this man?”
“I don’t know his name,” sighed the distraught bishop,
“But he’s a dead ringer for his brother.”
