This'll Ring a Bell...


After Quasimodo's death, the Bishop of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new Bell Ringer was needed.

The Bishop decided he would personally conduct the interviews 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, when an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the Ringer's job. The bishop was incredulous. "You have no arms!"

"No matter," said the man, "Observe!" He spun around and began striking the bells -- with his face! As horrible as it looked, he made a beautiful melody! The Bishop listened in astonishment, convinced that he had found a suitable replacement for Quasimodo.

Suddenly, as he rushed forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged out 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 parted to let the Bishop through, one of them asked, "Bishop, who was this man?"

"I don't know his name," the Bishop replied, "but his face rings a bell."


The following day, despite the sadness of the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist weighing heavily on his heart, 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. The one who fell to his death, from this very belfry, yesterday. I pray, honor his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty." The Bishop agreed to give the man an audition.

As the armless man's brother picked-up a mallet to strike the first bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest, and died.

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 asked. "Who is this man?"

"I don't know his name," sighed the distraught cleric, "but he's a dead ringer for his brother."

    Forwarded from Robert Poserina.