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
But suddenly, as he rushed forward to strike the bell, the armless
man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death
in the street below.
The stunned bishop rushed down two hundred and ninety five church
steps, when he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the
fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only a moment
As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them
‘Bishop, who was this man ?’.
‘I don’t know his name,’ the bishop sadly replied,
( scroll down )
‘ ……………… 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 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
‘I don’t know his name,’ sighed the distraught bishop, ‘but…’
(. . . Wait for it ….)
‘HE’S A DEAD RINGER FOR HIS BROTHER..’