by ratty

After Quasimodo’s death, the Archbishop of Paris at the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed.

The Archbishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and went up into the belfry to begin what he thought would be a long screening process.

After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it a day and would offer prayers for more success the next day.

Just then, an armless man approached him and falling flat on his face announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer’s job. The bishop was incredulous.

But man you have no arms !'”No matter,” said the man. “Observe my technique !”

And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the massive carillon.

The Archbishop listened in astonishment; convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo.

But suddenly, as he rushed forward to strike the final bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below.

The stunned Archbishop rushed down the two hundred and ninety five steps of the bell tower. When he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure. They had been drawn to the Cathedral, by the beautiful music they had heard only moment before from the melodious bells.

They silently parted to let the Archbishop through and one of them asked,

“Archbishop, who was this man . . ?”

“I don’t know his name,” the bishop sadly replied,


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 Archbishop continued his interviews for the new bell ringer of Notre Dame Cathedral.

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 Archbishop 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 before he hit the floor.

Two monks who were saying their Matins, hearing the Archbishop’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 . . .”



2 Comments to “Quasimodo”

  1. Bloody hell, mate. That one’s even older than you!


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