The Bishop was stunned. "But, my good man, you have no arms."
"No matter," the man said, "Observe!" as he rushed to the carillon and started striking the bells with his face. He played beautifully, stepping quickly from one bell to another when he suddenly tripped over something and fell out of the tower to his death on the street below.
The bishop rushed downstairs, and the cluster of people parted to let him reach the dead man's side. As the bishop bent over his crumpled body to bless it, an onlooker asked, "Bishop, who is this dead man?"
"I don't know his name," he said sadly, "But his face rings a bell."
The next day, the bishop resumed his auditioning of bell ringers, and the first applicant said, "Your Grace, I am the twin brother of the poor, armless wretch who fell from your belfry to his death yesterday. I would be honored to be your bell ringer in his memory."
The bishop welcomed him to audition, and the twin went over to pick up the mallet used to strike the bells. As he bent over, he groaned suddenly, clutched his chest, and fell to the floor dead. The monks below heard the bishop's cry of grief and rushed up to the belfry, bursting upon the tragic scene. One of them asked, "Your Grace, who is this dead man?"
"I don't know his name," the bishop said sadly, "But he's a dead ringer for his brother."