Jón Halldórsson, the thirteenth bishop of Skálholt, was an impressive man whose memory lived long in the north. Following his ordainment as priest and as a young man, he traveled to Paris and Bologna to deepen his knowledge. He returned with an outstanding intelligence and in 1322 was ordained by Archbishop Eylíf as bishop of Skálholt.
He derived great pleasure in telling the people wonderful stories that he either had himself experienced in his travels or had learned from the books he read. From the large number of these collected from many Icelanders, we would like to bring a few to life in this small book. In fact, here are two stories that happened during his time in Paris and Bologna—in Paris where Jón attended the best-known school, he knew how to make himself well liked by his first teacher and fellow students.
One day the teacher left the school to refresh himself and left his book, a huge volume, lying on the lectern. Plagued with curiosity to read in the master’s book, Jón hurried up the steps. Barely had he completed a chapter when a fierce storm began that threatened to tear everything apart. The doors flew open and as Jón heard the master returning he fled quickly back to his chair.
Just then, the teacher came back inside. “In the name of God”, he called out, “if this storm lasts into the evening it will dry up all the lakes in France…has someone been at mischief with my book since I was away?” Jón was so well liked by his comrades that no one would reveal him; still, from his own free will he stepped forward, kneeled before the teacher and admitted his curiosity.
“I’ll forgive you”, said the teacher, “but be careful of incautious reading while you’re still uninitiated”. At that, the teacher hurried to the book, turned a page over and read a chapter the same length as that which Jón had read. Suddenly the storm subsided and there was not a bit of wind. The bishop then told the people that from this, one can see what power resides in books.
During Jón Halldorsson’s stay in Bologna there were two foreign students who were both named Johan: a Norwegian named Johan Nordmannus, the other a native of England named Johan Anglicus.
One day the two students were leaving the cathedral. As they came to the exit where two lion’s heads were, the Englishman looked at one of the heads with a smile and said to his companion that in the previous night he had had a strange dream. “I dreamt,” he said, “that one of the heads became alive and bit my right hand off. So explain it to me, comrade; it is said that you Northland people are experienced in this art.” The dream seemed strange to the Norwegian but he only answered with the customary expression in his land that bad dreams often mean little.
The two then walked around the church talking, and as they again came to the gate Johann Anglicus stuck his finger into the stony jaws and said, “This lion bit my hand off in the dream!” At that very moment he fell to the ground dead; an asp that had hidden in the lion’s head had stuck him with the poisonous tip of its tail (30).
One of Jón Haldorsson’s schoolmates later became cardinal and wrote occasional letters to him in Iceland in which he complained of the great distance that separated them. This complaint was sincerely meant because no one knew better how to capture his listeners than Jón did. And since not everyone’s sensibilities were the same, he took care that all could take pleasure on his words, mixing stories of a more worldly character together with a brilliant portrayal. This certainly was suspect for some who only later agreed that everything was done out of compassion as though through him was the fulfillment of the word of the apostles that in all things God works for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28).
This was fulfilled for him by the signs that occurred at his grave in Bergen and elsewhere to his honor, and one can rightly say that God had foretold this honor when he left Iceland the last time. During the night before his departure he dreamt that he was in Bergen’s monastery church amongst his brothers, preaching to them the words of the text, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord” (Revel. 14:13). He suddenly saw that two men stood by his side: Archbishop Eylíf who had ordained him and King Magnus Hákonarsson who at that time was already dead. He dreamt fter he had finished his sermon, the two men took his hands and led him up to the choir showed him a ladder leading up to the roof of the church. After he had climbed it he saw a bed was prepared on the roof peak that was intended as his resting place.
The next morning he told a trusted friend of this dream, who interpreted it to mean future honor and glory. Bishop Háldorsson looked at him angrily and told him to be quiet because God’s servants defend humility more carefully than gold.
The dream can rightly be interpreted, since God had shown him a holy end thanks to his relevant sermons because never in the memory of man in or outside of his homeland has there been one who so possessed the gift of a storyteller. Next, we tell the story from which a sermon was taken in which Bishop Jón preached on St. Þorlák’s Day in Stađarhólt in Westland (Iceland). In this sermon, he preached about the holy righteousness and told in the following story of an example of outstanding righteousness.
An outstanding and wealthy man had, although he was only a knight, was the most powerful in the town and held his position in spite of his person as one of great righteousness. A young man, the son of his sister, also lived in his house. It happened one day that the man became very ill. The illness was at the start not very serious but eventually became life threatening. While the man lay sick in his bed, he heard a noise in the next room that boded nothing good.
Later when his wife came in he asked what the cause of the noise was. She answered that nothing had happened worth telling, but he demanded that she tell him the whole truth and finally caused such an argument that he said she would answer to God if she were hiding a sinful crime that remained unpunished. Then he was told that his nephew had raped a woman and had caused the tumult. The man called those to him to whom he had given his executive powers during his illness, and gave strict orders to punish the guilty according to the law with the penalty of death.
Those responsible, knowing the unyielding nature of their master, left to carry out his will but decided later not to carry out the sentence because they felt sorry for the youth and assumed the death would soon call the strict judge from this world. The young man hid out for a few days, but hiding soon began to be a burden for him; and as he thought that the anger of his uncle had evaporated he risked a visit to him.
The sick man smiled at him kindly and said, “There you are, my friend. Come here to me!” The young man believed that his uncle would grant him forgiveness and so bowed down to him. Instead, the sick man grabbed a knife lying next to him and cut the boy’s throat, who fell to the floor dead. The sick man’s confidants then had to tolerate strong accusations for their disobedience and favoritism.
Soon thereafter, the sick man felt that his death was near and due to his high rank was entitled to receive last rites from the bishop, so had him summoned. Bishop Jón arrived accompanied by two holy men and heard the man’s confession. When this was finished, the bishop maintained his silence without granting absolution. Finally, he asked if what the sick man had confessed was at an end. The man answered that he knew of nothing else to confess but nonetheless asked the bishop that if he knew of something that was omitted, would he help him with his forgetfulness.
The bishop replied that there was a sin he had not confessed to committing a short time ago and couldn’t have been lost from the man’s memory. In reply to the man’s question of which sin he meant the bishop named the murder of the man’s nephew. The sick man answered with a smile that he must leave that decision to God’s judgment, who weighs everything on a just scale.
Bishop Jón became angry and prepared to leave the house. “Sir,” said the sick man, “if you think me so depraved that I am not worthy of the favor accorded by the church to the dying, at least show me the body of the Lord before you take leave.” At the request of those present the bishop showed he was ready to meet this favor, but when the propitiatory was opened they saw that the oblate wafer was missing. The bishop was gripped by fright from these powerful circumstances, but the sick man said, “If the wafer isn’t there then it will be God’s will that it’s here.” He opened his mouth so everyone could see that the wafer lay on his tongue.
Convinced of his injustice, Bishop Jón kneeled before the sick man, asked for his forgiveness and carried out his duty. After a few days, the man died and was buried with the highest honors.
When Bishop Jón arrived in Norway he spent the winter in the Dominican monastery where as a boy he first was entered the priesthood. After Christmas he became ill and when the celebration of Candlemas (February 2nd) approached his condition became so bad that Bishop Hákon of Bergen (who had been ordained at the same time as Jón) gave him his last rites. Nonetheless, Jón continued punctually to perform the canonical hearings both day and night. On the morning of the holiday, he requested the monastery priori read him the Mass of Mary in his room. During the celebration, Bishop Jón sat up in bed and before the gospel he gave the prior the blessing, but after vespers were spoken the prior heard him breathe quietly, as when sleeping.
Following the end of the mass Jón was again alert and spoke the blessing with a clear voice. The prior left the altar and approached the bishop’s bed. “Have you slept a bit?” he asked. “I don’t know if it was unconsciousness, fainting or sleep,” replied Jón, “but I saw a vision.” The prior inquired, “What did you see?” The bishop answered, “It appeared to me as though a friendly, prettily clothed girl in a costume the same as worn by pious nuns came to my bed. I believe she then rose straight up through the ceiling to heaven.”
The prior asked him how he interpreted the dream. “I am in doubt about the meaning,” the bishop replied, “But it isn’t true, as I feared, that my soul is burdened with great sins. So I want to believe that her being is shown to me so that I must follow the same path where she led.”
At this, the prior was inclined to receive the blessing before he moved to read the sermon of John, and Jón blessed it with the words, “May the Lord be on thy heart and on thy lips (Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis tuis)”. These were his last words on earth, then during the reading of the sermon he was no longer able to speak and died as the third call to prayers rang in the main church.
Jón´s body was entombed in the church of the same monastery where he entered the order and lived as a Dominican monk.
30A poison-tailed asp doesn’t exist, and this tale may have endured because of the paucity of venomous snakes in the northern lands. One snake, the mud snake (Farancia abacura), was believed in American folk tales to have a poisonous tail but this is based on its tendency to poke a captor with the tail tip to gain release or to prod captured prey, so their being poisonous is untrue.