The sorcerer entered the house: it was full of men talking; men in long garments upon the benches, singers at the doors, instruments around the walls, and the sorcerers of the house by the hearth.
And he began his spells.
He sang.
And the most accomplished singers of the house were dumb.
Their hands became covered with stone gloves, masses of stone bent their backs, stone hats weighed down their heads.
So the sorcerer mocked the singers.
He sang again.
And the men were thrown into a sledge drawn by a discoloured cat. And the cat drew them off to the vast deserts of Lapland, where the horse's hooves no longer resound and the mare's foal finds no pasture.
So the sorcerer mocked the great men.
And he sang again.
And the men rolled into the torrent of Rutja, which swallows up trees as a prey, into which pines fall with their roots, in which the fir trees are engulfed.
Thus the sorcerer mocked at young men, old men and men in the prime of life by means of his songs and incantations.
