In the sky the young bright moon was being born, and on the earth, of the old prebendary, the old pope León, a son was born, a mighty knight, and he was called by name Alyósha Popóvich, a fair name for him.
When they began to feed Alyósha, what was a week’s food for any other babe was a day’s food for him, what was a year’s food for others was a week’s food for him.
Alyósha began going about the streets and playing with the young boys. If he touched the little hand of anyone, that hand was gone: if he touched the little nose of anyone, that nose was done for: his play was insatiate and terrible. Anyone he grappled with by the waist, he slew.
And Alyósha began to grow up, so he asked his mother and father for their blessing, for he wished to go and to fare into the open field.
His father said to him, “Alyósha Popóvich, you are faring into the open field, but we have yet one who is even mightier than you: do you take into your service Marýshko, the son of Parán.”